“Oh, I would never sell something so beautiful, Charles...” She could smell the lingering scent of pipe smoke on his neck as he leaned into her.
Once she had latched the clasp and the pearls fell against her skin, he pulled back to admire them both.
“I wanted you to have some security after I’m gone, Marthe. These pearls will ensure that you are taken care of. They’re worth over one hundred thousand francs.”
She felt her throat tighten. Even though she had never voiced her insecurity, he must have understood and had taken precautions on her behalf. A hundred thousand francs was enough money to live on for the rest of her life if she was careful.
“Do you know why pearls are more valuable than even diamonds, my dove?”
She shook her head no.
He took his finger and hovered it slightly above the necklace.
“Because it takes a single grain of sand to cause a blister in an oyster. And from that blister a pearl might—just might—begin to grow inside. And this doesn’t happen overnight. The whole process could take years, just to grow one pearl the size of a pea.” He took a deep breath.
“And all of this happens in the secrecy of the oyster shell. A shell that is hardly transparent...”
She shook her head in agreement. She had first tasted raw oysters at Maxim’s with Charles one night after he had picked her up after one of her performances. She had held the heavy gray shells in her hand and slipped her lips around the wavy edge, drawing the mollusk inside her mouth. The taste had been exhilarating to her, as though she was drinking straight from the sea.
“For every oyster that is shucked, only the rarest ones even contain a pearl at all... And then the search becomes even more challenging... One must find enough pearls that are the exact size, color, and radiance to start composing a single necklace.” He smiled at her.
“Can you imagine how extraordinarily difficult such a feat is, Marthe?”
She shook her head.
“And yet, there you have it. Around your beautiful neck are sixty-five natural pearls, harvested from the bottom of the sea, that are all the same size and have the same luminosity.
“If anything were to happen to me, you should sell this necklace back to Mellerio’s...”
“What nonsense are you talking?” she interrupted, reaching for his hand. “You’re not going anywhere... are you?”
The expression on his face suddenly shifted. He patted his breast pocket in search of his pipe.
“Your health... you must tell me!” The thought of losing Charles terrified her.
Again, he remained quiet.
“But what did the doctor say? Surely there is some cure you can take?”
Her fingers were trembling. The necklace suddenly felt cold against her skin.
“Let’s just say that I’ve been told to put my affairs in order.”
He tried to force a smile. “You are my great love, Marthe.” He reached to pull her hand into his. “Consider the necklace a gift of insurance.”
***
That afternoon they tucked themselves inside her bedroom as though it were a raft adrift at sea. She undressed for him slowly, as though it were the last time. She tried to make it a gift to him. To see her cast against the mirrors. Her long white limbs. Her full breasts. The pink nipples that he reached to touch as though they were rose petals meant only for him.
After her silk dress fell to the ground, her corset untied and placed on the chair, and her stockings rolled down over her knees, she stood before him wearing only the pearl necklace.
“It is just as I imagined,” he said as he closed his eyes. She crept onto the bed as quiet as a kitten, and she fell asleep in his arms.
8.
Solange
September 1939
