Marthe lifted her fingers and touched the necklace.
“But these were from Charles...” Her voice began to tremble. “His last gift to me.”
Ichiro lowered his eyes, then cleared his voice. “I am sure he gave them as a gift so that you would always have security. A single strand of natural pearls of that quality and radiance must have cost him a fortune few men could even hope to earn in a lifetime.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “And he bought it at Mellerio’s.”
“We’ve known each other a very long time... I would not guide you wrong. You really should sell them.”
The necklace, with the only substantial weight carried in the emerald butterfly clasp, had always felt like little dewdrops around her neck. It had been a part of her for so long, she couldn’t conceive of parting with it.
“I’m not sure I understand...”
“Your pearls are priceless because thousands of pearls needed to be harvested from the depths of the ocean to find ones that match in size and color...”
“Yes, Charles said the same thing when he gave me the necklace.”
“But the day will soon come when pearls are cultivated by a man inserting a grain of sand into an oyster and waiting for it to grow under his own careful eye. When that happens, the natural pearls around your neck will be worth a fraction of their original cost.
“Sell them now,” he advised. “If you are wise, you will take that money and live on it quietly for the rest of your life. But if you wait any longer, Mellerio’s will hear whispers of what’s going on in the Far East with the pearl market.” He took another deep breath and shook his head. “And then, my dear Madame de Florian, even they will want nothing to do with your necklace.”
36.
Marthe
Paris 1917
The next afternoon, Marthe walked into the bejeweled storefront of Mellerio’s dressed in all her finery. The dark silk faille dress with the covered buttons. The hat bought from Madame Georgette’s, the gloves from La Samaritaine. And although it wasn’t as elegant as one of her silk purses, she carried the red leather case that contained her precious necklace in a black satchel she made just to ensure she arrived carrying the box in something tasteful and discreet.
The store was on Rue de la Paix, and the most celebrated names in fashion shared the street as its address. The famous couturier Charles Frederick Worth had his atelier and salon nearby, as did the esteemed fan maker Duvelleroy. The venerable Cartier was further down the street.
She entered the store with her heart in her stomach. She was selling something that was not only dear to her because it had been a present from Charles, but also something she had always knownto be her most valuable possession. Selling it meant that she would no longer have it as a security blanket.
“Madame.” A man in a dark suit appeared from behind the glass table of glimmering stones. “May I be of assistance?”
She took a seat on one of the velvet chairs and withdrew the red case from her satchel.
When he saw the box was Mellerio’s own, he too sat down, but this time across from her. The glass display case became a resting table for her to open the box.
She heard a small breath escape from him. The pearls, and the butterfly clasp, were dazzling in the light.
“Whoever purchased these, chose well.”
She felt a lump in her throat. “Yes,” she managed to say. “His taste was always exquisite.”
His hands reached to touch the box on each side. He searched under the satin cushion of the box and retrieved the certificate of authenticity and description for the pearls and clasp. “And how can I help you today, madame?”
“I wish to sell them. I was told that at any time, you would buy them back for at least what he had purchased them for.” She paused.
“I have one request, though,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. “I would like to maintain the clasp.”
He nodded and closed the box.
“One moment, madame. I will need to check our records to verify the purchase.”
She folded her hands in her lap.
“And the name of the person who gave you these pearls?” He cleared his throat.
