“But this is very astute of you,” I said. “I never thought of that. And very kind, too.”
“Well, youaremy daughter-in-law,” he said. “And I wouldn’t put it past Joe to throw himself in front of the gun out of some kind of romantic nobility.”
“Yes, Joe is very brave,” I said. “But I would much rather have Joe than the necklace, and I would have told him so.”
“I’ll bet you would. And Mrs. Stark wonders if you could give her the recipe for that plum cake. Would you mind writing it out for her before you come?”
“Of course. And I must thank you again for taking us out to the deli on Friday night. That was most unexpected, and such a treat not to have to cook in the heat.”
“She said it reminded her of our early days. A plumbing disaster, and then having to wash all that mucky laundry. Young marrieds. It’s always an adventure. Usually not attempted grand larceny, though.”
“No,” I said. “We’ll be happy to have our quiet life back again.”
Mr. Penderleigh was indeed short, mostly bald, and dry in manner. He arrived accompanied by a robust locking satchel and an even more robust guard.
There was first a great deal of apology for the attempted fraud. “We at Christie’s are most …hmm …shocked,” he said, blinking through thick spectacles. “Most shocked and regretful.” If he’d ever set foot on a destroyer, I’m convinced he would have tripped over a pile of rope the first day. Or possibly fallen overboard.
After my rather neutral response, he said, blinking very rapidly, “Should you …hmm …choose to entrust Christie’s with your valuable …harrumph …piece, Your Highness, the firm is prepared to absorb the cost of the insurance during the time it remains with us.”
“Is this a cost I would otherwise pay, then?” I asked. “And please call me Mrs. Stark. I am no longer ‘Your Highness,’ you see.”
“Of course. Mrs. Stark. Of course.” Mr. Penderleigh mopped his brow, while Mr. Stark, across the table, looked rather startled. Why? Had he not quite believed that I was a princess?
Mr. Penderleigh went on. “It is our policy, yes, that the seller pay the cost of the insurance. The policy of any auction house. You will, of course, pay the …hmm …marketing costs, for the advertising of the piece and so forth, and a proportion of the cost of the sale event itself, but these costs will be deducted from your proceeds.”
“But you can give me an idea, I’m sure,” I said, “of how much the costs will be.”
“Yes. Of course. This is, naturally, if …hmm …we agree to take the piece. If I could see it, please?”
I unlocked the train case, and the security guard, who wasstanding in front of the closed door in a most alert manner, his legs apart and his hands clasped in front of him, stiffened. Mr. Penderleigh unlocked his satchel and removed a roll of thick black felt, which he unrolled onto the conference table. He then pulled a jeweler’s loupe from his pocket and donned a pair of thin white gloves before taking the velvet pouch from me in an almost reverential manner and carefully removing the necklace.
Silence for a minute. Two minutes. More. We got a great deal more“Hmm,”and some clucking of his tongue, too, and considerable blinking. Nobody would ever be charmed into a fraudulent engagement with Mr. Penderleigh—if he were married at all, it must be to a thin, very proper lady who enjoyed crosswords and cats and probably owned a valuable tea service that was her pride and joy—but he was amostbelievable antiquities expert.
He looked up at last, when the words were all but bursting out of my throat. “Very fine,” he said. “Hmm,very fine indeed. I have the reproductions of the two photographs, of your grandparents and great-grandparents, but if I could see the originals?”
More study, and again with myKennkarte,and he sat up with a sigh and asked, “And the other pieces of the parure? Where are they?”
“The brooch,” I said, “I sold in Germany.”
“May I ask how much you received?”
“Nine hundred dollars.”
This was almost too much for him. He clucked, he shook his head, and finally, he blew his nose into his enormous white handkerchief as if the price brought him to tears. “Most unfortunate,” he said, in a voice more suited to a deathbed. “Most unfortunate indeed.”
“Yes,” I said, “but I needed the money very badly, and in the circumstances?—”
“Of course,” he said. “Of course.” And sighed. “I fear that many families were cheated of the full value of their precious belongings during this time.”
“Or had them stolen altogether,” I said, “like the Jews. And even my own family, you know …”
“Ah, theGrünes Gewölbe,”he said, shaking his head again and mopping his brow. “Oh, what a treasure-house it was! Almost the oldest museum in the world, you know. Only the Vatican and the Hermitage, in Russia, are older.”
“I do know, in fact.”
“Of course. Of course. I had the great privilege of visiting it in 1936, in the company of the curator. What a loss, yes. A terrible loss. The paintings, too. Is there no prospect of their return?”
“None at all, I’m afraid. But of course, I’m an American now, and have many compensations.” He looked as if he didn’t believe a word of it, and I wanted to laugh. Instead, I went on, “As for the parure, the tiara remains hidden in theResidenzschloss,for I was unable to take it with me. Someday, perhaps, I’ll be able to retrieve it. Or, of course, not. The earrings, I have still.” Another foray into the train case, another pouch handed over. “These, however, I will keep.”
