“Aye.”
“I really dislike this mysterious side of you,” she grouses as I seat her in the helicopter.
Less than an hour later, I’m holding her hand as we stroll through the National Museum of Scotland. Isla pauses by one jewelry case, looking at the elaborate diamond pendant earrings that were worn by Queen Elizabeth l. Her head tilts, eyeing them closely.
“What are you looking at, love?” I ask.
Going on tiptoe, she whispers in my ear. “These aren’t the real earrings.”
“How do you know?” I knew about her family’s skill in the diamond trade, but authenticating jewelry locked up in a case seems impossible.
“There was a bid out for these earrings on the dark web eight years ago,” she barely breathes into my ear. “We didn’t take the job, but I knew from the… contractor that the replacements had a tiny flaw on the left earring. The real ones are resting in some rich arsehole’s vault.”
“Well, about that…” I begin as we walk past the Elizabeth l exhibit. “Queen Elizabeth was cousin to Mary, Queen of Scots.”
“Every Scottish school kid knows the history,” she says, “the woman was screwed over by her own son’s courtiers and her cousin, Queen Elizabeth l. For women, history is not kind, even to the most powerful.”
We’ve walked into the Mary, Queen of Scots hall now and I guide her toward the tomb with the beautifully carved marble sculpture of the queen on top. “What do you know about our Scottish queen’s jewels?”
Isla walks around the tomb, carefully examining the queen’s marble likeness. “There’s endless speculation of what jewels and artifacts belong to the queen, and several items have sold at auction for outrageous prices, only to be de-authenticated later.”
We stroll through the glass cases, displaying tapestries made by the queen, furniture, and a long row of cases stretching along the hall with her jewels. “She was very fond of her jewelry,” Isla said, “she purchased a treasure trove in France and brought them back to Scotland with her.”
After an hour more of wandering through the annals of Scottish history, I take her to lunch, a beautiful little place overlooking the Royal Botanic Garden. We’re alone out on the restaurant’s deck.
“Did you clear out all the diners in the place?” she asks with a raised brow. “I can’t help noticing we’re surrounded by six of your guards.”
“The guards are for you,” I say, kissing her hand. “I selected a spot where I know we canna be overheard because I have a story for you. One of great secrecy.”
“And you’re telling me? Will your family be angry with ya’?”
“You’re family,” I emphasize. “I realized something last night.”
“Oh?”
“Your father never told you what was in that case, did he?”
She frowns instantly on the defensive. “If my father believed it was crucial to take the item, it was. I asked him to explain, but he became so agitated when we spoke of it.”
“Here’s why. What I am about to tell you was known only by your father and mine. When you took the treasure, Da had to tell us what it was.”
Gulping down some water, Isla takes a deep breath and nods. “Tell me.”
“You have heard that our fathers were close once, close as brothers, aye?”
“Aye,” she nods, listening intently.
They built their empires together and allied with each other when needed. However, they competed for the affection of a certain young lady. One drunken night, they decided to steal a priceless artifact and present it to her. Whichever man she chose would give her the artifact.” I tap my fingers against the table. Secrecy is so ingrained in me that it’s difficult to say the words.
“What do you know about the Queen’s Eye?”
Her eyes widened. “The Queen’s Eye was the most heralded of Queen Mary’s jewels, even more so than her crown. It had the biggest blue diamond in the world at the end of the necklace. It was stolen from the museum nearly forty years ago. The mystery of who took it has never been solved.” She looks a little envious. “Imagine a job of that size and scale…”
“I say this with no judgment, but I am certain you have… ah… sourced stolen items for buyers in the past?” I ask.
“Well. It’s… You and I both know that rich arseholes always want what they canna have. There’s priceless artwork, jewelry, every kind of treasure hidden behind the walls of hundreds of estates. Where they can gloat over something exquisite and rare, hoarding an artifact that was meant for everyone to see. I’ve never sourced something like that. I wouldn’t.”
“You’ve got your standards,” I nod. “I can respect that. However, our fathers were more fortunate than bright. They broke into the house of Simon Davies.”
