He reached into his inside pocket and took out a long black jewelry case. Before Margot could protest, he had opened it up and shown her what lay inside. It was a shimmering diamond necklace, so bright that it was almost magical, seven diamond festoons attached to ten diamond-encrusted bows.
'This is absurd,' Margot protested, although it was hard for her to keep her eyes off the necklace. It was absolutely the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life.
James Blascoe slowly smiled. It was like somebody slowly drawing a spoon through an open jar of molasses. 'Traditionally, this necklace was supposed to have been part of the ransom offered by Catherine the Great to the Sultan of Turkey.'
'Well, who does it belong to now?' asked Margot. The diamonds shone in tiny pinpricks of light across her cheeks.
'Now,' James Blascoe said, with utter simplicity, 'now, it belongs to you.'
Margot lifted her eyes away from the necklace. 'Mr. Blascoe, this is ridiculous. I'm not a whore.'
'Did I ever suggest that you were? Take it. It's a gift. I want nothing in return.'
'You really want nothing?' Margot challenged him.
'Take it,' he said. 'I want you to have the finest of everything. That's all. I have no other ambition.'
There was an unblinking look of command in his eyes. Margot knew that the jinn-flower brooch and the Isabey perfume had been one thing. But if she accepted this necklace, no matter how much James Blascoe protested that he wanted nothing at all, she would be beholden to him. It was probably worth over a hundred thousand dollars. It was certainly exquisite: the kind of jewelry which most women can never even dream of owning.
'Why me?' she whispered.
'Why not?' he replied, with the faintest shrug.
'No, tell me,' she insisted. 'Why me?'
He was silent for a disturbingly long time. Then he touched the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek with his fingertip, stroking it and stroking it, and said, 'There are some people in this world who have been overfavored. The brightest and the best. God has given them everything. Looks, brilliance, wealth. And then — as if in a kind of madness of overgenerosity — He has given them even more.'
He hesitated for a while, with the side of his mouth lifted by an enigmatic, self-satisfied smile. 'You are one of those people, that's all. Now, please… accept the necklace.'
'No,' said her mouth.
Two days later, at a cocktail thrash at the Plaza Hotel for Overmeyer & Cranston, one of their biggest clients, Margot decided to take a risk and wear the necklace for the first time. She matched it with a simple electric-blue cocktail dress and wore the simplest of diamond-stud earrings.
The party was already noisy with laughter and conversation when Margot arrived. She smiled and waved to O & C's president George Demaris and then to Dick Manzi of NBC. However, she was surprised when both of them frowned at her and gave her only a half-hearted wave in return; she was even more surprised when the cocktail waiter stared at her in what could only be described as dumbstruck astonishment.
She took a glass of champagne and challenged him. 'Something wrong?'
'Oh, no, no. Nothing's wrong, ma'am.'
A few moments later, however, Walter Rutter angled his way across the room toward her and took her arm and tugged her almost immediately to the side of the buffet table.
'Margot? What's with the necklace? You can't wear something like that here!'
'What do you mean, Walter? This necklace is worth a fortune! It was part of the ransom that Catherine the Great gave to the Sultan of Turkey!'
Walter narrowed his crow's-footed eyes and stared at Margot for a long time. Margot defiantly stared back at him.
'Catherine the Great gave that necklace to the Sultan of Turkey?' Walter said. He sounded short of breath.
Margot nodded. 'A very dear friend gave it to me.'
'I'm sorry,' Walter told her. He was obviously choosing his words carefully. 'But — if it's worth a fortune — maybe this is not quite the place to wear it. You know, for the sake of security. Maybe we should ask the management to lock it in the safe for a while.'
Margot fingered the necklace in disappointment. 'You really think so?'
Walter laid a fatherly arm around her bare shoulders. 'Yes, Margot. I really think so.' Then he sniffed, and looked around, and said, 'Those fish canapes sure smell strong. I hope nobody goes down with food poisoning.'
The next morning, James Blascoe was waiting for Margot in the foyer of Rutter Blane Rutter, with a large gift-wrapped box in his hands. Black shiny paper, a black shiny bow.
'Mr. Blascoe,' she said, emphatically, before he could open his mouth, 'this really has to stop. You can't go on giving me all of these ridiculously expensive gifts.'
He thought for a moment, lowered his eyes. 'Supposing I were to tell you that I loved you, beyond all reason?'
'Mr. Blascoe —»
'Please, call me James. And, please, take this gift. It's an original Fortuny evening dress, made for the Comtesse de la Ronce, one of the wealthiest women in France, in 1927. The only person in the world who could possibly wear it is you.'
'Mr. Blascoe — ' she protested. But his eyes told her that she must accept the gown, no matter what.
'James,' she whispered, and took the box.
That evening, he was waiting outside her apartment, with a black silk shoe bag. Inside were the softest pair of pointed suede ankle boots, handmade by Rayne. They were meticulously hand-stitched and dyed to the color of crushed loganberries to match exactly the color of the Fortuny gown.
'Take them, wear them,' he insisted. 'Wear them always. Remember how much I love you.'
She was awoken the next morning by the phone ringing. Tugging her fingers through her tangled curls, she found the receiver and picked it up.
'Margot? Sorry to call you so early. This is Walter Rutter.'
'Walter! Hi, good morning! What can I do for you?'
'Margot, I wanted to catch you before you left for the office. You see, the point is I'm in some difficulty here. I have to make some savings in the agency's overall budget, and that regrettably means shedding some staff.'
'I see. Do you know how many?'
'Not exactly, Margot. But the problem is that it has to be last in, first out. This is nothing to do with the fact that you're a woman — and nothing to do with your abilities, which have been tremendous in the past, and have earned us a great deal of acclaim. But… as things stand, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to disemploy you, as of now.'
Margot sat up straight. 'You mean I'm fired?'
'Nothing like that, Margot. Not fired. But not continued with, staffwise.'
Margot couldn't think of anything to say. She let the phone drop onto the comforter. She felt as if someone had suddenly lashed her with a birch, stinging her face, cutting her hands, slicing her self-assurance into ribbons.
She was still sitting upright in bed twenty minutes later, when the doorbell rang.
Mechanically, she wrapped herself in her short silk robe and went to answer the door. It was James Blascoe, with a long gift-wrapped box and the smile of a man whose will can never be denied.
'I've brought you something,' he announced.
Without waiting to be asked, he walked into the living room and laid the box on the table. He tugged free the gift ribbon himself and eased off the lid. Inside, wrapped in dark brown tissue paper, was a huge greenish scepter, almost four feet long, embossed with thick gold bands and complicated knobs and bumps. James lifted it up, and
