'It's a good place to do business.'
'It's a good place to breathe.' Harry surprised Phillip with his comment. Then he took the grey-haired man's arm and drew him aside in mock confidence. Harry's face was transformed, and for a moment he was one of the hawkers. He took out an oversized black wallet.
Phillip watched in amusement as the deft fingers unfolded the traditional white paper and revealed a glittering 42-carat necklace.
'The Meltzer necklace,' Phillip whispered with respect.
'Tell Carol to treat it with love.'
Phillip laughed. 'Carol treats objects with intelligence. Doesn't bother with love.'
Harry had a dreamy, pensive look. He smiled quietly, then asked,
'Tell me, how is your taste in diamonds?'
'What do you mean?' Phillip asked.
'I mean,' he sounded like a lover begging for reassurance, 'do you ever find it hard to part with a certain diamond? Take a big rock. A perfect Marquise. The cuts like edges of a rainbow, you know. The blue so blue it turns to purple, somewhere just out of sight.'
'Well, well,' Phillip's voice had hardened. 'So we have in you an aesthete.'
'It's like another world,' Harry looked past Phillip, 'inside a jewel.'
Phillip spoke firmly. 'For us, Harry, a diamond is always on fire.
Never a cold perfect object. It's on fire, do you understand? We can't hold it for too long. We get scarred. Understand this, that bit of carboniferous crystal is precious for me only because of its commercial value. No other. It just happens it's diamonds. If it were bits of coal instead that were so rare, all our lovely neurotics would be wearing coal. Raving about the jagged edges and the dust. The perfect gem, color, cut, size, excited my bank account. That's all. We must keep things in perspective.'
'You really don't understand, Phillip.'
'What,' Phillip demanded caustically, 'your weakness? Yes, I understand it very well. It's suicide to want to live inside a jewel, Harry.'
'I just want to look into a jewel.'
'It's the same thing.' Phillip was packing the necklace competently, no caress of the folds that protected it. 'Come back to the apartment,'
he directed. 'Carol will be waiting. She can have the money by this evening, and we'd better start smoothing out the Aldrich problems.'
'Hers or ours,' Harry asked good-naturedly. The tense atmosphere broke and the sounds of the surrounding hawkers filtered back in.
'Why, they're the same problems Harry. That's what I've been explaining all afternoon.'
Carol was sitting in the large study musing over the
, when Phillip and Harry walked in. Phillip kissed her chastely. 'Reading my reference books again,' he admonished.
'All my students are going to be smarter than teacher.' He slipped the package into Carol's hand. She looked into his eyes, then looked at Harry, placed the package neatly into a patent leather hatbox, and soundlessly left with the jewels.
Phillip tapped Harry's chest. 'She'll be back soon.' And then added with irony, 'Can you bear to part with it?'
Harry was expressionless. 'That remains to be seen, doesn't it?'
Phillip patted the front of his legs with his open hands; his face was serious. He walked over to the leather chair and sat down.
The first thought Carol had had was Boris. The jewels were blazing in her case. She looked, as always, composed, but felt her heart hammering. She stood at Boris' elevator landing with the familiar model's hatbox hanging almost level with her knees. In her slender black cloth coat and helmet-like hat, she looked like the young ladies who glared disdainfully each month out of the pages of Femme, making all the flesh and blood readers feel vulgarly in touch with the world.
She rested the case against her toes and rang the bell. A maid dressed in traditional French uniform opened the door and said perfunctorily, 'Good afternoon, Miss Stoddard.' She led Carol past the foyer, past the six-foot Tang Buddha in painted wood. Chinese rugs covered the floor. The living room, where the maid left her, had the smart austerity of a bachelor's apartment. A very busy bachelor.
Before she could put the box down, Boris was walking toward her, arms outstretched.
'Carol, how nice, my dear.' He took her by the elbow and escorted her to a low Chinese table. The tea service and sweets were immaculately displayed. 'You're in time for tea, and you must be chilled to the bone. Here, take your coat off, dear.'
'Thank you, Boris.' Her voice was cool. 'Your place is wonderful.
It's a joy to be here.' He moved to take her coat and gloves, but she gently brushed his hand away and threw the coat over the arm of the deep couch.
'For someone who comes so seldom and stays so briefly that's rather hard to believe.' He looked at her inquisitively.
'Oh Boris,' she laughed, 'not with me too.' She looked about the apartment. 'This place makes your conquests too easy. I couldn't possibly succumb.'
'My dear, I have a perfectly filthy hovel for girls with just that attitude. Let me take you there.'
'I could never obliterate the memory of this elegance.'
'Ahhh,' he signed deeply and swept in the vista with his arm, 'to what avail when the fairest sees through it.'
'My weary Casanova,' she consoled. He handed Carol a cup of tea, and sat quietly. She sipped delicately. 'I suppose I should have shopped about a bit before closing with you. But then I liked your offer. It's immediate and…'
'My dear,' Boris exclaimed with a restraining smile, 'you needn't convince me. Where are they?'
Carol set her cup down and picked up the hatbox. She buried her hand in it, and lifted out the black wallet. As she opened the wallet, Boris got swiftly to his feet and closed a sliding wall door. He walked back and bent over her as she unfolded the Meltzer necklace.
'Here it is.' She let the diamonds spill over her palm.
'Ahh,' he said softly, and held his hand out. Reluctantly she relinquished the diamonds. Boris was no longer a Don Juan. He was a jeweler, a man with a glass eyepiece. He examined the string slowly, scrupulously. The diamonds sparkled like prisms even against his pale fingers. He removed the eyepiece and sat down, still holding the necklace.
'They're fabulous. Absolutely perfect.' He looked at them with open pleasure. 'There are even five more than I need.' He smiled approvingly. 'I always expect and get the finest from you, Carol. I won't even bargain. The offer stands as made. But tell me, whose was it, or shouldn't I ask?'
He didn't expect an answer, but revolved the string of diamonds before his eyes. 'Perfect, perfect.' With a sigh he put the diamonds on the Chinese table and opened a large safe over the fireplace.
He turned to her. 'Very traditional, you know. Jewel thieves never dream of looking for a safe over a mantle. They think they've cracked all of those in existence. Of course,' he was pulling a suitcase out of the wall safe, 'they do get refilled.'
He returned to Carol. The open suitcase revealed stacks of bound paper money. 'It's all there as agreed, dear.' Carol quickly transferred the bills into the hatbox.
'I'm glad you're so pleased, Boris. If prices hold, we should be able to keep happy right through Spring.'
'I'm sure of it, my dear,' he agreed rising. He took a small chamois bag from his pocket and dropped the necklace into it. Looking at Carol, he pulled the cord tight. Then he helped her into her coat. She picked up her gloves and hat and the light-heavy box.
