“Why don’t you go to the bank, and go through the contents and their inventory,” she said, referring to the Pignelli case. “I don’t have anyone else to assign to it for now.” She handed her back the sheet on the Pignelli case, and Jane nodded. She had been to only one other inventory since she’d been there, but it didn’t seem complicated to her. All she had to do was confirm the bank’s inventory, and bring the contents of the safe deposit box back with her, to be put in the safe at the surrogate’s court, until the items of value could be sold, and the papers archived for the next seven years.
Jane called Hal Baker at the bank that afternoon to make the appointment, which was sooner than he had expected, and he explained apologetically that he was going on vacation for the next two weeks, and had a training session the week after that. They made the appointment for four weeks later, on the day after Valentine’s Day, which Jane didn’t point out to him, but it was fine with her anyway. There was no rush, and it gave them time to place the regulation ad in the newspapers. She jotted down the appointment and they hung up, as she took out the standard form for the notice. The process of trying to locate Marguerite di San Pignelli’s heirs had begun. It was just another ordinary day at the surrogate’s court, trying to track down heirs, and dispose of estates when there were none.
Chapter 2
JANE TOOK THE subway to the stop nearest the Metropolitan Bank, four weeks to the day after her initial conversation with Hal Baker. It was the day after Valentine’s Day, and that morning and the day before had been rocky. She and John had had an argument while she was rushing to make toast, pour cornflakes into a bowl for herself, and make coffee for both of them. She burned the toast she had put in the toaster without bothering to check the setting, and spilled the cornflakes just as John ambled into the kitchen in boxers and T-shirt, looking dazed. He’d been out studying with friends the day before, at someone’s apartment. She had heard him come home at three o’clock in the morning, but fell back to sleep before he made it into bed. And he totally forgot it was Valentine’s Day, although she had bought him a box of chocolates and some cards, and left them in the kitchen for him that morning. He took the box of chocolates with him to share with his study group, and he had no gift, flowers, or cards for her. As far as John was concerned, Valentine’s Day had been canceled this year.
“What are you in such a hurry about?” he asked, helping himself to the coffee she’d made, while she swept up the cornflakes and then buttered the piece of burnt toast for herself. He looked exhausted and was clearly not in a good mood as he sat down at the kitchen table and took a sip of coffee. He still hadn’t acknowledged Valentine’s Day, neither the day before nor today. He was never great about holidays, or dates, and with two major papers due, Valentine’s Day meant nothing to him this year. He was totally focused on his work at school. He had been good company and fun to be with until he got overwhelmed in the final months before they graduated. Normally independent but good-humored before, now all he thought of was himself and what he had to do to graduate and get his MBA degree. Some days she felt like she didn’t even exist to him.
“I have to inventory an abandoned safe deposit box today,” she said, looking pleased about it. At least it was something more interesting to do than her usual fare, buried in the paperwork on her desk.
“Is that a big deal?” He looked unimpressed. It sounded boring to him.
“Probably not, but it gets me out of the office, and it gives me a chance to do a little detective work. We placed a notice in the newspapers to alert possible heirs, and we’ve had no response in four weeks.”
“What happens if no one turns up?”
“Then we sell anything of value in the box, after it has been abandoned for three years and a month, but we keep the papers for another seven years. The money goes to the state.”
“Is there anything important in that box?”
“Supposedly some jewelry that might be valuable, according to the bank. I’ll check it out today. It’s kind of sad, but interesting too. It’s hard to imagine that people would just forget about their stuff, but the woman was pretty old. Maybe she died suddenly, or had dementia in her final years. Any chance of our having dinner tonight?” she asked, trying to sound casual and not wanting to put pressure on him. But as soon as she said it, he groaned.
“Oh shit. It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it? Or it was yesterday. Thanks for the chocolates, by the way,” he said, glancing at the date on the newspaper on the table. “I’m sorry, Jane. I forgot. I have two papers due – there’s no way I can do dinner. Will you accept a rain check for a couple of weeks from now?” He looked genuinely apologetic.
“Sure,” she said easily. She had suspected as much – he was obsessed with school, and she understood. Her law school schedule and its demands on her had been grueling too, but her grades had always been stronger than his. “I figured. I just thought I’d ask.” He leaned over and kissed her, and smiled when he noticed her red sweater. Holidays meant a lot to her, which he always teased her about. It was a corny side of her he thought was sweet, and blamed it on her growing up in the Midwest. His parents were in the film industry in L.A., and so were officially more sophisticated than hers.
Jane looked pretty in a short black skirt and high heels, with her long blond hair pulled back for her meeting at the bank. He loved her looks and enjoyed spending time with her when he didn’t have two papers due, and his final project to work on. They had made no plans for the future and lived their relationship day to day, which suited them both. They were focused on their careers. She had no time or desire for marriage now, she wanted to establish herself first and so did he. They agreed on that.
“I’m going to be out all night with my study group,” he said as she got up and put her coat on. She was wearing a red coat that day too, to mark the holiday, which he thought was a little silly, but it looked good on her. And the high heels she was wearing showed off her legs, which John always said were one of her best features. “We’re meeting at Cara’s house,” he said vaguely, glancing at the newspaper she’d left on the kitchen table. He knew that Jane didn’t like her. Cara looked like an underwear model, not a candidate for an MBA. John always said she was smart as a whip and admired her entrepreneurial skills. She had run and sold a business for a handsome sum of money before going back to school for her MBA, and at thirty-one was two years older than Jane. She was the most attractive single woman in the group, and John studying with her always made Jane uneasy. As far as she knew, he was faithful to her, and she expected that. But Cara always seemed like a threat to her. Her ample bosom was always a little too exposed, and she looked sexy in tight T-shirts and jeans, with lots of cleavage visible at all times.
“Will the other guys be there?” Jane asked, looking nervous, and John was immediately annoyed.
“Obviously. What difference does it make? It’s not a sex therapy group. We’re working on our papers for the end of the term, and Cara knows a lot more about running a small business than I do.” It was always his excuse for being with her. They had done several projects together.
“I just wondered,” Jane said softly.
“Jane, I don’t need pressure from you. And if she helps me get my grades up, I’m damn glad to be working with her.” He was in no mood for a jealous scene, but somehow the conversation degenerated, and within five minutes they were arguing about Cara. It had happened before. Jane always said that Cara flirted with him, which John vehemently denied, while Jane told him he was naïve. The conversation went nowhere, John stalked off to the bedroom looking irritated, and Jane left for work, feeling slightly sick.
They argued constantly these days about everything and nothing. They were experiencing a major slump in their relationship, and Jane knew it was only because of the pressure on both of them as they finished graduate school, and she tried to be patient with his moods, permanent exhaustion, and lack of sleep, and to not worry about his proximity to Cara. She trusted John, but he and Car
a spent endless hours together, studying, alone and in their study group. It was obvious that Cara had the hots for him, and Jane didn’t trust Cara for a minute. She hated nagging him about it, but her nerves were frayed too.
John was in the shower when Jane left the apartment, and she had that unsettled feeling one gets after an argument, where no one “wins,” and she felt foolish now in her red sweater and coat for Valentine’s Day, a day late. It was just another work day for her, and she wanted to look serious at the appointment, since it was only the second time she’d gone to do an inventory, and she wanted to be professional about it.
Hal Baker was waiting for her at the bank when she got there, and shook her hand with a friendly smile and an appreciative glance as he took in the pretty face and graceful figure. She was not at all what he had expected from the surrogate’s court. The clerks they sent were usually much older and very dour. Jane was a beautiful young woman with an interested, lively expression in her eyes. He led her downstairs to the safe deposit boxes, with the young female notary trailing behind them. Hal walked to the section with the largest boxes, used two keys to free the box, and carried it into a small private room, barely large enough to accommodate the three of them, and the notary brought in a third chair so she could sit down and observe the inventory, as they did it. Hal had Mrs. di San Pignelli’s file in his hand, with the inventory he had taken two years before. He handed Jane a copy of it as soon as they walked into the room, and she took off her red coat. She read down the list of the box’s contents, and when Hal opened the box, Jane looked inside.
She could see the individual jewelry boxes and the folders. He took out the papers first and set them on the desk, and then opened the folders one by one. Jane examined the one containing photographs first, and found herself looking at a beautiful woman with deep pensive eyes and a dazzling smile. It was obviously Mrs. di San Pignelli, since most of the images included her. There were some early photographs of her as a young woman, which were more serious, and many of her with a much older, very dashing-looking man. Jane turned each one over and noticed the date and his name, “Umberto,” carefully written in an elegant handwriting on the back. Some were taken at parties, others on vacation, and there were several on yachts. Jane recognized some as having been taken in Venice, others in Rome. She also noticed pictures of them in Paris, and one of them skiing in the Alps at Cortina d’Ampezzo, a few on horseback, and one of them in a race car with Umberto in helmet and goggles. The older man appeared to be very protective of the beautiful young woman, and she looked happy at his side, and nestled in his arms. She saw several pictures of them taken at a château, and some in elaborate gardens with the château in the background. And there were faded clippings from Roman and Neapolitan newspapers that showed them at parties, and referred to them as Conte e Contessa di San Pignelli. And among the clippings, Jane noticed the count’s obituary from a Neapolitan newspaper in 1965, indicating that he was seventy-nine at the time of his death. It was easy to calculate then that he had been thirty-eight years older than Marguerite, who was only forty-one when he died, and they had been married for twenty-three years.
It looked as though they had led a luxurious, golden life, and Jane was struck by how elegant they both were, and how stylishly dressed. Marguerite was wearing jewelry in the photos where she wore evening gowns. And in several of them, mostly the ones where she was alone, Jane noticed a deeply sad expression in her eyes, as though something terrible had happened to her. But she always appeared happy in the pictures taken with the older man. They were handsome together and seemed very much in love.
And at the very end of the file, there were a number of photographs of a little girl, tied with a faded pink ribbon. They had no name written on the back, but only the dates when they were taken, in a different, less sophisticated hand. She was a pretty little girl with a somewhat mischievous expression and laughing eyes. There was a vague resemblance to the countess, but not enough so as to be sure they were related. And Jane was struck with a sudden wave of sadness, looking through the memorabilia of a woman’s life, who was no longer there and must have come to a lonely end, if she had died without a will and no known heirs.
She wondered what had happened to the little girl, who, judging by the dates on the back of the pictures, would be an old woman now as well. It was all a piece of history from the distant past, and it was unlikely that any of the people in the images were still alive.
Jane gently closed the folder with the photographs, as Hal handed her the next one, with assorted documents in it. There were several expired passports, which showed that Marguerite was a U.S. citizen, born in New York in 1924, and the stamps in her passport indicated that she had left the States, and entered Portugal, arriving by ship in Lisbon in 1942, at eighteen. Portugal was a neutral country, and the subsequent stamps in her passport showed that she traveled to England the day after she arrived in Portugal. And she had only returned to the States for a few weeks in 1949, seven years later. Further stamps in her passport showed that six weeks after she arrived in England in 1942, she had gone to Rome, with a “special visa.” Jane couldn’t help thinking that the count must have pulled some very high-up strings, or paid someone handsomely, to get his bride into Italy with the war on. There were Italian passports in the folder as well, and the first one was dated December 1942, and showed her name as di San Pignelli, so they were married by then, three months after she’d arrived in Europe, and she had acquired Italian citizenship with the marriage.
She came back into the States in 1960 on a U.S. passport that had been renewed at the American embassy in Rome. It was her first visit back to the States since her three-week trip in 1949 – and in 1960, she only stayed for days, not weeks. The passport showed no trips to the U.S. after that, until she moved to New York in 1994, when she was seventy years old. All her American passports had been renewed at the U.S. embassy in Rome. And she seemed to use her Italian one when traveling around Europe. She clearly had dual citizenship, and perhaps maintained her American one out of sentiment, since she had lived in Italy in the end for fifty-two years, the greater part of her lifetime, and all of her adult life till then. And she had not been to the States at all for thirty-four years, when she moved back for good in 1994.
Jane observed bank statements in the folder too, a record of her Social Security number, the rental papers for the safe deposit box, and a receipt for two rings she had sold in 1995 for four hundred thousand dollars. But nowhere among her papers could Jane find a will. There was nothing that referred to any heirs or next of kin, or anyone in fact. They found very little information in the folder. And other than that, there were only the two thick bundles of letters, written in fading ink, tied with a pale blue ribbon on one, and a pink one on the other. In one neatly tied stack, the letters were written in Italian, on heavy yellowed stationery, in brown ink, in an elegant handwriting that looked like a man’s, and were written by her husband, Jane assumed. The second set of letters seemed to be written by a woman and were in English. Jane glanced at a few of them without untying the ribbon and saw that many of them began with “My Darling Angel.” They seemed to be simple and direct outpourings of love, and were signed with the initial M. There was no will there. And the notary duly noted the two bundles of letters on her own inventory, as did Jane.
And then Jane carefully took out the twenty-two leather boxes, all of which looked like jeweler’s boxes, and one by one, she opened them, and her eyes grew wide as she saw their contents.
In the first box, she found a large rectangular emerald ring in an emerald cut. Jane didn’t know enough about jewelry to guess at its carat weight, but it was large, and the red leather box was marked “Cartier” in gold on the inside. She would have been tempted to try it on, but didn’t want Hal to think her unprofessional. So she wrote down the description, closed the box, and moved it to the other side of the desk, so as not to confuse it with the others.
The next box yielded a large oval ruby ring with a tria
ngular white diamond on either side, again from Cartier. And the ruby was a deep, almost bloodlike color. It was a magnificent piece. And in the third box was an enormous diamond ring, again with a rectangular emerald-cut stone, like the emerald. It was absolutely dazzling and this time Jane gasped. She had never seen a diamond so large, and she looked up at Hal Baker in astonishment.
“I didn’t know diamonds came that size,” she said in awe, and he smiled.
“Neither did I, until I saw that one.” He hesitated and then smiled more broadly. “I won’t tell if you try it on. You might never get the chance again.” Feeling like a naughty child, she did as he suggested and slipped it on. It covered her finger to the joint and was absolutely spectacular. Jane was mesmerized by it, and could hardly bring herself to take it off.
“Wow,” she said unceremoniously, and all three of them laughed to relieve the tension in the room. It was a strange and slightly eerie experience going through this woman’s things, and it seemed so unusual that a woman with such valuable possessions had no one to leave them to, or had failed to do so, and never reclaimed them herself, to keep, wear, or sell. Jane couldn’t bear the thought of things as beautiful as this being sold for the benefit of the state, and not going to someone who would appreciate them, or had cared about her. This was just too sad.
The next box yielded an emerald and diamond brooch in a handsome design by an Italian jeweler. There was an invisibly set sapphire necklace from Van Cleef and Arpels, with matching earrings in a separate box, and an incredibly beautiful diamond bracelet that looked like lace. As she opened box after box, Jane found herself staring at one piece of jewelry more beautiful than another, and some of it, particularly the rings, set with very large stones. And there was a large round yellow diamond set in a ring by Cartier in the last box. It looked like a headlight, as Jane sat staring at the dazzling array in the now-open boxes. Hal Baker had said that Marguerite had some nice jewelry that might be of considerable value, but Jane had expected nothing like this. She hadn’t seen anything of its kind since she’d gone to London with her parents at sixteen, and went to the Tower of London to see an exhibit of the queen’s jewels. And some of these were prettier and more impressive than the queen’s. Countess Marguerite di San Pignelli had owned some truly spectacular jewelry, and Jane could easily guess that what she had before her, in the elegant leather boxes from some of the finest jewelers in Europe, was worth a fortune. She wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
Property of a Noblewoman Page 2
