‘This one here –’ he held up a gem-encrusted egg wrapped in a gold-coloured ribbon – ‘is rather distinctive in its craftsmanship.’
‘OK … ’ Holly’s face brightened.
‘It’s an expensive piece, made from gold and diamonds. The workmanship is quite exquisite actually.’
Holly tried to stop her jaw from falling to the floor. Gold and diamonds? She looked at the egg, which to her untrained eye looked no different to the ones on her own bracelet – little trinkets really. To think that she’d been carrying around a bracelet, with a teeny tiny charm on it that could be so valuable …
‘Oh my goodness! Are you sure?’
He nodded. ‘Definitely. Sadly, as it’s not a Tiffany’s creation, and as I can’t identify the maker’s mark, I suspect you’ll need to take your search elsewhere, perhaps to one of our … competitors.’ He said this as if there was something bad in his mouth.
Holly looked at the charm, trying to figure out where it might have come from – Cartier, Harry Winston maybe … She thought about the multitude of luxury jewellery stores in the city – or on Fifth Avenue alone. Surely they’d keep records of such an expensive purchase?
‘You’re sure you don’t recognise the maker’s mark?’ she asked Samuel.
‘I’m afraid not. It could well be a bespoke piece, and very distinctive – which, on the plus side, should make tracing the owner that bit easier.’
‘Thank you again,’ Holly said, her mind awhirl with this new information. ‘You’ve helped a lot, in any case. At least now I know to be more careful when carrying this thing around. Who knows how much the whole lot is worth?’
Samuel seemed to be wrestling with something and eventually he spoke again.
‘Actually, I do know of someone who might be able to help you – help trace the origin of the egg-charm, in any case.’
Holly smiled broadly. ‘That would be fantastic!’
‘Ever heard of Margot Mead?’
She shook her head. The name meant absolutely nothing to her. ‘Well, she’s pretty well known in society circles around Manhattan, and one of our regular customers, if you know what I mean,’ he added delicately, and Holly figured this meant that Margot was rolling in the moolah.
‘OK … ?’
‘She’s a collector. Adores jewellery. If there’s one woman who could help you identify a charm that distinctive, or indeed someone who has the means to come by it, it’s her. She has a lot of friends and, believe me, they buy a lot of expensive stuff.’
Holly looked at the egg again. It really was a marvellous charm; she was surprised that she hadn’t noticed how much more expensive it looked compared to some of the simpler pieces on the bracelet. She wondered if it had been bought to commemorate a particularly special occasion – a significant birthday, maybe?
She noticed Danny edging towards her and looking fidgety, and figured that was her cue to take her leave. ‘Well, Samuel, I really appreciate your help. I’ll see if I can track down this Margot.’
‘You’re welcome. Best of luck to you,’ Samuel said. ‘It’s a lovely bracelet and I’m sure the owner will appreciate your efforts.’
Holly was about to slip the bracelet back into her pocket, but then remembering how expensive it was, she instead carefully tucked it into the inside pocket of her handbag.
Margot Mead …
She sounded like one of those out-and-out New York society queens. How on earth was a lowly shop assistant like Holly going to inveigle an audience with someone like that?
Chapter 9
At his parents’ house on Park Avenue, Greg paused at the threshold of their bedroom, a lump in his throat.
It was the place he had run to in the middle of the night as a child when he had a nightmare, or didn't feel well. Not to mention all the times he would sit on the big four-poster bed and watch his parents getting ready to go out to some fancy event or another.
The morning light began to illuminate the room. He looked around; every item and every fabric had his mother’s imprint on it. She loved bright colours, yellow especially, often saying that there had been little colour in Alphabet City, where she had been raised.
On the dressing table, amongst the various perfume bottles and lotions, he spied a framed photograph and picked it up. It was one of Jeff and Cristina taken before they married. His mother looked like a film star, Audrey Hepburn-like with a pretty print dress and gloves and hat.
‘Love you Mom,’ he whispered, carefully slipping the photo back on the dresser amongst her things.
Then, Greg swallowed hard and went back into the living room where his father waited.
‘Everything OK, son?’ Jeff Matthews asked, watching him carefully.
‘Sure,’ Greg nodded and, going to the drinks cabinet, poured his father two shots of his favourite thirty-year-old Scotch.
Taking in the surroundings in which he’d grown up, he realised that the place was a bit like the Scotch: richly familiar, and little had changed in the last few decades. As always, there were fresh sunflowers on the living-room table. He didn’t know where Jeff had got them, this time of year especially, but his father had bought his mother sunflowers every week of their marriage for the past forty years.
‘Here you go, Dad, just what the doctor ordered.’
He passed the leaded crystal rocks glass to his father, and took a seat across from him on the settee that his mother had picked out when they first bought this classic, pre-war apartment.
Jeff took a sip of the amber liquid and gave a small grimace as the liquid burned its way down his throat.
‘Actually, this is probably the last thing that the doctor ordered, son. But really, who wants to listen to that old bastard. If it were up to him I’d be on an all-greens diet with a water IV. No fun in that,’ he chuckled. ‘If I’m going to go out, I’m going to go out the good way: pickled in good Scotch and eating a cow.’
‘Dad. Come on: don’t joke about your health. And besides, you are as strong as a horse,’ Greg scolded, uncomfortable with such discussion. The past few months had been hard on everyone, and Greg still worried about his father rattling around in this huge apartment.
‘So,’ Jeff said, taking another sip of his drink and changing the subject. ‘You quit your job.’ He wore a serious expression that suggested: OK, let’s talk business.
Greg sucked in his breath, but his dad started to laugh, slapping his knee jovially, which finally elicited a smile. ‘Well damn, good for you! In my opinion you should have quit that sweatshop years ago. So what’s the plan now?’
Greg rubbed his hands together and reached for his own drink (a glass of red wine; he had never been much of a hard liquor drinker), took a sip and smiled. ‘I’m going to make a go of it on my own, with my photography. You know, it’s always been a dream of mine, and since that photo of the Flatiron sold, I have been playing with the idea. Of course, there is a risk … ’
‘Life is a risk. Don’t let that scare you if you live your life always afraid of putting yourself out there. You should do what you love, because in this economy,’ he joked, ‘you're gonna be doing it for a long time. And you're good at it, I know that. Taking pictures, your mom reckons you were like one of those Hudson River painters, except with a camera.’
Greg smiled, uncommonly proud at hearing this.
Jeff spread his hands around in the air, gesturing at the apartment. ‘All this didn't happen overnight, and this is not why I went into trading. I did it because I loved it, standing in the pit, the excitement the panic, the joy on my customers’ faces when I made a good deal … ’ He glanced over at the flowers. ‘The rest just happened to be a perk, and – well, back when I was on Wall Street – your mom always said she didn't care what I did or what we had, as long as I could provide – for you of course!’ he playfully pointed a finger at Greg. ‘That's what love does, you know,’ he added softly. ‘Everything is more bearable with two. And speaking of which, what does Karen think of it all?’
Greg grimaced a little. ‘Well, let’s just say that she is still getting used to the idea.’
‘Oh?’ Jeff queried. ‘She’s upset with you for leaving?’
‘I guess you might say that,’ Greg replied, trying to choose the right words. ‘But it’s my own fault, really. In hindsight, I know I should have given her more of a heads-up, whereas instead I kind of just sprung it on her. I honestly thought she would be happy, but she just seems worried.’
Jeff eyed his son, the wheels in his head obviously turning. ‘Worried about what?’
‘Well, I suppose that she is just a little intimidated by me going off on my own and her being the only one with the dependable, pensionable job. I told her I have a plan; I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t, but, you know, she is my partner in all of this, in life. I’m probably the bad guy for not telling her before I pulled the plug.’
Jeff laughed. ‘Well, most women can be uptight when they worry about the bills.’ He paused. ‘You aren’t, are you? Worried about the bills?’
Greg smiled and shook his head. Leave it to his father to still think he was an eighteen year old who needed to be bailed out. ‘No, Dad. Trust me, I’ve been responsible. I’m not coming to you for a cheque.’
‘Ha! You thought I was offering! You know, that time I quit my job before going out on our own, your mom was scared too, at first. We had just bought this place and the mortgage was hanging over our heads. But she eventually came around. And when I opened up my own firm, that risk paid off. I’m sure the same thing will be true for Karen.’
Greg nodded, and hoped his father was right. But while he thought about it, he decided he might as well get his input on one other matter that had been playing on his mind.
‘So, I was thinking … ’
‘Yeah? Well, that makes a change,’ his father joked. It was hard to find Jeff in a bad mood; he was always jovial.
Well, almost always.
‘Dad, I’m serious,’ Greg chided.
‘OK, OK, so what is it?’
‘Well. I’m thinking of asking Karen to marry me. I think it will help us get past this place … this problem, and refocus our relationship. And I suppose I wanted your blessing.’
Jeff looked at his son thoughtfully, all joking now set aside. ‘My blessing? Shouldn’t you be asking for her father’s blessing?’
‘Her father passed away a couple of years ago, remember?’ Greg stated quietly. ‘And she’s not really that close with her mother. I just felt that I needed to talk to someone about it.’
Jeff nodded. ‘I see. Do you feel it’s right?’ he asked point blank.
Greg thought for a second and shook his head in the affirmative. ‘Yes, I do. I love her more than I have ever loved any woman. And I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want a marriage like yours and Mom’s - the romance, the sparkle, the love. Everything that happened during the good times. I want that, with Karen.’
His father paused and looked away, out of the windows that let in a spectacular view of Central Park. The snowflakes hit and melted against the windows.
‘You even willing to deal with the stuff that happens in the bad times?’ he asked bluntly, causing Greg to shift in his seat.
‘It’s a part of marriage, isn’t it?’ he replied gently.
Jeff swallowed hard. ‘Yep. As they say, for better or worse. Marriage is like life; no one ever said it was easy. And it’s just … if this is what you want, then I say go for it. Karen’s a smart girl; she’s driven, talented, beautiful. The whole package, right?’
Greg laughed at the confirmation of his own perception. ‘Yes, she really is the whole package.’
Jeff smacked the armrest of the chair he sat in. ‘Well, I hope you have something special planned. Have you been thinking about how you are going to pop the question?’
Greg let out his breath and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Yes, I think I have it planned. I want to do something special, something really memorable.’
‘Something that’ll blow her socks off?’
Greg smiled, unable to remember the last time Karen had worn socks, if ever. She seemed surgically attached to her skyscraper heels.
‘Pretty much. My buddy Rob, you know, my old roommate at Columbia? Well, he works at the NYT and I was thinking of enlisting his help on this.’
‘The newspaper? Sounds intriguing. What did you have in mind?’
At that moment, the doorbell rang, signalling Karen’s arrival for dinner.
‘Hold that thought. Don’t want to let anything slip in front of her.’
‘I know. Dad, I have one other question … ’
‘Hit me, but hurry,’ he chided as he rose from his chair. ‘Maria will let her in,’ he said, referring to the hired help who ghosted in and out of rooms in the penthouse.
‘Well, remember how Mom put Nonna’s ring aside for me? I was going to ask her with that.’
‘Wonderful. There are a lot of happy times associated with that ring, a lot of history, and of course your mother would be happy to see it live another great life. I’ll need to search for it, though – she must have put it away somewhere … but I’ll get it for you soon, OK?’
Greg beamed and stepped forward to give his father a hug.
‘That would be great. Thank you.’
Just as he was about to head down the hall to the front entryway to meet Karen, Jeff called out to him. ‘Greg?’
‘Yes?’ Greg turned around with raised eyebrows.
‘Just a thought. When I met your mom, I knew within two minutes that she was the one for me. We had a great life before … ’ He shook his head, sadly. ‘I hope it’s the same for you and Karen.’
So do I, Greg thought, heartened. Karen was the one for him, no question about that.
What his dad had said about his grandmother’s ring – that it would be good to see it live another great lifewas exactly what he felt what he hoped for him and Karen. He just hoped she felt the same way.
It was late evening, and Holly and Danny were back at the apartment and trying to keep warm in spite of the plunging temperatures. Upon leaving Tiffany’s earlier, they’d gone into the park for a walk and, on impulse, Holly bought two tickets to the zoo. As they passed through the turnstile, she remembered back to when the kids’ zoo in Central Park cost only ten cents. Wow, things had changed in such a short time.
She watched Danny as he examined the mice and stood in the mouth of the blue whale, and then laughed as he tried in vain to feed the chickens, which refused to come out of their shed due to the snow.
‘Hmm,’ she said to him. ‘We probably could have just seen mice at home huh? How about some cotton candy?’
‘You feeling all right, Mom?’ Danny joked. She tried her best to keep him away from processed sugar and all the crazy things that passed for children’s ‘food’ these days.
‘I'm just fine,’ she replied. ‘Then let’s go and see the penguins.’
At the penguin exhibit, the penguins were out, themselves marvelling at the snow, and Holly realised the exhibition hadn't changed in the past twenty-odd years.
Danny tugged at her arm as she paused, lost in thought and memories. ‘Seriously Mom, are you OK?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine, I'm just remembering when I use to come here with your grandpa. I really wish you could have known him.’
Danny shrugged. ‘I know, you've said that before.’
Holly took note; maybe she was dwelling too much. She thought about who they did know. Maybe this year she should have Christmas dinner at her house, maybe invite Kate and be less dependent on her mother.
‘You’re right,’ she said, hugging Danny, who this time didn’t resist. ‘Maybe we should concentrate on the living. How about we have Christmas at our house this year?’
Danny stared at her. ‘Really? With a tree and everything? I mean a big tree,’ he clarified quickly. They always had a tree but a tiny table-top one; certainly no competition to Maggie's full-size live tree.
‘I guess so.’ Why not go the whole hog? Holly thought, deciding to throw caution to the winds.
‘Yay, Mom! I can’t wait!’
Afterwards they made their way back home, Danny chatting excitably about Christmas all the way.
In the meantime, he’d also taken a keen interest in the mystery bracelet having learned all about it following their trip to Tiffany’s that morning
‘So a flower, a handbag, a feather … ’ He reached for the bracelet she’d once again been examining. ‘It really is just like yours, except the charms are different.’
‘That's a quill, Danny,’ she corrected him.
‘Really? It looks exactly like a feather to me.’
‘Well, yes, this is a feather, but the kind they used to slice the end off, so they could dip it in ink and write.’
‘Cool! I want to do that.’
Holly laughed.
‘Well, if that feather thing is used for writing, maybe she’s a writer?’ he offered.
Holly shrugged. ‘Could be.’ A highly successful one if she was carrying around charms made of platinum and diamonds she thought wryly.
‘And what’s that?’ Danny asked, pointing to a crescent-shaped object that looked a little bit like a tadpole.
Holly had been wondering about that one herself from the outset. She’d thought at first that it could be a chilli, but there was a definite wave to the design that suggested otherwise. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, honey.’
‘Well, what about these wedding bells – you think that maybe the owner of the bracelet is married?’
Holly nodded; she had already considered that, but unfortunately it didn’t open any other doors for her. After all, people got married every day, and nothing on that particular charm gave a when or a where.
‘I thought about that, but it doesn’t lead to me anything – not that I can think of, at least.’
Danny inspected further. ‘How about this one?’
The Charm Bracelet Page 11
