by C F Dunn
“Mr Dobranovich?” I ventured, but the old man stared at Henry as if retrieving a memory.
Finally he spoke, his voice as shrivelled as his body. “You remind me of a young man I met in my youth.”
Henry replied with caution. “I… don’t believe we have met before.”
“You look very like him,” the man said in his strangely accented English that reminded me a little of Elena. “I have an eye for such things,” and he tapped his forehead with a stained finger. He beckoned us closer and now that I saw him closely, I understood his appearance of extreme age. Skin, thinned by years, creased in fine lines that spread from his eyes and around his mouth into tiny rivulets, each one engrained with jewellers’ polish like niello work. He held out gnarled fingers, and I hunted in my pocket for the stone, but instead of taking it, he lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it in an age-old gesture of courtesy.
“You are most welcome, please, come – be seated, be comfortable.” His voice – if thin with age – sounded surprisingly musical, and when he smiled his dark eyes shone with genuine warmth. He led me to the flamboyant, gilt-framed chair that dominated the small room, where he left me enthroned under the spotlights. He squinted up at Henry, interrogating him, and then indicated the plain chair next to mine at the table.
“Y-es,” he drew out, “you look like him. I made a necklace in the form of a snake for his wife – a fine piece, one of my best.” He drew a brass eyepiece from his leather apron so didn’t notice Henry blanch beneath his tan, before recovering. “No matter,” Levi continued. “You have something you wish to show me, eh?” I placed the stone on the black cloth in front of him, the complex facets spitting ice-blue fire. For a long moment, he studied it without touching, then he held it to the overhead light, turning it slowly and inspecting it from every angle through a jewellers’ loupe. “I know this stone.” He focused gimlets on my face. “Where did you get it?”
“It’s not stolen!”
“My dear, I did not think it was.”
I flushed. “My husband gave it to me.”
“Your husband?” His glance flicked towards Henry.
“No! No, not Henry. It is real, isn’t it? I mean, it is an aquamarine?”
“I must first ask why you think I might be interested in buying this jewel.”
Taken aback, I answered, “Your name was among my husband’s things.”
“But he did not come here himself.”
“He can’t,” I said a little sharply, and modified my tone. “He gave me the stone to sell if I needed to. And I do. I don’t have any paperwork, or a GI-something-or-other and, no, I don’t know if it’s been mistreated, or coloured, or anything like that.”
“It has not,” Dobranovich stated. “It is a natural, Internally Flawless, blue diamond – unnamed – but of impeccable provenance.”
“Oh, my giddy aunt!” I whipped my hand up no sooner than the words had left my mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. A diamond! Are you sure? It’s huge! You can tell all that just by looking at it?”
“Not with all my years could I tell the history of a stone by looking at it.” He smiled as I writhed, feeling ridiculous. “I should know – I sold it to a young man many years ago. The cut is very distinct – unique, in fact – and the man looked just like you, sir. Yes, exactly like you. But I regret, I cannot buy this stone.”
“Why not?” I flustered. “We’ve not done anything wrong…”
“I do not say that you have, but I do not have the means to buy it from you.” He pushed the stone towards me across the table, his sleeve drawing back as he moved. Blurred, inked marks showed at the edge of his cuff as it rode up his forearm. Numbers. He saw me look, saw the realization in my eyes. He pulled his sleeve to his wrist. “That is so, young lady. I carry my history with me, and that of my people. Even had I half its value to give you – and that would be a great sum indeed – I would be robbing the man who gave me something of greater worth than this priceless jewel.”
“He helped you escape?” Henry asked.
“I promised him I would never speak of it and I am a man of my word. I recognize the truth when I see it, and I see it in you. So, I ask you, sir, was it your father to whom I sold this stone?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Dobranovich bowed his head. “Then I am honoured to be of assistance. I cannot buy this jewel, but I will sell it on your behalf.”
“I don’t want to be identified,” I said rapidly.
“And no questions will be asked. I have clients who will respect your desire for anonymity.”
“Thank you. Will it take long?”
“It will take as long as it takes. Although there is no need to doubt its authenticity, my clients will wish to send it to a laboratory for testing. If you would be pleased to leave a number where I can contact you…” He noted my hesitation. “It will go no further, I assure you. One last thing,” he said, as he registered the name on the paper I wrote for him. “Did your husband also give you that lion-head ring you wear on your finger?”
“He did,” I said, wary again. “Why do you ask?”
“As one persecuted, I have long understood the privilege of secrets,” he answered and bent over my hand and lightly laid his lips to the ring.
Henry opened the door onto the street, pulling his hat down to cover his eyes and his scarf to obscure the lower part of his face. “Perhaps we should have asked for a receipt.”
“It would have seemed rather churlish. I think we can trust him. Don’t you?” We walked beneath the harsh glare of the street lamps down pavements slippery with the spray from passing cars. “Gosh, a diamond. I had no idea. I wonder if we’ll ever get to hear Matthew’s full life story.” We approached a junction to hail a taxi. “Just when I think I know him, something else pops out of the woodwork.”
Henry flagged down a cab. “Did Dad never mention Levi to you before?”
“No. I don’t think he meant to be secretive. It had just become force of habit. This is one secret I don’t mind he kept. If I’d known Rosie carried a diamond around her neck, I’d have had kittens.”
We lived off the tiny profits from the restaurant, eroding quickly now that the Christmas rush was over, and spent days slowly recovering the long-neglected rooms of the manor. Major work would have to wait until funds became available; until then, much could be achieved with elbow grease and a stiff brush. Stifled and feeling claustrophobic, on the few milder days I opened the front and back doors, and the casements in the bedrooms, and pulled stale air from the house. It helped ease the nagging nausea that tiredness brought. At some point I would no longer be able to hide my pregnancy from my parents, and then the real pressure would start.
With the car chugging over more or less reliably, I took the opportunity to slip into Stamford with Rosie and Theo. The jade beads swung to my waist as I knocked at the door of the single-storey building brightened with yellow sprays of winter forsythia, and heard a familiar voice from within.
“Emma, my dear!” Mrs Seaton welcomed me at the threshold of her new home. I returned her hug, much to Theo’s bemusement.
“Joan, it’s so good to see you again. I love your home, and what a lovely view!” I accompanied her to the big window as Joan sat down in a chair overlooking the silvered waters of the river.
“I’m as happy as a lark,” she said, smiling at the children. “So this must be Theo – he likes my jade necklace, I see – and you must be Rose,” she said, clapping her wrinkled hands in delight. “Thank you for coming to visit me, my dears. Oh, what pretty flowers; are they for me?” Finger in her mouth, Rosie nodded and held out the bunch of first snowdrops we had picked freshly that morning. “Lovely! I do miss the snowdrops under the hedges; are they still there?”
“They are,” I said, sitting opposite and letting Theo down to explore the room. “I’ve been meaning to visit to see how you are and to let you know how we are settling in to our new home.”
“Are you?” she sai
d, her face becoming wistful. “I’m so glad. It was the right move at the right time, and I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you took on the old place. I do like it here, though; I see my friends – not that there are many of us left, you understand – I can pop into town, and I can have as much heat as I could possibly want.” She laughed and then sobered. “I do hope you and the children are warm enough; the winters can be quite frightful.”
“Perfectly, thank you.”
She looked at the door for the umpteenth time, a small frown crossing her face.
“Joan, is there a problem?”
“Are you alone, Emma, my dear? Only I thought that perhaps Matthew…”
“He’s away at the moment,” I said, without meeting her eyes.
“Away? Oh, that must be so difficult for you. You must miss him.”
I nodded an acknowledgment rather than risk answering, and we moved to safer territory, exchanging news and chatting as the children watched swans drift past on the Welland’s anxious water.
As her limited energy began to wane, and the years sapped the brightness in her eyes, I rose to bid her goodbye. “I meant to write to thank you for leaving the silver dish,” I said, as I kissed her age-soft cheek, “and the portrait,” I added.
The sparkle returned. “Ah, you found them, did you? I’m sure the dish would have fetched a pretty penny or two, but I didn’t need the money and I told Roger I thought it long-since vanished.”
“And the portrait?” I asked.
“Now, who would want a tatty old thing like that – except perhaps a historian and the man to whom it belongs?” And to my astonishment, she winked.
We parted with promises to keep in touch, although both aware of the limitations time and years placed upon her. It didn’t seem to matter. She knew she would soon slip into the next world, but was content, having done what she could to protect the continuity of the manor, whose guardian she had become.
“Now it’s your turn – and Matthew’s,” she said, with a certainty that seems to come with insight and great old age. “A D’Eresby and a Lynes: it is how it’s meant to be.”
As I closed the door behind me, musing on her final words, I turned and nearly bumped into a man sporting a silk cravat and an impatient air, standing on the doorstep and filling the space. “Watch where you’re going!” he barked, extending an arm between Theo and me and inserting a key in the lock. He made to push past Rosie. She didn’t move. He glared down at her. The three of us stood our ground.
“Can I help you?” I said with an edge, restraining Theo as he leaned towards the besuited arm looking for something to chew. I gave him the beads instead. The man looked me up and down, seemingly assessing my bank balance, and then his gaze fell on the long string of big, green stones Theo gummed. His eyes widened, then narrowed.
“Where did you get those?” he snapped, looking at the door as if he could see through it, and then back at me.
“They were a gift,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “Why? Are you an antiques dealer?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Do I look like an antique dealer?” he snorted, as if I cared one way or another.
“Not particularly, Mr Seaton,” I replied evenly, “it’s just that your reputation goes before you.” And holding out my hand to Rosie, I stepped past him and into the afternoon sunshine.
Just when we thought winter over, and snowdrops clustered around the apple trees, the end of January brought late snow on northerly winds.
“Brass monkey weather,” my sister puffed, hauling off her boots in the porch and leaving clumps of snow melting in the heat of the Gurney. “Archie and the twins are sussing out the slopes for the toboggans; think Rosie’ll want to join them?”
“I expect so; she’s been itching to get out in the snow.”
“Why don’t you take her, then? You never used to miss a chance of a bit of snow.”
I rubbed a hand over my eyes and yawned. “Don’t feel like it. Or perhaps it’s because it’s not like Maine snow. I don’t know.”
Beth unzipped her purple fleece and hung it on the back of a chair. “You OK? You look a bit peaky.”
“Could do with some warmer weather; this cold’s getting to me.”
She gave me an odd little look, and shrugged. “You should be used to it by now. Hey ho, let’s tell Rosie her cousins are waiting for her, and then we can discuss Theo’s birthday without interruption.”
Rosie was by herself at one end of the great hall, busily constructing a complex marble run. Measuring a piece of knitting against a wriggling Theo, Pat looked up as we came in. “Beth! How lovely to see you, sweetie. You couldn’t do me a favour and hold Theo, could you? Henry tried, but he just wouldn’t keep still.”
Henry grunted a laugh. “And Theo wasn’t much better.”
Pat flapped a hand. “You know what I mean. All alone today?”
Beth knelt by Theo, gave him a quick kiss, and then held him firmly around his middle. “The kids are outside testing the toboggan run.”
“Rosie, would you like to go and find your cousins?” I asked, going over to her. “My goodness, that’s a wonderful construction! It looks like the Spaghetti Junction, and I bet it works better, too.”
“It’s not finished yet, Mummy. Look,” and she pointed to an incomplete curve. “I want to finish it first.”
Henry joined us, bending towards her with his hands on his knees to admire her work. “That’s quite a feat of engineering, Rosie; your father would be so proud of you.” At the mention of Matthew, her face straightened, her mouth taking on a hard edge. She turned her back on him and walked away, abandoning the run.
“Rose!” I said, more shocked than cross, but Henry, recovering, held up his hand.
“Leave her, Emma; it doesn’t matter.” But it did. I could feel it as clearly as if he had used words to describe the rejection he felt. Chewing my lip, I watched her leave the great hall in a blister of antagonism and resentment.
Rosie was quiet at bedtime. She brushed her teeth and waited until I had fought Theo’s hands to brush his. I climbed into bed next to her, where she lay on her side with her fingers in her mouth, gazing at Matthew’s portrait propped next to the tryptic and pebble on the little chest of drawers by the bed. The single candle in the chipped enamel chamberstick illuminated his face, the dancing flame bringing it alive.
“Shall we say our prayers, poppet?” She didn’t answer, and I put my hand on her shoulder. “Rosie?” She shook her head. “OK. I’ll say them for all of us.”
When I finished and had kissed each of my children as Matthew and I had always done, I gave Theo his Bear, and he wriggled happily, bringing the toy to his face.
“Where’s Ottery?” I hunted around and finally located it secreted under the pillow. “Here, sweetheart,” and I tucked the otter into Rosie’s arms.
She viewed it with scorn. “I. Don’t. Want. It!” Rosie snatched Ottery from her chest and threw it across the room where it hit the wall with a soft thump, and fell to the floor. She faced me with glistening eyes full of anger and grief. “I want my daddy! I want my da-ddy!”
“Oh, Rosie.” I wrapped my arms around my daughter and held her close, feeling her body heave in uncontrollable sobs, and letting her cry her misery out.
“I really rather thought Pat and Henry would be here for their grandson’s first birthday,” Mum said with that slightly prurient tone she adopted when something displeased her. Beth rolled her eyes behind our mother and I poured tea from Nanna’s silver teapot, on loan for the day.
“They will be; they took my car and must have been delayed. More cake, Dad?”
Dad passed his tea plate – one of the half-dozen spares from their Wedgwood wedding service. “Henry’s sorted out the licence, has he?”
“No, Pat’s driving.” And I hoped nobody stopped her and asked to see her driving licence.
“Well, she’s certainly done you proud here, Em. Marvellous cake.”
“Actually, Dad, hard
though it may be to believe, I made Theo’s cake.”
He inspected the slice in front of him as if it were the result of transubstantiation. It may as well have been, because it was a miracle it had turned out as well as it did. “My, my, Emma, wonders will never cease.”
“Rose, darling, won’t you try a little of Theo’s cake?”
“No, thank you, Granny. Mummy, please may I get down from the table?” I nodded my consent, and she hopped off her chair and went to play with her marble run. I gathered the teapot and cake to take them through to the kitchen. “I’ll put some more water in the pot. Back in a mo.” A murmured conversation followed me from the room. When I returned, Mum dabbed her mouth with her napkin, looking earnest.
“Emma, Rosie hasn’t eaten a thing.”
I put the fresh pot of tea down. “She’s fine, Mum. You know what children are like.”
“Yes, I do, darling, and I really think she ought to see a doctor. It’s so important she has the right nutrition at this age, and I know you’re doing the best you can in the circumstances. Now I come to think of it, I can’t remember ever seeing her eat at all.”
Over on the other side of the room, Rosie had stopped humming. Seemingly oblivious to her grandmother’s concerns, she jumped to her feet and trotted from the room. A moment later a distant clatter came from the direction of the kitchen. Mum was halfway out of her chair.
“Stay there. I’ll go,” I said.
In the kitchen, Rosie was standing on the stool in front of the mirror, carefully applying raspberry jam and buttercream around her mouth, taken, I suspected, from the remains of Theo’s slice. “What are you doing?” I whispered.
She jumped down and waved sticky fingers. “I’m eating cake.”
I opened my mouth, decided I couldn’t add anything to the conversation, and closed it again and hugged her instead. “Good idea.”
“Everything all right?” Beth came into the kitchen bearing plates, and I spun around as if caught drinking milk from the carton.
