Carla Neggers - Cut and Run

“In the immortal words of Alice Feldon, by being a lazy shit.” He started to put the stubby pencil on the piano rack but stopped himself and dropped it back on the floor. “Wouldn’t want to get mixed up. Aren’t the Dutch supposed to be tidy?”

Juliana frowned at him. “How do you know I’m Dutch?”

“Research,” he said.

“What kind of research? I thought you weren’t a music reporter. If this is a formal interview-”

“It isn’t. Relax, okay?” He looked at her, his eyes dropping to Beethoven glowering on her front. She felt like an idiot. “Mind if we go sit down?”

She sighed. “As you wish.”

He sat on the couch, amidst several musty books on Chopin and Mozart, while she lifted a huge stack of newspapers and magazines and letters off a wingback chair. “Four months of mail-and I forgot to stop the paper before I left.” Only, she thought, because she’d just started having it delivered. She’d wondered if reading the morning paper would help her feel more in touch with the world. Or maybe it was just one more thing to do in the morning before practicing. “I haven’t gone through it yet.”

“So I see. Need a hand?”

“No.”

She said it too quickly. She knew it, and she could see, so did he. She didn’t want him getting too close. He was so different from the men she knew. Sitting down, she gave him a quick, sweeping look, taking in the scarred face, the strong dark hands, the boots that looked as if they’d been worn a long time and would be worn even longer. Shuji, she thought, wouldn’t like him.

“Go ahead and ask your questions,” she said.

Stark crossed a foot over his knee and held it by the ankle. He looked totally at ease, and suddenly Juliana wondered what would get this man worked up. What would make him angry? What would make him laugh?

“I was at Lincoln Center Saturday night to see a Dutchman, Hendrik de Geer,” Stark said. “Do you know him?”

Juliana laughed incredulously. “Is there any particular reason I should?” she asked, hearing her own sarcasm.

Stark didn’t react. “Sam Ryder didn’t mention him?”

“No, should he have?”

“I don’t know, I’m fishing. De Geer and Ryder were supposed to have gotten together at the concert.”

“Is your half-story about Senator Ryder?”

“Maybe.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, her lips pulled in slightly in concentration. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“I don’t like many people. You’ve never heard the name Hendrik de Geer?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“I guess that might not be saying much. You’d never heard of Sam Ryder, either.”

Juliana sat up very straight, stiff and insulted. “Are you always this hostile to people you interview, Mr. Stark?”

“Call me Matthew, all right?” He gave something that passed for a smile. “How come you didn’t go to Vermont?”

“I’ve been on tour since September, and I have some pieces I want to add to my repertoire. Vermont’s not going anywhere.”

“I guess not. You put in long hours?”

“Right now I am, eight a day minimum. To get back in shape.”

“Then you’re following Shuji’s advice.”

“He’s often right about this sort of thing.”

“That piss you off?”

She couldn’t resist a grin and madly wondered what this intense, remote man would think of J.J. Pepper. “Sometimes. But tell me more about this Hendrik de Geer. Is it just because he’s Dutch that you thought I might have known him?”

“Frankly, yes. I always check out a coincidence. And there’s nothing more I can tell you about him. What about your mother, think she might know him?”

“My mother? ”

“Sure. She’s Dutch, too.”

Juliana stared at him, unable to believe he was serious, but nothing in his gentle-tough face, in the unreadable dark eyes and earthy grin, suggested he was-or wasn’t. “My mother left The Netherlands more than thirty years ago,” she told him, “before I was born. She has a sister in Rotterdam, but they don’t get along, and a brother in Antwerp whom she rarely sees. No Hendrik de Geers, I’m afraid, not that I know of.” Which, she thought, remembering tea with Rachel Stein, wasn’t saying a hell of a lot.

“Okay. Sam Ryder attended the concert with an older woman, very tiny, dark, well-dressed. You wouldn’t know her, would you?”

Juliana tried not to react, tried to keep her face as unreadable as his. Rachel Stein-it had to be! But she shook her head automatically, her instincts telling her to deny she knew anyone of that description. She should talk to her mother before bandying about Rachel Stein’s name and their relationship to a reporter. They were both Dutch, like this Hendrik de Geer. But what did any of them have to do with Senator Ryder-or with each other, for that matter?

“No,” she said, shaking her head for added emphasis, “I don’t think so.”

“Know anything about diamonds?”

Juliana felt herself go numb. “Diamonds? No, how would I? I’m a pianist.”

“Then you don’t know anything about the world’s largest uncut diamond?”

Oh, Jesus. Could he mean the Minstrel’s Rough? No, impossible. Juliana resisted the impulse to jump up and pace. Matthew Stark didn’t even know about the Peperkamp diamond tradition. How could he know about the Minstrel?

Her mother, Rachel Stein, the Dutchman Hendrik de Geer, Senator Ryder-was this the connection among them? The mysterious, legendary Minstrel’s Rough? When cut, it would be worth millions.

No, don’t be silly, she told herself, annoyed. She’d never really believed her uncle’s tale. What he’d handed her seven years ago was simply a rock with an interesting story behind it. If a diamond, one of only moderate value.

But what if?

Her heart thudded and her hands had gone clammy, but she called on her training and years of experience as a performer to maintain an outward air of self-control. Matthew Stark hadn’t lifted his perceptive eyes from her. She could feel them probing as he waited for her to give herself away. Well, she thought, I won’t.

“I told you,” she said calmly, “I don’t know anything about diamonds. I don’t even like them.”

Stark climbed slowly to his feet, his black eyes never leaving her. He walked over and fingered the diamonds in her ears, first the left, then the right. They were simple posts that she wore nearly every day, just so she wouldn’t have to fool with picking out earrings. Stark’s touch was very light, but not quite delicate. “What about these?”

“They’re different.”

“Why?”

“They’re blue diamonds. Colored diamonds are the rage now. Once they were considered practically worthless.”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about diamonds.”

She smiled haughtily. “Obviously I know about the ones I wear.”

The particular two in her ears had been cut by her great-grandfather Peperkamp, who’d been around during the wild early days when the South African diamond mines were discovered and the De Beers empire founded. But she didn’t think she should tell Matthew Stark that.

He pulled back, and she looked up at him, carefully controlling her breathing like she did when she had the preconcert jitters and didn’t want anyone to know. She was more aware of Matthew Stark, his earthiness and obvious maleness, than she felt she ought to be. “Any more questions?” she asked coolly.

“Juliana.” He spoke her name without anger, but his gaze was dark and distant, and she knew there would be no middle ground between them. “I’ll let it go for now, but lies don’t work with me. Remember that.”

“I’m not-”

“Just remember.”

He walked past her to the foyer, and she was surprised at how softly the door closed behind him. For a minute she didn’t move. She took a huge gulp of air and flopped back in the chair, exhaling at the ceiling. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “ Jesus. Next time-well, the hell there’ll be a next time!”