Stuart Woods - Family Jewels

“What piece of jewelry?”

“Wait right here.”

“May I put some clothes on?”

“You may, if you’re not interested in a quickie.” He went into his study, to the shelves where he kept a large library of art books, and came back with one on Klimt. She was still naked when he got back to the bathroom. He set the book down on the toilet seat and leafed through it to The Woman in Gold . “That piece,” he said, pointing to the choker.

“No kidding?”

“No kidding, and remember, I didn’t say a word about it. My lips are still sealed.”

“What about your pointing finger?”

“That is not sealed, and it has many talents.” He demonstrated one of them.

“Your finger is very talented indeed,” she breathed in his ear. “Now, are we going to have our quickie in the bathtub, or shall we adjourn to the bedroom?”

They adjourned.

When they parted, breathless and perspiring, Paul said, “The beautiful thing about this assignment is that I know exactly whom to see in Paris, and it will take less than an hour to do that. The rest of the week is ours.”

“I like the sound of that,” she replied. “Who will you have to see?”

“A gentleman of my acquaintance who is the great-grandson of the man who designed the unmentionable piece. He is probably the last man on earth with this information in his brain.”

“And who is he?”

“His name is Randol Cohn-Blume. His great-grandfather was the chief designer of Bijoux Blume, a highly respected Paris jeweler of the first half of the twentieth century. He was also the nephew of the owner. His specialty was the design and crafting of impossibly expensive jewelry for impossibly wealthy clients, and I believe him to be the designer of the unmentionable diamond-and-ruby choker.”

“You couldn’t just phone him?”

“Tell me, would phoning him require an all-expense-paid trip to Paris for you and me?”

“No, it would not.”

“The very reason I am not already phoning him. I am advised that making phone calls from Paris to Paris is possible in this modern day and age.”

“A very sensible conclusion,” she replied. “When do we depart?”

“Let’s see. I have to assemble three teams of catalogers and appraisers and get them to work on three very high-end residences. And after that, we can depart for Paris. Say, three days?”

“Three days it is,” his wife said, getting up.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “I’m ready for another quickie.”

“Nonsense. You haven’t been ready that fast since you were nineteen. I have to start packing.” She got out of bed, found a stepladder, and began hauling pieces of luggage from the top shelves of her dressing room. “Will we be dining out at the best restaurants in Paris every evening?” she called.

“Quite possibly,” he called back.

“Oh, good, then I can take a good dress for every evening.”

He got out of bed and watched his naked wife pulling things from the racks of her dressing room, assessing them and putting them back. Finally she found one acceptable and folded it carefully into her suitcase.

“I love watching you pack,” he said, “especially while you’re naked.” He kissed her on the back of her neck.

“Now, Paul,” she said, applying a firm hand to his chest. “Let’s not start something we can’t finish.”

“It’s worth a try,” he said, guiding her hand downward.

“My word,” she said, “you’re up again.”

“I certainly am,” he replied, towing her toward the bed.

“What on earth brought this on?” she asked.

“The thought of several dozen flawless diamonds and rubies,” he replied, rolling on top of her.

“I should have known it wasn’t me,” she said, wrapping her legs around him. “Never mind, I can make do.”

Stone and Gala met Dino and Viv for dinner at Patroon, and Bob, who had become accustomed to being treated like dog royalty by the staff, lay under the table, wrestling with a large bone.

“What are you so up about?” Dino asked.

“Isn’t he often up?” Gala queried.

“Not like this, not before his first bourbon.”

“Well, disposing of Carrie Fiske’s estate has turned into not the drag I had expected it to be.”

“Not the drag? What does that mean?”

“The opposite of a drag — interesting, even enjoyable.”

“Did you discover a pot of gold under her rainbow?”

Stone and Gala exchanged a sly glance.

“Something better than a pot of gold?”

“Have you ever heard of The Woman in Gold ?”

“The Klimt or the movie?” Dino asked.

“Either or both.”

“I’ve seen the painting at the Neue Galerie,” Dino said.

Viv piped up. “I took him by the wrist and elbow and marched him there.”

“I was very happy to go,” Dino said, “and we saw the movie on TV last night.”

“Do you recall the necklace the woman was wearing in the painting?”

“How could I not?” Dino asked. “I wondered whatever happened to it.”

“I’ll enlighten you,” Stone said. “It’s in my safe.”

“You are under arrest!” Dino said. “You could not have come by that legally.”

“I found it in Carrie’s jewelry safe in her New York apartment.”

“The real thing?”

“It would appear to be, but that is being researched as we speak.”

“Researched how?”

“I have an appraiser leaving for Paris shortly, to search for the original design drawings and, maybe, a photograph and other documentary evidence.”

“Search where?”

“Among the jewelry stores of the Rue St.-Honoré, one of which may have purchased the original makers, called Bijoux Blume, which discontinued trading in the fifties or sixties.”

“I want to know every detail of how it came to be in New York,” Viv said.

“As far as I can tell, it was last seen adorning the neck of Frau Hermann Goering, late in World War Two. It gets very dramatic after that. Hermann burned down his country place to keep the Russians from sullying it and may have taken his wife’s jewelry to their house in the Bavarian Alps, which soon after was sacked by an outfit of American soldiers.”

“Band of Brothers,” Dino said. “There was a scene about that in the great miniseries.”

“I believe you are right, or it may have been Hitler’s house.”

“Of course I’m right, I’ve seen the thing twice.”

“Did you happen to notice which soldier ended up with the diamond choker?”

“That must have happened when I wasn’t looking.”

“Apparently, whatever happened to the choker also happened when nobody was looking.”

“What makes you think you’ve got the real thing?” Viv asked.

“The maker’s name and the date 1899 were engraved or stamped inside. That was the year the woman received the piece as a wedding present from her husband.”

“What a husband!” Viv enthused.

“Suppose it’s just a copy?” Dino said.

“My appraiser says it’s still worth a couple of million. I think there are more than a hundred flawless diamonds and a few dozen rubies in it.”

“And what’s it worth if it’s real?”

“Apparently, the sky’s the limit.”

“Who gets the proceeds?”

“The estate, of course, and my fee is based on the value of the estate.”

“Apart from this bauble, what do you think it’s worth?”

“Let me put it this way. I’ve already been offered a hundred million for the three houses and their contents, and I think that’s a lowball offer. And, of course, there’s a large stock portfolio.”

“How did you come to have Ms. Fiske as a client?” Viv asked.