Sidney Sheldon - If Tomorrow Comes

“Well, this is more like it. Old P.J.'d go crazy in here.”

“Does Madame see something she likes?”

“Well, let's jest see what we got here.” She walked over to to jewelry case containing emeralds. “Let me look at that there bunch.”

Halston extracted another small key from his pocket, unlocked the case, lifted out a tray of emeralds, and placed it on top of the table. There were ten emeralds in the velvet case. Halston watched as the woman picked up the largest of them, as exquisite pin in a platinum setting.

“As old P.J. would say, 'This here one's got my name writ on it.' ”

“Madame has excellent taste. This is a ten-carat grass-green Colombian. It's flawless and —”

“Emeralds ain't never flawless.”

Halston was taken aback for an instant. “Madame is correct, of course. What I meant was —” For the first time he noticed that the woman's eyes were as green as the stone she twisted in her hands, turning it around, studying its facets.

“We have a wider selection if —”

“No sweat, sweetie. I'll take this here one.”

The sale had taken fewer than three minutes.

“Splendid,” Ralston said. Then he added delicately, “In dollars it comes to one hundred thousand. How will Madame paying?”

“Don't you worry, Halston, old sport, I have a dollar account at a bank here in London. I'll write out a little ole personal check. Then P.J. can jest pay me back.”

“Excellent. I'll have the stone cleaned for you and delivered to your hotel.”

The stone did not need cleaning, but Halston had no intention of letting it out of his possession until her check had cleared, for too many jewelers he knew had been bilked by clever swindlers. Halston prided himself on the fact that he had never been cheated out of one pound.

“Where shall I have the emerald delivered?”

“We got ourselves the Oliver Messel Suite at the Dorch.”

Halston made a note. “The Dorchester.”

“I call it the Oliver Messy Suite,” she laughed. “Lots of people don't like the hotel anymore because it's full of A-rabs, but old P.J. does a lot of business with them. `Oil is its own country,' he always says. P.J. Benecke's one smart fella.”

“I'm sure he is,” Halston replied dutifully.

He watched as she tore out a check and began writing. He noted that it was a Barclays Bank check. Good. He had a friend there who would verify the Beneckes' account.

He picked up the check. “I'll have the emerald delivered to you personally tomorrow morning.”

“Old P.J.'s gonna love it,” she beamed.

“I am sure he will,” Halston said politely.

He walked her to the front door.

“Ralston —”

He almost corrected her, then decided against it. Why bother? He was never going to lay eyes on her again, thank God! “Yes, madame?”

“You gotta come up and have tea with us some afternoon. You'll love old P.J.”

“I am sure I would. Unfortunately, I work afternoons.”

“Too bad.”

He watched as his customer walked out to the curb. A white Daimler slithered up, and a chauffeur got out and opened the door for her. The blonde turned to give Halston the thumbsup sign as she drove off.

When Halston returned to his office, he immediately picked up the telephone and called his friend at Barclays. “Peter, dear, I have a check here for a hundred thousand dollars drawn on the account of a Mrs. Mary Lou Benecke. Is it good?”

“Hold on, old boy.”

Halston waited. He hoped the check was good, for business had been slow lately. The miserable Parker brothers, who owned the store, were constantly complaining, as though it were he who was responsible and not the recession. Of course, profits were not down as much as they could have been, for Parker & Parker had a department that specialized in cleaning jewelry, and at frequent intervals the jewelry that was returned to the customer was inferior to the original that had been brought in. Complaints had been lodged, but nothing had ever been proven.

Peter was back on the line. “No problem, Gregory. There's more than enough money in the account to cover the check.” Halston felt a little frisson of relief. “Thank you, Peter.”

“Not at all.”

“Lunch next week — on me.”

The check cleared the following morning, and the Colombian emerald was delivered by bonded messenger to Mrs. P.J. Benecke at the Dorchester Hotel.

That afternoon, shortly before closing time, Gregory Halston's secretary said, “A Mrs. Benecke is here to see you, Mr. Halston.”

His heart sank. She had come to return the pin, and he could hardly refuse to take it back. Damn all women, all Americans, and all Texans! Halston put on a smile and went out to greet her.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Benecke. I assume your husband didn't like the pin.”

She grinned. “You assume wrong, buster. Old P.J. was just plain crazy about it.”

Halston's heart began to sing. “He was?”

“In fact, he liked it so much he wants me to get another one so we can have 'em made into a pair of earrings. Let me have a twin to the one I got.”

A small frown appeared on Gregory Halston's face. “I'm afraid we might have a little problem there, Mrs. Benecke.”

“What kinda problem, honey?”

“Yours is a unique stone. There's not another one like it. Now, I have a lovely set in a different style I could —”

“I don't want a different style. I want one jest like the one I bought.”

“To be perfectly candid, Mrs. Benecke, there aren't very many ten-carat Colombian flawless” — he saw her look — “nearly flawless stones available.”

“Come on, sport. There's gotta be one somewhere.”

“In all honesty, I've seen very few stones of that quality, and to try to duplicate it exactly in shape and color would be almost impossible.”

“We got a sayin' in Texas that the impossible jest takes a little longer. Saturday's my birthday. P.J. wants me to have those earrings, and what P.J. wants, P.J. gets.”

“I really don't think I can —”

“How much did I pay for that pin — a hundred grand? I know old P.J. will go up to two hundred or three hundred thousand for another one.”

Gregory Halston was thinking fast. There had to be a duplicate of that stone somewhere, and if P. J. Benecke was willing to pay an extra $200,000 for it, that would mean a tidy profit. In fact, Halston thought, I can work it out so that it means a tidy profit for me.

Aloud he said, “I'll inquire around, Mrs. Benecke. I'm sure that no other jeweler in London has the identical emerald, but there are always estates coming up for auction. I'll do some advertising and see what results I get.”

“You got till the end of the week,” the blonde told him. “And jest between you and me and the lamppost, old P.J. will probably be willin' to go up to three hundred fifty thousand for it.”

And Mrs. Benecke was gone, her sable coat billowing out behind her.

Gregory Halston sat in his office lost in a daydream. Fate had placed in his hands a man who was so besotted with his blond tart that he was willing to pay $350,000 for a $100,000 emerald. That was a net profit of $250,000. Gregory Halston saw no need to burden the Parker brothers with the details of the transaction. It would be a simple matter to record the sale of the second emerald at $100,000 and pocket the rest. The extra $250,000 would set him up for life.

All he had to do now was to find a twin to the emerald he had sold to Mrs. P.J. Benecke.

It turned out to be even more difficult than Halston had anticipated. None of the jewelers he telephoned had anything in stock that resembled what he required. He placed advertisements in the London Times and the Financial Times, and he called Christie's and Sotheby's, and a dozen estate agents. In the next few days Halston was inundated with a flood of inferior emeralds, good emeralds, and a few first-quality emeralds, but none of them came close to what he was looking for.