Danielle Steel: Jewels

THE CRITICS LOVE

DANIELLE STEEL’S JEWELS“A CROWNING ACHIEVEMENT WHICH REPRESENTS A NEW VITALITY IN STEELS ART. JEWELS IS A WORK OF SPLENDOUR WHICH IS FOREVER CAUGHT IN THE NEXUS OF TIME AND LOVE.”— The New England Reviews of Books “A smashing story of a good woman triumphing over adversity.”— Ocala Star-Banner “ENGROSSING…. Take it on your beach vacation and count the number of others handling the green book jacket. A, lot!”— San Antonio Express News “Dukes … jewels … and French chateaux … JEWELS can be counted on to shoot off the shelves!”— Kirkus Reviews “Our hands-down choice! … JEWELS is a standout.… Steel has established herself as a best-seller author … and the reason is simple enough. She knows how to weave a story and that’s no small achievement!”— Bookviews A MAIN SELECTION OF

THE LITERARY GUILD

AND

THE DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB

PRAISE FOR

DANIELLE STEEL“STEEL IS ONE OF THE BEST!”— Los Angeles Times “THE PLOTS OF DANIELLE STEEL’S NOVELS TWIST AND WEAVE AS INCREDIBLE STORIES UNFOLD TO THE GLEE AND DELIGHT OF HER ENORMOUS READING PUBLIC.”—United Press International“Ms. Steel’s fans won’t be disappointed!”— The New York Times Book Review “Steel writes convincingly about universal human emotions.”— Publishers Weekly “One of the world’s most popular authors.”— The Baton Rouge Sun

Books by Danielle Steel

MIRACLE THE GIFT IMPOSSIBLE ACCIDENT ECHOES VANISHED SECOND CHANCE MIXED BLESSINGS RANSOM NO GREATER LOVE SAFE HARBOUR HEARTBEAT JOHNNY ANGEL MESSAGE FROM NAM DATING GAME DADDY ANSWERED PRAYERS STAR SUNSET IN ST. TROPEZ ZOYA THE COTTAGE KALEIDOSCOPE THE KISS FINE THINGS LEAP OF FAITH WANDERLUST LONE EAGLE SECRETS JOURNEY FAMILY ALBUM THE HOUSE ON HOPE STREET FULL CIRCLE THE WEDDING CHANGES IRRESISTIBLE FORCES THURSTON HOUSE GRANNY DAN CROSSINGS BITTERSWEET ONCE IN A LIFETIME MIRROR IMAGE A PERFECT STRANGER HIS BRIGHT LIGHT: REMEMBRANCE THE STORY OF NICK TRAINA PALOMINO THE KLONE AND I LOVE: POEMS THE LONG ROAD HOME THE RING THE GHOST LOVING SPECIAL DELIVERY TO LOVE AGAIN THE RANCH SUMMER’S END SILENT HONOR SEASON OF PASSION MALICE THE PROMISE FIVE DAYS IN PARIS NOW AND FOREVER LIGHTNING PASSION’S PROMISE WINGS GOING HOME Visit the Danielle Steel Web site at:

www.daniellesteel.com

DELL PUBLISHING

TO POPEYE

There is only one real love in a lifetime, only one, that matters, that grows, and that lasts forever … in life … in death …together, as one … sweet love, you are mine. My one and only love … forever.

With all my heart,

Olive

a cognizant original v5 release october 06 2010

Chapter 1

HE air was so still in the brilliant summer sun that you could hear the birds, and every sound for miles, as Sarah sat peacefully looking out her window. The grounds were brilliantly designed, perfectly manicured, the gardens laid out by Le Nôtre, as Versailles' had been, the trees towering canopies of green framing the park of the Château de la Meuze. The château itself was four hundred years old, and Sarah, Duchess of Whitfield, had lived here for fifty-two years now. She had come here with William, when she was barely more than a girl, and she smiled at the memory as she watched the caretaker’s two dogs chase each other into the distance. Her smile grew as she thought of how much Max was going to enjoy the two young sheepdogs.

It always gave her a feeling of peace, sitting here, looking out at the grounds they had worked so hard on. It was easy to recall the desperation of the war, the endless hunger, the fields stripped of everything they might have had to give them. It had all been so difficult then … so different … and it was odd, it never seemed so long ago … fifty years … half a century. She looked down at her hands, at the two enormous, perfectly square emerald rings she almost always wore, and it still startled her to see the hands of an old woman. They were still beautiful hands, graceful hands, useful hands, thank God, but they were the hands of a seventy-five-year-old woman. She had lived well, and long; too long, she thought sometimes … too long without William … and yet there was always more, more to see, to do, to think about, and plan, more to oversee with their children. She was grateful for the years she had had, and even now, she didn’t have the sense that anything was over, or complete yet. There was always some unexpected turn in the road, some event that couldn’t have been foreseen, and somehow needed her attention. It was odd to think that they still needed her, they needed her less than they knew, and yet they still turned to her often enough to make her feel important to them, and still somehow useful. And there were their children too. She smiled as she thought of them, and stood, still looking for them out the window. She could see them as they arrived, from here … see their faces as they smiled, or laughed, or looked annoyed as they stepped from their cars, and looked expectantly up at her windows. It was almost as if they always knew she would be there, watching for them. No matter what else she had to do, on the afternoon they were to arrive, she always found something to do in her elegant little upstairs sitting room, as she waited. And even after all these years, with all of them grown, there was always a little thrill of excitement, to see their faces, hear their tales, listen to their problems. She worried about them, and loved them, just as she always had, and in a way, each one of them was a tiny piece of the enormous love she had shared with William. What a remarkable man he had been, larger than any fantasy, than any dream. Even after the war, he was a force to be reckoned with, a man that everyone who knew him would always remember.

Sarah walked slowly away from the window, past the white-marble fireplace, where she often sat on cold winter afternoons, thinking, writing notes, or even writing a letter to one of her children. She spoke to them frequently on the telephone, in Paris, London, Rome, Munich, Madrid, and yet she had an enormous fondness for writing.

She stood looking down at a table draped in an ancient, faded brocade, a beautiful piece of antique workmanship that she had found years ago, in Venice, and she gently touched the framed photographs there, picking them up at random to see them better, and as she looked at them, it was suddenly so easy to remember the exact moment … their wedding day, William laughing at something someone had said, as she looked up at him, smiling shyly. There was so much happiness evident there, so much joy that she had almost thought her heart would break with it the day of her wedding. She wore a beige lace-and-satin dress, with a very stylish beige lace hat with a small veil, and she had carried an armload of small, tea-colored orchids. They had been married at her parents’ home, at a small ceremony, with her parents’ favorite friends beside them. Almost a hundred friends had come to join them for a quiet, but very elegant, reception. There had been no bridesmaids this time, no ushers, no enormous wedding party, no youthful excess, only her sister to attend her, in a beautifully draped blue-satin dress with a stunning hat that had been made for her by Lily Daché. Their mother had worn a short dress in emerald-green. Sarah smiled at the memory … her mother’s dress had been almost exactly the color of her own two extraordinary emeralds. How pleased with her life her mother would have been, if only she had lived to see it.