Jewels (51 page)

“I know,” he confessed with a grin, “she scares me to death, but I adore her.” The late comte had been her third husband in fifteen years, and she was thirty-four years old, and she devoured men. And all she wanted now was Julian. She had bought half a million dollars in jewels in the past month, and she could certainly afford to pay for them, but she was still coming back for more, and die biggest jewel she wanted was him, as her plaything.

“Do you think you can manage that?” she asked him honestly. She was afraid he might get hurt, but so was he, so he was careful.

“For a while I play very carefully, Mother, I assure you.”

“Good.” She smiled at him. They were a busy lot, all of them, with their mischief and their mates, and their affairs. She only hoped Isabelle would make it through the second year of her finishing school in Switzerland. And in fact, she finished the year, and flew home on the day of Whitfield’s twenty-fifth anniversary party, which Sarah was giving at the château, for seven hundred guests from all over Europe. Every possible kind of press would be there, there would be fireworks, and most of Europe’s crowned heads, absolutely everyone who was anyone had been invited. Emanuelle and Julian had helped her organize everything. And Phillip and Nigel and Cecily were flying in for the party.

It was glorious. Everyone who was supposed to came, the food was exquisite, the fireworks extraordinary, and the jewels beautiful, most of them theirs. It was an absolutely perfect evening, and a major victory for Whitfield’s. The press raved, and even before they left, they all came to congratulate Sarah for her major coup, and she in turn thanked and congratulated all the people who helped her to put on the party.

“Has anyone seen Isabelle?” Sarah asked, already late into the night. She hadn’t been able to pick her up at the airport herself, but she had sent someone to pick her up and bring her to the party. She had seen her and kissed her when she arrived, before she was dressed, but she hadn’t seen her since then. The crowd was simply too large and she had too much to do to go and look for her. She had barely been able to find Phillip and Julian for most of the evening. Phillip had deserted his wife as the evening began, and seemed to spend a lot of time with a model who had done several ads for them, and he had been telling her how much he liked them, while dancing with her, and Julian had been very busy chasing some of his latest conquests, one of them married, and two of them slightly overaged, and all the others dazzling girls that every man in the place envied him, especially his brother.

They had sent Xavier to stay with friends for the night, so he wouldn’t get into too much mischief, although at nine and a half he was behaving better. Davy Crockett was no longer the thing. But James Bond was what really made him happy. Julian bought him every gimmick he could find, and had already snuck him into two of the movies.

Sarah had left a dress out for Isabelle. She had bought her a diaphanous pink organdy gown from the Emanuels in London, and she was sure that Isabelle would look like a fairy princess in it. She hoped that she wasn’t lying under a bush somewhere in that dress. She laughed to herself at the thought. But when she finally found her, there was no bush in sight, and she was dancing very sedately with an older man, and deep in conversation. Sarah glanced at her approvingly, and then waved to her and moved on. Her entire family looked wonderful that night, even her daughter-in-law, wearing a dress by Hardy Amies, and a hairdo by Alexandre. The Château de la Meuze looked like a fairyland. More than ever, she wished that William could see it. He would have been so proud of them, and maybe even of her … they had worked so hard on the château for so long. It was impossible to believe that it had ever been less than perfect, let alone ramshackle and rundown, as it had been when they found it. But that was all so long ago. Twenty-five years since Whitfield’s had begun … thirty-five since they had found the château on their honeymoon. Where did the time go?

The reviews of the party in the press were extraordinary the next day. Everyone agreed that it was the party of the century, and wished Whitfield’s another hundred years, as long as they were invited to the next anniversary party. And for the next few days, Sarah basked in the glory of the party. She saw very little of Isabelle during those days, who was catching up with old friends At eighteen she could drive, and enjoy greater freedom than she had in earlier years. But Sarah still wanted to keep an eye on her, and she was worried one afternoon when she couldn’t find her.

“She went out in the Rolls,” Xavier explained when she saw him.

“She did?” Sarah looked surprised. She was supposed to drive the Peugeot station wagon they kept for her, and other people at the château. “Do you know where she went, sweetheart?” Sarah asked him, thinking probably just to the village

“I think she was going to Paris,” he said, and sauntered off. There was a new horse in the stables and he wanted to see it. He still liked to pretend he was a cowboy sometimes, when he felt like it. The rest of the time he was an explorer.

She called Julian at the store and asked him to keep an eye out for her in case she came in. And sure enough, an hour later, she walked in, looking like a customer, in a very pretty emerald-green dress, and dark glasses.

Julian saw her on the camera in his office upstairs, and came downstairs to the shop as soon as he saw her.

“May I help you, Mademoiselle?” He asked in his most charming voice, and she laughed. “A diamond bracelet perhaps? An engagement ring? A little tiara?”

“A crown would be very nice.”

“But of course.” He continued to play the game with her. “Emerald, to match your dress, or diamond?”

“Actually, I’ll take both.” She beamed at him, and he asked her casually then what she was doing in town.

“Just meeting a friend for a drink.”

“You drove two hours and ten minutes for a drink?” he asked. “You must be very thirsty.”

“Very funny. I had nothing to do at home, so I thought I’d come up to town. In Italy, we used to do it all the time. You know, go to Cortina for lunch, or to go shopping.” She looked extremely sophisticated and very beautiful. She was truly a knockout.

“How chic,” he teased. “It’s a shame people aren’t as amusing here.” But he knew she was going to the South of France in a few weeks, and stay with one of her friends from school, in Cap Ferrat. She was still very spoiled, but undeniably very grown-up now. “Where are you meeting your friend?”

“The Ritz, for a drink.”

“Come on,” he said, coming around the counter. “I’ll drop you off. I have to take a diamond necklace to a viscountess.”

“I have my car,” she said coldly, “well, actually, Mother’s.” And he didn’t ask any questions.

“Then you can drop me off. I don’t. Mine is sick. I was going to take a taxi,” he lied, but he wanted to see who she was meeting. He went to the wrapping desk and picked up a very impressive box and put it in an envelope and followed Isabelle outside, and got in her car before she could object. He chatted as though it were perfectly normal for her to come to town to see a friend, and he kissed her when he left her at the front desk, and pretended to talk to the concierge, who knew him well and went along with the pretense.

“Can you pretend to take this box from me, Renaud? Just throw it away after I leave, but don’t let anyone see you.”

“I should give it to my wife,” he whispered back, “but maybe she’d expect more than the box. What are you doing today?”

“Following my sister,” he confided, still pretending to give his instructions. “She’s meeting someone at the bar, and I want to make sure it’s okay. She’s a very pretty girl.”

“So I saw. How old is she?”

“Just eighteen.”

“Oooh laaaa …” Renaud whistled sympathetically, “I’m glad she’s not my daughter … sorry …” he apologized quickly.

“Do you suppose you could go in and check if she’s sitting with anyone yet? And then I can go in and pretend to run into them by mistake. But I don’t want to waste it before he gets there.” He assumed she was meeting a man, it was unlikely she would drive two hours each way to meet a girlfriend.

“Sure,” Renaud agreed readily, just as a large bill slipped into his palm for good measure, but he was happy to help this time. Lord Whitfield was a nice guy, and a great tipper.

Julian pretended to write an extensive note at the concierge’s desk, and Renaud was back in a minute. “She’s there, and my friend, you got trouble.”

“Merde. Who is it? Do you know him?” He was beginning to fear it was some mafioso.

“Sure do. He’s here all the time, or at least a couple of times a year, working on some woman. Old women sometimes, young ones other times.”

“Do I know him?”

“Maybe. He bounces checks at least twice a trip, and never tips anyone unless someone else is looking.”

“He sounds charming.” Julian groaned.

“He’s poor as dirt. And I think he’s looking for money.”

“Great. Just what we needed. What’s his name?”

“You’ll love it. The Principe di Venezia e San Tebaldi. He says he’s one of the Princes of Venice. He probably is. There are about ten thousand of them over there.” Not like the British, or even the French. The Italians had more princes than dentists. “He’s a real jerk, but he looks good, and she’s young. She doesn’t know the difference. I think his first name is Lorenzo.”

“How distinguished.” Julian was anything but encouraged by what he had just heard.

“Just don’t expect a tip,” his friend reminded him, and Julian thanked him again, and sauntered into the bar, looking distracted and very / businesslike, and incredibly aristocratic. He was the Real Thing, Renaud always said, and he knew. He was right, of course, and Julian looked it. Not like the Prince of Pasta, as he called him.

“Oh, there you are … sorry…” Julian said as he pretended to bump into her with a huge grin. “I just wanted to kiss you good-bye.” He glanced over at the man she was with, and smiled broadly, pretending to be absolutely thrilled to meet him. “Hello… terribly sorry to interrupt … I’m Isabelle’s brother, Julian Whitfield,” he said easily, extending a hand, looking comfortable and relaxed, as his sister squirmed slightly. But the prince wasn’t bothered at all. He was charming and unctuous and oily.

“Piacere
… Lorenzo di San Tebaldi. … I’m so happy to meet you. You have a most charming sister.”

“Thank you. I completely agree.” He kissed her lightly then, and apologized for leaving, but he had to get back to the shop for a meeting. He left without ever looking back, and despite his brilliant performance, Isabelle knew instantly that she was in big trouble.

Julian winked at the concierge on his way out and then he hurried back to the office. He called his mother as soon as he got in, but the conversation was not reassuring.

“Maman, I think we may have a bit of a problem.”

“What is it? Or should I say who?”

“She was with a gentleman, of I’d say about fifty years, whom according to the concierge at the Ritz, is well known to him, and a fortune hunter of sorts. He’s very pretty, but he ain’t much, as they say.”

“Merde,” Sarah said bluntly at the other end. “Now what do I do with her? Lock her up again?”

“She’s getting a little old for that. It won’t be easy this time.”

“I know.” She gave an exasperated sigh. Isabelle had been home for all of two days and she was already in trouble. “I really don’t know what to do with her.”

“Neither do I. But I don’t like the looks of this guy.”

“What’s his name?” As though that mattered.

“Principe Lorenzo di San Tebaldi. I think he’s from Venice.”

“Christ. Just what we need. An Italian prince. My God, she’s such a fool.”

“I can’t disagree with you there. But she sure is a knockout.”

“More’s the pity,” her mother exclaimed in despair.

“What do you want me to do? Go back and drag her out of there by the hair?”

“I probably should ask you to do that. But I think you should leave her alone. She’ll come home eventually, and I’ll try to reason with her.”

“You’re a good sport.”

“No.” Sarah confessed. “I’m just tired.”

“Well, don’t be discouraged. I think you’re terrific.”

“Shows what you know.” But she was touched by the kind words, she needed them to fuel herself for the battle she knew would come when Isabelle came home, which she did, with the Rolls at midnight. It meant she had left Paris at ten o’clock, which was pretty reasonable for her. But still, her mother was far from pleased as Isabelle walked across the main floor of the château, and Sarah came downstairs to meet her. She had heard her come in, and she had been waiting.

“Good evening, Isabelle. Did you have a nice time?”

“Very, thank you very much.” She was nervous, but cool, as she faced her mother.

“How’s my car?”

“Very nice … I … sorry, I meant to ask. I hope you didn’t need it.”

“Actually,” Sarah said calmly, “I didn’t. Why don’t you come into the kitchen for a cup of tea. You must be tired after all that driving.” All of which scared Isabelle even more. This was fatal. Her mother wasn’t screaming, but her tone was frigid.

They sat down at the kitchen table, and Sarah made her an infusion of mint, but Isabelle didn’t give a damn about it, as she sat there. “Your brother Julian called me this afternoon,” Sarah said after a moment, and then looked into her daughter’s eyes.

“I thought he would,” Isabelle said nervously, playing with the cup with her fingers. “I was just meeting an old friend from Italy… one of the teachers.”

“Really?” Her mother said. “What an interesting story. I checked the guest list, and he was here the other night, as someone’s guest. The Principe di San Tebaldi. I saw you dancing with him, didn’t I? He’s very handsome.” Isabelle nodded, not sure what to say to her. She didn’t dare argue with her this time, she just waited to hear what her punishment was, but her mother had more to say to her, which was agony for Isabelle as she waited.

“Unfortunately,” Sarah went on, “he has a rather unattractive reputation…. He comes to Paris from time to time … looking for ladies with a bit of a fortune. Sometimes he does very well, and sometimes not so well. But in any case, my dear, he is not someone you want to go out with.” She didn’t complain about his age or the fact that Isabelle had gone to town without permission, she tried to talk to her reasonably and point out that her friend was a fortune hunter, and Sarah thought that might impress her, but it didn’t.