Property of a Noblewoman (9 page)

Jane had to sign several sets of papers to take responsibility for emptying the box, on behalf of the surrogate’s court. And then Phillip had to sign another set to her, acknowledging receipt of the twenty-two pieces of jewelry he would take with him to consign to Christie’s. It took several minutes to get all the papers in order, and then Jane took out the jewelry boxes and handed them to Phillip one by one. He had signed a copy of the inventory as well. Jane then put all the documents in a large manila envelope she had brought with her, with the seal of the surrogate’s court on it. She put the letters, passports, and bank statements in it. And then she and Phillip sifted through the photographs. He selected half a dozen that he thought would reproduce well. One of the count and countess in front of the château. Another of them in evening clothes, where she was wearing the sapphire necklace and earrings. A beautiful one of Marguerite alone, also in an evening gown. Another of them on horseback, and one skiing. And a sweet one of her in the tiara, looking very young. The photographs established them as a golden couple, and had all the elegance and glamour of a bygone era. And then Jane sat looking at the photographs of the little girl.

“I wonder who she was,” Jane said softly.

“Maybe a younger sister,” Phillip suggested.

“Or a child who died. Maybe that’s why Marguerite looked so sad,” Jane guessed about the countess, frustrated that they would never know. There was so much they didn’t know about the woman who had owned the jewels. Why had she left the States during the war, and gone to Italy? How had she gotten there, since her entry point into Europe had been England via Lisbon, according to the stamp in her passport? How had she met the count, and when had they fallen in love, and what had she done between 1965 when the count died, and 1994 when she moved back to New York? And what had made her come back? The address on her documents had been a Roman one after 1974, so what had happened to the château? Jane wished that there was someone who could tell them and explain it all. Marguerite had left no trace of her past except the photographs, two sets of letters, her addresses at different times, and the jewels.

“I guess some questions are never answered, and some mysteries are never solved,” Phillip said thoughtfully, as he watched Jane put the photographs of the little girl into the envelope of documents and photographs he wasn’t borrowing. Jane sealed the envelope carefully so nothing would fall out, and she had written Marguerite’s full name on it, to turn over to Harriet when she got back, as her documents had to be preserved for seven years, in case relatives eventually turned up. Jane didn’t know what would happen to them after that, if they would be archived or destroyed. It made her sad again to think about it. And she had all the releases Phillip had signed to give to Harriet as well. And as they stood up in the now familiar cubicle, the security guard from Christie’s picked up one of the leather bags. Phillip picked up the other one, and Jane followed them out. The empty safe deposit box was sitting on the desk. Hal came to say good-bye to them as they left. He almost seemed like a friend now, in this unusual adventure they had embarked on, to auction off Mrs. Pignelli’s jewels.

Phillip offered Jane a ride again, and she declined. He promised to call her when they had reproduced the photographs, and return them to her at the court. They drove away a moment later as Jane headed toward the subway, with the thick envelope in her arms. She was feeling pensive, as she thought about the documents in her possession, and the jewelry Phillip had just taken. The last remnants of Marguerite di San Pignelli’s life were about to be sold. It was a somber thought as she hurried down the subway steps to go back to the court.

ON THURSDAY, PHILLIP’S
mother called and asked if he wanted to go to a black tie event with her at the Metropolitan Museum that evening. It was an elegant dinner that the Costume Institute gave every year, and she was on the board. Her sister was supposed to go with her, but she canceled at the last minute, with a bad cold. Winnie was a hypochondriac, and always had some minor ailment or other, and she didn’t like to go out when she was sick.

“I’m sorry to ask you so late,” his mother apologized. “But I have the tickets, and I hate to go alone.” He thought about it for a minute and then agreed. It was nice to be able to do something for her. Valerie was very independent, led a busy life, and rarely asked anything of her son. And she told him she thought he’d enjoy it. He had been to the same dinner with her once a few years before, right after his father died. It was an impressive event, and he knew that the tickets cost a fortune. It was one of the nice things she could do with the money she got from her husband’s insurance. Now she went every year, and treated her sister to the ticket. His aunt Winnie would never have spent the money, although she could afford to, far more so than his mother.

He picked Valerie up at her apartment that night, and she was wearing a simple black evening gown, which showed off her still trim figure, and a silver fox jacket that she had had for years and it still looked glamorous on her. Seeing her, he was suddenly reminded of the photographs of the countess that he had picked up from the photographer that afternoon. His mother looked nothing like her, but they had the same aristocratic elegance of another time. And he was proud to be with her, as she took his arm and followed him to the town car he had hired for the evening.

“Darling, you spoiled me!” she said, smiling at him like a delighted child. “I thought we’d take a cab.”

“Certainly not,” he said, as he slipped onto the backseat beside her. He was wearing a well-cut tuxedo he’d had made on Savile Row in London, the last time he’d been there for an auction.

“You look very handsome,” she commented, as they headed uptown to the Met, and when they arrived, he saw that the cream of New York was there in full regalia, including the governor and the mayor, and it was in fact the glittering event she had promised.

They were seated at a table that included one of the curators of the Costume Institute, a well-known fashion designer, and a famous artist, and the conversation was lively. Phillip was next to a young woman who had produced a successful play on Broadway, and they talked about theater and art all evening. He would have been interested in her, and she was very attractive, but he was disappointed to discover that she was there with her husband, who was a writer, and had just published his first book. It reminded him of how active his mother was, and the crowd she moved in. She was a very unassuming woman, but she had a natural grace that was timeless and ageless, and he had noticed more than one man admiring her that evening. They were among the last to leave, and talked animatedly about the party on the way home.

“I had a terrific time,” he said, and meant it. “The woman I sat next to was great, and I thought the man you sat next to was very nice.”

“It’s always a fun night,” she said, still lively and full of energy. “I didn’t even have a chance to ask you what you’ve been up to. How are you doing with the sale of that woman’s jewelry? The one married to the Italian count,” she asked him with a warm smile.

“The surrogate’s court consigned the pieces to us on Tuesday. We’ve been photographing them all week. I don’t know what it is, but there is something about that woman that is so haunting. Maybe because we know so little about her. It’s fertile ground for one’s imagination. Are you sure you’re not related to her? It’s so odd that you both have the same maiden name.”

“Along with about ten million other people with Anglo-Saxon origins. I’m sure the New York phone book has ten pages of Pearsons, not to mention Boston. But if I claim her as a relative, do I get some of her jewelry?” She grinned at her son mischievously.

“All of it,” he said happily.

“What was her first name?” Valerie asked casually. She didn’t have even the remotest thought that they were related. Just as she said, it was a very common name, and she had no relatives who had gone to Italy and married a count around that time. It was the sort of thing she would have known. No one in her family had ever lived in Europe. They were all firmly planted in New York, and had been for generations.

“It was Marguerite,” Phillip answered as they drove downtown, and Valerie looked surprised.

“Now that is a coincidence,” she said brightly, but still unimpressed. “There were dozens of them in our family. It was my oldest sister’s name, and my grandmother’s and great-grandmother’s. It was a popular name in those days, at the beginning of the twentieth century. And I think Pearson is almost as common as Smith. What a shame.” She laughed as she looked at Phillip, who was surprised as well. He had only heard his great-grandmother referred to as Maggie, and never knew his great-great-grandmother’s first name. “You’ll have to show me the catalog when you have it. I’d love to see her jewels,” his mother said wistfully.

“I’ll give you a catalog when I have them. She was very beautiful, and the count was very dashing. I wish we knew more about them, but we just don’t. I have to research the jewelry now. Cartier keeps records on every piece they ever made. I’m going to ask them to check their archives to see if they have any information that might help the sale. I have to go to Paris next month, and I was planning to go and see them myself, to look for the working drawings in their archives.”

“Now, that sounds very exciting,” his mother commented as the car stopped in front of her building. The doorman opened the door for her, and she kissed Phillip, thanked him for joining her, and disappeared into the building. And on the drive uptown, he thought of Marguerite again, and the email he wanted to send to Cartier, and then his mind drifted to Jane. He was going to return the original photographs to her the next day. He wondered if it was an adequate excuse to invite her to lunch. He wanted to see her again. He still hadn’t mentioned her to his mother, but there was nothing to say except that she was a temporary clerk at the surrogate’s court. He knew nothing else about her except that she was graduating from law school. But she seemed intelligent and pleasant to talk to, and he wanted to know more.

He was sitting at his desk the next day, thinking about Jane, with the photographs of Marguerite in front of him, when he decided to call her, and use that as an excuse. He had nothing to lose, and maybe something to gain if she agreed to lunch.

He called the phone number he had for her at the surrogate’s court, and Jane answered on the first ring.

“Jane Willoughby,” she said in a smooth, even voice, and for a fraction of an instant, he didn’t know what to say, and then told her he’d called to tell her the photographs were ready to send back to her.

“I could messenger them over to you today. Or if you like,” he said, trying to sound calm, “I could give them to you at lunch.” He suddenly felt foolish for asking and was sure she’d refuse. “Or does that sound ridiculous?” he asked, with the odd sensation of being fourteen years old. He hadn’t been on a date in three months, and it seemed awkward. Why would she accept?

“That sounds very nice.” Jane seemed surprised. “I could pick the photographs up,” she said, feeling strange too. But she was sure it was innocent, and only business. Phillip was just being cordial, after their common interest in Marguerite.

“I’ll give them to you at lunch,” he said, since she hadn’t rebuffed him, hung up, or laughed into the phone, which he had almost expected her to do. He wished he were free that day, but he wasn’t. He had to attend a department meeting at one o’clock, to discuss upcoming sales. “What about Monday? Does that work for you?”

“Yes, it does,” she said pleasantly, reminding herself not to assume that he meant anything by it. It was just lunch.

“If you meet me at the office, there’s a nice little restaurant nearby. I’ll keep the photographs in the safe till then.”

“That would be fine,” she said with a lilt in her voice, and then added, “Have a nice weekend,” after he told her to come to Christie’s at noon.

“Thank you – you too.”

They hung up a moment later, and Phillip sat staring out the window, thinking about her, wondering what she’d be doing until he saw her on Monday, and if she had a boyfriend or was unattached.

The next day Jane was still feeling slightly awkward about their lunch date, and mentioned it casually to Alex when they met for lunch at Balthazar, and were going to a movie afterward. John was with his study group in the Hamptons for the weekend. It didn’t sit well with Jane, but she hadn’t complained about it, knowing it would only heighten the tension between them. He was paying for a share of the house but never invited Jane to join him. He said it was exclusively for the use of the study group.

“I think I may have done something stupid yesterday,” Jane confessed as they finished burgers that were sinfully good.

“Like what? Slept with your boss?” Alex looked amused.

“My boss is a woman, and she’s hell on wheels. Sometimes I think she hates me,” Jane said about Harriet, and was thinking about Phillip’s invitation to lunch. “No, I met a guy over this case I’ve been working on. He works at Christie’s, in the jewelry department, and we consigned some jewelry to him to sell for the state. I’ve only met him twice, and he invited me to lunch.”

“And you turned him down?” Alex was instantly disappointed.

“No, I accepted. I’m having lunch with him on Monday. But he’s not some fusty old guy from an auction house. I hope he didn’t mean it as a date.”

“Are you kidding? Is he young, single, and attractive?” Jane nodded with a smile on her face.

“He’s young, and attractive. I don’t know if he’s single but I assume he is. He acts like it.”

“Then why the hell not have lunch with him? Why wouldn’t you? Just go to lunch,” Alex said with a determined look. “You’re not going to have sex with him at a restaurant. You need some distraction at least, and male attention. What’s he like?” Alex was curious about him, and pleased for her friend. Her relationship with John was such a wasteland at the moment. She felt that an opportunity like that was long overdue. Alex thought she needed to meet other men, and John had been miserable to be with for months.