The following day, I called Cartier’s and asked if Mr. Cartier was in.
“He is. Would you like to speak to him, Madame?” Mr. Fontaine asked.
“I would, but—oh, I have to call back. My maid has just come in with a message.”
There was no one there with me. Margery wasn’t due that day, but I needed a fast excuse to get off the phone. I didn’t want to speak to Mr. Cartier, I just wanted to know if he was in the store. My first step required his absence.
The next day, I went through a similar charade, this time altering my voice. And the day after. On the third day, I was told that Mr. Cartier was out for the afternoon.
Finally, what I had been waiting for.
I opened my jewelry box and removed my pearls. They were a luminous, creamy white. The necklace had been a gift from my mother on my twenty-first birthday, and I never wore it unless I was in her company. While I appreciated its beauty, I found it too formal, too uniform. I much preferred the opal beads my father had bought me, with their dazzling whorls of color inside each perfect orb. The way they flashed orange and green, purple and blue, always amazed me. My father had told me the stones reminded him of me. Bold and different, he’d said.
In the kitchen, I took a knife and tried to scratch one of the pearls up near the clasp but couldn’t get a good enough grip to do any damage. I found a jar and tried to smash the pearl but only managed a dent. Next, I tried with a frying pan and actually wound up smashing three of the pearls as well as the clasp.
The damage done, I placed the necklace back in its leather box, which I put in my purse. I dressed for the meeting and then walked the two blocks from my penthouse to 712 Fifth Avenue.
Upstairs, I was greeted by the always efficient and formal Mr. Fontaine, who asked if he could help me.
“I have a damaged pearl necklace. I’d like to have it repaired and restrung.”
“Of course, Miss Garland. I’d be happy to take them and give you a receipt.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to the jeweler myself. These pearls mean a lot to me, and I want to talk to him about how he is going to repair them.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He acted as if there was nothing strange about my request at all. And perhaps there wasn’t. I imagined they saw all kinds of eccentric women at Cartier’s.
Within a few minutes, Jacob Asher emerged and approached me at the table by the window.
“Miss Garland,” he said with a slight bow. “How can I help?”
“Well, as you can see, these pearls and their clasp are damaged.”
He pulled out the seat beside me. “May I?”
“Of course,” I said.
He sat down, pulled out a jeweler’s loupe, and proceeded to inspect the pearls and the clasp.
I found myself sniffing the air to see if I could catch a whiff of his cologne—and I could. I let myself ride the scent for a moment, lost in its particular beauty. Like the man, I couldn’t help thinking. Handsome was a more typical adjective to use to describe a male. Rugged was another popular word. Virile or strong were often used as well. Beautiful? Rarely. But those other words didn’t match Mr. Asher’s grace and aesthetic features. He was beautiful the way the Parthenon was. The way a Michelangelo sculpture was. The way a Beethoven symphony was. I shook my head. What was it about this particular man that so preoccupied me? His appearance? His exotic accent? The scent he wore?
I was still searching for answers when he finished inspecting my necklace.
“Yes,” he said. “I do see.”
“My mother gave me these pearls, and they mean a lot to me,” I lied, and then wished I hadn’t. “Well, to tell you the truth,” I said, “actually, they mean a lot to her. These…” I pointed to the opals I was wearing. “These opals are what mean a lot to me. My father gave them to me. He bought them for me here.”
“They are stunning. I met your father several times when he shopped here. And I helped him pick out those very beads. He had a fine eye. I’m sorry we lost him… that you lost him,” he said with so much sympathy, and missed a beat.
I looked at him, and our eyes met. I knew in that instant that in his life, he had experienced the same sorrow I had.
For a moment, I forgot what I was there to do. Jacob Asher’s words had reached out and held me, comforted me for a moment, and it had been most disconcerting. That he’d met my father and helped with the selection of the necklace I treasured so much seemed portentous.
“These three pearls should be replaced. Especially if your mother notices them.” He smiled. “I’ve met her as well. One wouldn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Garland.”
I laughed. My mother would have said he didn’t know his place and his comment had been presumptuous. It was. But that was just one more reason I knew I liked him.
“Yes, so the thing is, I do want them fixed, but I’d like to watch you repair and restring them.”
His eyebrows arched. “That’s unusual.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. But my father got great pleasure from watching craftsmen work and often took me with him to see for myself. I’ve watched designers pin patterns in ateliers in Paris, shoemakers pick out leather skins and shape them into footwear in Florence, artists paint silk in a fan factory in Milan, others dipping marble paper in Venice… but I’ve never had the opportunity to see a jeweler at work. I suppose I’m carrying on my father’s tradition. It makes me feel closer to him.” I surprised myself with my outspokenness. Mr. Asher wasn’t a confidant. I didn’t need to give him a reason. And besides, the real reason I wanted to watch him was so I could try to get him to talk about Mr. Cartier’s flights of fancy about the Hope.
My words clearly struck some kind of nerve with Mr. Asher. I didn’t know how I knew it, but I saw it in his eyes and in the way he took a breath before telling me that, of course, I could watch him repair the piece.
“In the meantime, I’ll work with our merchants to find matching pearls and stones for the clasp and will send a note when we have an assortment for you to look at.”
“That would be most helpful, Mr. Asher,” I said, and stood.
That was on Thursday. On Tuesday morning, I got a note from Mr. Cartier saying that my pearls were in and would I stop by at my convenience.
I sent a note back saying that I didn’t feel well and would he mind sending Mr. Asher over with the pearls and giving him the address of the penthouse. I would be at home after two.