FORTY-NINE

Kezia

This time Claude kept her waiting for only half an hour. She was full of regret for not telling him she had a plane to catch—Nathaniel had moved his flight and he and Victor were back at the apartment, waiting for her—but until the new clasps were in hand, she didn’t want to make any extra demands on Claude. When he emerged from his office, he wore the same outfit as last time with a crucial difference in pant length—the waist was still sky-high but the hem was cut off at the knees. It was almost June. Claude’s gams needed to breathe. They also had a slight sheen to them. They reminded Kezia of a cadaver’s legs.

“T’as perdu ton chapeau, Madeline?”

“What?”

She tried not to stare at the legs.

“Rien.” Claude stood before her, stirring his tea.

“Wait here, please,” he instructed her.

She sat. Not much had changed since last they spoke. The dust levels were the same. No worse, no better. As if the dust had made a collective decision: Look, we’ve made our point here. More layers of us isn’t going to solve anything.

Claude returned, putting a cardboard box on the reception desk and unceremoniously cutting it open with his thumbnail. He pulled out one of the new clasps in a small plastic bag, tapping the contents into Kezia’s hand.

“’S okay? Up to the standards of Rachel Simone?”

It was. They were better than the Starlight Express deserved. Kezia spun one of them slowly between her thumb and her forefinger. Claude had redone the cloisonné beautifully. No drippy moons and stars. She could tell immediately, when she squeezed the metal prong open, that it was secure. No more scraping sounds, no more jiggling, no more Midwestern ladies reaching up to find their necklaces had vanished.

“It’s perfect,” she said to the clasp.

“Good.” Claude patted her on the back a little too hard. “Because now you have a full order of them.”

He resealed the box and told her he would get her a bag. Instead of a secure nylon case, he unfolded a worn Galeries Lafayette shopping bag with corners that were about to give. As if she were picking up resoled shoes. Kezia smiled. She would transfer the clasps to her carry-on once she was in the hallway.

Claude handed her the bag. “Madeline, you seem interested in jewelry.”

“I am,” she said.

Was this not obvious? Why else would she be standing here?

“In which case, you should consider a career in jewelry.”

Then he retreated into his office, taking the jar of sugar cubes with him.