Chapter 27 In Which I Take Charge #2
There was first a great deal of apology for the attempted fraud.
“We at Christie’s are most … hmm … shocked,” he said, blinking through thick spectacles.
“Most shocked and regretful.” If he’d ever set foot on a destroyer, I’m convinced he would have tripped over a pile of rope the first day. Or possibly fallen overboard.
After my rather neutral response, he said, blinking very rapidly, “Should you … hmm … choose to entrust Christie’s with your valuable … harrumph … piece, Your Highness, the firm is prepared to absorb the cost of the insurance during the time it remains with us.”
“Is this a cost I would otherwise pay, then?” I asked. “And please call me Mrs. Stark. I am no longer ‘Your Highness,’ you see.”
“Of course. Mrs. Stark. Of course.” Mr. Penderleigh mopped his brow, while Mr. Stark, across the table, looked rather startled. Why? Had he not quite believed that I was a princess?
Mr. Penderleigh went on. “It is our policy, yes, that the seller pay the cost of the insurance. The policy of any auction house. You will, of course, pay the … hmm … marketing costs, for the advertising of the piece and so forth, and a proportion of the cost of the sale event itself, but these costs will be deducted from your proceeds.”
“But you can give me an idea, I’m sure,” I said, “of how much the costs will be.”
“Yes. Of course. This is, naturally, if … hmm … we agree to take the piece. If I could see it, please?”
I unlocked the train case, and the security guard, who was standing in front of the closed door in a most alert manner, his legs apart and his hands clasped in front of him, stiffened.
Mr. Penderleigh unlocked his satchel and removed a roll of thick black felt, which he unrolled onto the conference table.
He then pulled a jeweler’s loupe from his pocket and donned a pair of thin white gloves before taking the velvet pouch from me in an almost reverential manner and carefully removing the necklace.
Silence for a minute. Two minutes. More.
We got a great deal more “Hmm,” and some clucking of his tongue, too, and considerable blinking.
Nobody would ever be charmed into a fraudulent engagement with Mr. Penderleigh—if he were married at all, it must be to a thin, very proper lady who enjoyed crosswords and cats and probably owned a valuable tea service that was her pride and joy—but he was a most believable antiquities expert.
He looked up at last, when the words were all but bursting out of my throat. “Very fine,” he said. “Hmm, very fine indeed. I have the reproductions of the two photographs, of your grandparents and great-grandparents, but if I could see the originals?”
More study, and again with my Kennkarte, and he sat up with a sigh and asked, “And the other pieces of the parure? Where are they?”
“The brooch,” I said, “I sold in Germany.”
“May I ask how much you received?”
“Nine hundred dollars.”
This was almost too much for him. He clucked, he shook his head, and finally, he blew his nose into his enormous white handkerchief as if the price brought him to tears. “Most unfortunate,” he said, in a voice more suited to a deathbed. “Most unfortunate indeed.”
“Yes,” I said, “but I needed the money very badly, and in the circumstances—”
“Of course,” he said. “Of course.” And sighed. “I fear that many families were cheated of the full value of their precious belongings during this time.”
“Or had them stolen altogether,” I said, “like the Jews. And even my own family, you know …”
“Ah, the Grünes Gewolbe,” he said, shaking his head again and mopping his brow. “Oh, what a treasure-house it was! Almost the oldest museum in the world, you know. Only the Vatican and the Hermitage, in Russia, are older.”
“I do know, in fact.”
“Of course. Of course. I had the great privilege of visiting it in 1936, in the company of the curator. What a loss, yes. A terrible loss. The paintings, too. Is there no prospect of their return?”
“None at all, I’m afraid. But of course, I’m an American now, and have many compensations.
” He looked as if he didn’t believe a word of it, and I wanted to laugh.
Instead, I went on, “As for the parure, the tiara remains hidden in the Residenzschloss, for I was unable to take it with me. Someday, perhaps, I’ll be able to retrieve it.
Or, of course, not. The earrings, I have still.
” Another foray into the train case, another pouch handed over. “These, however, I will keep.”
Another roll of felt, more close examination. “Very fine,” he said, with a reverential sigh. “Very fine indeed. Are you quite sure that you don’t wish to sell these? Even these two minor pieces would increase the value of the set significantly.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “These are the last things I have, you see, from my mother.”
“She died, I believe, in the firebombing.” He shook his head. “Terrible. Terrible. Dresden, too … such a jewel-box of a city.”
“Yes.” I kept my voice steady, grateful for Joe’s strength beside me. “She and my father both. And many others. Many, many others.”
“Most tragic. Of course. Sentiment—that is beyond price.” Upon which he returned the earrings carefully to their pouch and handed them over with a regretful sigh.
I suspected that he did put a price on sentiment, and that his price was rather low.
“Still, I believe we can do very well for you. Oh, yes. Very well.”
“How long will it take?” I asked.
“Oh, some months. The necklace will be included in an auction of our finest pieces, and we’ll wait until we have a collection that will draw the sort of interest such a piece requires. I will, of course, keep you informed of our progress.”
“And the amount? Have you any idea?”
“Oh, now, there, you know,” he said, “it is most difficult to say. Royal provenance … oh, yes, there is value there. How much value, though … The Bonaparte connection, hmm, yes. I would expect the reserve on such a piece—the price below which one won’t sell, you know—to be somewhere around …
hmm … I will say—only estimating, of course, based on the values of the jewels themselves, and the craftsmanship—by Nitot, court jeweler to Napoleon—one sees the mark of the house of Chaumet most clearly on the clasp …
very fortunate, you know—between … hmm … let us say, twenty to thirty thousand.”
“Twenty to thirty thousand dollars?” I asked, when I had my breath back.
“Oh, pounds, dear lady.” Now he was polishing his glasses. “Oh, certainly, pounds.”