Chapter Eighteen #2
Miss Zverev answered in Russian, then turned back to Daisy.
“Madame, the prince my father wishes to see the jewels before I agree to make design for them. He is very particular about my work. I would like to make for you, but in this I will do as he decides. They will be quite safe with my father and Vasily Ivanovich. You do not object?”
“Not at all,” said Daisy, hoping that her stones came up to scratch. She didn’t care so much about them in themselves, though she was more interested than she had been. What she wanted was an excuse to come again.
On a pretty silver tray from beneath the counter, the aquamarines disappeared beyond the curtain.
“Vasily Ivanovich is a skilled gold- and silversmith,” said Sakari. “Has he been with you for many years?”
“All my life. His grandfather was a serf in the household of my grandfather. My father obtained for him an apprenticeship in the workshop of Fabergé.”
“The Fabergé who made the Imperial Easter eggs?” Daisy asked. “I’ve seen pictures. Not surprising that he’s good, then. One of my editors might like an article about the eggs. I wonder where they are now.”
“The Soviet thieves have some,” said Zina?da contemptuously, “and most of the rest are in the hands of American millionaires.” Her contempt for American millionaires sounded not much less than for the Soviet thieves.
“The rest—who knows? They are lost. Stolen by the rabble and broken up to be sold bit by bit, probably.”
“That would be a great pity.”
The goldsmith returned with the aquamarines, closing the curtain behind him. He set the small tray on the counter and spoke to Zina?da. When she demurred at whatever he said, he urged the point, addressing her—Daisy thought—as “Zinochka.” She shrugged.
“My father has some very fine small diamonds. He suggests a setting that will surround the largest aquamarine with these brilliants.”
Daisy foresaw what was supposed to be a minor expenditure for the sake of sleuthing ballooning into a financial disaster. “Oh no, I don’t really…”
Zina?da lowered her voice. “This is not what you want. Would make again heavy, elaborate, old-fashion pieces such as you do not wear. Leave to me, I will make what suits you. I draw two, three, four different designs, and if you like none, I draw again. You pay small deposit, commits you to nothing.”
Daisy glanced at Sakari, who nodded. “Thank you, that is perfect.”
“Bah, it is good business. My father is prince, does not understand how to do business.”
Again consulting Sakari, Daisy wrote a cheque for the five pounds.
It seemed like a lot for some drawings that might prove worthless, but she had no experience of jewellers and she supposed that those who dealt in precious gems had their own scale of values.
Sakari certainly knew what she was doing.
Zina?da gave her a receipt. “Now I must make sketch and photograph of stones. Mesdames may wait or go away to drink coffee or look at hats, return in half hour, one hour.”
Outside the door, Kesin was waiting. Sakari asked something in Hindi and the chauffeur responded with a gesture down the alley to the left. “He reminds me that there is a respectable coffee room round the corner. I take it you do not choose to look at hats?”
“How well you know me! Thank you, darling, for introducing Teddy’s name so neatly. You must have been reading my mind. I couldn’t think how to bring him into the conversation. Also, to tell the truth, I’d momentarily forgotten him.”
“The different styles of Miss Zvereva’s rings are interesting, are they not?”
“Yes, but not as interesting as what she had to say about Teddy.” Daisy dropped the subject momentarily as they stepped into a cosy coffee shop just round the corner.
Coffee served, along with a selection of pastries that Sakari insisted on ordering, she asked, “Do you think he was ever truly attracted to her? She’s very elegant.
She might even be beautiful if she smiled more. ”
“I have read much about Russian culture. It is not their custom to smile often. It is why they tend always to look solemn, but when they do smile it is very meaningful.”
Daisy laughed. “Not like what’s-his-name in Hamlet.”
“King Claudius. ‘One may smile and smile and be a villain.’”
“Did you find out about their names in your studies? They seem very complicated.”
“The names themselves are not difficult once you know the rules, but the usage is complicated. The first name and patronymic—”
“Don’t bother to explain, darling! Just tell me: Women add ‘a’ at the end of the surname?”
“Yes, so Zina?da is Miss—or Mademoiselle—Zvereva. Another thing I learned is that before the revolution the aristocracy mostly spoke French among themselves.”
“And she speaks it; so her father may really have been a prince.”
“Let us say rather that it is not impossible. A member of high society, at least.”
“Hmm, and the story about the goldsmith’s grandfather being his serf could be true, not ‘merely corroborative detail.’”
“Household serfs were not given land when emancipated. Many continued to depend on their masters for their livelihoods, therefore they were likely to remain loyal, like your old family retainers and ours, in India.”
“The plot thickens! Suppose he—Vasily Ivanovich, was it?—managed to steal some Imperial Easter eggs from the Fabergé workshops.”
“Or perhaps lesser eggs. The Czar had some made to give as presents to his court, and other bejewelled knickknacks, and jewelry for wearing, too.”
“Those might be easier to steal than the Imperial eggs. Might his loyalty to the family be strong enough make him take the loot to the prince?”
“Who knows? If they had been particularly generous to his family. But this is a fairy tale, Daisy. Why should not the jewels Zverev is selling be family property alone?”
“They probably are,” Daisy admitted with a sigh, “you killer of fairy tales. On the other hand, if they are from the imperial workshops, and somehow Teddy found out, he could threaten to inform the Soviets if the old man didn’t support his pursuit of Zina?da.”
“Wealth and title seem to me sufficient motive for that.”
“It’s a good motive for wanting him dead, though.”
“And so is the insult offered by the jilting of Miss Zvereva.”
“A plethora of motives. I’m going to have to tell Alec.”
“Daisy! Were you seriously considering not telling him?”
“Not really, I suppose. I hate to think what he’s going to say. How long have we been here? Let’s go back to the shop. I want to ask her about the second suitor she mentioned. Did he appear before or after Teddy’s defection?”
“Not to mention, who is he?”
“That too, of course. How can I find out without seeming frightfully nosy?”
“Impossible,” said Sakari, laughing, “but I will try to provide an opening as I did with Teddy. She talked so freely about him that I suspect she is in need of a sympathetic confidante.”
“She must be acquainted with some Russian women, don’t you think?”
“I daresay, but perhaps they are not sympathetic.”
“Perhaps.” Daisy frowned. “They may be right. Perhaps the Zverevs would be safer if she married an Englishman.”
“This is not your concern, Daisy. You cannot solve all the world’s problems. Concentrate on sympathising with Mademoiselle Zvereva.”
Daisy had no immediate opportunity to follow the excellent advice.
Looking back at Sakari as she reached the shop door, she wasn’t concentrating on pushing it open.
The bell gave a single soft ting and swung only a few inches.
The gap was wide enough, however, for the sound of raised voices to reach her ears.
Maddeningly, though not surprisingly, they were shouting in Russian. She recognised Zina?da’s and Vasily’s voices. The third was a gravelly bass she assumed to be the prince.
Two against one, and if so, which two and which one? Or was it a three-way quarrel? No way to tell. She and Sakari exchanged raised eyebrows, then she gave the door a good shove.
The jangle covered the voices. By the time it ceased, so had they.
“Oh blast!” muttered Daisy. Zina?da was not going to be in any mood to answer nosy questions.