Diamonds and Daggers

by Nancy Warren

  He seemed quite puzzled by that. “But they’re yours. You can do whatever you want with them.” He shook his head at me. “If they were mine, I’d hang them around my girlfriend’s neck. Then I could look at them all the time.”

  I supposed it was like Rafe and his fabulous paintings that he kept in his manor house. Sure, they were incredibly valuable, but he kept them around because he loved to look at them.

  Keeping my hand in his, Edgar led me forward. Before we reached the person he was leading me to, he said in a low tone, “Lord Alan Pevensy. He’s got deep pockets and enjoys funding films, so make sure you fawn over him.”

  I nodded. And then suddenly I was standing in front of a gray-haired man with bright, brown eyes, the top of whose head just about reached the tip of my nose in my high heels. Edgar made the introductions, and Sir Alan said, “Well, what a pleasure this is. I’m a big fan of your great-aunt’s films. She was a radiant delight, and I can see that you are too. You definitely take after her. Have you thought about a career on screen, my dear?”

  I recognized the practiced flirtation, but I also liked him. For about a quarter of a second I imagined jumping at his offer. Throwing myself into the glamorous world of acting. And that was long enough. I said, “Actually, I own a knitting shop.”

  He raised his eyebrows at that. “A knitting shop. How charming.” Weirdly, he didn’t sound patronizing. “That must be why you look so wholesome. And fresh. The truth is, the life of a professional actress isn’t always a happy one. You’re much better off where you are.”

  I heartily agreed. I thought if I had to do very many more of these kinds of evenings, I’d not only be bored stiff but crippled from high heels, and my lungs might be permanently damaged from the underwire of this bra.

  Lord Pevensy introduced me to his wife, Lady Pevensy, who was about my height and about my age. She was nice enough, though she did say, “Al, can’t you buy vintage Cartier for me?” And she ran her finger across the jewels around my neck.

  Her husband laughed heartily. “Couldn’t afford it, my dear. Unless you want to skip private school for our children,” and he winked at me.

  Naturally, she fell for it. She turned to him. “Really, Alan. You’re so rich, you could afford both.”

  “Not the way you spend money, my dear.”

  Edgar tugged gently on my arm, and I was very happy to escape from the gently squabbling couple. Even though it looked like a practiced argument, I didn’t want to be part of it. Besides, my job was to circulate.

  Show off the bling.

  Chapter 6

  To my surprise, the next person Edgar introduced me to was someone I knew. She was a customer of mine. Patricia Beeton. “Patricia is the costume designer,” he told me. “She’s very much hoping that you might have pictures of Sylvia that aren’t in the public domain. Anything from her private albums would be a help.”

  Patricia Beeton wore the most gorgeous, long, deco gown. It was remarkable to me because it was hand-knitted. Though I recognized the wool, I hadn’t sold it to her, so hadn’t known she’d be here tonight or even that she was attached to this movie. The dress was black with silver geometric patterns down the front.

  “Lucy. I’m so glad I was able to wear something I made from the wools I buy at your shop.”

  “Honestly, I can’t believe how beautifully that turned out,” I said, standing back to take in the full view. She’d gone all out, styling her hair in a bob and wearing a velvet headband with a feather in it.

  She looked really pleased by the compliment. “Few people understand how much glamour one can achieve knitting with the right wools.”

  There was a lot more to it than that, as I knew well. It was also the talent of the knitter. And Patricia Beeton could rival any of my vampires in skill. She shook her head at me. “You should be wearing one too, Lucy. What a wonderful way for you to advertise your shop.”

  I smacked my forehead as though it was a great idea and I’d been too foolish to think of it. In truth, Sylvia would never have let me wear anything that took the eye away from the Cartier set. I and the dress I was wearing were merely here to show the jewels off to their best advantage. Well, second best advantage, as Sylvia would no doubt think.

  She waved her hand, and one of the photographers came over. “We’ll get a photograph together. I’ll make sure you get a copy so you can put it in your newsletter.”

  I told her that was a great idea, and we posed together for a shot.

  When that was done, she turned to me. “I really want to be as true to the original film as possible. We’re not going to copy the costumes, but I want to pay homage to Sylvia Strand, who wasn’t only a great actress but a fashion icon in her day.”

  I’d have to remember to pass that compliment on.

  “Any photos you can find of her would help. I want to capture her look as much as I can for the costumes.”

  I had a sneaking suspicion that Sylvia probably had a lot of photographs and personal memorabilia. I said, perfectly honestly, “There are all kinds of Sylvia’s things I haven’t even looked at. I’ll definitely go through them for you. I know Sylvia would be thrilled to see you taking such care to be authentic.”

  A waiter who looked like an extra in The Great Gatsby came by with a silver tray of champagne and sparkling water and red and white wine to choose from. Naturally, I chose champagne. Well, Sylvia had told me to take the champagne, as it would suit the outfit the best. She’d even trained me in how to hold it so that my wrist was cocked in a way that displayed the bracelet the best. I saw it catch the light and sparkle. It really was the prettiest set. As I began to relax, I started to enjoy myself. It was like playing dress-up, only instead of my mother’s silk dressing gown and her costume jewelry, I was wearing genuine, priceless jewels, in a genuine, designer gown, with genuine, killer high heels that had to have been designed by a man.

  Annabel gently pried me away from Patricia Beeton and led me to an important entertainment reporter next. Again, under Sylvia’s orders, I barely sipped the champagne. I only held it as a prop while she asked me questions like, “How does it feel to see The Professor’s Wife being remade?”

  Of course I couldn’t tell her that I hadn’t seen the original until recently. “I’m very excited. I know that Sylvia would be so honored to see the care and attention the production company is taking to keep the remake both authentic and updated.”

  She nodded. No doubt she’d read the same words in a press release. “And how do you feel? Wearing a set of jewels that were designed by Jacques Cartier himself? He designed for Elizabeth Taylor and Wallis Simpson, to name only two.”

  For once I didn’t go with the scripted words Sylvia had given me to say. I went with the truth. “Honestly? I’m terrified. They’re so exquisite and so beautiful and so expensive.”

  Suddenly she smiled, a much more natural smile, and leaned in. Now we were just two girls talking. Although I was never not aware that she was recording us. “I know. I’d be terrified too. Can I touch them?”

  I laughed. “Of course.” I held out the hand that wasn’t holding the champagne, and she moved the bracelet on my wrist so that it caught the light and sparkled. Not to be outdone, the ring flashed too.

  “They’re magnificent,” she said, touching the cool stones.

  “I think so too.”

  She asked me a few more standard questions and then had her picture taken with me. From the corner of my eye, I saw the accountant, Bryce Teddington, hovering. He didn’t look any more confident or commanding now than he had in the office. He was thin and stooped and nervous. He was biting his nails, watching me the way a hungry puppy might watch its master making dinner.

  I smiled at him in an encouraging way, and he stepped forward. That was the signal for the entertainment reporter to head on her way. She said, “I’d better go. I’m trying to catch tonight’s deadline.”

  Bryce glanced nervously left and right. Maybe he’d been told not to monopolize the woman fl
ashing the fancy jewels for the press. He was muttering before he was close enough for most people to hear him. I have exceptional hearing; I’ve never been sure if it’s part of my magic or just one of those freak accidents of birth. “Where’s the director? Where are the stars?” he was mumbling. Poor little man. Had he come here hoping to meet celebrities?

  Then he came up to me. “I’m not sure you understood the contract thoroughly,” he said in a low, nervous tone.

  I was a bit concerned. “What do you mean?” Wasn’t he supposed to be on their side?

  “Balance sheet’s not adding up. Debits don’t match credits. You see?” His eyes were magnified like a huge bluebottle’s, and it made it hard to concentrate on his words.

  “I’ve never been too good with numbers. I’m not really following.” And surely there were other people I was supposed to be chatting with. Not the company accountant.

  “Balance sheet. Such an elegant concept. Balance. But when something’s out of balance, it tips the scale, do you see?”

  I knew I should move on, but he seemed very determined to make me understand something. “I think you need to explain this to me in a way I can grasp.” Like if he spoke English rather than Spreadsheet.

  He looked past me and jumped like a frightened, cornered rabbit. “Not here.”

  “But my lawyer went over the whole thing. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

  Again, he said in that low, nervous voice, “Not here. Meet me—” And then he stopped talking. It was pretty clear that he hadn’t come up with an idea of where I should meet him. The poor man. He was so nervous. He glanced around and finally said, “Make your way to the ladies’ powder room.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You’re going to meet me in the ladies’?” Oh, that was hardly going to raise eyebrows.

  He shook his head impatiently. “Past the ladies’, there’s a small waiting room. No one knows it’s there. In fifteen minutes. Meet me there. I’ve got something I must tell you. Discrepancy. Important.”

  When an accountant talked about discrepancies, I had to assume the budget wasn’t adding up. I felt for him, but Sylvia and I had nothing to do with the film’s finances. She—or her estate—were getting a fee for her likeness and the use of the jewels, but Sylvia wasn’t in this for money. For Sylvia, this was an ego trip down memory lane.

  I thought he was a bit of a crackpot, but he was clearly concerned. I should at least hear him out. Meeting by the bathroom was strange, but he was obviously harmless and besides, within fifteen minutes, I probably would need a trip to the ladies’ to adjust my underwire.

  I nodded. “All right.” And then before I could say another word, he disappeared. Just melted away.

  Annabel came up with a man I recognized. He was a movie star. One of those famous British ones that’s always in romantic comedies. Darkly good looking, with a big, toothy grin and floppy hair. Before he was introduced, he said, taking my hand, “I was hoping you were my co-star. You’re gorgeous. There might be love scenes, you know. Are you sure you won’t have a go?”

  I gave a nervous giggle, and Annabel said, “Oh, stop it, Adrian. Lucy’s got better things to do than flirt with you.”

  Though, at the moment, I couldn’t think what they might be. It wasn’t every day a girl got hit on by a movie star. Well, not this girl.

  She said, “We’ve talked Adrian into taking the lead in The Professor’s Wife.”

  Oh, I thought Sylvia would be very pleased with that choice. “That’s great.” I looked around. “But who’s playing the wife?” Sylvia would be much more interested to find out who was portraying her part. She’d be the star of the show, after all.

  She tapped the side of her nose like a secret agent. “That’s going to be our next big reveal.”

  She excused herself and walked away, and Adrian leaned in and dropped his voice, “That means they haven’t got anybody yet.”

  “They’ve got you.”

  He shrugged. “I came cheap because I just got out of rehab. We all know it will be the female lead who carries this thing.”

  I was still taking in the fact that he was so honest about being in rehab. He seemed to be the only lead actor here, and by his own admission, he’d come cheap. I wondered if Bryce Teddington was on to something with his nervous questions. “Who’s directing the film?” I asked Adrian.

  He tilted his extremely gorgeous head to one side, then said, “Don’t think one’s attached to the project, yet.”

  Then he looked past me and said, “Oh, excuse me, I must say hello to Lord Pevensy.”

  Clearly he had his own agenda being here, no doubt to suck up to the power people. I didn’t blame him. I wished him well and then, before he left, I asked him the time. Naturally, I wasn’t wearing a watch, and Sylvia hadn’t allowed me to bring my cell phone. He gave me the time. Nearly fifteen minutes had gone by since I’d had that bizarre message from Bryce.

  I made my slow and decorous way towards the ladies’ room. I was stopped two or three times for a picture and a murmur of appreciation about the fabulous jewels I was wearing.

  I slipped down the corridor. It was so quiet, I could hear the silk of my dress rustle and my shoes tap the stone floor. The lighting was discreet. Even the word ladies’ in tastefully subtle brass letters. I was so glad that Edgar had pointed it out to me when I’d first arrived or I never would have found it. I passed an alcove with an antique table with a lamp on it, and then to the left, another alcove held the door to the ladies’. This opened as I grew close, and a young flapper came out. I pretended to be going into the bathroom until she was out of sight, then continued on my way.

  The elegance ended the second I got past the bathroom, though. It seemed like I was heading to the working part of the college. A laundry cart was pushed against the wall with dirty linens piled high.

  I glanced quickly behind me, feeling like I was doing something furtive, and then I kept going. The accountant had been right. There was nobody down here.

  I wondered how he had even known there was this little cloakroom or whatever it was. But sure enough, there was a small sitting room to the right. Two couches, side tables with lamps. There was no one in there. I was either the first or he’d forgotten all about me or played some stupid trick.

  I couldn’t wait down here when I was specifically at this event to show off Sylvia’s Cartier set. I’d been happy to indulge him for a couple of minutes and find out what was worrying him so much, but I couldn’t linger.

  I heard something. Felt something. I didn’t know what. I turned to look behind me when something hit me on the back of the head. Hard.

  Lightning exploded in the front of my vision, and then everything went dark.

  Chapter 7

  I opened my eyes and then immediately closed them again on a wince. My head was splitting, and the light hurt them.

  “Don’t try to move. You’re all right.” The commanding voice immediately soothed me.

  “Rafe,” I said weakly. Never had I been so happy to hear his voice. His cool, capable hands touched my head gently.

  “Ouch,” I cried when he touched a particularly sore spot on my head.

  I didn’t know where I was. Why I was lying on the floor. Or why there were so many people around me. I felt sick and disoriented. I just wanted to lie quietly in the dark.

  A voice I vaguely recognized was saying, “Is she all right? Is she still alive?”

  It was a woman’s voice. I’d heard it recently. What was her name?

  “Annabel,” I said, pleased my brain was working that well.

  She must have thought I’d called for her, for the movie producer knelt down beside me. “Lucy. I can’t believe you were attacked. Here at our lovely party. Are you all right?”

  What did she think? I was lying on the floor in pain. Of course, I wasn’t all right. Before I could think of the words to make her go away, Rafe took control. “Lucy’s been injured. She can’t talk at the moment.”

  It all
came rushing back, and I immediately put my hand to my throat. I felt that my skin was clammy and my pulse was racing. But where was the necklace?

  I was all but clawing at myself trying to find the thing. I looked at my wrist. It was empty. Even that ring was gone.

  I tried to lift my head, but Rafe put a gentle hand on my forehead and said, “Lie still. There’s a doctor coming.”

  “The jewels,” I said. “Do you have them?” It was a faint hope.

  He said, “Lucy, the jewels have been stolen.”

  For a nanosecond, I wished whoever had attacked me had hit me a lot harder so that I wouldn’t have to face Sylvia.

  In hardly any time, a doctor was bending over me. And then I was allowed to get up. I was glad of this because there’s something so humiliating about lying on the floor when people are standing over you, staring. Rafe helped me to my feet and put an arm around me to prevent me from sagging back to the floor.

  Someone stepped forward. “The police are here.”

  He shook his head. “Later. Lucy needs medical attention. They can speak to her tomorrow.”

  “Tell them,” I said to Rafe. “Tell them they have to find the jewels. Sylvia’s jewels.”

  “I will,” he said soothingly. “Don’t worry. Your only job is to get well.”

  The doctor gave him some soft-voiced instructions, and then we took a few staggering steps forward. With a soft oath, he leaned down and, putting his arm under my knees, hoisted me up. On a normal day, I would have been quite pleased to be carried around like Scarlett O’Hara, but I was sick, not only from being banged over the head but the horror of what had happened.

  Sylvia’s precious jewels had gone missing.

  On my watch.

  I was carried dramatically through the gala, and as we reached the door, an ambulance pulled up. There were paramedics and a stretcher. And vaguely I realized they had to be for me. I tried to shake my head, but it hurt too much.