by Rita Sable
He spoke with a very slight foreign accent. Maybe German or Polish, she couldn’t quite tell. “Yes, I’m GIA certified. What can I help you with?”
“I need an appraisal for insurance purposes. If I brought a gem by today, how soon could you do one for me?”
Cynthia glanced at her wall clock. It was already nearing six p.m. and she’d been working steadily on the gold necklace for another client since seven that morning. “May I ask what type of gem you need the certificate for?”
“A diamond,” the man answered. “How soon could you do an appraisal?”
He sounded urgent. Impatient. Depending on the gem it would take a few hours to examine it, describe it appropriately and type up the certificate for his insurance appraisal. If she agreed to a rush job that would put the time around ten p.m. Having a client return late at night wasn’t a good idea or part of her normal routine.
On the other hand, being tired wasn’t a good enough reason to turn away the hundred-dollar fee she charged for appraisals. She could really use that money to buy more drawing paper and art supplies. A compromise had to be found without losing his interest.
“I could have it for you by eight tomorrow morning.” She crossed her fingers, hoping that would suit him.
“Eight. Hmm,” the man murmured. “Well, that’s faster than anyone else I’ve called. Okay, you…ah, you have security at your place, right?”
Cynthia leaned back in her chair for a quick look at the control panel by the door. All lights were green. Window sensors, door sensors and motion detectors kept her safe and sound 24/7. As the security company who installed her system had instructed, she didn’t give out any particulars, not even the brand name.
“Of course,” she replied confidently. “You can’t be in this business without the proper protection.”
“Good, good. Your ad doesn’t list an address. Where are you located?”
Her lips curled up with satisfaction. She reached for her daily logbook. “I need some information from you first. Your name and address, sir?”
The man hesitated for an uncomfortable span of time. She was about to ask if he was still on the line when he said, “Why do you need my name? I’ll pay you with cash.”
“That’s good to know, sir. But collecting your information is another security measure and it’s required by my insurance. I’ll have to include it on the certificate too.”
Again he went silent.
“Hello? Sir, are you still there?”
A heavy sigh. “My name is Matthew Andrews.”
Cynthia suppressed her concerns raised by his reluctance to identify himself, especially since she thought she detected a slight delay in the way he said his name. Most people just blurted out their names, no matter how unconventional they were. More than a few of her clients were eccentric and it didn’t pay to be judgmental. Most expected total privacy and many of them paid her with cash. All she could do was adopt every new security feature she could afford.
He gave her an address and she recorded the information into her logbook. There was no way to determine if his address was legitimate and it would take too long to search the internet sites that listed lost or stolen gems. Besides, she fully expected the usual routine, a half-carat, medium color and slightly flawed stone. Nothing exhilarating.
She recited her apartment building address and directions for him to follow. “Okay, Mr. Andrews. When can I expect you here?”
“About forty-five minutes. Do I just buzz your name for entrance?”
“Yes. Take the elevator to the third floor. I’ll be waiting. See you then.”
Cynthia hung up and slid the cordless phone onto her worktable. The embarrassment of not having a stand-alone jewelry studio had faded years ago. Renting space to work in New York City and paying for a separate place to live wasn’t currently an option.
A warm silky body rubbed against her ankles. She glanced down at her cat, Moses, who’d returned to beg for dinner. He hated the hissing sound of the soldering torch. Turning it on always sent him scampering out of her studio. As soon as she shut off the gas, he’d wander back in.
She patted her lap. Moses sprang up and landed on her jeans-covered thighs with the effortless, gravity-defying athleticism innate to all felines. He tucked his head beneath her chin and purred.
“Hey, lover boy.” She rubbed her hands down his sleek, alabaster fur. “Looks like Momma’s gonna be busy tonight. A customer is coming in a little bit, so let’s fix something quick for dinner.”
After nuking a frozen entrée, Cynthia stood at the counter to eat, burning her mouth on a scorched piece of chicken with her first bite. The food didn’t resemble or taste like the picture of the deliciously prepared gourmet meal on the box cover. No, this was previously cooked, flash-frozen, reheated, cardboard chicken served with a side of soggy vegetables and dry rice. After a few more bites, she tossed the remainder in the garbage and then glanced wistfully at the phone. She had to resist the urge to call the China Bistro down the street and place an order for their succulent spicy Kung Po shrimp. Not an option tonight.
Moses finished the kitty dinner she’d offered him and then sauntered away to play with his new catnip toy on the living room carpet. She leaned a hip against the counter and sipped on a Diet Coke, content to take a few moments to be amused by her cat’s comical antics. When the phone rang again, the frisky feline used the noise as an excuse to scamper down the hallway, his back arched and tail high, acting like demons chased him. Some days Moses was her only source of entertainment.
“Hello?”
“Buono sera, sis. It’s me.”
She smiled. Her twin brother’s voice always made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. “Paul. Did you have a good trip to Italy?”
“No,” he sighed irritably. “I’m still here. We have an import customs snafu. Looks like I’ll be staying another three or four days.”
“Aw, I feel so bad for you.” She indulged in a long slurp of her cold drink. “It must be tough being stuck in Rome this time of year.”
He chuckled. “This is a lovely place, sis. The scenery is outstanding.”
“Yeah, I bet it is.” She knew he spoke of the women and not the architecture and landscape. “So, I guess that means our dinner date gets postponed until you get back.”
“Yeah, sorry. Is next weekend okay with you?”
“Fine with me, Paul. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Uh-oh. Did something happen between you and Nick?”
Cynthia groaned. Talking about her ex-boyfriend dredged up issues she just wanted to keep buried for now. Perhaps when the remaining sting of their last argument faded, she’d be ready to talk.
“Cyn?” Paul’s voice sounded worried. “What happened, sweetie?”
Damn! Therapy had to start sometime. Might as well be now. “I didn’t tell you before you headed out to Italy but I broke up with Nick last week.”
Paul’s sigh came across the wires loud and clear. “Shit. Sorry, sis. The last time we talked you were so hot for that guy. I pictured you getting married, having babies, the whole nine yards. What happened?”
She closed her eyes. Thinking about Nick made her temples throb, her insides twist but thankfully, not her heart. Sure, her feelings for him were still raw. When it came to discussing her boyfriend problems, there was nobody better than her twin brother to confide in. Having a man’s honest objective opinion about all things male was something she treasured. As children they entered puberty together and the topic of sex had never been off-limits between them.
“Well,” she began, “Nick and I…we had issues.”
“What kind of issues?”
Cynthia spun her coke can around on the counter, mulling over her answer. “Oh, the usual stuff. We argued about how much, or little, time we spent together. His friends, my friends.”
“And?”
“And well, we just didn’t click in bed.”
“Ah,” Paul said in that all-knowing voice. “Sti
ll haven’t had that little fantasy satisfied, have you?”
“No.” She switched the phone to her other ear, grateful to have that little secret out in the open. “Nick couldn’t get into being adventurous with me. He said bondage wasn’t natural between a man and a woman. It bothered him and made him lose his sex drive. It just wasn’t working for me, for either of us. So, I figured it was time to break up with him before I got in too deep.”
“Yeah. Probably a good thing, Cyn. I don’t advise hiding or suppressing your basic desires. At the same time, though, that one’s gonna be hard to satisfy with most normal men—if a good, decent man is what you really want.”
She pursed her lips before answering. “You know I don’t do kinky guys.”
“I know. But still, bondage isn’t your everyday meat-and-potatoes kind of sex. If it doesn’t turn them off, then it’ll scare them away.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” she replied morosely. “And you have no room to talk. You’ve got your own fetishes to feed.”
He chuckled again, a slow, thoroughly satisfied male sound that made her wonder how many sultry, dark-eyed Italian beauties he’d lured into bed at one time. With his angelic blue eyes and golden beachboy hair, he never had any problems attracting the ladies. She’d grown up envying her twin’s physical beauty. Paul took after their mother, while she’d inherited Dad’s light brown hair and gray eyes. A combination she’d always considered “blah”.
“Aw, sis. Don’t feel bad. Nick obviously wasn’t right for you. In more ways than the bedroom.”
“I know.” She remembered the fights they’d had about her work and all the time it took away from him. “Doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Of course not.” Paul used his consoling voice over the phone. “You should go out. Meet some people. I know you’re holding yourself captive inside your little Fort Knox, aren’t you?”
“I’m working, Paul.” She smiled at his nickname for her apartment/jewelry studio. “Don’t worry about me. I get out.”
“Uh-uh. A quick stop at the corner grocery doesn’t count. This is your brother you’re talking to, not some schmuck on the street. I know you, Cyn. You work too much. Have you tried that new club yet?”
“No, not yet. Besides, I’m too old for that.”
“Newsflash!” he said dramatically. “Twenty-eight is young. Go out. You need to do something to meet other guys.”
“I don’t like clubbing anymore, Paul. It’s too smoky, too crowded and I hate waking up with a hangover. I don’t bounce back the next morning the way I used to. Besides, all my friends are married now, remember? And I’d be damned stupid to go out alone.”
Paul sighed heavily, a signal she knew meant he wanted to drop the subject, change to a safer topic. Her brother was so much like Mom—a total pacifist. She’d been a strict parent but couldn’t stand an argument between family members. It amazed her that her sweet-natured twin brother had decided on a career in law. Lawyers had to argue their case, didn’t they?
“So,” he said after a few seconds, “why don’t you tell me about your latest project? It was a gold necklace, right? How’s that going?”
Cynthia grinned, immediately warming to her favorite subject—her work. “It’s going great. I’m almost finished with the soldering.”
“Wow. I’m impressed. I thought you said it was a complicated piece?”
“It is. But I have to clear my table and get busy on sketches for my entry in the American Jewelry Designer contest. I’ve decided to do a ring this year.”
Paul whistled into the phone. “Now that’s ambitious. A ring would be gutsy and I know you thrive on that kind of stiff competition. Go for it, sis. You’ll do great, I know it.”
“Thanks.” His confidence in her always felt good. “Unfortunately I have a last-minute client coming in about five minutes if he’s prompt. So, talk fast. Tell me what’s going on in the high-flying world of international corporate law?”
Her twin wasted no time delving into the highs and lows of his whirlwind job. While she was concerned and interested in how his professional life fared, she couldn’t stay focused on Paul’s lawyer-speak for very long and he knew it. She just mumbled “uh-huh” and “yeah” where it seemed appropriate until he realized her mind had wandered off. Then he’d say something funny or ask a stupid question to catch her off guard.
“Okay,” he said. “So, when the Pope comes to dinner next week, you’ll make your special lasagna, right?”
“Sure!” Cynthia muffled her giggle. It was a standing family joke. Her one attempt as a teenager at impressing an important family guest by making lasagna had nearly burned their house down.
The doorbell buzzed. “I gotta go. My client’s here now. I’ll see you next weekend, right?”
“Barring any more customs crap, I’ll be there.”
“Bye, Paul. Thanks for the pep talk. I needed that.”
“Of course. What are brothers for?” He kissed into the phone. “Ciao!”
Cynthia hung up, her mood dramatically improved about the inconvenience of a last-minute customer. By this time tomorrow, she’d be free to work on her sketches and be one hundred dollars better off.
Chapter Three
A high-pitched cat’s yowl pierced the silence. Cynthia jerked awake, surprised to find herself slumped over her worktable with the lights burning bright. She blinked past dry eyes, her brain foggy from the remnants of a dream that made no sense.
Had she really heard Moses cry out? Or was it just her overworked imagination?
Anxiously she scanned the security panel near the door. All the little lights were steady green. The digital clock showed the hour was nearly midnight.
She tunneled her fingers through her hair and stretched on a jaw-cracking yawn. Her mouth tasted garlicky and the muscles across her shoulders burned with fatigue, testimony to the hours she’d spent sketching. After a quick trip to her favorite art supply store—and a spicy meatball pizza from Mama Maria’s Trattoria—she’d jumped right into producing ideas for her contest ring. The first attempts were taped across the wall in a straight line like new recruits ready for a general’s inspection.
And they were awful.
Groaning loudly, she rubbed her knuckles across her gritty eyes. The drawings weren’t strong enough applications of her normal high standard, certainly not enough to get a ribbon placing in this year’s contest. Last year she’d earned an Honorable Mention with her fantasy-inspired smoky-quartz and amethyst choker.
This year she had to do better. With thousands of entries in each category, even a fourth place ribbon would help to secure her name in the industry as one of America’s up-and-coming premier jewelry designers.
Inspiration, that’s what she needed. Perhaps if she had the perfect, unique gem to create a ring for…a stone of remarkable beauty, one like…
Her gaze flew to the small jeweler’s box on her finished shelf. Inside the satin-lined case sat the most amazing diamond, the one her newest client, Mr. Andrews, had dropped off two days ago. She’d expected him to present her with the typical stone, something the average blue-collar guy could be expected to buy for his new fiancée.
What she’d seen had shocked her into dumbfounded silence.
Upon greeting the tall, well-groomed Matthew Andrews at her door, she’d been immediately struck by his gentle demeanor. His soft brown eyes peered eagerly from behind a pair of thickly lensed, black-framed glasses. His nut brown, wavy hair was touched with silver at his temples. When he shook her hand, his grip was firm but soft-skinned. Then he’d reverently handed her a carefully wrapped square of beige cloth. It turned out to be a cotton handkerchief. She’d had to suppress a smile since most people had jeweler’s envelopes or small, plastic viewing boxes for their loose diamonds.
Out from the handkerchief rolled a blinding white, perfectly round cut diamond. At least five carats. The gem rolled back and forth on her desk, blazing with fire like a miniature sun. For an embarrassing number of second
s she’d been unable to do more than stare at it, totally in awe as if she were an amateur.
Could it really be…a Hot Siberian?
That’s what the industry used to call the flawless Russian white diamonds unearthed from a small mine deep in the perpetually frozen land of Siberia. The gems were so rare they were considered freaks of nature. You just didn’t see stones of this incredible beauty, icy fire and above all—perfection–-that often. Once in your lifetime, if you were lucky.
With her heart pounding, she’d picked up her jeweler’s loupe to give the gem a cursory inspection. Her client paced back and forth between her desk and the hallway, as anxious as a man in a maternity ward awaiting the birth of his first child.
She’d felt her mouth go slack.
Flawless. D-color, exceptional cut. Not a single, tiny inclusion anywhere inside this beauty. Oh man, today is my lucky day!
Giddy delight had gathered inside her and made her want to dance on her work table in celebration. She took a steadying breath and put the diamond down. “Well, Mr. Andrews, I’m honored you chose me to certify this gem for you. It’s one of the best, if not the best, I’ve ever seen.”
He’d stopped pacing, his eyes growing huge behind his glasses. “Good, good. I think there are numbers, too. Can you see them?”
When she’d examined the stone’s girdle, she’d easily read a series of numbers there. Not unusual at all since many diamonds were engraved for easy identification. But these made her frown with curiosity.
“Yes, I can see them. But they’re irregular. Not like any I’ve seen for GIA or EGL certification. It’s almost as if someone took meticulous care to engrave them by hand and not with a laser. These numbers look like they were made with a diamond-tipped stylus. Which means the cutter must have been endowed with extraordinary skills. It’s just not done like that these days.”
“And?” he encouraged, stepping so close that she’d caught a whiff of his sandalwood-based cologne. It smelled warm and expensive. “What are they? Read them to me.”