‘I just thought you might like to stay an extra few days or something,’ said Bey. ‘Besides, it might be useful to have her there. She has a lot more in common with the Duquesa than I’d ever have.’
Will snorted with laughter. ‘I don’t think the fact that her dad made a fortune in the City would cut much ice with someone whose family dates back over six hundred years,’ he said.
‘All our families date back just as far,’ retorted Bey. ‘It’s just that we haven’t kept track of them.’
‘Good point,’ acknowledged Will.
‘And the only reason these ancient families are so rich is that their ancestors were better at raping and pillaging than ours.’
‘You’d better not say that in front of the Duquesa,’ said Will.
Bey grinned. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be as humble as a servant,’ she said.
‘We don’t want you humble,’ Will told her. ‘We want you confident and sassy. As befits the chief designer of Van Aelten and Schaap. The woman who can bring diamonds and sapphires to life.’
‘Confident and sassy it is, in that case,’ said Bey as she turned away from him and clicked on her computer to google Isabella de Olvera y Montecalmón.
They left the following week, flying to Madrid for an onward connection to Jerez de la Frontera. A car would be waiting for them, Will said, to bring them to the Duquesa’s house in the Puerto de Santa María, a few kilometres from Cádiz itself. As she boarded the plane and pushed her overnight bag into the overhead locker, Bey thought of the last time she’d been on a flight with Will Murdoch, when she’d dumped a cup of coffee over him.
‘It’s OK,’ he said in amusement later as he watched her hold on to the filtered one she’d brought on board. ‘As a precaution, I’ve left my computer in my bag.’
‘Very funny.’ She made a face at him. ‘But I’m not going to risk you turning up to see the Duquesa in coffee-stained trousers.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve brought a change or two, just in case.’
‘That’s a relief.’ She took a gulp from her coffee and sighed. ‘I’m so not a morning person.’
‘We could have overnighted in Madrid,’ said Will, ‘and connected tomorrow.’
‘No point in wasting time and money,’ said Bey.
‘If we get this commission, I don’t think an extra overnight stay will worry us in the grand scheme of things,’ Will remarked. ‘But I applaud your frugality.’
‘We’re not the clients,’ Bey reminded him. ‘We don’t buy the finished product.’
‘Have you had any ideas yet?’ he asked.
‘The whole purpose of coming here is to meet this woman and get a feel for what she does and doesn’t like,’ said Bey. ‘And to see the photos and portraits. There’s no point in me having ideas yet. Though the prospect of meeting someone called Isabella de Olvera y Montecalmón does spark quite a few thoughts in my head.’
Will grinned. ‘Good ones, I hope.’
‘Ones that will probably be discarded the moment I meet her.’ Bey handed her empty cup to a passing cabin crew member. ‘Now, since even the caffeine in that coffee isn’t enough to keep my eyes open, I’m going to have a sleep. Give me a nudge when we’re there.’
Both of them nodded off on the first flight but were more alert on the shorter one from Madrid to Jerez and wide awake for the thirty-minute drive to the Duquesa’s house, which was set in a carefully tended garden filled with palm trees and multicoloured flowers.
‘My secret hideaway,’ she told them after she’d greeted them. ‘Everybody should have one.’
It was certainly tranquil, thought Bey, although it wasn’t as isolated or as ancestral as she’d imagined. She reckoned it had only been built about fifty years earlier. It was pretty, but not remarkable.
‘The view is from the upstairs salon,’ said the Duquesa as she led them up a spiral staircase to a room that opened onto a wide terrace with panoramic views over the sea.
‘Wow,’ said Bey, revising her opinion. ‘It’s fabulous.’
‘I think so too,’ said the Duquesa, a tall, slender woman with a mane of dark hair, which she wore tied back. ‘Can I get you anything to drink? Something cool? Water? Or a glass of wine, perhaps? I’ve arranged for some cold tapas. You’ve been travelling all day and must be hungry.’
‘Water would be lovely, Doña Isabella, thank you,’ said Bey. She’d emailed Martín before they’d left, asking him the correct way to address a Spanish duchess, and he’d sent her back a reply pointing out that he’d never actually met any duchesses and that her career had clearly moved on in leaps and bounds if she was now hobnobbing with the aristocracy. But he’d given her the information she wanted, as well as attaching a photo of his newly born daughter Helena, who he said was his own personal duchess. Bey had smiled at his reply and responded saying how lovely Helena was and that titles meant nothing, she just wanted to be polite.
‘Call me Izzy,’ said the Duquesa. Her accent was mid-Atlantic and her English perfect and idiomatic. ‘It’s not that I’m unconscious of my heritage; after all, I’ve asked you here so that I can re-create part of it, but honestly it freaks me out when people are too polite. In everyday life I’m Izzy Olvera, so can we stick to that, please.’
‘I didn’t want to create a diplomatic incident,’ said Bey.
Izzy chucked. ‘I’m sure we would’ve overcome it. Sit on the terrace for a moment and I’ll bring the water.’
‘I thought she’d have had servants to do that,’ murmured Bey as she and Will stepped outside to lean on the white balustrade and gaze over the ocean.
‘I bet she does,’ said Will. ‘Maybe she’s trying to put us at our ease.’
‘You’re used to this stuff,’ Bey told him. ‘You know a few royals yourself.’
‘No I don’t,’ protested Will.
‘Wasn’t Callista’s father knighted last year? Doesn’t that make him Sir Marcus of somewhere or other?’
‘I think you have to be a lord to be “of” somewhere,’ said Will. ‘I’m afraid Callista’s dad is just Sir Marcus. He got his award for services to finance. Though I’m not sure that making pots of money is really that great a service.’
‘Will!’
‘If you ask me, it’s doctors and nurses who should be honoured, not financiers and other moguls,’ said Will. ‘But hey, I’m Scottish, so maybe I’m a rebel at heart.’
‘Or a socialist.’ Bey chuckled. ‘And you’d better not let the Duquesa hear you spouting your revolutionary ideas, even if they are good ones.’
‘I think honours are a bit daft, that’s all,’ said Will. ‘I don’t mind people who make pots of cash if they do it legally and don’t cheat anyone, but I’d have thought having the money itself was enough reward.’
‘You know, when I was younger and thinking about how my life would turn out, standing on the terrace of a duquesa’s house having a conversation about titles certainly wasn’t part of it,’ said Bey.
Will laughed. ‘Me neither, truth be told. But let’s face it, to do what we do, there need to be people out there who can afford the product.’
Bey nodded and recalled the conversation she’d had with her mother earlier in the week when she’d rung her to tell her about the trip.
‘I was talking to your gran last night,’ Lola had said. ‘She’s absolutely delighted for you. She wants to know everything about it. She also said you’re not to be nervous just because you’re mixing with rich people these days – all that means is they can afford the stuff you make. She says to remind you that you grew up on a farm and that should equip you for anything.’
Which had made Bey laugh but had comforted her too. Regardless of where she’d started out, she was currently in a good place in her life. She’d overcome the things that might have held her back and was focused on what she wanted to do. She’d worked hard, served her time, moved ahead. She wasn’t entirely convinced that the version of herself that existed right now was the best it could be, but it was bette
r than it had been four years earlier. She had solid achievements behind her, and she’d done it all on her own merit, without the help of the Warrens. She had a lot to be proud of. So she had no intention of being intimidated by the Duquesa, but she couldn’t help being in awe of the other woman’s business success. After all, she had to know a thing or two if she owned media companies around the world, and from what she could tell, Izzy Olvera wasn’t much older than her.
The Duquesa walked out onto the terrace carrying a silver tray covered with a starched white napkin and bearing three Waterford glasses and a large jug of minted iced water. She set the tray on a tiled table and motioned Will and Bey to sit on the cushioned chairs.
‘The food will be along in a moment,’ she said as she handed Bey a glass of water. ‘Meanwhile I have to tell you that Julia raves about you. She says you make gems come alive. And you,’ she added, turning to Will, ‘she thinks you’re like a pig sniffing out truffles when it comes to finding the right stones.’
It took Bey a moment to remember that the Contessa’s name was Julia, but it was the image of Will sniffing out stones that made her splutter into her water.
‘I’m wrong?’ asked the other woman.
‘I think she’s laughing at the idea of me snorting my way around the globe,’ said Will.
‘Perhaps it’s not such a good analogy,’ acknowledged Izzy. ‘Ah, here we are.’ She nodded as an older man dressed in a white shirt and black trousers laid some dishes of olives, chorizo, cheese and ham in front of them. ‘Please help yourselves,’ she said, picking up one of the small silver forks that had accompanied the dishes and spearing a piece of cheese.
Once they had finished the food, she wiped her hands on a napkin and opened a walnut box that had been on the table. ‘I have the photo of my great-grandmother in her tiara and some of our other jewels to show you,’ she said. She took the photo out and put it in front of Bey. Then she removed a selection of velvet pouches and laid their contents – a collection of bracelets and rings – on the table.
‘These are wonderful.’ Will picked up a bracelet and studied it carefully. ‘How old is it?’
‘Two hundred years.’
Bey was startled at the casual way the other woman spoke about the bracelet, which truly was exquisite. No matter how confident she told herself she was, she couldn’t help wondering what on earth she was doing here, with this woman, with these jewels, with a man who was looking at them appraisingly but knowledgeably. She remembered running around High Pasture with her cousins, watching a calf being born with her grandfather, collecting eggs with her grandmother. She also remembered sitting at the kitchen table in Ringsend decorating terracotta pots for her mother, and snuggling up beneath a duvet on the sofa while they watched TV together. Then, with a sudden jolt, she recalled hiding in the snow from the man who had abducted her – not because she was rich and worth anything, but simply because she was there and available. So many versions of me, she thought. And which is the real one?
‘Bey?’ Will’s voice brought her back to reality.
‘Sorry,’ she said as she picked up the photo and looked at it carefully. ‘This is a remarkable piece of work. The jewels . . . the silver . . . It would have weighed quite a bit – and cost more than a lot.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’ said Izzy calmly. ‘It belonged to a Spanish infanta who was sent to a nunnery after her husband died. Its history is a bit complicated after that, but it ended up in my father’s family and was handed down to a number of women for their wedding days. But like I said, it disappeared during the war and we’ve no idea what happened to it. I hate to think it might have been melted down and the stones used for other things, but I have to allow the possibility. Anyhow, I adored my bisabuela and I thought it would be nice to wear something similar myself as a tribute to her.’
Bey nodded.
‘I realise that I can’t have anything quite as extravagant as this,’ Izzy added. ‘Times have changed. So what I want is something in the same style without it being the same. Something I can wear without getting a headache for starters!’
‘This has at least a dozen sapphires,’ said Bey. ‘Are you thinking of having that many?’ A dozen sapphires as well as the diamonds would move it into the stratospherically expensive bracket.
‘What I want and what I can have are two different things,’ said Izzy. ‘I want something that captures the spirit of the original. I’ll speak to Will about the amount I can spend, and between you perhaps you can work out how many big gemstones you can fit into it.’
‘OK,’ said Bey. ‘I have thoughts . . .’
‘Already?’
‘Bey’s mind is like a magical garden,’ said Will. ‘She sees jewels, she has ideas, she’s extraordinary.’
‘Not really,’ said Bey.
‘Oh yes.’ The Duquesa looked at her from wide brown eyes. ‘Yes, Julia says the same about you. That the gemstones talk to you. If you’re good at something, Bey, you must say so. You must embrace it. I say so to all the women who work for me. Don’t hide yourself. Don’t pretend you’re not good enough. Stand up and shout it.’
Bey glanced at Will, and sighed inwardly. What was the point in her thinking she was in a good place in her life if everyone else thought she lacked confidence? She took a deep breath and promised the Duquesa that she would design her a beautiful wedding tiara that would be a homage to her great-grandmother and an heirloom for her family.
‘Thank you.’ Izzy smiled. ‘After talking to Julia, I was certain you could. I needed to meet you to be sure. And now I am.’
The Duquesa had arranged for Will and Bey to stay overnight at the Parador de Cádiz, and after they’d finished looking at the photographs and portraits of her great-grandmother wearing the original tiara, the driver who’d picked them up from the airport left them outside the sleek, contemporary building set beside the sea.
‘It’s such a contrast to the old city,’ remarked Bey as they walked across the stylish reception area to check in. Will nodded in agreement and said that he hoped they’d find a little time to do some exploring. The city had been used as a substitute for Havana in the movie Die Another Day , he said, and he could see why.
‘You’ve been to Cuba?’ she asked.
‘When I was young and more rebellious,’ he replied, which made her laugh.
They arranged to meet in the outdoor bar an hour later, but Bey left her room after twenty minutes, wanting to walk along the beautiful promenade and soak up the atmosphere by herself. The blue of the sea was making her think of the sapphires she’d use in the Duquesa’s tiara, but as she arrived at a small park with mosaic pathways and intricate fountains, her thoughts veered off in other directions. This was always the way when she was contemplating a new design. Her brain went into sensory overload but eventually she’d pick the best colours and shapes for the work she was going to do. She leaned over the weather-beaten balustrade and looked towards the collection of whitewashed buildings that made up the old town. A seagull whirled overhead while a fisherman cast his line. Old and new, the past and the present collided in her mind. That was what the tiara needed to be too, she thought. A piece that would honour the great-grandmother the Duquesa had loved while being something that a modern woman could wear. As yet Bey had no clear idea of how it would look. But she knew what her starting point would be.
A cool breeze from the sea made her shiver suddenly, and she slipped the fine wool cardigan she’d been carrying over her light floral dress. It was later than she’d realised, and when she hurried back to the parador, Will was sitting at one of the outside tables.
‘I thought you’d stood me up,’ he said. ‘Then I saw you further along the promenade. You seemed lost in thought.’
‘I got carried away by the beauty of it all,’ said Bey. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ He smiled at her. ‘It’s nice to think that the beauty of a place can make us forget everything. Even dinner,’ he added with a glance at his watch. �
�Although it’s probably a bit early for that.’
She smiled at him. ‘Perhaps an aperitif first?’
‘I was going to suggest that very thing,’ said Will. ‘We have to toast our fabulous commission.’ He waved his hand and ordered two glasses of wine, but Bey asked for water instead.
‘I need to keep thinking,’ she explained. ‘If I have wine, I’ll forget.’
‘You could let it go for a night,’ he said.
‘Never.’
The waiter returned with their drinks.
‘Do you really think—’ Bey began as she poured water into her glass.
‘Don’t say you’re not good enough,’ Will interrupted her. ‘I’ve told you a million times you are, and even the Duquesa herself called you out on false modesty!’
‘I wasn’t going to ask if I was good enough,’ retorted Bey. ‘I was wondering if she was really going to have a traditional wedding. After all, she’s a hugely successful woman in her own right. Clearly her wealth isn’t only because of her family. Does she need to do the whole white dress and long veil thing?’
‘Women seem to like it,’ Will said. ‘Cally certainly did. Wouldn’t you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Bey took a sip of water. ‘I suppose there might have been a time in my life when I would have wanted it, but it seems to have passed me by. I can’t help feeling that white dresses and tiaras and stuff is all very well when you’re a virginal-looking twenty, but it becomes a little daft when you’re an adult.’
‘Gosh,’ said Will. ‘I didn’t realise you were such a feminist.’
‘That’s not being a feminist!’ cried Bey. ‘That’s just making a point. Really and truly, men can be so irritating sometimes.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to annoy you.’
‘I’m quite happy for girls – women even – to look like Disney princesses if they want,’ said Bey. ‘They’ve a right to choose. And let’s face it, I design jewellery so that they can look gorgeous. It’s just the wedding palaver that does my head in. I’ve been to quite a few over the last year or so and they were all really over the top. Even Vika . . .’ She shook her head as she thought about her college friend. ‘Vika designs spiky, ultra-modern stuff that she normally wears all the time. But for her wedding day she went the whole traditional route and it was like she was someone else entirely.’
What Happened That Night: The page-turning holiday read by the No. 1 bestselling author Page 28