The Gift of a Charm

by Melissa Hill

  ‘May I see this bracelet of yours?’

  She handed it over willingly, and he searched through it. She thought he was looking for the horseshoe with the letters that had led her here, but instead he flipped directly to the tadpole-like charm that Holly couldn’t identify.

  ‘This corno, it is wonderful. The craftsmanship is spectacular,’ he pointed out, displaying the charm in his palm.

  She followed his gaze. ‘Oh, what did you call it – a corno?’ she asked, fascinated. ‘What is that?’

  ‘It’s an Italian horn. A traditional talisman used to ward off evil.’

  Interesting, Holly thought, her mind racing. Could the owner of the bracelet possibly be Italian, then?

  ‘Yes, it’s quite beautiful,’ she replied, unwilling to admit that she hadn’t known what it was.

  ‘Surely, it is. I grew up around them,’ Gennaro said, chuckling. ‘And I may well have grown up around this very one.’

  Holly’s eyes grew wide. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘This charm, I believe it came from a shop in my home town, in Florence. My father’s shop, Corna Fiorentine.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Holly couldn’t believe her luck.

  ‘I take it this is the charm that led you here to me?’

  ‘No, actually, but what a happy coincidence,’ Holly replied, heartened that she was on the right track. ‘Maybe your father could help me find who bought this?’

  Gennaro’s smile dimmed ever so slightly. ‘Ah, I am afraid that is not possible. You see, my father, Giovanni, now rests with the angels.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Holly, crestfallen once again. ‘I’m terribly sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it was many years ago. But even if he was still alive, please understand that he sold many of these through the years. I doubt if he would have been able to identify this one trinket.’ He held the bracelet out to Holly, and she took it.

  ‘Probably,’ she agreed, trying to consider the angles. ‘But it’s so strange – that isn’t the charm that led me here. It’s this one.’ She indicated the horseshoe. ‘Isn’t it odd that the bracelet has two very different charms that lead directly to you?’

  Gennaro shook his head and his brow creased. ‘Yes, it is odd, and very strange. But I cannot figure out the connection, as I’ve never seen this bracelet before. None of my own work, or the work I buy from freelancers, has anything to do with corna or horseshoes.’

  Holly was thinking out loud. ‘Well, you said the horn symbolises protection, as do horseshoes. What about the numbers: do they mean anything to you?’

  Gennaro looked again at the inscription, 618. ‘Nothing to me personally. Maybe it is a date?’

  ‘Yes, maybe.’ Then remembering her recent conversation with Jessica, a thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘Would you happen to hold events here? Like a charity benefit or something? And have you ever heard of a woman called Margot Mead?’

  Gennaro shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I do not know this lady. And we do hold events here sometimes – not as you describe, but exhibits, where our artists sell their work, sometimes in aid of charity.’

  Holly was thinking hard. ‘Wait a minute, didn’t you say you buy the work of freelancers?’ When he nodded in agreement, she continued. ‘And you showcase this work, at gallery events?’

  ‘Yes, we do,’ Gennaro confirmed. ‘Ah, I see where you are going with this. Maybe this charm means “good luck”, because someone had their work showcased here on such a date, perhaps June eighteenth, yes?’

  Holly smiled: that was exactly where she’d been going. ‘Yes, so how long have you been open? Or actually, how many eighteenth of Junes have you been open?’

  Gennaro put a thoughtful hand to his chin and started counting, what Holly assumed was years, on his fingers.

  ‘That would be eight. I have owned this gallery for eight years.’

  Holly felt like jumping up and down. She felt that they were close to discovering another piece of the puzzle. She was sure of it.

  ‘And how many times have you had gallery events on June eighteenth?’

  With that Gennaro threw up his arms. ‘Well, that, I would have to check. My assistant keeps those records, but I can ask her to look. You are looking specifically for work exhibited by freelancers, yes?’

  ‘And who might have an Italian connection of some sort – although that’s not a given,’ she added quickly, so as not to make the search too restrictive.

  Gennaro smiled. ‘You are quite the detective, Holly O’Neill.’

  ‘My son calls me Sherlock.’ She smiled, thinking of her and Danny’s recent sleuthing, and was surprised to see Gennaro’s face change at the mention of a son. His eyes darted to her left hand, evidently in search of a ring. Holly had to purse her lips together to hold back a smile.

  ‘Your son? How long have you been married?’

  Holly shook her head and looked down at her hand. ‘I’m not. And I’m no longer with Danny’s father.’

  Gennaro’s face brightened. ‘Ah, I see, and your son, how old is he? And does he like your current boyfriend?’

  Talk about subtle …

  ‘He’s ten. And there is no current boyfriend.’

  Gennaro looked Holly up and down. ‘There is no way you are old enough to have a ten-year-old son. Not possible. I mean, you can’t be a day over twenty-five, how beautiful you are. And to be single, that is a tragedy.’

  Holly laughed out loud at this. ‘Oh, Gennaro, what a smooth talker you are! Try adding ten to that.’

  He feigned shock at her true age and put a hand over his heart. ‘You must have fantastic genes. Do not tell me, you are Italian, yes? We Italians have good genes; Italian women are beautiful for ever.’

  ‘Do I look Italian to you?’ Holly pointed to her hair, and glanced at her watch. As much as she was enjoying Gennaro’s flirting, she needed to get back to work.

  ‘So is your assistant here? Do you think she could get this information for me?’ She hoped her suggestion could get the flirtatious gallery owner back on track, but unfortunately he shook his head.

  ‘No, Sofia is not here right now.’ Holly hid a smile; of course his assistant was a Sofia. There was no way a man like Gennaro would have a Sally or a Jane as an assistant. ‘But I can have her call you. If you leave me your number?’ He smiled devilishly, and Holly was quite certain that if she left her number, Sofia wouldn’t be the only person calling her. Nevertheless, she handed him her business card.

  ‘My cell is on there, so is my email, in case Sofia finds anything.’ She stressed the assistant’s name, hoping Gennaro would take a hint.

  He didn’t.

  ‘Fantastic, Holly O’Neill, and once we have some information for you, maybe I can take you to dinner? To talk about our … er … findings with this mystery bracelet.’ As much as she hated the next words that came out of her mouth, she knew it was necessary in order to get Gennaro to ask his assistant to pull the event records, and not throw her card in the trash as soon as she walked out of the gallery.

  ‘Sure, that would be lovely. As soon as Sofia calls me, we can figure something out.’ She smiled coyly, hoping she wasn’t overdoing it.

  Flirting with Italian Stallions like Gennaro was not a speciality of hers, and frankly, since Nick, she felt long out of practice in the art of flirting. After all, she and Nick had stopped flirting a long time ago.

  ‘Ah, bella! Fantastico. I know just the place too, you will see.’

  ‘Sure, just don’t forget to talk to Sofia about that, OK?’ She pointed to her card. ‘It’s very important that I get this bracelet back to its owner. Remember, New York artists you might have exhibited work from, OK? Female New York artists.’

  ‘You have my promise, Holly O’Neill.’ He reached forward and took her hand, then bowed low to place a kiss on it. The door chimed behind them and Holly reclaimed her hand, placing the bracelet back in her handbag, making sure it was safe and secure. ‘Until we meet again, bella donna. Ah! Now, you will excuse
me: I have some business to attend to. Gregorio!’ Gennaro cheered, looking over Holly’s shoulder at whomever had just walked in the door of the gallery.

  Holly turned abruptly and ran face first into the man she assumed was ‘Gregorio’.

  ‘God, sorry,’ she said, rubbing her nose, which had connected squarely with the man’s very hard shoulder.

  ‘Oh, excuse me, sorry about that. Are you OK?’ said Gregorio in a very non-Italian-sounding New York accent. His dark gaze met hers and he smiled kindly, brushing away a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

  Holly smiled absently. ‘Yes, I’m sure my nose will recover,’ she joked. ‘Anyway, excuse me, I was just leaving.’ She turned to Gennaro. ‘Thanks again, Gennaro. I look forward to hearing from Sofia. You too.’

  ‘Ciao, Holly,’ Gennaro called over her shoulder. ‘Until we meet again.’

  Holly exited onto the street, just as her cell phone rang.

  ‘Hello, is that Holly?’ a crisp voice said on the other end of the line.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘It’s Jessica, Margot Mead’s assistant. I have some information for you regarding the jewelled egg charm. Is this a good time?’

  Yes, Holly thought happily, right now is a great time.

  Chapter 15

  ‘Gregorio! What’s up, my man!’ laughed Gennaro as he welcomed his friend to his gallery.

  Greg smiled fondly at the nickname that Gennaro had given him, and continued to use, since they first met a year or so ago.

  ‘Hanging in there, man. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,’ he asked, looking back at the door through which the young woman had just exited. ‘She ran off pretty quick.’

  Gennaro waved a hand. ‘Not a problem. It wasn’t that big of a deal.’ He took another glance at the business card he was holding and threw it on the reception desk. ‘Pretty little thing, though.’

  Greg shook his head; it was so like Gennaro to mix work and pleasure. He was the epitome of a ladies’ man.

  ‘Interested buyer?’ Greg asked.

  ‘No, no, nothing like that. Some great duck hunt that she was on, like a scavenger in my opinion. Looking to return a lost bracelet to some artist. She thinks the artist is a woman I might have done some business with.’

  Greg laughed at Gennaro’s use of English colloquialisms. ‘It’s a wild goose chase, not a great duck hunt.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Sadly, she wasn’t interested in a thing on these walls. Can you believe that? Only interested in finding the owner of this bracelet that she had. I might have to give her a call to help her on her quest, you know? Maybe, just maybe, I can get her to dinner, and then maybe she will be interested in something else, yes?’ Gennaro wiggled his eyebrows, leaving little wonder about what the ‘something else’ could be. ‘Speaking of women, how is the beautiful Karen?’

  ‘Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘Your lovely girlfriend? Fantastico, I’m all ears. I would be happy to take her off your hands.’

  ‘No, not like that,’ Greg laughed. ‘I just popped by to let you know that I quit my job at the firm. I’m going full time with the photography. I’m hoping to sell some more of my work because I’m planning on proposing to Karen soon, and well, I feel I need to provide her with something that boosts her confidence in my decision, especially if she is going to say yes.’

  Gennaro shook his head, seemingly not following how the two factors tied together.

  ‘I don’t understand. How does your proposal coincide with you selling your work?’

  Greg quickly explained that he had sprung his decision to quit the firm and start up his own photography business on Karen. And that things had been a little tense around the old casa as of late.

  ‘I am planning on proposing very soon, but I just want to prove to her that I’m already making a go of things with my new career.’

  Gennaro frowned again. ‘You know, my father, when he opened his store, he did so with very little money. He took a chance, but my mother always stood by him. To the very end she did.’ Gennaro seemed to cringe when he saw Greg’s face fall, and immediately realised his bad choice of words. ‘Ah, buddy, I’m so sorry. I heard about your mother … I’m so sorry.’

  Greg smiled sadly. ‘Thanks. I won’t deny it’s been hard, but … I guess you just need to come up with coping mechanisms.’

  ‘You Americans with your coping mechanisms,’ Gennaro smiled. ‘No, what I meant just then was that your parents had a wonderful love story. My parents had a wonderful love story. I hope that your love story with Karen isn’t just based on some photographs.’

  ‘I’m sure everything will be fine,’ Greg replied, feeling a little uncomfortable. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to find out if you were in the market for anything new?’ He indicated the walls of the gallery.

  Gennaro shrugged despondently. ‘Ah, Gregorio, my friend, I’m not buying anything right now. In this economy, it’s been slow, especially for the holidays. I have stockpiles of work in the backroom that I have yet to display.’

  Greg sighed and looked around at the art that graced almost every surface of the gallery. ‘Of course I understand. But, hey, thanks for hearing me out – and if you do need anything along those lines, keep me in mind, won’t you?’

  Gennaro seemed to be thinking. ‘Well, I can’t promise anything, but why don’t you email me some files and maybe we can do something together for the next gallery event in the New Year. Speaking of which, are you going to the benefit this year?’

  He was referring to the annual New Year’s Eve ball held in aid of St Jude’s Children’s Hospital, a big society event that Greg and his family usually supported with their attendance.

  Greg sighed. He hadn’t really thought about it. ‘I’m not sure … Maybe. We’ve had the tickets for ages of course, so … I think it might feel odd going now, with everything. Will you be there?’

  Gennaro nodded in confirmation. ‘Yes, although I need to get a date for the night.’

  Greg laughed. ‘That’s not like you. Less than a couple of weeks before an event and no date? You’re slacking, man.’

  ‘Please, you know me better than that,’ Gennaro replied with a wink. ‘I have a waiting list.’ He looked towards the door. ‘Although perhaps I will overlook the list and aim for someone new, like my pretty friend who just left.’

  Greg sighed indulgently at his friend’s antics, and felt grateful that he was no longer in the dating game. He knew Gennaro was telling the truth; the man regularly had several women hanging around, vying for his attention.

  ‘Well, good luck with it anyway. And thanks again for agreeing to check out my work. But now I’d better get going; I’m doing a few bits and pieces for the NYT and I have to follow through. I hope you have a merry Christmas, Gennaro.’ He offered his hand and Gennaro took it, pulling him forward into a bear hug.

  ‘You too, Gregorio. And good luck with Karen. She’s a beautiful woman. And I’ll bet she has been hinting about a ring for quite some time, eh?’

  Greg shook his head. Actually Karen wasn’t in the least bit pressurising in that regard. While she adored jewellery, she didn’t get sappy about engagement rings, and he’d never once heard her use the words ‘princess cut’.

  ‘Really? Then she clearly isn’t Italian,’ Gennaro chuckled. ‘Italian women like to know your intentions on date number one. No messing around wasting time, you know? That’s why I adore Italian women, but I do not date them.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘At least, not after the first night.’ He clapped Greg on the back. ‘You are a lucky man to have such a level-headed woman.’

  Greg smiled and said goodbye to his friend, but Gennaro’s words had struck a chord.

  It was true; Karen really wasn’t the type of woman to buy pre-emptive bridal magazines or squeal over the news of a friend’s engagement.

  He thought about his mother, and how Cristina always rejoiced over weddings, baby
showers and occasions like that. Sure, he understood that all women weren’t the same, and he certainly wasn’t trying to compare Karen to his mom, but he was struggling to remember if he had ever seen Karen show excitement over the life events of her friends. There was no denying his girlfriend had passion, of course, but the things she got excited about were often holidays they were taking, or a deal she had just closed at work, or even her ability to score some in-demand purse at Louis Vuitton.

  In any case, Greg hoped she’d be suitably passionate about how he was planning to propose. The idea had struck him out of the blue that morning, and the more he thought about it, the more he realised it was absolutely perfect for Karen.

  Getting back on his bike, he made his way uptown to put the early stages of his plan in place.

  A few minutes later, as he walked to the elevator in the New York Times building, he made eye contact with every single person and smiled. He’d have to start memorising faces and names soon.

  When he got to Rob’s office, his friend high-fived him before saying anything else.

  ‘Way to go, man. Billy told me the good news. Lunch – and maybe with a celebratory beer?’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Have you got an assignment already?’

  Greg nodded.

  ‘Who’s the writer?’

  ‘Suzanne Lee.’

  Rob made a face. ‘OK, you’ll need definitely a beer. She’s a little … demanding.’

  Greg laughed. ‘Tell me about it.’

  The two men strolled out of the office and out onto the street.

  ‘Wanna go where all the NYT people go?’ Rob asked.

  ‘That would be cool,’ he replied enthusiastically.

  ‘Then go back inside and order out,’ he joked, before leading Greg down the street to a diner where half the menu was in Russian.

  Their elderly waitress took a long time to take their orders, but Rob and Greg didn’t care; they were marvelling over the fact that after knowing each other for so long they would now be working for the same company.

  ‘I can request you, you know,’ Rob told him. ‘So if things get light, let me know.’