Firebird (40 page)

Alexandra signed, ‘thank you, friend,’ as she wheeled her daughter toward the door.

Okay, she thought.  It’s just me and Ruby now.   The way it should be.  So why did she feel as if something was missing?

Stay with me
.

* * * *

The wind was bitterly cold and the sky was a dull pewter, turning the skyscrapers along Fifth Avenue to shades of black and gray.  A hint of the first snow brushed the late-day air.

Alexandra turned down 57
^th
Street and stopped at the corner of Madison Avenue in front of the shop called
Tresors de la Veille Russie
.  They were late.  Ruby’s appointment with the specialist had taken much longer than she’d expected.  But the doctor had been encouraging... until he’d listed the downside of cochlear implants in his quiet clinical voice.

One day at a time, she told herself as the light changed. 

 She turned to her nanny’s brother, the retired detective who had accompanied them all afternoon.  “Do you want to come in, Danny, or wait by the door?”

He stationed himself by the door as she pushed the buzzer for entry.

“Yes?  May I help you, Madame?”  The impeccably dressed woman smiled down at Ruby.

“Alexandra Marik from the Baranski Gallery.  I have an appointment with Mr. Orlov.”

“Of course.  Just a moment.”

Alexandra handed Ruby a cardboard picture book and turned to examine the shop. 
Tresors de la Vielle Russie
was one of several elegant East Side antique dealerships specializing in fine European jewelry and Russian decorative and fine arts.  Alexandra gazed at the deep red carpet and subtly-lit glassed cases filled with shining objets d’art.

Aware of the uniformed guard’s eyes on her, she stepped closer to a locked Louis Quinze rosewood cabinet.  Displayed on the lighted shelves were enameled snuffboxes, Faberge miniature eggs, glowing icons, a finely carved agate bear.  Lacquered boxes, each with its own legend, and a collection of exquisite nesting dolls.  Eve’s
Matroyoska
. 

In moments, another doll might twist open to reveal the secret of the firebird brooch…

“See the beautiful dolls,” she said, signing ‘doll’ to her delighted daughter as she bent to remove Ruby’s jacket.

Her eyes moved to the focus of the shop - a superb collection of antique Russian jewelry.  An art-nouveau pendant set with black pearls and sapphires by Feodor Lorie, created in Moscow in 1890.  Edwardian circular platinum cufflinks set with rubies, silver box by Bolin, St. Petersburg, 1900.  And there, displayed on grey satin in a case by themselves, were the jeweled pins.  A Victorian snake, an onyx butterfly, a cat with emerald eyes, a platinum polar bear, a pair of dazzling diamond tremblant brooches.  But no Firebird.

Alexandra checked on Ruby, now engrossed in her book, and wandered to the shining dinnerware set on a long table. 

“This dinner service,” said a cultured European voice behind her, “was made for the dowry of Grand Duchess Alexandra Nikolaevna.  She was married in St. Petersburg in 1844 to Prince Friedrich Wilhelm von Hessen-Kassel.”

Alexandra turned with a smile.  “It’s very beautiful.  I’m Alexandra Marik.”

“From the Baranski, yes.  It’s a pleasure.”  The manager bowed formally from the waist.  He was pale and blade thin, dressed all in black, with a high forehead and a small thick goatee.  “Vasily Orlov.  Unfortunately, the Grand Duchess died in childbirth before she was able to enjoy her many treasures.  How may I help you, Dr. Marik?”

“I need information, please.  From an expert on Romanov jewelry.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” said the manager proudly.  “Our collection is family owned.  We began in the 1850’s in Kiev, moved to Paris just before the Revolution, and came to New York on the eve of World War II.  Our pieces are of the highest quality.”

Alexandra glanced with appreciation at the glassed displays.  “I can see that.”  She drew in her breath.  “A brooch has come into my possession that I believe could date from the time of the czars.” 

“You have my attention, Dr. Marik.  Until the Revolution in 1917, the Romanovs ruled in a splendor typified by magnificent jewels.  May I see your brooch?”

She pictured the brooch, now securely hidden in the Baranski Gallery vault. 
No way she’d risk carrying the Firebird on her person when Ruby was with her
.  She withdrew several professional color photographs from her purse.  They would have to do for now.  “I have these.  All the measurements are included as well. ”

He held up the photographs and caught his breath.  “The Firebird!  Madame will be delighted.”

Madame
?  “You recognize it?”

“Of course.  Without examining the actual brooch, I cannot say with certainty if it is the copy I’m familiar with  – or a similar piece of jewelry.  The Firebird played such a distinctive role in Russian history, after all.  We find her in oil paintings, music, on Faberge eggs and lacquered Russian boxes.  And, of course, jewelry.   But you see this distinctive curve of wing, the elongated neck?  Very unique.”

He held one photograph to the light.  “You do know that the original Firebird brooch disappeared from St. Petersburg - Leningrad, in those days - sometime during the Cold War?  So many treasures did.  But even a good copy, with fewer, lesser stones, would be a
very
valuable piece.”

“Yes.  I researched the brooch earlier today, looking for more information.  I know there is at least one copy, probably several.  That’s why I’m here.  What more can you tell me about the original?”

He gazed at her for a long moment.  “I can
show
you,” he said finally.  He stepped to a rosewood cabinet, unlocked the door and removed a large art book.   A moment later he found the page he sought and held out the book to her.

Alexandra gazed down at a formal wedding portrait of a czar and his veiled, bejeweled wife.  “Nicholas and Alexandra,” she said softly.

“Yes.  1894.  Their wedding in the Winter Palace.”  He handed her a small magnifying glass.  “Look closely at the brooch on the breast of her gown.”

“It’s the Firebird,” she breathed.

“Yes, the original Romanov brooch.  The finest quality diamonds and rubies.  But it has a gruesome, bloody history, I’m afraid.”  He glanced down at Ruby.

“It’s all right,” said Alexandra.  “She won’t - understand you.”

Vasily Orlov set down the book, turned back to her.  “When the Revolution began, members of the Czar’s court began to hide the Romanov jewels, which, of course, were worth a king’s fortune.  Many were smuggled to the nuns in Tobolsk.  Others were hidden in the Swedish embassy in St. Petersburg and just surfaced in Stockholm a few years ago.  On the night that the Czar and his family were executed, the women had gems sewn into their clothing.  The jewels deflected many of the bullets.  There were rumors that the Firebird was found hidden in the Empress Alexandra’s gown.”

Without speaking, Alexandra removed the brooch’s velvet pouch with the
LP
stamp from her purse and held it out to Vasily Orlov.

“Leonard Pfisterer?” he murmured in a shocked voice.   His eyes darkened, and he looked at her closely.  “Historically and artistically, the original Firebird brooch would be priceless.  I must ask how this brooch came into your possession?”

Alexandra heard the suspicion in his voice and hesitated.  “A gift given to my sister,” she said finally.  “Clearly, by your reaction, the provenance is questionable.  I questioned it as well, that’s why I’ve come to you.  The brooch I have may well be an excellent copy.  But it’s very important that I trace the provenance.”

“We made a small repair on a copy of the original Firebird brooch some months ago.”  His eyes moved to the telephone.  “But the owner would never have parted with such a treasure.”

“I assure you, Mr. Orlov, my sister believed her brooch to be a gift.  Of course I will do the right thing.  If I could just speak with the copy’s owner?”

“Surely you understand that I cannot give out that information.  The privacy of our customers must be respected at all costs.”

“Please, Mr. Orlov.  I’m sure the owner of the brooch you mentioned would want to know that I am in possession of a similar firebird jewel.”

The manager looked down at his elegant manicured hands, then reached to smooth Ruby’s curls.  “Your daughter is very beautiful,” he murmured.   He held out his hand.  “May I examine the photographs again?”

“Of course.”

Vasily Orlov held the Firebird’s image to the light. “This is magnificent.  If I didn’t know better...”  He looked at her.

Alexandra locked her eyes on his.  “If you believe the ownership to be in question, then we both should find out the truth.  A moment ago you mentioned someone you called Madame?  The owner, I trust?”

He was silent for a moment.  “A favor,” he conceded, “one colleague to another.  And I do, after all, know where to find you.”  He permitted himself a small smile.  “If you will wait a few moments, Dr. Marik, I will call Madame.  With her consent, I will arrange a meeting between you.”

The manager disappeared into the office.

Given its history, thought Alexandra darkly, the real brooch would be priceless.  No wonder everyone wanted it. 
But one person wanted the Firebird because it held the secret of Eve’s death.

She sank to her knees next to Ruby’s stroller.  The child stirred as her mother planted a kiss on her shining hair.  “Your Aunt Eve would be very proud of us,” said Alexandra, her fingers moving to make the word ‘happy’ in front of Ruby’s eyes.  Ruby smiled in delight.

Unless he’s calling the police. 

“Dr. Marik?”

Alexandra rose to her feet.  “Good news, I hope?”

“Madame Danilova will meet with you late tonight, at her restaurant.  Is ten o’clock agreeable?”

“Absolutely.  Where is she located?”

“In the theater district.  She owns an elegant Russian restaurant, you may have heard of it.  The Palace of the Firebird.”  

CHAPTER 42

“But oh, she dances such a way!”

Sir John Suckling

The elevator doors slid open.  The air vibrated with the muted sounds of an upright piano and spinning toe-shoes.  Alexandra pushed Ruby’s stroller into the third floor hallway of the Juilliard School of Dance and glanced once more at her watch.  Almost five o’clock.  Five more hours until she could meet with Madame Danilova.  She was going to find answers tonight, she was sure of it.  A restaurant called
The Palace of the Firebird
was no coincidence.

She turned to her bodyguard with a smile.

“Thanks, Danny.  We should be fine now.  The rehearsal room is just down the hall.”

Olivia’s brother held out a hand and stepped forward. 
Wait
.

Surprised, Alexandra turned to see a man standing at the end of the long hallway, staring through glass doors.  Late afternoon light spilled through a high window, edging the silver hair and hard planes of his face with gold.  Instinctively she moved in front of Ruby, then recognized the face as he turned toward her.  

“Anthony!”  She looked with relief at the bodyguard.  “It’s okay, Danny, that’s my brother-in-law.”  He waved her on and she pushed the stroller down the hallway. 

“What are you doing here, Anthony?” she demanded.

“A man always knows where he stands with you, Alexandra.”  Anthony Rhodes bent to brush dry lips across her cheek.   He smelled of expensive cologne.  “I’ve been concerned about Juliet.  I brought her to her four o’clock rehearsal, and stayed to watch.  She has no idea I’m still here.”

He bent to run his palm over Ruby’s curls and made the baby sign for ‘hello.’  “Hello, there, Ruby.  I’ve missed you.”

Alexandra watched the trusting smile light her daughter’s face. 
What was Garcia thinking?
  Anthony could never hurt anyone.

His voice broke into her thoughts.  “You’re looking well, my dear, all things considered.  If Dark Victory had come any closer…”  Pain etched his voice as he shook his head.  “I’m sorry, Alexandra.  For everything.”

She looked down at the soft sling once more cocooning her left arm.  “Nothing was your fault, Anthony.  I’m just bruised, really.  All I need is Advil.”

“Thank God.  Then may I ask what brings
you
here?  Shouldn’t you be home resting?”

Damned if she wasn’t sure…  “Ruby and I had appointments all afternoon.  My daughter has quite the social calendar.”  She smiled.  “The truth is, we had some time before Ruby’s dinner, and I want her to get to know her cousin.  And after everything that happened last night, I just wanted to see Jules for myself, check on her.  For Eve.”

“For Eve.  I see.”  Rhodes’ gaze went back to the glassed door.  “My talented step-daughter is dancing up a storm, apparently.  Not a mark on her - except for that damned tattoo - thanks to you.”  He shook his head.  “She was scared as hell last night, so I don’t think she’ll disappear again.  For awhile.”  He put his hand on her shoulder.  “Are you sure you’re okay, Alexandra?  You’re quite pale.  Troubled.”  He hesitated.  “Did you find what you were looking for last night?”

Your brother-in-law is one of the Lions
.

Damn you and your suspicions, Garcia.  She looked away guiltily, then shook her head.  “You knew I wouldn’t.  Your colleagues were fascinating, and very charming.  But there was nothing to find, afterall,” she lied.

His eyes were blue as glaciers above his smile.  She had no idea if he believed her.

She gestured toward the rehearsal room.  “Except that Juliet is in trouble.  She was acting out big-time last night, you saw it.  She’s so angry, so alone.  A sensitive, brilliant kid who needs help.  You’ve got to help her, Anthony, she needs - ”

“Not I, my dear.  Juliet needs
you
, Alexandra.”

“Me!  Good grief, Anthony.  I’m still learning to be a good mother to my
own
child.”  Her hand caressed Ruby, now absorbed in a book of farm animals.