Power of a Woman (14 page)

It was from André that she had learned about the international side of the jewelry business, and about such great designers as Belperron, Boivin, and the Duke of Verdura, to name only a few.

André was an expert on these renowned designers of the thirties, forties, and fifties, as well as on Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, the intrepid merchant-traveler who had moved between Paris and the Golconda mines of India in the seventeenth century, and who had first brought diamonds back to Europe from the subcontinent. Tavernier had supplied diamonds to Louis XIV, the Sun King, and those members of the French court who could afford them. One of the first big “name” diamonds was called the Grand Mazarin, named after Cardinal Mazarin, who be-queathed it to the Sun King on his death.

Ralph had already taught her a great deal about diamonds by the time she met André; the latter had been impressed that a woman so young and inexperienced had acquired so much knowledge in so short a time. As she explained to him,

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she was a quick study, had a photographic memory, and had always harbored a genuine desire to learn about precious stones and Ralph’s business, which fascinated her.

Ralph had told her once that he had two great passions in his life. “You, my love, and diamonds.

So let me share my second passion with you, my first.”

And that was really how she had been given such a well-rounded education about diamonds and other gems. Ralph had impressed two things on her when teaching her about diamonds: that the rarity and value of a diamond was determined by the four Cs: carat—the weight and size—plus the clarity, color, and cut of a stone, and that only the largest, rarest, and most dazzling stone is given a name.

And tonight, for the first time in her twenty-one-year career as a jeweler, she herself was going to bid on a big “name” diamond, the famous White Empress, which would go on the auction block at Sotheby’s at seven o’clock exactly.

Only a few hours away. She did not feel nervous or apprehensive. Quite to the contrary. She was relaxed, self-confident, and calm. And her mood, she was quite sure, was due to some extent to André’s reassuring presence.

Stevie sat with him now in the sitting room of his suite at the Carlyle Hotel, sipping a glass of carbon-ated water, her attention riveted on him.

“And so,
ma chérie
, it was a decision I made…

152 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

to show you the pieces first, before disposing of them elsewhere if you are not interested.”

“I’m sure I will be, André,” Stevie responded, smiling at him. “As you know, I’m always looking for lovely old things for the antique jewelry department at the London store. Some of my clients are interested only in the very old pieces these days.”

“They are in vogue, yes,” he answered, and got up, hurried off to another room in the capacious suite. Within a few seconds he returned, explaining,

“Matt is bringing them so that you can view them, Stephanie.”

Once again he sat down opposite her and then instantly jumped up, as sprightly as ever at seventy-five. He exclaimed, “Let us sit over there. At the table near the window. It is the better light, I think, no?”

“Yes, it is,” Stephanie agreed, adding, “And there’s also a good lamp on the table.” She followed him across the room, eager to see what he had brought with him from Paris.

André Birron owned one of the most elegant and prestigious jewelry shops in the world, located on the Place Vendôme near the Ritz Hotel. The business had been founded in the nineteenth century by his great-grandfather, Pierre Birron, who had made a name for himself when he had outbid other jewelers for some of the royal jewels. At an auction in Paris in 1887, the diamonds of the Crown of France had been

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put on the block by the Third Republic. All the great jewelers were present, including Frédéric Boucheron of Paris, Tiffany & Company of New York, and Bonynge of London. It was Pierre Birron who had won some of the more magnificent spoils by going for broke. He never looked back. Like Jardine’s, Birron et Cie was family owned and run. André’s two sons worked with him at the Place Vendôme shop.

Matt Wilson, André’s assistant, came in carrying a briefcase, which he brought over to André.

“
Bien, bien, ouvrez-le!
” André exclaimed.

Matt opened the briefcase, took out various gray suede pouches and jewelry wallets. Opening one of the large wallets, he pushed it toward Stevie without comment, but his expression said more than any words could.

Stevie stared at the necklace Matt had revealed.

It was made of two strands of stained blue chalcedony beads. She felt a little shiver run through her as she gazed at the blue-gray beads that glistened as they caught and held the light. Then she exclaimed, “It’s Belperron, isn’t it?” Her voice held a note of excitement as she glanced at André.

“Yes, it is most probably Belperron.” He let out a small sigh and shook his head, looking regretful. “It is unfortunate that Suzanne never signed her pieces.

She believed her designs were so absolutely unique and unconventional that they were easily recogniz-able as being hers, and no one

154 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

else’s. ‘My signature is redundant, André,’ she used to tell me.”

“More’s the pity she never signed her creations.

May I look at this more closely?”

“
Mais naturellement
.” The Frenchman lifted the necklace out of the suede wallet and handed it to her.

Stevie held it under the lamp on the table, examined the chalcedony beads and the flowerhead clasp. This was composed of larger, carved chalcedony stones that formed the petals; the center was set with a cluster of eight cabochon sapphires and bands of brilliant-cut diamonds.

André sat back in his chair, observing her, thinking what a stylish woman she was. Tonight she wore a well-cut tailored suit of black wool with black satin lapels and cuffs, and to his seasoned eye it was obviously couture. Her only pieces of jewelry were mabe pearl earrings, a single strand of large South Sea pearls, and a platinum watch. Simple, understated, very chic. She had a refined and elegant taste in all things, and especially so in jewelry; not unnaturally, her perfect taste was reflected in her own personal style of dressing.

André Birron was very proud of Stephanie Jardine and of what she had become. He had watched her grow and change and develop; he had also watched over her for some twenty-odd years. She was like the daughter he and his wife Elise had never had, and his wife was just as fond of her as he was.

Power of a Woman / 155

Stephanie had turned herself into a formidable businesswoman, and a jeweler par excellence. This gave him great pleasure and satisfaction, since she was his protégé in a sense.

But beyond her professionalism, there was something else, a uniqueness about her that made him feel all that much better for knowing her. Frequently, he had tried to define this particular quality in her, and had eventually come to the conclusion that it was the mixture of her integrity, decency, and genuine compassion that lifted her so high above others, made her so different. There was something fine in her that was very rare, and admirable.

André felt that at the core of her there was a repose, a calmness, and a certain kind of aloofness that had more to do with reserve than snobbery, and it was also this that set her apart.

There were times when he wondered about the lover Stephanie had taken when she was a young widow, the father of Chloe, wondered why the relationship had never flourished, gone forward, led to a permanent situation such as matrimony. He had constantly discouraged her from confiding the intimate details of her life in him or anyone else, and apparently she had always followed those guidelines he had given her so long ago.

No one knew a single thing about Stephanie Jardine’s private life other than what was obvious, which was there for all to see; not even her family 156 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

had an inkling about what she did. If anything at all.

He assumed there must have been other boyfriends over the years, maybe even lovers, and yet he had never seen her with a man other than a business associate. In consequence, there was not one shred of gossip about her. That in itself was an accomplishment, he believed.

It suddenly struck him, and quite forcibly, that perhaps there was no gossip because there was nothing to gossip about. There was the strong possibility that her children, Jardine’s, and her career had been, and were, enough for her. Yet only part of him believed this. He was a Frenchman and a romantic, and therefore he could not envision life without love. And what a barren life that would be, and so very lonely. To be alone was not enviable.

He shrank from the thought that Stephanie lived such a cold and isolated private life. Surely that could not be so? he asked himself, and discovered he had no answer. And he did not have the courage to ask her.

It took Stevie only a moment longer to examine the necklace before she glanced up at André and said in a confident voice, “It’s Belperron. No question in my mind about that. She made it anywhere between 1935 and 1938, I’d say. Yes, André, only Belperron herself could have designed this—” Very abruptly Stevie cut herself off, looked at him intently, and exclaimed, “You know, we’ve seen Power of a Woman / 157

something very similar, you and I. In 1987, at the Sotheby’s sale of the Duchess of Windsor’s jewels in Geneva. Don’t you remember, there was a necklace of hers that was rather like this one? One could say it was the sister to this. I certainly raved enough about it at the time, so I’m sure you couldn’t possibly have forgotten.”

“I do recall the occasion. And your enthusiasm.”

He smiled at her warmly. “That is one of the special things about you,
ma chérie
. You are not jaded. And when I saw this necklace a few weeks ago, I realized that you would be the one to truly appreciate its beauty. Do you not recall that when we were in Geneva for the Windsor sale, I told you that the duchess had been a frequent visitor to the Herz-Belperron shop in the rue de Châteaudun in Paris in the thirties?”

“Yes, I do remember.”

“It was apparent to me in Geneva that the necklace at the auction was a Belperron piece, even though it was listed as ‘probably Belperron.’ Unfortunately, that is the problem with an unsigned item; it can only ever be listed as
probably
. But it was real. It had to be. The duchess wore a great many of Suzanne’s creations. The one you are now holding is of the same style, quality, and period, do you not think so?”

She nodded. “Where did you find it?”

“The owner is a very well known Frenchwoman, from
le gratin
, the upper crust, in Paris. She inherited it from her mother, who inherited it 158 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

from
her
mother. She insists it is Belperron, not a fake, not a copy from the thirties.”

“We are all in agreement,” Stevie murmured. “But surely Belperron would have made earrings to match.”

“
Voila!
My clever one! You know your designers well.” He laughed.

“Thanks to you,” she said, smiling back at him.

“These are the ear clips that complete the set.” He took them out of a pouch and placed them on a table in front of her.

Reaching for the earrings, Stevie held them in the palm of her hand and examined them carefully. They were made of the same stained blue chalcedony, each one designed as a small leaf and set with a tapered band of diamonds and surmounted by a cluster of cabochon sapphires and diamonds.

“They’re exquisite, and the set is perfect. I have just the right client, an elegant woman who collects thirties jewelry. I am sure she will be interested.

She’s in London though, not New York.”

“That does not present any problem, as you are well aware. When I return to Paris this weekend, I will have the jewelry sent to London by the usual courier, the way I have done in the past.”

“How much is the set?” she asked.

“Forty-five thousand dollars.”

“Expensive.”

“No, I do not think so, Stephanie, not for Power of a Woman / 159

Belperron. The Duchess of Windsor’s necklace and earrings went for more than that in 1987. Nine years ago.”

“But that was a glamour auction and all the world came to it, don’t forget. The prices were driven sky high because of the great interest in the Windsors—to be more precise, in the Duchess of Windsor.”

André chuckled admiringly. “You never forget a thing, and what you say is true. However, let me please explain this particular situation.
I
am not selling the jewels, they are
not
the property of Birron et Cie. I am merely acting as a—how do you say?—a go-between, for a client. I am doing her a favor. She had the necklace and ear clips appraised and was informed they were worth about forty thousand dollars approximately. She asked me if I could get my own appraisal, which I did, and,
mon Dieu!
My appraiser came in with an even higher figure—fifty thousand. So we decided, she and I, to set a price somewhere in the middle. I will explain everything to you later if you decide to buy the pieces. Let you know how you will pay for them.”

“All right.”

“You do not doubt that the jewels are by Belperron, do you?”

“Oh, no, of course I don’t. They bear her inimit-able stamp, signature or not. The price is not a problem. What else did you bring from Paris?” she asked, now eyeing the other gray suede 160 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

pouches on the table, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Ah, yes, I will show you. There is a diamond pin by Jeanne Boivin.
Signed
. A lovely example of her individualistic work. Perfection, I think. Here it is.”

He took it out, gave it to Stevie. “It is owned by the same woman in Paris, and again it is a family heir-loom.
Très jolie, oui?
”

“It is indeed.” Stevie held the pin out in front of her, gazing at it, and admiringly so. It was a spray of flowers, Queen Anne’s lace, she thought, and beautifully executed. It was typical of Jeanne Boivin’s nature-theme designs of the mid-thirties, when the renowned designer copied her favorite plants and simple flowers in diamonds and platinum.