Page 33 - Just Deserts
P. 33

Excessories

        opened it immediately and led the client into a chamber resembling a
        chief executive’s office more than a shopkeeper’s back room. A man
        rose from behind a glass-topped desk where he had been studying a
        sheaf  of  telexes.  He  buttoned  his  Euro-tailored  double-breasted
        jacket  and  came  forward,  a  look  of  respectful  solicitude  spreading
        over his clean-shaven face.
          Melanie set a certain tone of courtliness in her  introduction. “Ms.
        Childe,  this  is  Excessories’  vice  president,  Stanford  Pontebroglio.
        Mr. Pontebroglio, Ms. Selma Childe. Now I will leave you two alone
        and return to the showroom.”
          “Thank  you,  Miss  Meldrock.  Please  be  seated,  Ms.  Childe.  I
        understand you have a particular interest in ivory beads.” He arched
        his narrow brows interrogatively as he settled into his swivel chair.
        His age was indeterminate, but he had the look of a well-preserved
        stage actor.
          The  matron  basked  in  the  personalized  attention.  “Well,  you
        see,  I’m  no  expert  in  the  subject,  like  you  people  are,  but  I  do
        know what I like, and recently I’ve seen some things that are quite
        appealing. They looked almost like they had come out of a museum
        or  somewhere;  very  unusual,  and  seemed  to  be  covered  with
        small ivory beads in very intricate patterns. As I told your assistant, I
        do need something to complete my outfit for a very important social
        occasion,  and  I  thought  you  might  have  something  along  those
        lines.”
          Pontebroglio steepled his elegantly manicured fingers and made a
        momentary  pout  with  his  lips,  as  if  making  a  difficult  and  slightly
        unpleasant decision. “Ms. Childe, I do hope you are aware that we are
        not permitted to import ivory any longer; East African elephants are
        an endangered species, and our government frowns upon trading in
        any products derived from them.”
          “Oh, but I saw these beautiful bracelets, and I’m sure the person
        wearing  them—I  won’t  tell  you  her  name—bought  them  here  in
        town, and not that long ago.”
          “Of course,” the boutique executive went on, spreading his hands
        in conciliation, “there are exceptions. Antiques—anything more than
        one hundred years in age—are exempted from the restriction.”


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