Page 35 - Just Deserts
P. 35

Excessories

        Pontebroglio  twirled  its  combination  lock,  twisted  its  handle,  and
        pulled it open. From within he carefully withdrew a tray and placed it
        before the woman, directly beneath a spotlight aimed from the ceiling
        at the front of the desk. A dark blue velvet cloth lay across the top of
        the tray; he waited until her eyes were glued upon it, then whisked it
        away.
          Despite herself, Selma gasped. “It-it’s lovely,” she finally said, after
        rapidly examining the dozens of concentric semicircles of gleaming
        oblong ivory beads, none longer than a centimeter, mounted on a flat
        hand-wrought silver crescent.
          “This is a necklace, isn’t it?”
          “Well, technically, this part of the regalia is called a pectoral, but
        here in the West we may safely refer to it as a necklace. As you can
        see, we have replaced the original leather thong with a knotted raw
        silk cord for a contemporary look. If you would care to try it on, I
        will  assist  you—I’m  afraid  I  cannot  let  you  handle  it  by  yourself:
        insurance, you know.”
          She eagerly assented, immediately glancing about the chamber for
        a mirror.  Several were to be found at intervals along the walls, all
        with a slight convexity bestowing a slimmer profile upon their users.
        The  merchant  carefully  lifted  the  ornament  and  laid  it  upon  her
        bosom. He tied it on her neck, stood back and marveled at the effect.
          “Yes,”  he  uttered  with  an  abstracted  air,  as  if  uncontrollably
        speaking his innermost thoughts. “It’s perfect.”
          His  client  was  more  than  inclined  to  agree.  Looking  at  her
        reflection  she  mentally  clothed  herself  in  her  new  dress  under  the
        East  African  necklace.  Reluctantly  she  allowed  him  to  remove  the
        treasure and replace it on the tray. Then she returned to her chair.
          “How much?”
          Without  missing  a  beat,  Pontebroglio  replied,  “Seven  thousand
        five hundred.” He crossed the room and sat down next to a small
        Louis  XVI  table.  “But  you  must  understand  that  I  cannot  provide
        you with complete documentation: the Rasgullan royal family in exile,
        from  whom  we  have  this  piece  on  consignment,  is  unwilling  to
        expose itself to any adverse publicity. Their lessened circumstances
        have  forced  them  to  dispose  of  certain  heirlooms,  and  they  are
        educated enough not to believe in the superstitions connected with
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