The Day Before Forever (12 page)

Henley made no move to answer.

“No, thank you,” I said.

I stared hard at the door, willing someone to materialize, but when no one did, I looked at Henley instead.

Henley was leaning against one arm of his chair. He had his legs crossed as if he often came into offices like this. For once, he looked cold and distant. He made no move to talk to me. He wasn't even looking in my direction. Instead he was aimlessly looking toward the corner of the room. It was as if he was purposefully distancing himself from me. I didn't know if it was all an act or not.

There was a little patch of skin on the back of his hand with a black smudge. I knew it had been where he had written down the number for the auction house. The patch of skin was pink, as if Henley had tried to scrub it off.

I looked at my own hand. I had Carl's phone number scrawled along the inside of my wrist in black ink. I should remember to keep my wrist down so as to avoid unnecessary attention to it. I also needed to remember not to accidentally smear it.

Finally, the door I had been watching opened. Another polished woman in a black skirt suit walked out. She walked crisply toward us.

Sticking a hand out first to Henley, then to me, the woman introduced herself. “Tabitha Webley.”

“Henley Beauford.”

“Of course,” she said. The woman matched the room in appearance and in attitude.

“This is Rebecca Hatfield,” he said. I couldn't help but notice he didn't use any labels with me. No “friend.” No “girlfriend.”

“It's a pleasure,” she said. “Now if you'll please follow me into one of our conference rooms, our sixteenth-century jewelry specialist will be joining us in just a moment.”

When Tabitha held open the door for us, I saw the rest of the office was mostly conference rooms.

As she sashayed through the halls, I peeked into the mostly glass rooms. They were so open they looked like human-sized fishbowls. Each one we passed was empty and dark. They all had a dark wooden table in the middle.

“This way.” Tabitha opened the door to one of the rooms.

It seemed like an arbitrary choice—there was nothing special about this one compared to the others, but it was set up and ready for us. The lights were already on. There were orchids in the middle of the table, and a pitcher of water accompanied by glasses that had intricate, lacelike designs cut into them.

“Coffee or tea?” she asked.

We shook our heads.

Tabitha took the far chair, while Henley sat across from her. I pulled out a chair next to Henley, right by the door.

Just as we sat, the door behind me opened and I felt a soft gust of air.

“So sorry to keep you waiting.” A short man in a black suit walked in. He smoothed his burgundy tie. “Ronald Burgess,” he said as he took our hands. He sat next to Tabitha.

The people of this company seemed to like their black suits.

“So, shall we begin?” Tabitha said. It was clear she was running the meeting and Ronald was just there for the ride.

“My grandmother recently passed away, and I inherited a few things from her,” Henley said.

“We're so sorry for your loss,” Tabitha said. She said it so quickly, it was obvious it was a practiced answer.

“Yes, well, we received news when we were traveling and had this jewelry, among other objects, sent to us. We'd like to sell it quickly and move on with our lives.”

“Would you be interested in selling the other objects with us, Mr. Beauford?” Tabitha talked smoothly. “We have many different experts who specialize in different things. Selling inherited jewelry, art, and other objects is what we do best—”

“This jewelry is the only thing we're considering selling for now,” Henley said.

“Very well,” Tabitha said. “And Mr. Beauford, are you familiar with Carter House's auction process?”

“I imagine it is aligned with other highly esteemed auction houses around the world,” Henley said.

“Indeed. We're an international auction house with branches across the world. We adhere to standard international protocol. But we take special pride in the quality of the items we put up for auction. Following this, it only makes sense we meticulously vet the items we choose to take on. The process includes a background check that no similar pieces were reported missing from museums, and public and registered private collections—of course such a thing is only a formality. We have an obligation to both our sellers and our buyers, you can understand.”

“Certainly.” Henley draped his arms over the sides of his chair.

“So you will agree to have Ronald appraise the jewelry?”

Henley looked at me for the first time since we stepped foot in the building. I unzipped the neon-green backpack and took out the jewelry that was floating loose in the bottom of the bag.

Tabitha and Ronald wore identical looks of surprise. I didn't know whether it was because we had brought priceless jewelry in a touristy backpack that had a color scheme only a seven-year-old would approve of, or whether it was because we hadn't put the jewelry in a protective case.

“May I?” Ronald said, after recovering from his shock. He held out his hands, and I gently placed first the necklace and then the pair of earrings into his palms.

I felt an immediate physical and emotional lightness as soon as I let go of the jewelry. Letting go of the physical weight felt like letting go of all the memories I had of that life in Tudor England. Most of all, it felt like letting go of Richard.

Ronald had taken out a single-lens magnifying tool to take a closer look at each of the gemstones. He studied the necklace first.

“Remarkable.” He exhaled.

Even Tabitha looked a bit excited.

“Absolutely stunning.”

Henley was expressionless, watching him.

Ronald turned the necklace in his hands to go over the gold plating. “This isn't without its flaws,” he said. “There are obvious scratches from workshop tools and a little wear from the necklace being used . . . But this is amazing.”

“And?” Henley said.

Ronald put his magnifying tool down. His cheeks were rosy from his barely contained excitement. “You might not believe
this,” he started softly. “But I daresay this might be original jewelry from the Tudor period.”

“Wonderful” was all Henley said.

Not getting the thrilled response he had been hoping for, Ronald looked to me.

“What fantastic luck!” I offered, trying to sound as delighted as Ronald.

“Very lucky, indeed. I haven't seen anything like it . . . It's such good quality. As if someone had just plucked it off the neck of a lady at court yesterday.”

Ronald was closer to the truth than he realized.

“How did you come to acquire these pieces, again?” he asked Henley.

Henley took it smoothly. “My late grandmother.”

“Yes, oh yes. And she was an avid collector? Did she specialize in assembling specific pieces? Only jewelry? Or items from a specific time period? A Tudor fan, perhaps?”

“She was a woman of many curiosities,” Henley said.

“She had a great eye,” Ronald said. “This must have cost a fortune and a considerable amount of time to acquire.”

“Do you think I'll get much of that investment back?”

“Of course.” Ronald's eyes were glued to the earrings now. He took his magnifying tool and held one of the earrings to the light. “Items like these only appreciate in value, especially when they're in such great condition. I don't know if you know how rare a thing it is that you have, Mr. Beauford.”

“What would Carter House pay for it?”

“Directly?” Ronald finally put his lens down. “We don't often buy directly from any of our clients . . .” He glanced at
Tabitha.

Tabitha stepped in. “It's not Carter House's common practice to buy directly from our sellers. We normally put the object on auction and take a commission of the final sale.”

“And how long would that take?” Henley sighed heavily. “Weeks at least? Months to advertise the auction appropriately? I would like to bury my grandmother's memory and be done with it. I'm not interested in dragging it out like some show.”

Ronald continued giving Tabitha a strange look, as if trying to make her speak up. She caught his look and pretended not to notice. Finally she spoke.

“It's not our common practice to buy directly from our clients,” she repeated. “But it has been done before in cases where our client wanted to
alleviate
himself of the burden of a specific sale.”

I was confused what she was trying to point at.

“Selling directly to us will not give you the highest price you can receive on this object, Mr. Beauford,” Tabitha said. “It'll certainly be a faster transaction, since you will not have to wait for the auction to take place, as you said. But also, this means that the sale would be at whatever price we deem fit.”

“I understand,” Henley said. He hadn't moved from his position with his arms on both armrests.

“At auction, there could be a bidding war, or a buyer might fall in love with a specific piece, bidding higher than market value. That will not happen selling directly to us.”

“Of course.”

Tabitha's eyebrows were slightly raised at how calm Henley looked.

“I've already made my decision,” Henley said. “I won't make my sale at Carter House unless I can sell directly. Otherwise, I will take my business to another auction house—maybe one back home in the States might be better, don't you think?”

That made Tabitha pause. She glanced at Ronald, but it was evident that he desperately wanted to make the sale if it meant more time with the jewelry.

There was a knot in my stomach. Henley was surely bluffing. We would be broke if we couldn't get them to buy the jewelry from us. We wouldn't have the money to get home, and we'd most likely starve while waiting for an auction to take place.

“We can make you an offer.”

Thank God.

“Of course, we'd have to send the jewelry out for further appraisal by our experts.” She looked at me. “We like to make certain we're getting exactly what we pay for. You'll be able to make a final decision to sell or not once the appraisal is complete.”

“Naturally,” Henley said. “How long will the appraisal take?”

“Typically anywhere from a week to two.”

“Two weeks?” Henley raised his brows. “We're traveling. We can't stay in one place for long. I still have to make arrangements for my grandmother—”

“Of course,” Tabitha said. “We can have them take a look at the jewelry sooner and have the appraisal done in about a week.”

“That would be marvelous,” Henley said, but the way he said it, it was as if that was the bare minimum they could do.

“Then it's settled,” Tabitha said. “Could I please have your ID to make a copy of it? We want to ensure the jewelry gets back to you should you ultimately decide not to sell. Any form of identification is fine—a passport, a driver's license . . .”

Henley handed her both fake driver's licenses. I was relieved we'd had the foresight to get them before the meeting.

Tabitha took one look at the IDs in her hand. It seemed to pass her scrutiny. “Please excuse me while I get the appropriate forms and make a copy of these.” She left the room.

“Pleasure meeting you both,” Ronald said, shaking our hands a second time. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to look at these incredible pieces. I'm sure the other jewelry specialists will love to study them.” And with that, Ronald followed Tabitha out.

Henley and I were alone in the room. I breathed a sigh of relief, but Henley didn't move. His back remained rigid, and he took up the same amount of space in his chair as when he had tried to look imposing and professional.

“Looks like we did it,” I said.

“It's too soon to tell,” he said. “But hopefully they'll pay enough for the jewelry after they verify it.”

“I don't know how much they'll pay for the jewelry, but they might just do a bank transfer—which is fine because Miss Hatfield has an American bank and she made me memorize the number, but then I don't think we can have access to the money for quite some time.”

“That's the only problem? Why can't we ask for some of the money in cash?” Henley said.

“Because . . . ,” I started. “That's actually not a bad idea.”

“Maybe the hardest part is over,” Henley said.

Maybe he was right. Carter House was definitely interested, that much was for certain.

Tabitha came back into the room with a small stack of pink forms. She took her seat and passed the papers to Henley along with a pen.

“All these pages may look daunting, but there's no need to fill out all of them,” she said. “This is just proof that you understand this is only an agreement for an appraisal. Neither party is required to go through with the transaction. Just full legal name here. Address of main residence here. A phone number we can contact you at—hotel numbers are fine—here. Sign here and here.” Tabitha pointed a perfectly manicured finger at various sections of the forms.

Henley nodded. He took out the business card of the hostel and carefully copied it onto the forms. I was glad he had thought to pick one up earlier.

I looked over his shoulder as he signed the various pages and printed his full name.
Henley Ainsley Beauford.
I had always known his middle name started with an
A
, but I had never known what it was.

“Which address should we put down?” Henley turned toward me. “The town house or the country house?” As his lips spoke, his eyes were telling me something else. Henley was trying to get me to tell him Miss Hatfield's address. It was the only permanent residence we could call our own, and he didn't know the address.

I took the pen and paper from him and pretended to think about it. “Why don't we put down the house in the city? We get
most of our mail sent there anyway.”