The Fifth Avenue Series Boxed Set (29 page)

Quimby et Cie Jewelers was an elegant establishment, with a liveried doorman on the outside and two armed guards on the inside.
 
Some of the wealthiest people in the world bought and sold their jewelry here, and they had to have an appointment to do so.

Leana was met at the door by Philip Quimby, the owner and her mother’s good friend. He was a small, impeccably dressed man with short graying hair and blue eyes that were just this side of being unnaturally too blue.
 
She noticed the shop was empty, as it should be.
 
“It’s good to see you, Leana,” he said, in a slightly nasal voice.
 
“Let’s go to my office.
 
We’ll have tea there.”

His office was large and impressive, paneled in dark wood and decorated in quiet good taste.
 
Paintings by the old masters tiled the walls.
 
He offered tea.
 
When Leana declined, he said, “Well, then, at least a martini?”

“Only if you’re having one.”

“As if I’m not,” he said.

He made the drinks, handed one to her and motioned toward the two Queen Anne chairs arranged at the center of the room.
 
They sat.
 
Leana sipped.
 
Few things were better than a cold martini on a hot day.

“So,” he said.
 
“What do you have for me?”

Leana put the martini on a side table, opened her handbag and removed the seven velvet cases.
 
She placed them on the table in front of them.
 
“These,” she said.
 
“All were purchased here.”

“I would hope so.”
 
He had known her since she was a child and winked at her.
 
“I’m sure I’ll remember them.
 
They’re like children, you know.”

One by one, Philip Quimby opened the cases.
 
Diamonds and emeralds and rubies blazed.
 
“Goodness!” he said.
 
“Heavens!”
 
He brought a hand to his chest and looked sideways at her.
 
“You expect cash for these?
 
Today?”

“If it’s possible.”

“I don’t think so,” he said.
 
“The banks will be closing soon.
 
All those lazy clerks and vice presidents and stupid little bank managers will be going home.
 
But I’ll see what I can do.
 
Naturally.”

“If you want them—and if we come to a price—I’ll need the money today.
 
Could you do me a favor and have someone make a call now and let them know a transaction will be forthcoming?”

“Anything for you.”
 
He lifted a phone and gave the instructions to whoever answered.
 
Then he inserted an eyepiece and removed an enormous canary yellow diamond ring from its case.
 
He held it up to the light and turned it around with his slender fingers.

“Hmmm,” he said, and reached for the diamond and Mogok ruby necklace.
 
He glanced at Leana and studied the rest.
 
When he finished, his face was slightly flushed.

“Is something wrong?” Leana asked.

One magnified eye turned to her.
 
“You purchased these here?”

“You know I did.
 
You sold them all to me.”

“Not these, I didn’t.”

“Excuse me…?”

“They’re fake,” Philip Quimby said.
 
“Nothing but cut glass and cubic zirconium. Every last one of them.
 
And that’s not the world I move in.”

She felt the blood drain from her face.
 
“They can’t be fake.”

“I’m afraid so, Leana.”

“But there’s more than a million dollars’ worth of jewelry there.”

He plucked a white envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
 
“Your father sent this to me,” he said.
 
“He called and told me not to open it unless for some reason I should see you.
 
Now, look.
 
I don’t know what’s going on here and I don’t care to know.
 
It’s none of my business.
 
But something tells me you’ll find the answers to your questions in that envelope.”

Leana tore into it.
 
Inside was a note.

Leana:

I told you if you wanted to make it on your own, you’d have to do it on your own and not with my money.
 
The originals, along with the rest of your jewelry, are at home where they—and you—belong.
 
Why don’t you stop this foolishness and come home?
 
You’ve taken this far enough.

—Dad

Leana read the note twice before folding it in half and putting it in her handbag.
 
Her father was convinced she couldn’t make it on her own.
 
Convinced.
 
She felt the beginnings of a spear sinking into her heart.
 
What was it about her that made him think she was such a failure?

She lifted one of the necklaces.
 
“Are these worth anything?”

Quimby’s eyes sparkled with renewed interest.

“They’re excellent counterfeits,” he said.
 
“Only an experienced eye like mine could tell they’re fake.
 
I would have no problem selling them to the Hollywood set.
 
You think what they’re wearing on the red carpet is real?
 
Get real.
 
They wear these.”

“How much are you offering?”

He sat poised and ready on the edge of the Queen Anne chair. “Twenty thousand.”

“Make it thirty and you’ve got a deal.”

*
  
*
  
*

She ended up with twenty-five.

When Leana returned to Harold’s townhouse later that afternoon, she found him seated alone in his study, leaning back in a chair, flipping through a file on WestTex.
 
She managed a smile when he looked up at her.
 
“I need someone to talk to,” she said.
 
“Do you have a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

He motioned toward the sofa that was in the corner of the room and asked her to sit down.
 
“Tell me everything,” he said, sitting beside her.
 
“Tell me why you’re upset.”

Leana rested her head on his shoulder and told him what had happened.

“But how did George get a key to your safe-deposit box?”

“My father doesn’t need a key, Harold.
 
He’s George Redman.”

“But it’s illegal.”

“He’s George Redman.”

“And you think one of the bank’s assistant manager’s helped him?”

“He probably paid off their mortgage for their trouble.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?”

“Go and ask your father for the originals.
 
They are yours, after all.”

“And give him the pleasure of seeing me grovel?
 
Forget it.
 
I’ll make my own money.”

“How?”

“This morning you mentioned something about finding me a job.
 
That sounds like a good place to start making money to me.”

“I’ve been having seconds thoughts about that job,” Harold said.

Leana pulled away from him.
 
“Why?”

“I’m not sure it’s right for you.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” she said.
 
“Harold, please, if you’ve found something, anything, you have to let me know what it is.
 
I have to be given a chance.”

“You really are determined to make it, aren’t you?”

“If I accomplish nothing else, I want the world to know that George Redman has another daughter—one who is smarter, tougher and more successful than Celina ever could become.”

“That’s going to be quite an accomplishment,” he said.
 
“You realize that don’t you?”

“I do,” Leana said.
 
“I know Celina’s good.
 
In a way, I almost admire her—she had the chance to learn from Dad.
 
But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
 
It doesn’t mean that she’s smarter than me.”

“No,” Harold said.
 
“It certainly doesn’t.”
 
He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a card with an address on it.
 
He handed it to Leana.
 
“If you want the job, be at this address by four this afternoon.”

*
  
*
  
*

She was fifteen minutes early for the appointment.

When Leana arrived at the towering office building, she took an elevator to the sixty-seventh floor, gave the secretary her name and was escorted to a reception area that was quiet, cool and sparsely decorated.
 
The walls were steel gray.
 
The long array of windows behind her looked out at Manhattan.

Knowing the impression she gave was critical, she chose a fitted black Dior suit.
 
She wore just enough make-up to cover what was left of the bruising, her hair was pulled away from her face and she wore no perfume.

She felt like a fraud.
 

From her seat at the rear of the reception area, Leana watched the steady stream of activity in the enormous room beyond.
 
At a desk piled high with papers, one man was typing frantically into a computer while a woman impatiently directed him.
 
Behind them, two secretaries were digging through file cabinets in search of something that seemingly couldn’t be found.
 
At still another table, someone stopped yelling into a phone only long enough to shout, “Quiet!” to a group of people who could care less.

Leana found herself envying them.

At five minutes to four, filled with nervous tension, feelings of insecurity and thoughts of pending failure, she went to the ladies’ room that was across the hall.
 
Each of the three stalls was occupied.
 
As she turned to wash her hands in the marble vanity, she glimpsed herself in the mirror before her.
  
She was very much a young woman whose appearance gave the cool impression of professionalism, but whose eyes revealed a hint of intimidation and fear.

Although Leana hated to admit it, she wished she was at Redman International now and working with her father.