‘Now, I’m about to go into a meeting, so is it a yes or no?’ pushed Jane. ‘I have a big budget, and I don’t need to tell you how rare that is these days. But for this series I’ve been authorised to cover any travel required.’
‘You mean in addition to London?’
‘Well, I take it the jewels didn’t start their life there. So diamond mines, for a start.’
‘I get it,’ said Kate. ‘I could really cover some ground.’
Jane chuckled. ‘Thought you’d appreciate that.’
‘Thanks. And thank you for thinking of me.’
There was an awkward pause.
‘Well, the suits upstairs were actually pushing for the Smithsonian’s Jocelyn Cassidy, but the Museum of London weren’t keen on that idea … and I understand you know the museum’s current director, Professor Wright, from Oxford?’
‘Of course.’
‘She tells me your research in this area is unparalleled. And the last piece you did for me—on Bulgari—was excellent. It was an unusual angle, but I liked that. It was quirky.’
‘The artistic director would only agree to be interviewed over lunch. Ridiculously long lunches. It was actually my duty to eat pasta and drink a carafe of Chianti every day for a week.’
‘Can’t promise food this time, I’m afraid! Just priceless jewels. So, what do you say? We need to move quickly on this.’
Priceless jewels … and the Museum of London, Kate thought to herself. ‘I have a few things on my plate at the moment,’ she hedged. ‘Let me take a look at my calendar and call you back.’ They finished the call, with Jane promising to forward what information she had on the collection.
Kate leaned back in her chair and gathered her curls into a ponytail, tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders and sipped the rest of her cocoa as she compiled a mental list of things that would have to be done before she left for London. There was an insurance report due in the next fortnight for her Swiss client. Scattered across her desk was a series of photos of some archival pieces Cartier was planning to show in Paris during Fashion Week. Underneath that was the synopsis for her post-doctoral fellowship at Harvard, due next month. Right at the bottom was a brown envelope stamped with a silver fern containing her divorce papers. She needed to sign the papers for Jonathan’s lawyer then move on. Everything had been settled—everything except her heart. Kate sighed and reached for the envelope then withdrew her hand. Later, she promised.
Instead, she picked up the synopsis, screwing up her nose at the number of red annotations, each representing an error she needed to fix. After a moment, her eyes were drawn to some fine black-ink sketches she had stored in archival glassine envelopes to protect from air and dust until she moved them back into her filing cabinet.
The first was of two little girls with their heads together, laughing. They wore identical tunics and aprons, and they both had messy plaits tumbling over their shoulders. The second sketch was of a cockerel standing proud, and the third was an exquisite jumble of roses, rings, necklaces, oranges and grapes, all overlapping so there was hardly any white space on the page. On the flip side was some kind of herbal recipe written with a childlike scrawl:
2 spoons honey
pinch of thyme leaves
ground peppercorns
squeeze of lemon (fresh)
(Add to boiling tea, or water)
The last sketch was of a brooch, or perhaps a button, shaped like a rose. Gemstones were studded at the centre and along the petals. Kate had no idea what kind of stones they were—without colour there was no way to tell—but the design was similar to images of Elizabethan buttons she’d come across while doing research for her doctorate. Buttons that were in the Museum of London …
She turned over the envelope and admired the lines of sinewy limbs and loose plaits. Both girls had dimples and dark hair—like Essie, Kate and all the Kirby kin. Would Noah have grown up with these same dimples pressed into chubby cheeks? Her bones ached for the baby boy who’d never drawn breath. She pressed away tears with her palms and studied the little girls.
Kate had found the drawings among Essie’s private papers in the filing cabinets she’d inherited with the brownstone. Her parents had dismissed these sketches as little more than Essie’s private doodles. After all, they were scratched across neat columns—as if hastily written in a bookkeeping ledger; Essie had insisted on doing the bookkeeping for the fledgling shipping company she had started with her husband. Her parents had thought they should be discarded, but Kate couldn’t bear to part with them. She liked to imagine her youthful great-grandmother doodling in the margins in a quiet moment, wild curls wrestled behind her ears, cup of steaming Irish breakfast tea beside her as she looked out across the busy shipyards.
Hearing the ping of an incoming email, Kate put down the sketches and clicked her computer screen on. The email was from Jane and, as promised, there were a number of attachments. Kate opened them one by one, scrolling through a series of newspaper clippings from 1914 heralding the launch of a jewellery exhibition at the newly minted Museum of London.
ANTIQUE JEWELLERY ON DISPLAY AT THE LONDON MUSEUM
Secret Hoard of Elizabethan or Jacobean Jewels Added to
Priceless Collections
MYSTERIOUS JEWELLERY HOARD
Romance at Every Turn at London’s Museum
SECRET UNEARTHED
London’s Buried Treasures
TREASURE TROVE IN CENTRE OF LONDON
Workmen’s Extraordinary Discovery
She scanned the clippings, noting descriptions of the media frenzy and the crush of the crowds at the museum. She picked up her phone and called her editor.
‘Hello, Jane. I’m looking at the articles about the 1914 exhibition now. Thanks for sending these through.’
‘Good! You can see details about the discovery were vague.’
‘Weren’t the jewels found in 1912? I wonder why it took two years for the collection to be announced to the public.’
‘Who knows? I’m hoping you can find something new there.’
Kate sat back in her chair and scrolled through the clippings once again, almost forgetting she was on the phone until she heard Jane ask, ‘So will you go to London? I need to know now …’
‘Oh!’ The chance to research the provenance of the mysterious Cheapside jewels was certainly tempting, and—she glanced once more at her great-grandmother’s sketch of the brooch or button—perhaps she might have an opportunity to do a little personal research on the side. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m in.’
‘Great.’ Jane sounded relieved. ‘Professor Wright will be available to brief you and the photographer on Monday at nine a.m. Does that work for you?’
‘Sure, thanks.’ Kate was about to ask who the photographer was, when Jane cut her off.
‘Monday it is then—nine o’clock at the Museum of London. Email me your passport details and I’ll have my assistant book your flight and a hotel near the museum. Choose a handful of key pieces. Go tight. I want origins. You have a month to file.’
‘But, Jane, nobody knows the origins of—’
‘Exactly. I want you to uncover the stories nobody else has.’