第 29 页

“We got a sayin' in Texas that the impossible jest takes a little longer. Saturday's my birthday. P.J. wants me to have those earrings, and what P.J. wants, P.J. gets.”

“I really don't think I can —”

“How much did I pay for that pin — a hundred grand? I know old P.J. will go up to two hundred or three hundred thousand for another one.”

Gregory Halston was thinking fast. There had to be a duplicate of that stone somewhere, and if P. J. Benecke was willing to pay an extra $200,000 for it, that would mean a tidy profit. In fact, Halston thought, I can work it out so that it means a tidy profit for me.

Aloud he said, “I'll inquire around, Mrs. Benecke. I'm sure that no other jeweler in London has the identical emerald, but there are always estates coming up for auction. I'll do some advertising and see what results I get.”

“You got till the end of the week,” the blonde told him. “And jest between you and me and the lamppost, old P.J. will probably be willin' to go up to three hundred fifty thousand for it.”

And Mrs. Benecke was gone, her sable coat billowing out behind her.

Gregory Halston sat in his office lost in a daydream. Fate had placed in his hands a man who was so besotted with his blond tart that he was willing to pay $350,000 for a $100,000 emerald. That was a net profit of $250,000. Gregory Halston saw no need to burden the Parker brothers with the details of the transaction. It would be a simple matter to record the sale of the second emerald at $100,000 and pocket the rest. The extra $250,000 would set him up for life.

All he had to do now was to find a twin to the emerald he had sold to Mrs. P.J. Benecke.

It turned out to be even more difficult than Halston had anticipated. None of the jewelers he telephoned had anything in stock that resembled what he required. He placed advertisements in the London Times and the Financial Times, and he called Christie's and Sotheby's, and a dozen estate agents. In the next few days Halston was inundated with a flood of inferior emeralds, good emeralds, and a few first-quality emeralds, but none of them came close to what he was looking for.

On Wednesday Mrs. Benecke telephoned. “Old P.J.'s gettin' mighty restless,” she warned. “Did you find it yet?”

“Not yet, Mrs. Benecke,” Halston assured her, “but don't worry, we will.”

On Friday she telephoned again. “Tomorrow's my birthday,” she reminded Halston.

“I know, Mrs. Benecke. If I only had a few more days, I know I could —”

“Well, never mind, sport. If you don't have that emerald by tomorrow mornin', I'll return the one I bought from you. Old P.J. — bless his heart — says he's gonna buy me a big ole country estate instead. Ever hear of a place called Sussex?”

Halston broke out in perspiration. “Mrs. Benecke,” he moaned earnestly, “you would hate living in Sussex. You would loathe living in a country house. Most of them are in deplorable condition. They have no central heating and —”

“Between you and I,” she interrupted, “I'd rather have them earrings. Old P.J. even mentioned somethin' about bein' willin' to pay four hundred thousand dollars for a twin to that stone. You got no idea how stubborn old P.J. can be.”

Four hundred thousand! Halston could feel the money slipping between his fingers. “Believe me, I'm doing everything I can,” he pleaded. “I need a little more time.”

“It ain't up to me, honey,” she said. “It's up to P.J.”

And the line went dead.

Halston sat there cursing fate. Where could he find an identical ten-carat emerald? He was so busy with his bitter thoughts that he did not hear his intercom until the third buzz. He pushed down the button and snapped, “What is it?”

“There's a Contessa Marissa on the telephone, Mr. Halston. She's calling about our advertisement for the emerald.”

Another one! He had had at least ten calls that morning, every one of them a waste of time. He picked up the telephone and said ungraciously, “Yes?”

A soft female voice with an Italian accent said, “Buon giorno, signore. I have read you are interested possibly in buying an emerald, sм?”

“If it fits my qualifications, yes.” He could not keep the impatience out of his voice.

“I have an emerald that has been in my family for many years. It is a peccato — a pity — but I am in a situation now where I am forced to sell it.”

He had heard that story before. I must try Christie's again, Halston thought. Or Sotheby's. Maybe something came in at the last minute, or —

“Signore? You are looking for a ten-carat emerald, sм?”

“Yes ”

“I have a ten-carat verde — green — Colombian.”

When Halston started to speak, he found that his voice was choked. “Would — would you say that again, please?”

“Sм. I have a ten-carat grass-green Colombian. Would you be interested in that?”

“I might be,” he said carefully. “I wonder if you could drop by and let me have a look at it.”

“No, scusi, I am afraid I am very busy right now. We are preparing a party at the embassy for my husband. Perhaps next week I could —”

No! Next week would be too late. “May I come to see you?” He tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “I could come up now.”

“Ma, no. Sono occupata stamani. I was planning to go shopping —”

“Where are you staying, Contessa?”

“At the Savoy.”

“I can be there in fifteen minutes. Ten.” His voice was feverish.

“Molto bene. And your name is —”

“Halston. Gregory Halston.”

“Suite ventisei — twenty-six.”

The taxi ride was interminable. Halston transported himself from the heights of heaven to the depths of hell, and back again. If the emerald was indeed similar to the other one, he would be wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Four hundred thousand dollars, he'll pay. A $300,000 profit. He would buy a place on the Riviera. Perhaps get a cruiser. With a villa and his own boat, he would be able to attract as many handsome young men as he liked….

Gregory halston was an atheist, but as he walked down the corridor of the Savoy Hotel to Suite 26, he found himself praying, Let the stone be similar enough to satisfy old P.J. Benecke.

He stood in front of the door of the contessa's room taking slow, deep breaths, fighting to get control of himself. He knocked on the door, and there was no answer.

Oh, my God, Halston thought. She's gone; she didn't wait for me. She went out shopping and —

The door opened, and Halston found himself facing an elegant-looking lady in her fifties, with dark eyes, a lined face, and black hair laced with gray.

When she spoke, her voice was soft, with the familiar melodic Italian accent. “Sм?”

“I'm G-Gregory Halston. You t-telephoned me.” In his nervousness he was stuttering.

“Ah, sм. I am the Contessa Marissa. Come in, signore, per favore.”

“Thank you.”

He entered the suite, pressing his knees together to keep them from trembling. He almost blurted out, “Where's the emerald? But he knew he must control himself. He must not seem too eager. If the stone was satisfactory, he would have the advantage in bargaining. After all, he was the expert. She was an amateur.”

“Please to sit yourself,” the contessa said.

He took a chair.

“Scusi. Non parlo molto bene inglese. I speak poor English.”

“No, no. It's charming, charming.”

“Grazie. Would you take perhaps coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you, Contessa.”

He could feel his stomach quivering. Was it too soon to bring up the subject of the emerald? He could not wait another second. “The emerald —”

She said, “Ah, sм. The emerald was given to me by my grandmother. I wish to pass it on to my daughter when she is twenty-five, but my husband is going into a new business in Milano, and I —”

Halston's mind was elsewhere. He was not interested in the boring life story of the stranger sitting across from him. He was burning to see the emerald. The suspense was more than he could bear.

“Credo che sia importante to help my husband get started in his business.” She smiled ruefully. “Perhaps I am making a mistake —”

“No, no,” Halston said hastily. “Not at all, Contessa. It's a wife's duty to stand by her husband. Where is the emerald now?”

“I have it here,” the contessa said.

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a jewel wrapped in a tissue, and held it out to Halston. He stared at it, and his spirits soared. He was looking at the most exquisite ten-carat grass-green Colombian emerald he had ever seen. It was so close in appearance, size, and color to the one he had sold Mrs. Benecke that the difference was almost impossible to detect. It is not exactly the same, Halston told himself, but only an expert would be able to tell the difference. His hands began to tremble. He forced himself to appear calm.

He turned the stone over, letting the light catch the beautiful facets, and said casually, “It's a rather nice little stone.”

“Splendente, sм. I have loved it very much all these years. I will hate to part with it.”

“You're doing the right thing,” Halston assured her. “Once your husband's business is successful, you will be able to buy as many of these as you wish.”

“That is exactly what I feel. You are molto simpatico.”

“I'm doing a little favor for a friend, Contessa. We have much better stones than this in our shop, but my friend wants one to match an emerald that his wife bought. I imagine he would be willing to pay as much as sixty thousand dollars for this stone.”

The contessa sighed. “My grandmother would haunt me from her grave if I sold it for sixty thousand dollars.”

Halston pursed his lips. He could afford to go higher. He smiled. “I'll tell you what… I think I might persuade my friend to go as high as one hundred thousand. That's a great deal of money, but he's anxious to have the stone.”

“That sounds fair,” the contessa said.

Gregory Halston's heart swelled within his breast. “Bene! I brought my checkbook with me, so I'll just write out a check —”

“Ma, no…. I am afraid it will not solve my problem.” The contessa's voice was sad.

Halston stared at her. “Your problem?”

“Sм. As I explain, my husband is going into this new business, and he needs three hundred fifty thousand dollars. I have a hundred thousand of my money to give him, but I need two hundred fifty thousand more. I was hope to get it for this emerald.”

He shook his head. “My dear Contessa, no emerald in the world is worth that kind of money. Believe me, one hundred thousand dollars is more than a fair offer.”

“I am sure it is so, Mr. Halston,” the contessa told him, “but it will not help my husband, will it?” She rose to her feet. “I will save this to give to our daughter.” She held out a slim, delicate hand. “Grazie, signore. Thank you for coming.”

Halston stood there in a panic. “Wait a minute,” he said. His greed was dueling with his common sense, but he knew he must not lose the emerald now. “Please sit down, Contessa. I'm sure we can come to some equitable arrangement. If I can persuade my client to pay a hundred fifty thousand —?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“Let's say, two hundred thousand?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

There was no budging her. Halston made his decision. A $150,000 profit was better than nothing. It would mean a smaller villa and boat, but it was still a fortune. It would serve the Parker brothers right for the shabby way they treated him. He would wait a day or two and then give them his notice. By next week he would be on the Cфte d'Azur.

“You have a deal,” he said.

“Meraviglioso! Sono contenta!”

You should be contented, you bitch, Halston thought. But he had nothing to complain about. He was set for life. He took one last look at the emerald and slipped it into his pocket. “I'll give you a check written on the store's account.”

“Bene, signore.”

Halston wrote out the check and handed it to her. He would have Mrs. P.J. Benecke make out her $400,000 check to cash. Peter would cash the check for him, and he would exchange the contessa's check for the Parker brothers' check and pocket the difference. He would arrange it with Peter so that the $250,000 check would not appear on the Parker brothers' monthly statement. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

He could already feel the warm French sun on his face.

The taxi ride back to the store seemed to take only seconds. Halston visualized Mrs. Benecke's happiness when he broke the good news to her. He had not only found the jewel she wanted, he had spared her from the excruciating experience of living in a drafty, rundown country house.

When Halston floated into the store, Chilton said, “Sir, a customer here is interested in —”

Halston cheerfully waved him aside. “Later.”

He had no time for customers. Not now, not ever again. From now on people would wait on him. He would shop at Hermes and Gucci and Lanvin.

Halston fluttered into his office, closed the door, set the emerald on the desk in front of him, and dialed a number.

An operator's voice said, “Dorchester Hotel.”

“The Oliver Messel Suite, please.”

“To whom did you wish to speak?”

“Mrs. P.J. Benecke.”

“One moment, please.”

Halston whistled softly while he waited.

The operator came back on the line. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Benecke has checked out.”

“Then ring whatever suite she's moved to.”

“Mrs. Benecke has checked out of the hotel.”

“That's impossible. She —”

“I'll connect you with reception.”

A male voice said, “Reception. May I help you?”

“Yes. What suite is Mrs. P.J. Benecke in?”

“Mrs. Benecke checked out of the hotel this morning.”

There had to be an explanation. Some unexpected emergency.

“May I have her forwarding address, please. This is —”

“I'm sorry. She didn't leave one.”

“Of course she left one.”

“I checked Mrs. Benecke out myself. She left no forwarding address.”

It was a jab to the pit of his stomach. Halston slowly replaced the receiver and sat there, bewildered. He had to find a way to get in touch with her, to let her know that he had finally located the emerald. In the meantime, he had to get back the $250,000 check from the Contessa Marissa.

He hurriedly dialed the Savoy Hotel. “Suite twenty-six.”

“Whom are you calling, please?”

“The Contessa Marissa.”

“One moment, please.”

But even before the operator came back on the line, some terrible premonition told Gregory Halston the disastrous news he was about to hear.

“I'm sorry. The Contessa Marissa has checked out.”

He hung up. His fingers were trembling so hard that he was barely able to dial the number of the bank. “Give me the head bookkeeper…. quickly! I wish to stop payment on a check.”