“Just keep your hands in your pockets, and if the alarms go off, whatever you do, don’t run.”
“This is very confusing.”
“Relax.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “You should only worry if it looks like I’m about to get down on one knee.”
“That’s not even funny,” she grumbles, but before I can answer, her head doubles back to where a number of illustrations hang on the wall. “Is that ...”
“Yes, beautiful, isn’t it?” Jones puts in, coming up from behind us. “It’s a hand illustration of the Imperial State Crown, prepared for the coronation of George VI by ourselves.”
“George VI, as in the king of England?”
“King of the United Kingdom and the dominions of the British Commonwealth, at the time, I believe. Emperor of India also, if memory serves. Now, this one here ...”
We’re not here to buy a crown, but I wait patiently as the pair discusses the members of royalty whose persons Garrard has adorned over the centuries.
“... by royal warrant of appointment,” Jones drones on. “Authorized to provide goods and services to the British royal family, dating back to 1735 by Frederick, Prince of Wales.”
Eve, suitably impressed but obviously troubled, clings to my arm as we’re shown up a grand staircase to where a door stands open.
“We’d better be here to buy a present for your mom,” she whispers, crossing the threshold.
“That would be a pointless exercise,” I whisper back. “She’s been dead for years.”
“Your secretary?” She looks slightly panicked as she thumps her fists into the pockets of her long cardigan.
“Andrew wouldn’t appreciate this type of bonus. I could probably see Fin wearing a crown as he wines and dines our clients, but it would give him ideas.” Releasing the button on my jacket, I lower myself to a sofa of muted gray.
“Here we are, then,” Jones says, closing the door behind him.
“Come and sit next to me.” I pat the cushion next to me, and Eve pulls her hands from her pockets, warily lowering herself. Meanwhile, Jones crosses the room, busying himself at a tall cabinet.
“I took the liberty of selecting a few pieces,” he says, making his way to the sofa setting, having put on a pair of white cotton gloves. “Of course, if these are not to your liking, we have many other suites to choose from.”
“Pieces?”
I stifle my amusement at Eve’s reedy tone and the way her eyes appear glued to the tray Jones sets on the table before us.
“Rings?” Her eyes dart to mine, not without panic.
“Surprise! I thought you might like to choose something sparkly to wear until the fateful day I manage to pin you down.”
“Too kind,” she mutters, murdering me with her eyes.
“She’s overcome,” I murmur as I slide my arm along the sofa back, pulling her closer. “You see, she’s yet to say yes. You like to keep me dangling, my darling, don’t you?” It takes everything inside me not to chuckle as she slides her hands under her thighs as though to stop herself from strangling me.
“It is a lady’s prerogative,” Jones adds jovially.
Eve seems to forget her intended reply as he lifts a ring from the velvet stand.
“Oh, my,” she whispers. “That’s really something.”
“Yes, it’s quite an eclectic piece. Sapphire, aquamarines, topaz, tanzanite, and turquoise. Very striking, if I might say so.”
Personally, I think it looks a little like something you might get out of a Christmas cracker, but I don’t mention it as he proffers it her way. Eve slips it onto the middle finger of her right hand. Her face is a picture of loveliness as she turns her hand this way and that so it catches the light. “It’s so sparkly.”
It didn’t take her long to ease into this,I think, glancing back at the tray as Jones begins to talk about carats and clarity. Then she cuts him off.
“What about that one?”
