throat as she swallowed. She found herself holding her breath, this time not daring to interrupt.
“My father gave me a parting gift, the most beautiful of all the things he had created. It was to be my inheritance, and my bulwark against the future, if things did not go as we planned.”
Just as Gemma began to guess the import of the book she held, Erika reached for it. Slowly, deliberately, she smoothed the pages, then let it fall open of its own accord. As Erika gazed down, transfixed, Gemma got up and looked over her shoulder.
She gave a gasp of surprise and pleasure. The photo was full page, the background black, and against the velvety darkness the diamonds fell in a double cascade. The caption on the right-hand page read, Jakob Goldshtein, a diamond cascade double-clip brooch, 1938 . “It’s lovely,” breathed Gemma.
“Yes. My father’s masterpiece.” Erika looked up and met her eyes. “I last saw it in Germany, more than fifty years ago. I want you to help me find out how it came to be in an English auction.”
“So how did you get on with Melody?” Kincaid handed Doug Cullen a dripping saucepan, glancing over as his friend was applying a tea towel industriously.
He and Doug had seen off the rest of the well-fed and well-lubricated guests, and now, with Kit and Toby home and the dogs having given up any hope of scraps, they’d loaded the dishwasher and begun on the pots and pans.
Doug Cullen’s blond schoolboy good looks and expressive face made him usually easy to read, but for once the glance he gave Kincaid was inscrutable. “No joy, there, I think,” he said, reaching for another pan.
“She doesn’t fancy you, or vice versa?” asked Kincaid, thinking that Gemma would be disappointed by the failure of her matchmaking scheme.
Shrugging, Cullen pushed his glasses up on his nose with the damp edge of the tea towel. “It might just be my bruised ego, but I don’t think PC Talbot fancies blokes much, full stop.”
Kincaid glanced at him in surprise. “Seriously?”
“There’s definitely a Let’s all be blokes together vibe.”
“Might be armor. That’s common enough.” Melody Talbot was attractive, dark haired, dark eyed, and cheerfully efficient, and Gemma had come to depend on her a good deal at work. If Melody was gay and had chosen not to make her sexual orientation public, then that was her business. It was tough enough for women officers as it was—his thought stopped suddenly short as he remembered Melody’s solicitousness towards Gemma, all the little thoughtful gestures that Gemma often repeated to him at day’s end.
“What about the prickly Maura Bell, then?” Kincaid asked.
They had worked a case in Southwark with the Scottish Inspector Bell, and although she and Cullen seemed as mismatched as chalk and cheese, there had been an attraction between them. Doug had even broken it off with his longtime girlfriend, Stella Fairchild-Priestly, but then gradually any mentions of Maura had disappeared.
This time Cullen’s feelings were all too apparent, as he flushed to the roots of his fair hair. “I couldn’t say,” he answered tersely, and Kincaid knew he’d overstepped the mark. It occurred to him that hewas as clueless about Cullen’s personal life as Gemma apparently was about Melody Talbot’s.
It was not something he was going to be given a chance to remedy that night, however, as Cullen quickly finished his drying and took himself off with a muttered excuse.
“You bloody sad wanker!” Cullen said aloud as he settled into a seat on the night bus that trundled its way down Bishop’s Bridge Road, earning him a look from an old lady bundled in too many coats for the May night. He’d contemplated the tube, certainly a quicker alternative, but had found himself unable to cope with the thought of sharing a carriage with drunken Saturday-night revelers and snogging couples.
But the brisk walk and the wait at the bus stop hadn’t made it any easier to
“My father gave me a parting gift, the most beautiful of all the things he had created. It was to be my inheritance, and my bulwark against the future, if things did not go as we planned.”
Just as Gemma began to guess the import of the book she held, Erika reached for it. Slowly, deliberately, she smoothed the pages, then let it fall open of its own accord. As Erika gazed down, transfixed, Gemma got up and looked over her shoulder.
She gave a gasp of surprise and pleasure. The photo was full page, the background black, and against the velvety darkness the diamonds fell in a double cascade. The caption on the right-hand page read, Jakob Goldshtein, a diamond cascade double-clip brooch, 1938 . “It’s lovely,” breathed Gemma.
“Yes. My father’s masterpiece.” Erika looked up and met her eyes. “I last saw it in Germany, more than fifty years ago. I want you to help me find out how it came to be in an English auction.”
“So how did you get on with Melody?” Kincaid handed Doug Cullen a dripping saucepan, glancing over as his friend was applying a tea towel industriously.
He and Doug had seen off the rest of the well-fed and well-lubricated guests, and now, with Kit and Toby home and the dogs having given up any hope of scraps, they’d loaded the dishwasher and begun on the pots and pans.
Doug Cullen’s blond schoolboy good looks and expressive face made him usually easy to read, but for once the glance he gave Kincaid was inscrutable. “No joy, there, I think,” he said, reaching for another pan.
“She doesn’t fancy you, or vice versa?” asked Kincaid, thinking that Gemma would be disappointed by the failure of her matchmaking scheme.
Shrugging, Cullen pushed his glasses up on his nose with the damp edge of the tea towel. “It might just be my bruised ego, but I don’t think PC Talbot fancies blokes much, full stop.”
Kincaid glanced at him in surprise. “Seriously?”
“There’s definitely a Let’s all be blokes together vibe.”
“Might be armor. That’s common enough.” Melody Talbot was attractive, dark haired, dark eyed, and cheerfully efficient, and Gemma had come to depend on her a good deal at work. If Melody was gay and had chosen not to make her sexual orientation public, then that was her business. It was tough enough for women officers as it was—his thought stopped suddenly short as he remembered Melody’s solicitousness towards Gemma, all the little thoughtful gestures that Gemma often repeated to him at day’s end.
“What about the prickly Maura Bell, then?” Kincaid asked.
They had worked a case in Southwark with the Scottish Inspector Bell, and although she and Cullen seemed as mismatched as chalk and cheese, there had been an attraction between them. Doug had even broken it off with his longtime girlfriend, Stella Fairchild-Priestly, but then gradually any mentions of Maura had disappeared.
This time Cullen’s feelings were all too apparent, as he flushed to the roots of his fair hair. “I couldn’t say,” he answered tersely, and Kincaid knew he’d overstepped the mark. It occurred to him that hewas as clueless about Cullen’s personal life as Gemma apparently was about Melody Talbot’s.
It was not something he was going to be given a chance to remedy that night, however, as Cullen quickly finished his drying and took himself off with a muttered excuse.
“You bloody sad wanker!” Cullen said aloud as he settled into a seat on the night bus that trundled its way down Bishop’s Bridge Road, earning him a look from an old lady bundled in too many coats for the May night. He’d contemplated the tube, certainly a quicker alternative, but had found himself unable to cope with the thought of sharing a carriage with drunken Saturday-night revelers and snogging couples.
But the brisk walk and the wait at the bus stop hadn’t made it any easier to
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