CHAPTER ELEVEN
Although Sofi Mencini’s apartment in a renovated stone building on the waterfront was decorated in warm pastels and simple lines, it was as spectacular as any in Boston. Various furnishings were handcrafted, one-of-a-kind, custom-made, not because Sofi sought to be different or special, but because she knew exactly what she wanted. The effect, especially combined with the stunning harbor views, was both welcoming and awe-inspiring. A visitor knew at once that this was a successful woman with power, compassion, intelligence and humor. Rebecca wouldn’t have wanted to get rich with anyone else.
“I had to cancel a meeting,” Sofi said when she greeted her ex-roommate at the door. “Dare I ask what this is all about?”
“Not if you’re smart.”
Sofi digested that remark and could tell at once Rebecca wasn’t kidding. “David’s in the kitchen.”
David Rubin was a curly-haired redhead in his midforties. He loved to flirt with Sofi—and, thirty seconds after meeting her, with Rebecca—but he was totally committed to his wife and their five children. Together they ran a jewelry store at Copley Place. They’d sold Sofi and her fiancé, Hank—a game-creator, ace puzzle-builder and as one-of-a-kind as everything else in her life—their wedding rings. A rumpled, cheerful man, David always seemed to have baby spit-up on his tie or the odd piece of Lego in his pockets. When it came to gems, however, he was very serious and very, very careful.
He examined Rebecca’s stones for more than an hour.
Sofi and Rebecca drank iced herbal tea on Sofi’s balcony while they waited. David had tried to get them to go back to the store, where he had all his equipment and reference materials, but Rebecca refused. She felt uneasy enough as it was showing the stones to him and Sofi, possibly jeopardizing their safety. Accepting defeat, David did make several cryptic calls to his wife to verify information.
“I’m not going to ask questions you’re not going to answer,” Sofi said.
“Good.”
Rebecca sipped her tea, feeling Sofi’s penetrating executive’s glare. Not much over five feet, Sofi had transcended the stereotype of small women as vulnerable and weak-willed with her strength of character and high expectations of herself and those around her. Reliable, creative and direct, she thrived on the challenges of corporate life, and was good at what she did.
On the other hand, Rebecca thrived on change and taking risks with her money and her talent. She regularly drove her financial advisors in New York crazy. One had told her he’d be happy if she’d just make up her mind whether she was going to live like a rich person—she did occasionally—or a “Cinderella who can’t decide if she’d rather have a coach or a pumpkin to ride around in.” She had totally frustrated him by laughing. Later she’d discovered she’d been driving them all crazy and they’d decided to draw straws for who got to vent his spleen to her. He’d been the lucky winner. It wasn’t business at all, he’d explained: Rebecca was on top of every penny she had and every penny she’d ever spent. It was, he admitted, just personal. Did he want out? Oh, no, working for her gave him great material for breaking the ice at parties.
“You get a copy of The Score?” Sofi asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Jared’s still good-looking, isn’t he?”
Rebecca sipped her tea. Despite Jared’s failings, Sofi had always chastised Rebecca for letting Jared Sloan go. “You have unrealistic standards, R.J.,” she was fond of saying.
“I think you should call him,” Sofi suggested bluntly. “Sharing the front page of a supermarket tabloid gives you a good excuse.”
“I don’t need an excuse.”
“Then how come you’ve waited fourteen years?”
“Sofi.”
She waved her tea glass. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but I’ve gotten used to telling people what I think.”
Mercifully, David emerged from the kitchen managing to look both excited and grim. “Where did you get these stones?” he asked.
Rebecca shook her head. “Can’t say.”
“Are they one of your peculiar investments?”
Leaving the question unanswered, Rebecca gave Sofi a look. She’d just met David, which meant Sofi must have told the jeweler something about her. Of course, David could have read about her in any number of gossip rags over the years, including The Score.
David cleared his throat and became businesslike. “You’ll need more corroboration than just my say-so, but there’s no question in my mind that what I’ve examined are the famed Jupiter Stones.”
Rebecca suddenly felt light-headed. “Which are?”
“Ten corundum gems—nine sapphires and a ruby—commissioned by Emperor Franz Josef of Austria-Hungary for his wife, the Empress Elisabeth. She was unstable and quite an eccentric, and apparently she gave the stones away or lost them, probably in the mid-1890s. There’s extensive documentation of each stone, so there should be no trouble verifying if these are the ones. But I should warn you that no one’ll be satisfied without some explanation of how you came by them. They haven’t been seen since Empress Elisabeth’s day. The last time anyone even heard a rumor about them was in the late fifties when a Hungarian baroness claimed they’d been stolen from her by a jewel thief prowling the Riviera at the time. He was never apprehended—supposedly he was a French race-car driver who disappeared before the police could arrest him. The baroness committed suicide, and no one seriously believed she ever had the real Jupiter Stones.”
Sofi was impressed. “How do you know all this stuff?”
David shrugged off the compliment. “Any gemologist worth his salt knows about the Jupiter Stones. The Red Moon of Mars and the Star of Jupiter—the ruby and the Kashmir sapphire—alone are famous stones, but the entire collection…Well, now I can verify that it’s fantastic.”
“You don’t think you’ve made a mistake?” Rebecca asked.
“It’s possible, but no, I don’t think so. In addition to the stones matching the descriptions of the Jupiter Stones, the velvet bag they’re in is embossed with the Hapsburg imperial seal.”
“Are they valuable?”
David, ever the jeweler, smiled. “Name your price.”