MOONLIGHT ON DIAMONDS (22 page)

“That’s huge!” whined
Cynthia, as Kay stepped behind her and fastened the clasp behind her neck. The
president’s daughter stuck her chin down as far as it would go trying to see
the rocks gleaming on her chubby chest.

“There are 275 carats
of diamonds in that necklace. It was given by Napoleon to his empress to
celebrate the birth of their son,” said Kay beaming. “And this,” she added,
lifting a glittering crown of diamonds and emeralds from the red velvet, “this
is one of the museum’s most prized possessions, the crown Napoleon placed on
Josephine’s head at their coronation ceremony.”

Kay turned and smiled
at the First Lady before placing it over Cynthia’s limp blond hair. “And now
our own little princess will wear it tonight!” she piped.

“You might want to
tell the good people of Boston about that,” remarked John, “They threw a little
tea party a while back…”

The icy smile and
fiendishly arched brows of the First Lady and Kay Hopkins shut him down
midsentence. He was relieved, however, to catch the corners of Veronica’s
mouth tighten as she suppressed her laughter.

“This thing is too
fucking heavy,” complained Cynthia as she adjusted the crown on her head. It
was too big for her and it refused to sit straight.

“Cynthia, we need you
to behave tonight,” said Lillian sternly. “You’ve already caused enough
trouble…” She sounded like she was going to say more, but she ended it there.
“Go look at yourself in the mirror. You should be grateful. Do you know how
many girls would give their eyeteeth for the opportunity to dress up in these
lovely jewels to go attend a ball and have their picture taken?”

Cynthia just stood
there sulking, but at least she didn’t talk back. Evidently, the First Lady
took that as a good sign.

“Oh, who’s wearing
that beautiful emerald brooch?” exclaimed Veronica approaching the table, her
eyes on a flash of green rock set in rows of sparkling diamonds.

“The Hooker Emerald?”
asked Kay pleasantly. “Congressman Duly’s wife, Gisela, will be wearing it. I
wish she’d get here. I should have told the ladies to come earlier.”

Cynthia snickered in
the corner. With a frustrated sigh, the First Lady turned to her daughter.
“What do you find so amusing, Cynthia?”

The president’s
daughter snorted. “It’s perfect that Gisela Duly is wearing a brooch called the
‘Hooker,’ because she’s slept with like…
everyone
in Washington!”

This time Veronica
did not have as much luck suppressing an amused smile and John looked at his
shoes trying to keep control. Ignoring the remark, Lillian and Kay turned back
to Veronica as she reached out her hand to pick up the Hope Diamond. She held
it there, fascinated, staring into the jewel’s depths as the blue fire came
alive against the palm of her hand.

Lillian and Kay came
to her side and they, too, stood staring at the fabled gem. At last, Kay put a
hand on Veronica’s shoulder. “You’re sure you don’t mind wearing it? The curse
doesn’t bother you?”

Veronica shook her
head. “I’ve already had my bad luck.”

“Oh, yes,” cooed Kay,
“I heard about the theft. Have the police turned up any leads yet?”

“Not yet.” Veronica
still had not managed to drag her eyes from the magnificent gem that kindled
before her.

“Well, let’s put this
on you, Veronica,” said the First Lady, suddenly businesslike. “Since everyone
is waiting, we need to get out there.” She reached down and picked up the
necklace, placing it around Veronica’s neck.

The difference was
amazing. Veronica was a beautiful woman at any time, but now with the blue
diamond shimmering at her throat, matching the color of her eyes, she was
extraordinary.

At that moment,
Georgette trotted in with two more blue bloods. First was the aforementioned
Gisela in a formfitting gown, which made good use of the push-up bra she had
squeezed her ample breasts into. Following behind was none other than the dishy
blonde Jessica in a sweeping Oscar De La Renta number. They gave Veronica a
cool stare like a clique of the most popular boarding school brats might give a
new girl on the first day of class. John knew they were sizing Veronica up,
wondering if they could take her or not. Even with all of the expensive gowns
and jewels, none of the women there could hold a candle to Veronica tonight.

Veronica didn’t even
notice they were in the room. She stood in front of a mirror and stared at the
Hope Diamond resting against her flawless skin. She turned to John and said,
“This is a night I will never forget.”

“It’s just a rock,”
he whispered, gently running his finger alongside the gem, grazing her warm
skin.

She gazed at him with
eyes sparkling as bright as the jewel around her neck, a smile of pure delight
spread across her face. “That’s what
you
say.”

****

“For someone who
hates publicity, you sure signed up for a lot of it,” John observed as they
entered the Beaux-Arts Rotunda.

Veronica showed off a
bright smile for the cameras and waiting crowd. “It’s for a good cause.”

Overlooking the grand
hall were three stories of balconies graced with several massive Doric columns.
The effect was similar to walking into a splendid marble amphitheater. The room
was decorated all in white with fragrant, ivory Boule de Neige roses and the
shimmer of tiny flames burning in crystal votives which made the hall sparkle
and glow.

John’s eyes
immediately went to the security in their snappy tuxedos placed strategically
around the room. In all his years at the FBI, he’d never seen so many men at
one event. They sure weren’t taking any chances.

“I hope
you
don’t mind being caught on film,”
Veronica said, her eyes dancing.

He laughed. “My
mother won’t believe it’s me. She’ll accuse me of doctoring the photos and get angry
when I insist they’re real.” His amusement faded as Nicholas Bezuhov glided up
to them, as smooth as a ballerina, and, taking Veronica’s hand in his, lightly
kissed the tips of her fingers.

“What do you think,
Nicholas?” she asked, gesturing toward the magnificent, blue diamond at her
breast.

“I think you are very
brave to face the curse,” he observed in his thick Russian accent.

“Or maybe very
stupid,” she said.

“In any case very,
very beautiful…as always,” he replied.

The orchestra, which
was tucked discreetly away in an alcove of the rotunda, kicked in with a swanky
version of
Moonlight Becomes You
.

Nicholas bowed
formally. “May I have the pleasure of a dance?”

Veronica glanced at
John.

“With your
permission, of course,” said the Russian, just a hint of mockery in his voice.

“Veronica’s a big
girl and can make her own decisions. That’s how we like to do things here in
the good old U.S. of A.,” John snapped.

“It’ll be just one
dance,” assured Veronica, laying a placating hand on his forearm.

John nodded.

“We won’t be long,”
said the White Russian, with the hint of a smirk. “Why don’t you get yourself a
drink? They have some good strong Russian vodka behind the bar, or maybe for
you, a…how do you call it? A Shirley Temple.” With that, he swept Veronica
dramatically into his arms and waltzed her onto the floor.

John just stood there
burning up as he watched the White Russian dancing with his girl.
His girl?
With a shake of his head, he
opened his eyes to find her once again on the dance floor. They were obviously
enjoying each other’s company, talking and laughing. Veronica seemed at ease
with Nicholas. She let her hair down and chattered, teasing him like a country
cousin at a barbeque. John wondered how Jessica would feel about it if she
walked in now and found her Nicholas with his arms around the most beautiful
woman in the room.

John’s attention was
diverted when he caught sight of Quinn leaning up against the massive pedestal
supporting the African elephant which was the centerpiece of the rotunda. Quinn
was stuffed into an ill-fitting tuxedo and stood snapping orders into his
headphone. He was trying to look subtle, but John could see him sweating clear
across the room. He made his way through the black-tie crowd to his old
partner’s side.

“Tell them there is
no fucking way,” Quinn was saying in a low, strained voice into his mouthpiece.
“I don’t give a shit what the French ambassador’s wife thinks about it.”

Noticing John by his
side, Quinn just rolled his eyes and shook his head to communicate his level of
frustration with the person on the other end of the line. “Look, this is
something we needed to be informed about at
least
a month ago!”

He paused as he
listened and then shook his head. “I’ll be right there,” he barked. An irate
Quinn turned to John. “Guess who Cartier has brought in at the last minute as
their surprise entertainment?”

“Jerry Lewis.”

Quinn didn’t laugh.
“No, just a little troupe called the Ballet
de l’Aire.”

John couldn’t help
himself as he burst out laughing. When he recovered, he said, “Do you want to
take a guess who Veronica is dancing with right now? The same Veronica who is,
in fact, wearing the Hope Diamond?”

Quinn snapped his
head around and, scanning the floor, got an eyeful of the White Russian dipping
Veronica as she smiled up at him. Quinn turned on John furiously. “Are you
fucking crazy letting her dance with him?”

“Oh, I don’t
let
Veronica do anything. She just does
it.”

“Look, I’d love to
chat and all, but I’ve got to go
parlez
with the fucking French ambassador, his wife, and the President of freakin’
Cartier,” said Quinn. “
You
don’t take
your eyes off that damned diamond around her neck!” He pointed a stubby finger
in Veronica’s direction.

Before John could
answer, Quinn was heading into the crowd, shaking his head and mumbling, “The
Ballet de l’Aire my ass.”

John watched the
crowd on the dance floor. It was a regular who’s who of the Washington
political scene, but to his surprise, there were many foreigners present as
well. Some of the men wore tuxedos and a few even wore turbans while their
women were draped in piles of glittering bangles and necklaces encrusted with
rare gemstones. All around him, he picked up conversions in Russian, Italian,
and Urdu. All of the world’s most famously wealthy and powerful families were
present. Apparently it didn’t matter what nationality you were, who you called
God, or what side of the War on Terror you happened to be on. Everyone at this
little library benefit spoke the international language—money.

With a musical flourish,
the band finished their song. Veronica slipped out of the White Russian’s arms
and headed in John’s direction. He liked watching her as she came toward him
through the crowd, back straight, chin high, hips swaying confidently. With her
pale glowing skin and graceful silk gown, she stood out next to the
conservatively black clad matrons. Her youthful vitality was like a beacon in a
dark ugly sea.

“Is it my turn now?”
he asked, as she reached his side. She smiled and he was dazzled by the pure
joy on her face.

“Let’s just dance and
dance all night!” she exclaimed.

“You’re enjoying
yourself then,” he commented, as she wound her arm through his and dragged him
onto the floor.

Unconsciously, she
reached up and touched the diamond around her throat. “Yes.”

He took her in his
arms and the warmth of having her so close hit him like a wave. He pulled her
more firmly against him and they swayed to the romantic music. “You see, if I
have you close like this and I never let you go, no one can steal the diamond,”
he whispered into her dark hair.

She pulled back a bit
with a wicked grin and replied, “But we want the Ghost to
try
.”

“Veronica, as you
know too well, when the Ghost tries, he usually succeeds.”

“Not tonight,” she
said with a determined look in her eyes before snuggling into his shoulder
again, her perfume encircling them like a magic spell blocking out the rest of
the world. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the bewitchment.

They danced one song
after another until an impeccably dressed, short, balding man took the mic and
announced, “
Mesdames
and
messieurs
, as one of the sponsors of
this evening’s ball, we at Cartier would like to present for your
entertainment, the pride of the Ballet de l’Aire, Marguerite Gateaux!”

The lights dimmed as
a white beam shot up to the tightrope strung between the third floor balconies.
The astonished applause of the audience below broke out as the flamboyant
acrobat cart-wheeled across the cable and posed theatrically like a vintage
pinup shimmering in her red sequined leotard, a black eye mask standing out
against her white skin and crimson lips.

Evidently Quinn had
lost his argument with the French ambassador
.
John placed a protective hand around Veronica’s neck, the clasp of the Hope
Diamond secure beneath his palm.