William was too busy with his wine and his vineyards to think much about the jewelry. It was the summer of 1948 before Sarah absolutely insisted they do something with the mountain of jewelry they’d collected. It was no longer even a good investment. It just sat there, except for the few pieces she wore, and they were lovely, but not many.
“After Phillip leaves, we’ll go up to Paris and sell it all off I promise,” William said, distractedly.
“They’ll think we robbed a bank in Monte Carlo.”
“It does look a bit like that.” He grinned. “Doesn’t it?” But when they went back to Paris in the fall, they suddenly realized that there was clearly too much to take with them. They took a few pieces, but they left the rest at the château. Sarah was feeling bored, and a little lonely, with Phillip recently gone. And once they’d been in Paris for two days, William looked at her and announced that he’d found a solution.
“To what?” She was looking at some new suits at Chanel with him when he told her.
“The jewelry dilemma. We’ll start a shop of our own, and sell it.”
“Are you crazy?” She stared at him, still looking very handsome in his wheelchair. “What would we do with a shop? The château is two hours from Paris.”
“We’ll let Emanuelle run it. She has nothing to do now with Phillip gone away, and she’s gotten a little fancy to do housework.” She’d been buying her clothes at Jean Patou and Madame Grès, and she was looking very elegant.
“Are you serious?” She had never even thought of it, and she wasn’t sure if she liked the idea. But in some ways it might be fun, and they both liked jewelry. And then she began to worry. “You don’t think your mother will think it’s vulgar?”
“To own a shop? It is vulgar.” He laughed. “But such fun. Why not? And she’s such a good sport, I daresay she’ll love it.” At over ninety, she seemed to get more and more open-minded with the years, rather than less so. And she was enchanted with the prospect of having Phillip stay with her for holidays and weekends. “Who knows, one day we can call ourselves Jewelers to the Crown. We’ll have to sell something to the Queen to do that. And I daresay Wallis will go mad, and want a discount.” It was a totally insane idea, but they talked about it all the way back to the château, and Sarah had to admit that she loved it.
“What’ll we call it?” she asked excitedly, as they lay in bed and talked about it the night they went back to the château.
“‘Whitfield’s,’ of course.” He looked at her proudly. “What else would you call it, my dear?”
“Sorry.” She rolled over in bed and kissed him. “I should have thought of that.”
“You certainly should have.” It was almost like having a new baby. It was a wonderful new project.
They wrote down all their ideas, inventoried the jewelry they had, and got it appraised by Van Cleef, who were staggered by what they’d collected. They spoke to attorneys, and went back to Paris before Christmas and rented a small but extremely elegant shop on the Faubourg-St. Honoré, and set architects and workmen to work, and even found Emanuelle an apartment. She was beside herself with excitement.
“Are we totally mad?” Sarah asked him, as they lay in bed at the Ritz on New Year’s Eve. Now and then she still got a little worried.
“No, my darling, we’re not. We’ve done an awful lot of people an awful lot of good with the things we bought from them, and now we’re having a little fun with it. There’s no harm in that. And who knows, it might turn out to be a very successful business.”
They had explained it all to Phillip, and William’s mother, when they’d flown over to England to spend Christmas at Whitfield with them. William’s mother thought it was a fine idea and promised to buy their first piece of jewelry, if they’d let her. And Phillip announced that one day he’d open a branch in London.
“Wouldn’t you want to run the one in Paris?” Sarah asked, surprised at his reaction. For a child who had grown up abroad, and was only half English anyway, he was amazingly British.
“I don’t want to live in France ever again,” he announced, “except for vacations. I want to live at Whitfield.”
“My, my,” William said, more amused than distressed. “I’m glad someone does.” He could never imagine living there again. And like his cousin, the Duke of Windsor, he was happier in France, and so was Sarah.
“You’ll have to tell me all about the opening.” The dowager duchess had made them promise when they left. “When is it?”
“In June,” Sarah said tremulously, looking at William with excitement. It was like having a new baby, and since that had never happened to them again, Sarah threw herself into it with all her energy for the next six months, and the night before the opening, everything looked smashing.
Chapter 18
The Duchess of Windsor came to the opening, as did most of her friends, and suddenly le tout Paris was there, all of Paris society, and even a few curious acquaintances from London.
They sold four pieces the night of the party they gave, a lovely pearl-and-diamond bracelet by Fabergé with little blue-enamel birds, and a pearl necklace that was one of the first things Emanuelle had brought them. They sold Mrs. Wertheim’s emerald set, too, and it brought a handsome price, as did a huge cabochon ruby ring made by Van Cleef for a maharaja.
Sarah stood looking in wonder at all of it, unable to believe what had happened, as William looked on, with obvious pleasure. He was so proud of her, and so amused by what they’d done. They had bought all of it with kind hearts and the hope that they’d helped someone. And suddenly it had turned into this most extraordinary business.
“You’ve done a beautiful job, my love,” he praised her warmly as waiters poured more champagne. There had been cases of Cristal for the opening, and endless tins of caviar.
“I just can’t believe it! Can you?” She looked like a girl again, she was having such fun, and Emanuelle looked like a grande dame as she made her way among the elite, looking very beautiful in a black Schiaparelli.
“Of course I can believe it. You have exquisite taste, and these are beautiful things,” he said calmly, taking a sip of his champagne.