Lauren nodded. “I think I’ve seen pictures of it.” The piece was a scarab, a winged beetle that was a popular amulet in ancient Egypt. The original was gold, inlaid with stones that were burgundy, navy blue, and turquoise. The gorgeous beetle was about the size of a silver dollar and hung on a gold chain.
“It’s coming to the Met again from Cairo, on loan for the new exhibit. We were thinking that the museum could give you the dimensions of it and the names of the original materials. We’d like you to make copies of it for all the members of the Junior Committee, using less expensive materials, of course. Won’t it be darling when all the girls are photographed wearing such a stunning piece?”
“Absolutely,” Claire said, nodding.
“Mrs. Chilton, I really don’t make copies,” Lauren said. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” That wasn’t true at all, of course. It would be easy to make a copy. All Lauren would have to do is hand the specifications to her manufacturer in Red Hook, the one Sebastian Giroux had connected her with.
“Lauren, dear, I know you can make it happen. I’ll have the marketing department at the museum contact you tomorrow with all the details. Oh, and say hello to your mother for me, will you? I’m going to call her next week, as a few of our rooms need a face-lift, and I think she’d be perfect for the job.”
Claire gave Lauren a sneer as she walked away.
“I guess you’ve got yourself a jewelry job,” Phoebe said.
Lauren scowled. “Isn’t it ironic? You get the thing that you want all your life-or at least, for most of your life-and then you don’t want it anymore.”
“Tell me about it,” Phoebe said. Lauren understood that Phoebe knew exactly how it was, having gone through a similar experience with her gallery show last November. A number of the paintings had disappeared, and Phoebe was never paid for them.
“Reproductions of jewelry,” Lauren said. “What does she think I am, a supplier to the museum gift shop or something? So tacky!”
“Think of it as charity work,” Phoebe said.
“I guess so.” Lauren lowered her voice. “What I really want to know is, when are you and Nick going to figure out what the next step is in his grandfather’s little treasure hunt? If that’s what it is.”
Phoebe shook her head. “We’ve been so busy with school, we haven’t really had a chance to come up with a plan.”
Lauren had a pleading look in her eyes. “Whatever you do, please come up with it quickly, okay?”
“We will,” Phoebe said. “We’ll do our best.”
Chapter Thirty
In the days following the Palm Beach trip, Patch thought about his situation and how similar it suddenly was to his grandmother’s. After he had returned from Isis Island, Genie revealed to him that she had dated Palmer Bell in the 1950s, and they had been engaged to be married. Palmer’s family intervened, however, and the night before their wedding, he had disappeared on an ocean liner to Italy. It had taken Genie nearly a year to recover from the shock, and she was grateful to have met Patch’s grandfather, George, whom she married within three months. Now Patch was in the same situation, dating someone not in the Society. Would it always be a boundary that divided people?
Genie was sitting in the living room and working on a needlepoint pillow while watching television. She looked up, just enough to catch Patch’s eye.
“I’m worried about you, Patchfield,” she said.
“What about?”
“You don’t look well. You’re too thin. You’re always sulking around in that ratty wool cap. What’s going on?”
He sat down. “It’s the usual. I mean, after everything that happened…” His voice trailed off. He had filled Genie in on the Society’s retreat, and how he had little choice but to become a member. She had been upset with him, but she also understood the precarious position he was in. “I thought what happened in December would be the worst of it,” he continued. “I thought joining would solve everything.”
“Solve what?” Genie asked as she raised an eyebrow in suspicion.
“All my problems. I thought it would get me a TV deal, or at the very least, give me some new opportunities even if Chadwick Prep didn’t work out. Big surprise: it didn’t. It’s the same with my friends. Phoebe’s not painting, Lauren hates doing her jewelry, Nick hasn’t organized any parties. Hey, at least I get to spin records at the Dendur Ball.”
“The Dendur Ball?” Genie looked curious. “Imagine that. They’re doing that again.”
“Have you been before?”
“No, I haven’t. By the time they started it, I was no longer running around with that crowd. But, your-well, Esme, she cut quite a figure at the last ball.”
“I know. I saw the photograph of her. I could barely recognize her.”
“Those were the best days,” Genie said sadly. “She was so happy then. Before everything happened.”
“Did she and Dad go to things like that often?”
“Oh, yes,” Genie said. “She and your father and the Bells, actually. Parker and Georgiana had only been married for a few years. The four of them were such a group: your father and Parker, Esme and Gigi. They were the talk of the town.”
“And then I came along.”
“Oh, dear, that had nothing to do with it. Your mother had a decline. You know that. It’s all… what’s the word, hereditary. I read an article about it. You can’t help what you’re born with.”
Patch sat down in an armchair and sighed. “Do you think she’ll ever get better?”
“I don’t know,” Genie said. “I certainly hope so. For your sake. I know how devastating it is. I can’t even remember what it was like to have her in our lives. It feels like she’s already dead.”
“Genie!”
“Patch, we have to be realistic about it. It’s not your mother that we visit in Ossining. She’s a shell, a reminder of the person she used to be.”
“So what do you think I should do about all this Society stuff? My TV show project has tanked for now, which totally blows. And my friends are all being threatened.”
“You take care of yourself first,” Genie said firmly. “I know Nick watches out for you, but I don’t know those other friends of yours. I’m sure they’re good people, and I know you’re a fair judge of character, Patch.” She gripped his arm. “But still, you have to be careful.”
Chapter Thirty-One
After a few weeks everyone at Giroux New York had thankfully put the awkward incident of the stolen earrings behind them. Sebastian Giroux had first called it “a misunderstanding,” as if Lauren had been some drug-addled starlet who had simply thought she had paid for something when she hadn’t. No, Lauren insisted, someone had planted the earrings in her bag. While no one particularly cared how or why this could have happened, they accepted it as a reasonable enough explanation, and the matter was dropped.
Several weeks before the incident, Sabrina, the store’s creative director, had set up a small office for Lauren in the basement, on the same corridor as Sebastian and the other designers. On the door was a placard that read: L. MORTIMER DESIGNS. Lawyers had drawn up papers specifying the exact relationship of her company to Giroux New York. Lauren would be licensing her designs to Giroux, and they would be in charge of the manufacturing. Sabrina handled the dealings with the factory in Red Hook, and Lauren visited the plant to view and critique prototypes.
Lauren dropped by Sebastian’s office for a meeting with him and Sabrina to discuss the Egyptian jewelry plan. She didn’t really want to do it, but Mrs. Chilton had upped the ante on her a few days after her initial request: she had, as promised, hired Lauren’s mother to do some decorating in their apartment. Diana had let Lauren know how important the job was to her, and Lauren could see it for herself. Her mother was getting up early in the morning to source materials and prepare sketches. For the first time in a while, Diana Mortimer was actually excited about her job. Lauren wanted it to stay that way.