eyesight isn’t as good as it used to be and he doesn’t see my lines and wrinkles.”
“But you don’t look your age, not at all.”
And she didn’t. My grandmother was sixty-six years old, but her skin was creamy and still quite firm. Her hair still thick and lustrous. Her hands were graceful and almost without age spots. Her opal de feu eyes were wide and sparkled, filled with all kinds of secrets.
“I don’t see any of the imperfections you do,” I said.
“Do you want to know my beauty secret, mon ange ?”
“Of course.”
“Spend lavishly on creams. Wash your hair with henna at the first sign of gray. Never spend one minute thinking about what you do not have. And most importantly, indulge in everything but love.”
She looked at me, waiting for some response, but I didn’t have one. I had so little experience with love.
“Love,” she said emphatically, “is heartbreak. Now, pick something for yourself that you’d like from all these trinkets.”
The box she offered was brimming with jewels. Hardly trinkets. I knew, because she was quite open about how she made her living, that these were all gifts from lovers over the years. As she’d gotten older, she hadn’t needed to sell her treasures like so many women of her kind because Albert Salome had given her several properties that provided her with an income large enough that she would always be comfortable.
I picked through the necklaces and rings. Inspected earrings and bracelets. There were ropes of creamy pearls and . . . I lifted out a strand of black iridescent pearls from the South Seas. Holding them up to my neck, I looked in the mirror.
Grand-mère shook her head. “The color doesn’t suit you. But my fire opals will. They’ll pick up the highlights in your hair and the glints in your eyes that are like mine.”
“No, they’re your signature stones,” I said, and kept searching through the emeralds, sapphires, aquamarines, amethysts, and diamonds. Every stone but the one that I loved the best.
“You have no rubies,” I finally said.
She shook her head. “I don’t fancy them. Do you?”
“I love them.” I held out my left hand. On my ring finger was an oval ruby surrounded with diamonds. “I never take it off.”
My grandmother took my hand in hers and looked down at the ring that had once belonged to her mother. My father had given it to Benjamin to give to me when we’d become betrothed. I would have left it in New York, as I had my wedding ring, but it had never symbolized my marriage to me. It was a family heirloom that I treasured.
“Papa told me you once said every ruby is a frozen drop of human blood preserved forever as a jewel, and that if we could unlock the secret of how to turn it back into blood, we would have the key to immortality.”
My grandmother seemed to shrink into herself. “I never told him that.”
“Who did?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t know,” she said emphatically.
“Then why did he tell me you said it?”
“I don’t know,” she insisted, but there was something in how she turned away from me, almost imperceptibly, that alerted me. She was lying. She knew exactly where my father had heard it, but for some reason wanted to keep that from me.
“You haven’t chosen anything,” she said, scooping up a handful of gleaming jewels and sorting through them herself. “Earrings, perhaps, since you didn’t bring any with you?” Picking out a pair of turquoise-and-diamond earrings, she held them up to my face. Each smooth stone was the size of a hazelnut and surrounded by a halo of pink diamonds that sparkled in the morning sunlight.
“It’s believed by the ancients that turquoise can draw evil to itself and away from the person wearing it.” She held them out. “I think these will do.”
“So you know a lot about stones and their properties, too?” I asked as I screwed in the first earring.
“A bit. Why?”
“Papa loved studying gems and stones. He once told
“But you don’t look your age, not at all.”
And she didn’t. My grandmother was sixty-six years old, but her skin was creamy and still quite firm. Her hair still thick and lustrous. Her hands were graceful and almost without age spots. Her opal de feu eyes were wide and sparkled, filled with all kinds of secrets.
“I don’t see any of the imperfections you do,” I said.
“Do you want to know my beauty secret, mon ange ?”
“Of course.”
“Spend lavishly on creams. Wash your hair with henna at the first sign of gray. Never spend one minute thinking about what you do not have. And most importantly, indulge in everything but love.”
She looked at me, waiting for some response, but I didn’t have one. I had so little experience with love.
“Love,” she said emphatically, “is heartbreak. Now, pick something for yourself that you’d like from all these trinkets.”
The box she offered was brimming with jewels. Hardly trinkets. I knew, because she was quite open about how she made her living, that these were all gifts from lovers over the years. As she’d gotten older, she hadn’t needed to sell her treasures like so many women of her kind because Albert Salome had given her several properties that provided her with an income large enough that she would always be comfortable.
I picked through the necklaces and rings. Inspected earrings and bracelets. There were ropes of creamy pearls and . . . I lifted out a strand of black iridescent pearls from the South Seas. Holding them up to my neck, I looked in the mirror.
Grand-mère shook her head. “The color doesn’t suit you. But my fire opals will. They’ll pick up the highlights in your hair and the glints in your eyes that are like mine.”
“No, they’re your signature stones,” I said, and kept searching through the emeralds, sapphires, aquamarines, amethysts, and diamonds. Every stone but the one that I loved the best.
“You have no rubies,” I finally said.
She shook her head. “I don’t fancy them. Do you?”
“I love them.” I held out my left hand. On my ring finger was an oval ruby surrounded with diamonds. “I never take it off.”
My grandmother took my hand in hers and looked down at the ring that had once belonged to her mother. My father had given it to Benjamin to give to me when we’d become betrothed. I would have left it in New York, as I had my wedding ring, but it had never symbolized my marriage to me. It was a family heirloom that I treasured.
“Papa told me you once said every ruby is a frozen drop of human blood preserved forever as a jewel, and that if we could unlock the secret of how to turn it back into blood, we would have the key to immortality.”
My grandmother seemed to shrink into herself. “I never told him that.”
“Who did?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t know,” she said emphatically.
“Then why did he tell me you said it?”
“I don’t know,” she insisted, but there was something in how she turned away from me, almost imperceptibly, that alerted me. She was lying. She knew exactly where my father had heard it, but for some reason wanted to keep that from me.
“You haven’t chosen anything,” she said, scooping up a handful of gleaming jewels and sorting through them herself. “Earrings, perhaps, since you didn’t bring any with you?” Picking out a pair of turquoise-and-diamond earrings, she held them up to my face. Each smooth stone was the size of a hazelnut and surrounded by a halo of pink diamonds that sparkled in the morning sunlight.
“It’s believed by the ancients that turquoise can draw evil to itself and away from the person wearing it.” She held them out. “I think these will do.”
“So you know a lot about stones and their properties, too?” I asked as I screwed in the first earring.
“A bit. Why?”
“Papa loved studying gems and stones. He once told
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