Donovans 03 - Pearl Cove

Hannah and Archer went from booth to booth, commenting on the rarities they saw. One booth specialized in South Seas baroque pearls. Some were the size of peas. Others were the size of marbles. A few magnificent ones were the size of a man’s thumb.
    Archer stopped at the booth. “Hello, Sun. How’s the new granddaughter?”
    The man with sparse silver hair and a face like a well-used map looked up from a table where he had been studying pearls. When he saw Archer, he leaped up with a grin. “Archer! I missed you the last time you were here.” He reached into his pocket, brought out a worn black wallet, and pulled out a picture. “My new granddaughter is as bright as the sun and more beautiful than a spring moon.”
    Archer looked at the picture and couldn’t help smiling back. The newborn baby’s black eyes were clear and very intent. Her little hands were fisted. “Look out, world. This one’s a tiger.”
    Sun Seng laughed. “She will run her brothers ragged. High time, too. We had all but given up hope of a granddaughter.”
    “Congratulations,” Archer said. “You’re a very lucky man.”
    Seng grinned like a boy as he put the picture back in the wallet. When Archer introduced Hannah, Seng shook hands and watched her with barely concealed curiosity. Archer had never brought a woman to the Pearl Exchange before.
    “Are you looking for anything special today?” Sun asked, glancing from one to the other.
    “Do you have anything special?” Hannah countered easily, smiling.
    Seng laughed approvingly. The first rule of trading was to keep your true desire to yourself. “My life is consumed by special pearls.”
    “Baroque pearls, from what I can see,” Hannah said.
    “Round pearls are so boring,” Seng said, his voice bland and his eyes as intent as his granddaughter’s. “I prefer pearls that call to my imagination rather than my greed. Faith understands that.”
    Archer smiled. “In this case,” he explained to Hannah, “Faith isn’t a belief. Faith is my other sister, Honor’s twin. She makes incredible jewelry from baroque pearls. Seng is one of her best sources.”
    “It is my pleasure,” Seng said simply. “Someday her jewelry will be as famous as Georges Foquet’s or Rene Lalique’s.”
    “Uh-oh,” Archer said. “I hear prices going up. Yours, to be exact.”
    Seng smiled. “For Faith, only the best.”
    “Translation: most expensive,” Archer said dryly. “Okay, show me what it’s going to cost.”
    “It’s her birthday,” Seng said.
    “Christmas is sooner.”
    “Whatever.” Seng opened a drawer and pulled out a velvet-lined box. “This will make Faith smile. When I saw it, I thought of her eyes. That odd silver-blue . . .”
    “Thank God it’s not a diamond,” Archer muttered.
    Hannah looked at the ring on her finger and wondered again how much it had cost. Certainly too much for her to buy, which was a pity. It was the first faceted stone she had seen that appealed to her as much as a fine pearl.
    “Here we are.” Seng came back to the glass counter that ran along the front of his booth. He set the box down and opened it carefully. Nestled in pale blue satin was a semicircle baroque pearl. It was nearly three quarters of an inch long and half an inch wide at its center.
    “May I?” Hannah asked, reaching for the pearl.
    “Of course.” Seng lifted the pearl out and put it on Hannah’s palm.
    “Cool, smooth, heavy,” she murmured. “Very heavy. It’s either a natural or came from a seeded shell that got lost for a few years. Most likely a natural. It has the sheen of fresh water rather than salt.”
    “I should have known you were in the business,” Seng said ruefully. “This came from a little creek in the deep South whose name is my secret. I’ve seen no other shade quite like it.”
    “Neither have I,” Hannah said.
    “The New World’s freshwater pearls are famous for their regional variations in color,” Archer said. “But you’re right, Sun. I haven’t seen one this shade.”
    “Considering its rarity, the price is quite reasonable. Two thousand dollars.”
    “Six hundred is reasonable,” Archer said.
    “Plus one thousand. That would be sixteen hundred.”
    “That would be bull dust.”
    “Excuse me?” Seng said.
    “Ask Hannah. Seven hundred.”
    “But its rarity—”
    “Will make it nearly impossible to match,” Archer cut in. “As a solo in the hands of someone less skilled than Faith, the delicate shade of the