Donovans 03 - Pearl Cove

to a goose,” Becky said.
    “What?” Hannah said in disbelief.
    “She heard that it was the best way to add luster to pearls.”
    “Good God.” Hannah shook her head, appalled that anything so unique and valuable could have such an ignominious end. “So much history and beauty reduced to dog and goose droppings.”
    “Look at it this way,” Archer said. “When Rome burned, the cream of the Persian pearls for the last millennium went up in smoke.”
    “Stop,” she said. “I don’t want to think about it.”
    “Then think about this.” He gestured to a prayer rug whose elegant geometric designs were outlined in pearls. “A devout, and devoutly wealthy, Muslim said his prayers on this five times a day.”
    “Elegant and beautiful,” Hannah said. “But it would be like kneeling on frozen peas.”
    Archer gave a crack of laughter. His hands reached to touch her, just for a few seconds, but he turned the automatic motion into one of looking at his watch.
    “It’s still there,” Becky said tartly. “Is the buckle loose? You keep checking as though you expected your watch to be gone.”
    “Guilty,” he said. “Hannah and I are on a tight schedule.”
    “Young people. Always rushing from one place to another. Never enough time to appreciate the place where they are.”
    “There isn’t enough time on earth to appreciate your pearls,” Archer said.
    “Ha. Your collection—”
    “Is just beginning,” Archer cut in firmly.
    “I still say that if you would trade that South Seas gold paragon for our—”
    “Quit tormenting the boy, Becky,” Fred interrupted. He tugged at the string tie he wore. His white shirt was so worn it gleamed like silk at the collar and elbows, but it was clean as a pearl. “He doesn’t want to let go of that beauty, and I don’t blame him. Instead of badgering him, let’s show him the new stuff. I want his advice on one of the lots.”
    “I’m flattered,” Archer said.
    “You should be,” Fred retorted. “I’m old, but I’m not a fool. I know my eyes aren’t what they used to be, even with magnifying lenses. The boy we hired to color-sort isn’t as good as he thinks he is. He sure as hell isn’t as good as you are.”
    “Oh, all right,” Becky grumbled. “We’ll go to the sorting room.”
    Hannah didn’t wait for a second invitation. She headed straight for the room that opened off the rows of display cases.
    In some ways, walking through the wide door was like coming home. In one important way it wasn’t: Len wasn’t sitting in the corner, staring at her with eyes that weren’t quite sane. Nor was there the chatter and laughter of the Chinese workers who had slowly replaced the Japanese employees in Pearl Cove.
    “What are you assembling here?” Archer asked.
    He gestured to a sorting table where three groups of pearls were lined up on three different trays. The trays had channels of different sizes to hold the pearls in parallel, horizontal rows from top to bottom. Each tray held a separate color of South Seas pearls: black, gold, white. A nearby table held more pearls of each color, each in a separate tray. Small shipping boxes were stacked in the center. Each contained more pearls.
    “That’s the beginnings of a necklace, part of a parure for an old client.” Fred sighed. “Or it will be if we ever get enough of the right pearls. Makes my eyes hurt just to think about it.”
    “How many do you need?”
    “Fifty of each. Minimum. A hundred would be better. Spherical is preferred. The client can afford it and we have our eye on another acquisition for our museum.”
    Archer smiled in silent sympathy.
    Hannah went to the table, looked at the pearls that were being sorted, and glanced over at the nearby table. “Is your first sort for color?”
    “Yes,” Becky said. “Since several pieces of jewelry are involved, color is more important than size variations. Luster is a very, very close second. So is shape.”
    “May I?” Hannah asked.
    Becky looked at Archer.
    “I’m told she’s one of the best,” he said simply.
    “Go ahead,” Becky said, gesturing.
    Absently Hannah nodded. She was already focused entirely on the pearls. Switching on the overhead light, she began with the silver-white pearls. The gradations of color were both subtle and profound, enough for a roomful of philosophers to argue over. Yet she saw the differences as clearly as other people saw the gap between yellow, orange, and red.
    Humming softly, enjoying the