Patricia's smile remained, but it became strangely careful. She glanced toward the necklace and then back at Diana, as if comparing two items that did not belong in the same display. "The Aurora collection is our premium line," she said. "Some of those pieces start at two hundred thousand dollars. We have other collections that might be more comfortable for someone browsing casually."
"I understand the prices," Diana replied. "I'd still like to see the necklace."
An ordinary customer might have heard Patricia's first warning as an awkward attempt to prevent embarrassment. Diana had heard that exact tone many years before, when she was a young woman with cash in an envelope and an associate had not bothered to ask what she wanted. The resemblance made her pause, not because she needed another reminder of old insults but because this time the insult had come from a person paid to uphold the standards she had written. She hoped, for Patricia's sake as much as her own, that the resemblance was accidental.
Patricia made a small gesture toward the other counters. "Could I ask what the occasion is? Wedding, anniversary, perhaps a professional event? It helps us select the appropriate range."
"Does the occasion change whether I may examine the necklace?" Diana asked.
Patricia blinked. "No, of course not. I simply want to make sure we're giving you the right level of service."
"Then let's start with the necklace," Diana said. She spoke pleasantly, without pressing the point further. Her grandmother had taught her that a customer should not have to defend the emotion behind a purchase before being allowed to see it. Some people bought jewelry for proposals; some bought it after funerals. Some bought it because they had survived a terrible year and wanted a private reminder that they had survived.
Patricia took a key from the small ring concealed in her jacket pocket. While she unlocked the Aurora cabinet, she continued speaking in a rehearsed tone about exclusive private appointments and the responsibility that came with handling rare stones. She pulled on protective gloves, lifted a velvet tray, and positioned it between them as if the necklace might escape if she did not remain vigilant. Diana noticed that the gloves were proper, but the tray was being held at a slant.
The Aurora necklace glimmered beneath warm light. Its centerpiece was a vivid Colombian emerald surrounded by unusually well-matched diamonds, each chosen for balance rather than sheer size. The stones were held in an intricate white-gold setting designed to suggest the first rays of morning spreading across a winter window. Diana had approved the final wax model herself and had rejected three earlier versions because the center of gravity was wrong.
She studied the necklace without touching it. At first glance the piece looked exactly as she remembered, but its left side sat a little too high on the presentation cushion. A tiny prong beside one diamond caught the light at an unusual angle. Diana leaned closer, careful not to crowd the counter, and asked whether she could see the necklace under a neutral inspection lamp rather than the flattering showcase lights.
"Our pieces are inspected by master jewelers," Patricia replied, her tone turning stiff. "The lighting here is specially designed for the collection."