"There," she told Nadine, pointing through the glass. "Second tray, near the front."
"It's lovely," Nadine said. "Just like the picture."
Willa smiled. "I want to see the fastening. Amara is always reaching into backpacks. I'd hate for her to lose something because the clasp is poorly made."
She asked the nearest associate whether she might examine the pendant. A saleswoman started toward the case with a key, but Derek appeared in her path before she could reach it. His expression was calm again, his pocket square neatly folded, his smile practiced. He positioned himself between Willa and the display so that the wheelchair faced the dark fabric of his suit rather than the sapphire.
"That collection is by appointment only," he said.
Willa blinked. "I didn't know that. Can I make an appointment?"
"Not today, I'm afraid." Derek glanced at her blouse, then at the worn bag on the back of her chair. "We do have some more affordable pieces near the entrance. Perhaps you'd be comfortable browsing there."
Nadine's voice sharpened. "She doesn't want something near the entrance. She wants that sapphire."
Derek did not look at her. He spoke directly to Willa in the slow, elevated voice some people used with older adults when they confused age with an inability to understand. "Ma'am, I'm trying to save you an uncomfortable experience. These pieces are quite expensive. We generally work with clients who have arranged a private consultation."
"How much is that one?" Willa asked.
"The price is not the issue."
"I believe the price is usually one of the first things a buyer is entitled to know."
His smile tightened. "If you'll excuse me, we have other clients to attend to."
There were no clients waiting at the sapphire case. A woman several steps away was studying a handbag while her companion examined a bracelet. The rest of the department was quiet. Willa looked from Derek to the locked case and back again, trying to decide whether she had encountered a misunderstanding that could be resolved with patience. She had spent so much of her life solving problems through calm conversation that she did not immediately recognize his determination not to help her.
"I would still like to see it," she said. "I've come a long way today."
Derek leaned closer. The fragrance of his cologne reached her before his words. "I'm not going to ask you again," he whispered. "Move along."
Willa sat back. Nadine's grip tightened on the chair. It was not merely the refusal that hurt; it was the intimacy of the threat, the knowledge that he had chosen to say it quietly because he did not want anyone else hearing the words he had no trouble speaking to her. A memory flashed through Willa's mind of a department-store clerk in the 1970s who had followed her through an aisle of silk scarves while pretending to rearrange merchandise. She had been young and poor then, but even then she had understood the deliberate insult.