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“This way.” Bellefeuille steered her away to some jewelers who worked for him and a cluster of men in suits and their wives.

“Congratulations, Miss Anyu,” Mr. Morris, the owner of the North China Daily News , said. “This is a beautiful engagement party.”

She forced a smile. Esther was whispering with Mr. Dearborn in the corner.

“Miss Anyu, I’m thankful for the cuff links you designed. I need a few more. Should I visit the House of Bellefeuille to see your latest designs?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Morris, I’ve decided to quit my jeweler’s career.”

“Quit your career? Why?”

“Pause her career,” Bellefeuille said. “Temporarily. She’s getting married!

Mr. Morris, you can find any jewelry you like at the House of Bellefeuille.

Anyu will always be there. Could we have a few words in private?

” He directed her to a corner where they were out of the earshot of guests.

“ Ma chérie , you don’t mean to quit your career, do you? ”

“Of course I do.”

He sighed. “I’m devastated. I was going to ask you to design a piece for the annual competition.”

“Pierre, I can’t. I don’t want to compete.”

He sighed again. “Would you at least postpone announcing your decision to quit your career for the moment? Our engagement calls for a celebration, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Fine.” Anyu drained the champagne and searched among the crowd. She couldn’t find Esther and Mr. Dearborn.

You’ll always be a member of the Mandelburg family.

That night, after the party ended, as the ballroom descended into emptiness and the music faded into the dark, with Bellefeuille thrusting inside her, all Anyu could think was: Did Isaac regret he had rejected her? Did he miss her like Esther said? Would he come to see her?

Two weeks after her engagement party, no visits from Isaac.

She was busy. Each day, fine dresses appeared in her bedroom: a lilac-and-black draped-back evening gown designed by Madeleine Vionnet, an embroidered silk chiffon dress by Coco Chanel, and sensationally soft and body-shaping two-piece garments by the legendary Jeanne Margaine-Lacroix.

On the dresser were boxes of jewelry: an elegant Edwardian-style necklace with filigree and silky gold threads, an Art Deco gold-and-onyx necklace, and the newest emerald starfish brooch from the House of Boivin in Paris.

There were cocktail parties, noisy turf meets at the racecourse, and lavish balls in the hotels, and everywhere, her fiancé introduced her, the most popular jeweler in Shanghai.

She conversed with the Italian officials, the Shanghai tycoons, the British diplomats, the Hungarian architects, the French police chief, and their charming companions.

In October, a few days after the jewelry competition that announced the House of Clemente as the winner, Anyu came across Mrs. Brown encircled by her bodyguards. When the crowd around her thinned and a moment presented itself, Anyu stood within the periphery of her vision.

Mrs. Brown waved her over. She studied her face, Madeleine Vionnet’s evening gown, and then her hand, ungloved, wearing the signet ring and an engagement ring. “So it’s true. You have switched houses.”

“I’m getting married,” she said.

Mrs. Brown straightened; her eyes looked wary. “When is the wedding?”

“In January.”

“I suppose you’ve made up your mind?”

She nodded.

“I imagine this decision was made after careful deliberation. It is, of course, your personal life. Did Isaac give you his blessings?”

“Like you said, it’s my personal affair.” Then Anyu caught sight of Bellefeuille standing by, held back by the lady’s bodyguards, unable to approach. “There he is. Mrs. Brown, I assume you’re acquainted with my fiancé since he won the competition a few times. May I reintroduce you to him?”

She was not sure whether Bellefeuille could hear her, but he watched Mrs. Brown with an intense look.

“You may not,” the British lady said. Then she left without saying congratulations.

Mrs. Brown hadn’t changed, that frosty woman. And condescending. How dare she treat her as if she were Isaac’s extension?

In the car back home with Bellefeuille, Anyu’s mood darkened further.

She had attended so many parties and the whole of Shanghai knew about her engagement with Bellefeuille, but she had not once come across Isaac.

Admittedly, he was not a social butterfly, but if he wanted to see her, he would have showed up at some venues.

It seemed Isaac was indifferent to her engagement, or maybe his heart was made of iron, impervious to sadness.

She took a Lucky Strike from the cigarette box, struck a match, and began to smoke. She had finished three cigarettes when she realized Bellefeuille was speaking to her.

“Yes?” It was smoky in the car, so she rolled down the window.

“I shouldn’t feel surprised that you and Mrs. Brown are on friendly terms, yet I confess I am very much surprised that she would give you a moment of sole attention.”

“Well, I did win her competition every year I entered. We have a history.”

Bellefeuille let out a groan.

“Why are you so upset?”

There was silence.

Anyu sat upright. “I can’t believe I just realized it now. She was your lover. She tried to avoid you. That’s why. What happened? Why did you break up?”

“It’s all in the past. No need to bring it up.” Bellefeuille’s tone was dark.

Anyu took a long drag of her cigarette. “I’ll find out eventually, either from you or someone else.”

“We had a falling-out. She believed I cheated on her, so she snubbed me and crawled in other men’s beds, and then she found a new lapdog in your old master.”

“When did her relationship with Isaac start?”

“A year or two before you won the award. How else was Isaac Mandelburg, a penurious workman from a two-bit shop, who had no clientele nor capital, able to run a jewelry shop?”

Anyu lit another cigarette.

“She could have slept with any man for all I care, but Isaac Mandelburg? The man is a nobody. And she was never honest with me, hiding her secrets from me when we were together. She’s a powerful woman, of course, you know.

She has a vast network and is well connected to the elite in Shanghai and even Queen Mary’s royal representatives in Hong Kong.

But she kept me in the dark about who she worked with and refused to introduce me to them.

I suspect she also runs a smuggling business that deals with the Romanov treasure in Shanghai. ”

This was the first time Anyu had heard of the Romanov treasures from someone other than Isaac.

“She won’t be running her smuggling business soon, mind you. Rumor has it that Mr. Du has gotten wind of her wealth. He’s very interested in her.”

“Mr. Du?”

“The gangster lord has unearthed some clues that she might work for a group related to Karl Fabergé, who crafted objets d’art for the Romanovs and wealthy men.

Fabergé objets d’art , as you know, are rare treasures in history, given their superb design, historical significance, and artistic perfection. ”

Anyu was feeling dizzy after five cigarettes. She had trouble keeping her thoughts together. How much did Bellefeuille know? She couldn’t say she liked Mrs. Brown, but she still cared about the egg, her egg, and she had sworn her allegiance to the Guild.

“Mr. Du said the group called themselves the Workmasters Guild, and they used to command the majority of diamonds sold to the tsars in Russia. It was an occult group in charge of the gemstone trade across the world, and at one time, they were closely associated with Thomas Cullinan, the man who discovered the Cullinan Diamond of Britain’s crown jewels.

Rumors say the workmasters are hiding in Shanghai. ”

“I hear they have been imprisoned or murdered by the Bolsheviks.”

Bellefeuille turned to her. “How did you know that? Did your old master tell you?”

“Why would he tell me? I came from Harbin. Many Russians lived there.”

He nodded. “That makes sense. But imagine, a guild with vast resources of diamonds and gemstones around the world.”

There was something in his voice that chilled Anyu.

Three months had passed since Anyu left the Mandelburgs.

Bellefeuille was still a mystery, Anyu realized.

She couldn’t say she understood him. Sometimes, he’d shower her with affection and praise, convincing her that he was in love with her, but the next moment, he’d act distant and even mean, critical of her youth, her naivete, and her lack of cultural knowledge.

His view of her artistry was also questionable.

One day, wearing a full-length dress with pink ruffles and a matching pillbox hat, Anyu was putting on a pair of gloves when she realized they were too tight.

She had grown plump after attending banquets and parties, but she still hadn’t seen or heard from Isaac.

She wondered what was going on with him, and whether he cared for her at all.

Sometimes, when she looked at the signet ring, she thought of the priceless egg stored in the Vault of Gems and Treasures.

When she examined her jewelry box gifted by Bellefeuille, she would think of the convention of labeling jewelry: name, year, type of jewelry, size, metal, gemstones, and techniques used .

When she sprayed perfume on her arm, she thought she smelled the chemical odors in the workshop.

When she slid a silk glove over the ugly stub of the missing finger, she thought of those wild days when she adamantly searched for the snowflake necklace.

She recalled those evenings working beside Isaac, learning the techniques of soldering, sawing, and enameling; they felt so distant, yet so close.

She missed the pungent scent of acetone, the sensation of watching metal melt under the heat of a blowtorch, and the satisfaction of bending and twisting gold wires.

She missed the Winter Egg, its delicate shape, its translucent beauty, and she missed most, even though she would never admit it, the face of Isaac, his smile, his polite way of turning to the side to cough, and the intense look in his eyes as he sawed.