Page 37

Then, one afternoon in November, her amah told her that a man named Isaac Mandelburg asked to speak to her outside the mansion.

Anyu’s heart skipped a few beats. Finally.

It was a rare sunny day. The autumn air was cool, sparkling with golden sunlight that filtered through the canopy of plane trees on the street; leaves were falling, descending sluggishly.

Outside the mansion, near a towering tree, stood Isaac, dressed in his usual black shirt and pants and fedora, his head drooping, his hand reaching to his hat as if to ascertain that he hadn’t forgotten it.

She rushed to him. He regretted rejecting her; he would ask her to return to him. If he proposed to her, she would leave Bellefeuille this instant.

“Isaac,” she said. Isaac. Isaac.

He raised his head. He was thinner. A ring of stubble had spread around his chin, a hint of exhaustion etched on his taut face; something in his eyes swam, a haunting shadow.

He took out his handkerchief, coughed into it, and then folded it with the care she had often seen in the workshop.

Her heart softened. He had indeed suffered.

How foolish of them. Tormenting each other.

All these months of worry, anxiety, and doubt.

“Oh, look at you! Beautiful, beautiful like a princess.” He gestured—her pink taffeta dress with a bow, her matching hat with lace.

Anyu smiled. “I’m so glad you came.”

“I have meant to visit you, but I heard you were very busy with parties. You’re doing well, I hope?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

Isaac nodded, looking as if at a loss for words.

“How’s Esther?”

She was doing well, working in the shop, Isaac said.

“And Samuel and Uncle David and the aunties?” Indeed, she had thought of them, too.

“They’re well, too.” Uncle David had suffered from a fall that hurt his ankle; Samuel spent time in the workshop whenever he wanted to; the aunties had a cold in the summer but had recovered, Isaac said, and then he dug out an envelope from his pocket.

“I forgot to mention that Esther is marrying Mr. Dearborn. She wanted me to give you this invitation. She hopes you’ll attend her wedding. It’ll mean so much to her.”

“Of course I will.” Anyu tucked it into her pocket. “I’m happy for her. They deserve each other.”

Isaac nodded, staring at a European building across the street with purple wooden shutters and a black wrought-iron balcony, where a pot of pink cosmos sat in the shade. Again, silence.

Why didn’t Isaac ask her to leave Bellefeuille? Why didn’t he tell her he wanted her back?

Isaac cleared his throat. “This is perhaps selfish of me to ask, Anyu, but I wonder if you’d return to our shop.

We lost Mr. Walters’s support since you left us, and the cost of purchasing diamonds and gems from other purveyors has been high.

Besides, we’ve had to refund some clients who lost interest in us. We can’t run the shop without you.”

“As your successor?”

“Yes.”

Her heart fell. She stared at a pile of leaves near her feet, a blend of orange, gold, crimson, and marigold, the colors of the gemstones, the amber, moonstones, and topaz.

She remembered reading the unique elements described in Isaac’s notebook and the tips on how to identify them by their color, luster, hardness, optical properties, and dispersion.

“You won’t marry me, will you? You choose Mrs. Brown. ”

“Mrs. Brown and I have a relationship, yes. It’s a relationship I honor and feel grateful for. But we would not have the privilege to celebrate our holy matrimony. She doesn’t wish for that.”

“Then why wouldn’t you choose me?”

“Believe me, I wish I could,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Since your arrival, I’ve wanted to look out for you, and I wish to give you all that I have—to see you rise and succeed and to care for you. I love you, of course, God knows how much I love you.”

Anyu’s heart leaped in joy.

“But only in another world, in another lifetime, would I have the blessing to have you as my wife.”

“Why?”

“I’m a simple man, a son of a jeweler, a father.

I come from an old-fashioned family; I hold some principles as gold standard, principles that define who we are and what kind of life we lead.

And I’m twenty-five years older than you.

You’re younger than my son and daughter.

As a Jew bound by Halakah, I’m not allowed to marry a non-Jew. ”

“I don’t care about the religious law, Isaac.”

He smiled drily. “There. That’s another thing I love about you: your fiery single-mindedness, your idea of living your life with abandon.

And you make it appear simple, admirable.

You humble me, Anyu. I wish I was twenty years younger, born in this country, and then I’d have the privilege of asking for your hand. ”

It would have been better had he said he didn’t love her; what was she going to do with this fact that they could never be together despite his affection?

“I’ll always love you, Anyu.”

She hated it, his calm manner and his assurance. She jutted her chin. “Fine. I’m going to marry Pierre Bellefeuille.”

“I assume you know him well enough.”

“That’s not your concern.”

“You might know, Anyu, a Frenchman rarely marries a Chinese woman in Shanghai.”

How dare he try to belittle her. To hint she was naive and would be a plaything?

She was not a plaything; she knew what she was doing.

Pierre Bellefeuille had dallied with other women; after all, he was a popular bachelor in Shanghai, but he loved her, pampering her with all the dresses and jewelry, throwing a lavish engagement party to show her off as his fiancée.

Isaac would not marry her, and he wanted to destroy her relationship with the man who would give her a future.

She would not let Isaac ruin her happiness.

“I don’t want to see you again, Isaac Mandelburg.”

He sighed.

“Here.” She took off the signet ring and tossed it into his hands.

He stiffened as though he had been struck by a heavy blow, motionless.

“I decline to be your successor. You can keep your Fabergé egg. I’m no longer interested in it. From now on, I’m no longer associated with you.”

“Wait, Anyu. Will you continue designing jewelry?”

“I haven’t announced it yet, but if you’d like to know, I’ve decided to quit my jeweler’s career.”

“You don’t want to be a jeweler.” His voice was weak.

“I became a master jeweler at eighteen, I’ve seen the Fabergé egg and held it. What did it do for me? Nothing,” she said deliberately.

“I hope you’ll change your mind, Anyu, and continue your career, even if you decide to marry another man, even if you no longer work in my shop. It has been an honor to be your mentor.”

Anyu turned around, walked down the path lined with flowerpots, and shut the door behind her.

For the whole afternoon, a fire smoldered in her stomach, and she felt like striking the anvil and pounding on the wall. She flipped through magazines and kept tearing the pages. She smoked two packets of Lucky Strikes.

Unable to sleep, she left her bedroom, padding across the marble floor, out the French doors, and into the moonless replica Garden of Versailles. She sat on a cold bench, smoking, staring at the silhouette of gods and fountains, listening to the impetuous wind whipping the willow branches.

She had cut the final cord with Isaac; she would not see him again.

Why had she done that? Why couldn’t she forget how she felt about him and go back to his shop with him?

And with the return of the signet ring, the sight of the egg, its spectacular image, would remain out of her reach.

She looked at her finger, bare, without the ring, and it was as though a part of her was torn away.

An emptiness, feverish, painful, raked her stomach.

Why did it have to end up like this? Why was it so hard to love someone?

Her fingers grew cold, her feet chilled, and still, she sat there, trapped in the garden of madness. You’re going mad, she said to herself. You’re going mad.

She smoked and watched a sliver of smoke torch the fabric of darkness.

On the day of Esther’s wedding, a wild animal invaded the garden.

It overturned the flower beds, devoured the blossoms and leaves, and wreaked havoc in the mansion.

The servants, holding brooms and frying pans, combed the entire garden, searching the nooks of the fountains and benches, but couldn’t find it.

They said it might have been a squirrel monkey, a wild cat, a rat, or a raccoon looking for loaches in the pond.

Anyu watched the chaos from behind the French doors. Bellefeuille was saying something, but she could hardly listen. Then she finally realized he was asking her to meet his jewelers.

“They admire you! Perhaps you’ll pay them a visit in the workshop?”

“Why?”

“They’re eager to meet you.”

“I already met them. Twice.” She wondered if Bellefeuille was trying to lure her back to jewelry making.

Bearing a gift—a bottle of French perfume imported from Paris—Anyu went to the restaurant where Esther had her wedding party.

It was a modest establishment, decorated with two red lanterns hanging on the front door, tucked among a row of unpretentious gray-roofed abodes.

Inside, there was no live band, which Anyu had grown accustomed to, but it was crowded with many men and women, and there was a familiar tune from a gramophone—Esther’s wedding song that she had hummed at bedtime—and Isaac was clapping and swaying in a brand-new satin suit, his face blooming with happiness.

And then there was Esther, magnificent in the white wedding gown Anyu had bought her three years ago, shrieking and laughing, holding on for dear life to the chair being carried by a group of men.

All around her, people cheered and danced.

An effervescent energy permeated the air, infused with the intimacy of family and the blind affection of those who loved one another.

Anyu remembered once when they were sitting inside a car to visit her clients, Esther had asked, if she had a choice, would she choose the life of a wife or the life of a master jeweler.

Anyu had said resolutely that the ability to create jewelry was a woman’s greatest asset, and to be recognized as a master jeweler was the meaning of her life.

Anyu was not so sure now, watching Esther, a daughter, a sister, and now a wife, living a life she couldn’t have. And it occurred to her that she had been wrong. A woman’s greatest asset, her proudest wealth, was not to be known but to be loved.

She gave her gift to a waiter at the door and left in tears.