Page 48

When she came to, Anyu heard some indistinct voices echoing from what felt like a dark, amorphous pit.

A searing pain speared her chest, and she could barely breathe or lift her arms. Someone was tugging at her shoulder, dragging her, cursing.

She shook off the hand and blinked. She was upside down, lying in a pile of broken glass on the pavement, and one of her feet was wedged under the seat of the taxi; blood spilled, dripping on her leg.

She sat up and wiggled her foot out. But for a moment, she was bewildered.

The bullet had shot her, and the diamond felt scalding on her chest, but she was not bleeding. Somehow, she was alive, unscathed.

A stranger was cursing, telling her to get out of his car. His car, his car. Ignoring him, she stood up. “Isaac? Isaac!”

He lay in the car’s back seat, soaked in blood, without the briefcase.

She climbed over and held him, feeling his face, calloused hands, and shoulders.

He was gone, her mentor, her lover, her steadfast believer.

He had kissed her and told her he couldn’t lose her.

And they had killed him. What was she going to do now?

She heard some noises, and the driver was shouting again, urging her to leave his cab.

“Take us back to our shop,” she said, trembling. She needed help. She couldn’t do this. She had lost Isaac. She must tell Esther, Samuel, and Uncle David. Everyone. She must explain to them, and—no, someone must explain to her what had happened.

The driver shook his head.

“Take us back to our shop!” she screamed.

Sometime later, the car moved; the rice sacks, the scales, and the crowd receded to the background. When they finally arrived at the shop, Anyu kissed Isaac and pushed open the car door. I’ll be right back, she wanted to tell him.

How she left the car and came inside the shop, she couldn’t remember. Standing before the translucent glass cases, in a state of near catatonia, she was speechless. What could she tell them? What would they say? Suddenly, she was afraid.

But no one came to her; no one asked her why she was back and alone.

She blinked. Everything felt off. The velvet curtains had been torn, the glass on the counter shattered, and the necklaces and brooches were missing. There were no customers, no Samuel, no Esther or Uncle David. It was so quiet in the showroom she could hear her own heavy breathing.

She dragged her feet toward a Good Love necklace near a broken glass case and picked it up. For a moment, she stared at the beautiful necklace she had crafted, unable to comprehend. She staggered toward the doorway behind the curtain and entered the hallway.

It looked endless, a dark tunnel. Her head hurting, she paused, her hand on the wall, her knees struggling to straighten.

Then she saw them, the twin aunts lying on the floor, deep slashes in their chests; Samuel, near the threshold of the workshop; and Uncle David lying flat in a pool of blood at the foot of the safe.

The wall, where she had hidden the Fabergé egg, had crumbled; the box was gone.

Anyu shivered.

Isaac’s murder in the taxi, the loss of the Kawashima Egg, and this bloody crime in the shop. This must be a nightmare. When she woke up, she would see everyone again. And Esther, too. Esther would tell her it was only an awful dream.

There was a creak of the door and some footsteps. Someone had entered the showroom.

Anyu shot up to her feet. She stumbled out of the workshop, to the hallway, and into the showroom, and there near the counter stood Esther, her face a river of tears.

“Anyu, do you know ... what happened ... My father ... my father ... he’s on the street,” Esther said.

Her impeccable voice that had charmed many customers was quavering, and streams of tears cascaded down.

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand what’s happening, Anyu.

Weren’t you supposed to deliver the egg to Kawashima?

Did you deliver it to her? Why ... why is he—”

“I’ll tell you,” Anyu said. “I’ll tell you.”

But she couldn’t speak another word. She just stood there, swaying, looking at everything but seeing nothing. And then Esther came beside her, and Anyu threw herself to her and wailed.

Anyu had little recollection of what she did over the next few days. But Esther was busy arranging the funerals and shivas. When Anyu finally had a moment to herself, she retreated to the workshop and didn’t leave.

Inside, she paced from the door to the furnace, then from the furnace to the empty safe, and then to her workbench.

A precise route. Ten steps here, twelve there, and ten again.

The workshop smelled just as it always had, pungent with the oxide, the acetone, the smoke, and the odor of metal.

She could find Isaac on everything: on the bamboo handle of the saw frame, on the tip of the cold blowtorch, on the gleaming surface of the cabinets.

She could see his hunched frame, his intent eyes, his black shirt with a pocket holding pencils and a loupe, and his unreserved smile.

She could still sense his gratification as he engraved the surface, polished the rings, and layered enamels.

She could feel his calloused fingers, his strong grip, and his kisses on her lips.

Then all the chasing hammers, the jeweler’s saws, the pliers swam before her, and her head hurt, and she saw it again—the image of Isaac bathed in his own blood in the car.

Rage burned inside her. Who did this?

Anyu smoked when she was awake, and smoked until she fell asleep.

Days passed, or months.

“Shouldn’t you get up from the floor now?

” Esther’s voice. When the attack on the shop happened, Esther had already left with Matthew for the doctor’s appointment.

Had they been in the shop, she would have lost them as well.

But poor Esther. On one fateful day, she lost her father, her brother, her uncle, and her aunts.

“I’ll get up.” But Anyu remained where she was, leaning against the wall. She took out a cigarette and gave it to Esther.

Esther took the cigarette and sat on the floor with her. In silence, they smoked. The house was too quiet without the men’s voices, the hammers striking the anvil, the aunts’ quiet chattering.

“I want to find out who did this,” Anyu said.

“Do you think the murder of my father and the slaughter in the shop are related?”

It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. The robbers had taken the Kawashima Egg and her signet ring—she hadn’t realized it was missing until recently—but they had also wanted the Fabergé egg, and after Isaac had revealed the location to save her, they still shot him.

What she didn’t understand was whether these crimes were committed by the same people or two separate groups. And who were they?

“Did you see the car hijackers’ faces?”

Anyu shook her head. “I only saw their legs and hands.”

“My father cheated death so many times—bombing, shooting, ferry accidents, even diseases—before we escaped to Shanghai. He was the lucky one, always lucky.” Esther wiped at her face.

“That’s because he had the Diamond of Life.”

“Had?”

“He gave it to me.”

“What?”

She was wearing it. And now she understood—the scalding heat from the diamond after she was shot. The bullet must have hit the diamond instead. The diamond wearer had the power to evade death, Isaac had said.

“You took his diamond.”

“I—”

“You slept with my father.”

“What? No, no, Esther. It wasn’t like that.”

“I know what was going on between you two, of course I knew. But I thought you had integrity and honor, and you wouldn’t go too far. He’s twenty-five years older than you.”

“We didn’t ... He promoted me to the chief designer of the House of Mandelburg.”

Esther stood. “You shouldn’t have accepted it. The diamond was his, and it had saved him many times. If he was still wearing it, he would still be alive.”

Anyu wanted to weep.

“It should be Samuel’s, not yours. Samuel, my brother!”

“I know ... I know ... I’ll find out who did this, I promise.”

“Will that bring him back? Bring my brother back?” Esther left.

Anyu heard the showroom door shut. For a long time, she sat.

Then she rose from the floor and headed to the showroom.

Locking the door behind her, she went out to the street.

She didn’t know where to go, but she needed time to think.

Esther was overwhelmed with grief, and Anyu couldn’t blame her.

She needed to find out who killed the Mandelburgs and robbed them of the Fabergé egg and the Kawashima Egg.

It was a premeditated crime, and the robbers knew who they were and what they had. And then she stopped. How had the robbers known Isaac had the Fabergé egg? As far as she could tell, only the members of the Guild and Isaac’s family knew about the egg.

But no. There was another person.

She shivered. “Rickshaw, rickshaw!”

Anyu leaped out of the rickshaw and tossed a coin in the puller’s hand.

Then she flew toward Pierre Bellefeuille’s mansion and pounded the door.

Bang, bang, bang. The wrought-iron door with swirling leaves opened a crack, and she burst through, rushing down the granite path toward the immense building with the colonnade of marble columns.

Some familiar faces—Butler Huang, the amah, the cook, and other servants.

She ignored them, shouting for Bellefeuille.

In the garden, near a statue, she found him sampling cakes under the shade with two female companions wearing hats.

“How dare you!” She dashed forward to slap him but was held back by the butler.

“Look who is here. I don’t recall inviting you, mademoiselle.” Bellefeuille put down his cup.

“Isaac is dead. His family was murdered!”

He raised his eyebrows. “How? What happened? He was rising rapidly in the jewelry world. Only a few months ago, he had received a big commission.”

“You know how!”

“I do not understand what you mean.” He had the decency to smile and nod at his companions.

“You! You did this! You murdered them!” She trembled. She hated this man, his eyes, his voice, his hands. How could she have ever believed that she would have a life with him?

“Murder? No. That’s outrageous. Why would I kill your lover?”

“It was you. I know it was you!”

Bellefeuille frowned. “Be careful, mademoiselle. Murder is a serious accusation in the French Concession. My tolerance is not boundless, despite our shared past.”

“You asked me about the Fabergé eggs in the ballroom. You said your client wanted to purchase one, but I declined. So you hired the hitmen and robbed us. You killed him and his family. You bastard!”

He narrowed his eyes. “I recommend you leave. You’re childish, overwhelmed, inconsolable with grief. You’re hurling vicious, slanderous accusations. I won’t tolerate that.”

He denied it. Of course he’d deny it.

She couldn’t think straight, filled with fury. “I believed in you, I went to bed with you, and I almost bore you a child. And yet you deceived me and aborted our baby. I let that go. But for this, this cruelty, this cold-blooded murder, I will never forgive you.”

“Enough! I’m an honorable man, protected by the law in the French Concession, and I will by no means tolerate your pernicious invective.”

The butler held her arms back and hauled her out of the garden. “Where’s my egg? Give it back.”

Bellefeuille crossed his legs and leaned back on the metal bench. And then she was lifted off the ground by two strong arms and carried out. She shut her eyes so she wouldn’t see the smug smile on his face.

“I’m in a good mood today, so let me give you some advice, mademoiselle. You are so young. In time, you’ll know that this is simply part of life. In Shanghai, there are crimes and there are victims, but you’ll never know who is the mastermind.”

He relished her pain; he was part of the horrendous scheme. But he didn’t have the egg.

Who was his coconspirator? Who took her Fabergé egg? And the Kawashima Egg?

Stumbling away from the mansion, Anyu thought of another man.