The Imperial Wife by Irina Reyn Read Free Book Online Page B

I wanted to return it to those who would love and appreciate it. Who understood it with their very souls, the way I did. It was to be my destiny. It also crossed my mind that, as head of a department at Worthington’s, I would be deserving of Carl—if not his social equal, then at least possessing the proper veneer of respectability.
    I realize Medovsky hasn’t noticed my flagging attention. He’s describing the staircase in his wife’s boutique, the woes of eternal renovations, the perils of shipping marble from Florence to London.
    â€œMm-hm,” I hum as if deeply engrossed. What I didn’t expect when taking the job were the people with whom I’d now be dealing, more concerned with their homes, their lavish lifestyles, with outdoing their friends than saving Russian art. And now I was intertwined with these men, my future tied to theirs.
    â€œSasha, I never asked. Is there a particular lot you’ve got your eye on?”
    â€œThe Order of Saint Catherine, of course.”
    â€œHow did you find out? We only just got it in.”
    â€œNatasha at Hermitage told me. You know I have to ask. No chance is fake or didn’t belong to the queen?”
    I pause, in a delicate situation. These Russians gossip; to inject any doubt would kill the sale. Yes, the documentation hasn’t yet been verified by the historian, but we are going forward anyway. In my old professional life, the one that seemed to have ended when Carl left, my conscience would have dictated telling Sasha the truth. But I’m a great believer in signs and portents. What if Catherine the Great is some ghostly yenta, bringing me and my husband back together?
    â€œTanyush?”
    I stall with a sip of water. And it’s probably fine, isn’t it? Natasha at the Hermitage was very certain.
    â€œI’m here. It’s a nice choice. A very special piece. As you know, it was gifted to young Catherine by Empress Elizabeth so the value is really priceless. The provenance is very promising. Sold by the Bolsheviks through China. In 1926, Norman Weisz, an American diamond merchant, bought it at Christie’s in London and resold it to Wanamaker’s department store, where it was bought by a steel tycoon who gifted it to this famous silent film actress right before he died of a sudden heart attack. No indication he even knew it belonged to Catherine the Great. Now the actress’s granddaughter in Chicago got it appraised by the Hermitage and she’s selling. Don’t you trust us?”
    â€œI trust you. You’re the only one in this rotten business to trust. The only one with any integrity. Maybe you can do what you can now to discourage the other bidders, because I’m set on it.”
    I smile. It’s typical for my clients to conflate my integrity with the expectation of bending the rules.
    â€œYou know that trust is the most important part of this business. I don’t take it lightly, Sash.”
    My job is to make Medovsky feel comfortable with me and, by extension, the auction house. Not that there’s any doubt he will win the auction, a man of bottomless resources, a man who bought three hundred acres in Dartmoor from a dining companion who had no idea he’d be selling off his beloved property by the time dessert arrived. If Medovsky goes against a few other determined bidders in the auction, I’ll get a bonus. I’ll be made vice president. In the eyes of those who matter, I’ll be an actual “Somebody.”
    â€œYou know, Sash, I just thought of something. I can already imagine the Order at the Hermitage, the plaque reading ‘a gift from Alexander Medovsky.’ How wonderful would that be? Have you ever considered donations to institutions?”
    â€œActually, I intend to gift it to our president.”
    I try not to let the frown seep into my voice. He must know the Russian president is hardly popular around here. “Really. Well, you know a