Free Where Memories Lie by Deborah Crombie Page B

sure.” Cheered by Melody’s voice, Gemma found herself saying, “I’m in the City, but I’ve got to make a stop in South Ken. Do you want to come along?”
    “Business?”
    “Um, I’m actually not certain.”
    “Sounds intriguing,” said Melody. “Where should I meet you?”
    “Harrowby’s. I’ll wait for you outside.” Gemma rang off, pleased with herself for having piqued Melody’s curiosity.
    Half an hour later, she found Melody gazing in the windows of the venerable auction house on the Old Brompton Road. While that day Gemma had opted for trousers and a long aubergine cardigan over a soft-collared shirt, Melody wore a tailored navy suit, pressed to the nines, hemmed tastefully at the knee. Gemma thought, not for the first time, that either PC Talbot was aiming for assistant commissioner orshe was trying to show up all her female colleagues. Now Gemma wasn’t sure if inviting Melody along had been such a good idea.
    Melody turned from inspecting an Art Deco pottery display that made Gemma’s heart skip. “What’s up, boss? Have we been seconded to the Fraud squad?”
    Hesitating, Gemma said, “Actually, I’m doing a favor for a friend. Unofficially.”
    “Ah.” Melody ruffled her hair, slipped off her jacket and tossed it over her arm, and unbuttoned another button on her blouse. “Unofficial it is.”
    Gemma grinned. “Got it in one.”
    “So what’s the story?”
    Gemma explained briefly, then added, with an uncertain glance at the window, “Have you ever been to an auction?”
    “Once or twice. Just curiosity,” Melody added quickly. “It’s not as intimidating as it looks. They want you to feel comfortable.”
    “Right.” Gemma led the way into the foyer. Opposite a friendly looking gray-haired woman at a reception desk, a long table held copies of catalogs for all upcoming sales. The Art Deco jewelry was easy enough to spot: brilliant red, green, and blue gems in a geometric-patterned bracelet blazed from the cover. Finding the entry for the brooch that she’d seen at Erika’s, Gemma reread the text. It was as she remembered—there was no provenance.
    Holding her place, she took the book to the desk. “I’m inquiring for a friend,” she explained, tapping the picture of the waterfall brooch with her fingertip, “who thinks this brooch belonged to her family. It was lost during the war.”
    For the first time, the woman looked uneasy. “Mr. Khan’s our jewelry expert, but he’s out doing a valuation—”
    Gemma wasn’t going to be put off so easily. “Is there someone else?”
    “Well, there’s Miss Cahill, but—” She flicked a glance at Melody, and Gemma guessed she took her for a lawyer.
    “I’m sure Miss Cahill will be able to help.” Gemma smiled brightly.
    The woman hesitated. Then, frowning, she used an internal phone. “Kristin, could you come to the front, please?”
    Gemma took advantage of the wait to inspect her surroundings. The reception area led into a much larger room. Modern paintings tagged with lot numbers lined the walls. A dozen people sat in the comfortably padded chairs filling the room’s center, some occasionally languidly raising numbered paddles. The auctioneer stood on a podium, above which appeared the featured item on a large-screen television. His delivery was as relaxed as the bids, and Gemma thought it all rather disappointingly low key. She wondered where the jewelry was.
    “No big items in this lot,” whispered Melody. A snore escaped from a large lady in the back row.
    “So I was gathering.”
    A side door opened and a young woman came towards the front desk, her expression anxious. She was waif slender, with short dark hair shaped to her head, and wore a crisp white blouse and narrow dark skirt as if they’d just come off the catwalk. “Mrs. March?” she said, glancing from the receptionist to Gemma and Melody.
    “These ladies have some questions regarding an item in the jewelry catalog. I told them Mr. Khan was