Blood on the Stars (2 page)

The roadster came to a smooth stop, and Mark’s cheerful voice tore her away from the frightful vision of emptiness. He merely said, “Here we are,” but it was like a reprieve from some high authority when one is ascending to the gallows.

She sat erect with a start and saw that they were parked in front of a small modernistic building with lines unbroken by corners. A chaste sign over the door said W.
Voorland
. That was all. The curved
plateglass
windows were shrouded in shimmering silken drapes of royal purple.

Celia got out of the roadster and they started up the walk toward the door. A smart doorman bowed obsequiously and held the heavy glass door wide for them. They entered a thickly carpeted, air-conditioned room with subdued indirect lighting and elaborate modernistic chairs and couches grouped around small display tables.

Celia stopped just inside the door and looked at the glittering showcases lining both sides of the room. She caught her breath in an inarticulate gasp of delight. Her fingers tightened on her husband’s arm and she whispered, “You did remember, Mark.
You didn’t forget!”

He smiled into her white, upturned face. “Of course I didn’t forget, Ceil. Let’s see if they’ve got anything you like.”

STAR RUBIES

A TALL, GRAVE-FACED MAN came across the carpeted floor toward them.
He wore a dull gray suit, a wing-collar and black bow-tie, and a few strands of black hair were carefully combed across his bald scalp. He stopped before them, inclining his head deferentially, yet managing to convey a proper impression of hauteur, and murmured, “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Oh, yes,” Celia breathed, her blue eyes sparkling.

The floorwalker inclined his head again and said, “If you’d care to be comfortable at one of these tables—He led the way down the length of the room, past half a dozen couples browsing at the showcases, to a cozily curved love seat in front of a small table holding a crystal ash tray, cigarette humidor, and a large silver table lighter. He stood aside until they seated themselves,
then
suggested, “If you’d care to give me an idea of what you have in mind, I will be happy to assign a clerk for further consultation.”

Mark Dustin turned to look at his wife’s eager face. “What do we have in mind, Ceil?”

Her face was radiantly flushed and her eyes were big with anticipation and interest as she surveyed the long rows of showcases discreetly lighted with individual fluorescent lights to best show off the gleaming jewels displayed inside. She laid her shining head on his shoulder and whispered, “Could we go look, Mark darling? Do we have to just sit here like dummies?”

“That’s the protocol of a dump like this,” he whispered cheerfully. “We’ll run ’
em
ragged bringing us things until we see something we like.” To the waiting floorwalker he explained, “This is a very particular occasion. I don’t know what my wife has in mind, but I’ve an idea she’s the type to wear rubies.”

“Rubies?
Yes sir.
Very good sir.”

The floorwalker went to the rear to confer with a trio of lesser employees who were waiting patiently for the jewel-gazers at the showcases to express their desires.

Celia seized the opportunity to squeeze park’s arm and whisper, “Everything in the showcases looks so beautiful, but this place frightens me. Won’t everything be horribly expensive?”

“Probably.”
His manner was that of graceful nonchalance and he laid his palms open in a gesture. “But we can be sure of getting what we pay for in
Voorland’s
place.”

A clerk came up to their table. He was young and tall and skinny. He wore thick glasses and had a prominent Adam’s apple. It bobbed up and down as he said, “Mr. Thurston suggests you are interested in rubies.”

“It was just a thought,” said Mark. “We might end up with an emerald necklace. Trot something out for us to look at.”

“Of course.
For the lady, I presume.
A pendant, perhaps?
Or
a pin for evening wear
?”

Mark scowled at him. “Do I look like a guy who would want a pendant or a pin for a wife like mine?” He turned to Celia and asked, “What do you think, dear? I had thought of a glamorous bracelet.”

“Oh, Mark, I’d love seeing
everything
before I make up my mind. I’m terribly confused. Everything is so beautiful—”

The clerk cleared his throat and his Adam’s apple raced up and down. “May I ask what price range you are interested in, sir? The ruby is an extremely expensive gem, particularly in the larger sizes.”

“So I’ve heard.” For the first time in her life Celia discerned a tone of sarcasm in his voice. “The sky is the limit if you’ve anything that appeals to my wife.” His arm closed around her and drew her close to him.

“Yes, indeed. I quite understand,” said the clerk nervously. He turned and went into an anteroom.

“I’ve always heard that rubies were
awfully
expensive, Mark darling,” Celia said, snuggling against him. “You know I don’t care whether it’s expensive or not. You’ve made me so happy just remembering our second anniversary—”

“Did you think for a moment I’d forget it, Ceil?” His arm tightened almost
hurtingly
around her slender waist as he drew her to him. She looked up to see his face taut with emotion that matched the husky passion in his voice. “After two thousand years maybe I’d forget, but after only two?” He laughed deep in his throat and released her, then leaned forward to uncover the humidor, took out a cigarette and lit it.

The clerk came back bearing two trays lined with white satin and displaying various pendants and brooches glittering with brilliant red stones varying in color from light crimson to the rich color of blood, and reflecting flashes of fire from their facets as he maneuvered them beneath the overhead lights.

Celia clutched Mark’s arm, a wave of passion and love flowing through her. “They’re beautiful,” she breathed. Her eyes sought Mark’s, but he was looking at the jewels, a deep frown wrinkling his forehead.

There was only one bracelet included among the assortment on both trays. It was heavy and solid, of white gold set with triple rows of rubies of less than a carat each.

Mark puffed on his cigarette for a moment, then turned his gray eyes to his wife to watch with amused tolerance while she took up each piece to examine it, holding the pendants to her smooth throat, turning the brooches this way and that to catch the red flame from the facets, putting each one back with a sigh of regret. At last she picked up the bracelet which she slipped onto her wrist and held it up for Mark to see.

“They’re all so beautiful,” she said reverently. “This bracelet—can we afford it, Mark?”

His eyes were half-closed to exclude the smoke that rose from rapid inhalations of his cigarette. He shrugged and said carelessly, “Nice, but hardly what I had in mind. Those stones are nothing but dinky little chips,” he went on, turning to the clerk. “Haven’t you a decent bracelet to show us?”

The young man’s Adam’s apple stood still in his astonishment. “The—the stones in that bracelet are each three—three-quarter carat, sir,” he gulped. “Perfectly matched and beautifully cut. I assure you it’s a collector’s item.”

“How much?”
Mark Dustin leaned forward to crush the butt of his cigarette in the crystal ash tray.

“Twenty-five thousand, sir.”
The clerk’s voice was steady now, muted and reverent, as though he and God had got together to set this price on so rare an accumulation of stones adorning the bracelet.

“That’s about what it looks like,” said Mark, with elaborate tolerance. He waved a smooth sun-tanned hand toward the two trays. “You’re wasting our time with junk like this. If you’ve nothing better than this to show us, we may as well go elsewhere.” He started to get up, but the flustered clerk forestalled him with rapid jerks of his Adam’s apple and an outstretched hand.

“I understand perfectly, sir,” he stammered. “Perhaps you’d like to see Mr.
Voorland
himself. Rubies are a personal hobby with him and I’m sure that if he hasn’t exactly what you want in stock, he’ll be happy to have it made up for you.”

Mark said, “I came in to buy something, not to order it for future delivery.” He took another cigarette from the humidor and lit it. “Tell your boss that,” he added, and took a deep draft of smoke into his lungs.

Celia sighed and her wistful eyes followed the clerk to the rear as he carried the trays away. “I thought the bracelet was perfect, Mark. Did he say twenty-five thousand
dollars?”

Mark chuckled, showing strong white teeth. “Maybe he meant Mexican
pesos,”
he teased. “That stuff was junk, baby,” he went on tolerantly. “Why do you suppose I haven’t bought you any jewelry these past two years? I’ve been waiting until I could afford the best. When people look at you I don’t want them to feel sorry for me and whisper, ‘Dustin must have hit a streak of bad luck. Look at that cheap little bracelet his wife is wearing.’ You let me worry about the price,” he went on confidently as a tall, solid man approached them from the rear.

Walter
Voorland
had been designed by nature for the position he held as manager of the most exclusive and expensive jewelry shop in the most exclusive and expensive resort center in the United States. He carried his well-fleshed body with an air of dignified respectability which held none of the subservience of the common shopkeeper, yet with
no
trace of the insolent hauteur too often found in such an establishment. He was a big-boned man, wearing a conservative brown business suit, a soft white shirt and a subdued flowered cravat. His head was completely bald and pink, and his ruddy face glowed with health and intelligence. His heavy brows were bleached a light tan by the Miami sun, and his gaze was direct and pleasant and friendly. He had a firm handclasp for Mark Dustin, and his voice was strong and warm with only a faint touch of his native Holland accent sounding through the cultivated tones:

“I’m very pleased to meet you, sir, and will be happy to be of service to you if I may.”

“My name is Dustin,” Mark told him. He had risen to greet the manager. “Mark Dustin, from Colorado,” he added, “and this is Mrs. Dustin.”

Voorland
bowed stiffly from the waist as he took Celia’s hand. “Delighted,” he said in a tone which made them believe he was, indeed, delighted. “I am at your service.” He drew up a chair to the opposite side of the table and lowered his solid bulk into it, planting his feet together in front of him and placing the palms of his hands on his knees.

“We were told,” said Mark, “that your store carries the finest stock of good jewelry in Greater Miami. That’s why we came here.”

Mr.
Voorland
said, “Naturally.”

Dustin spread out his hands in a half-humorous gesture. “I had rubies in mind.
Perhaps a bracelet.
But your clerk brought only one cheap one for us to look at.”

“Rubies?”
Voorland
studied Celia intently, nodding his bald head. “Perfect.
With your hair, Mrs. Dustin—and your exquisite complexion.
Rubies, definitely.
Are you a connoisseur, Mr. Dustin?”

“Not a bit of it.” Dustin laughed. “I’m just in love with the most beautiful woman in the world and this is our anniversary and I’m looking for something very special to celebrate the occasion.”

Voorland
lifted his right hand from his knee and reached inside his coat to get a pack of chewing gum from his shirt pocket. It was a new pack, and he carefully peeled the cellophane off one end, pulled two of the sticks out and offered them in turn to Celia and Mark Dustin. When they declined, he gravely slid one stick from its paper and thrust it in his mouth. His attitude was one of contemplative devotion. He had big jaws, and he munched the small piece of gum a moment before settling back contentedly.

“My only major vice,” he confided. “I find that I think better and more clearly while chewing gum. It was very trying for me during the war when gum was so scarce.”

Neither of them said anything while he munched meditatively. Mark was beginning to look bored, and Celia was losing some of her bright expectancy in disgust and irritation at his smacking.

Presently
Voorland
said, “Precious gems are my vocation and my avocation, Mr. Dustin. They are my life. I know them all, have studied them all, from the far places whence they come through the great markets and cutting centers of the world. It is curious that you should come to me for rubies. Or, perhaps it is not curious at all. Perhaps you came to me because you have heard I am the greatest authority in the world on rubies.” He rolled up the rumpled lids of his
deepset
eyes and looked at them inquiringly.

Dustin shook his head. “We just happened to drop in,” he said with a touch of asperity. “If that dinky bracelet your man showed us is the best—”

“I am about to tell you about rubies, Mr. Dustin,”
Voorland
interrupted, holding up a smooth beefy hand to silence him. “Rubies are the most royal of gems.
Diamonds?
Bah!
Cold and glittering on the surface.
Emeralds?
They have color and brilliance, but without warmth or vitality. Green is an unpleasant color. It betokens jealousy and hatred.
A dangerous color.
The sapphire?
Better—yes. One could stand to make friends with a true blue sapphire and live with it. It has brilliance and depth and
a certain
warmth.
But the ruby?”
His voice changed like that of a lover whose beloved suddenly appears on the scene. He munched his gum noisily, smacking his lips while a beatific expression spread over his heavy features like that of a dipsomaniac contemplating his first drink after a sodden week-end.

“The ruby is alive,” he continued, shifting his eyes from Celia to Mark. “Caught within its depths are the fires of passion, the red glow of eternal desire,
the
crimson hue of the rising sun. There is
a strength
and a fierceness and a clean burning fury in the blood-red flames that mark the true, perfect ruby.
Formed by nature in the roaring cauldrons of hell itself.”

“All right, Mr.
Voorland
,” Dustin interrupted, “you don’t have to sell me on rubies. I’m here to buy some. If you haven’t anything in stock, we’ll go along.”

Voorland
sighed deeply. He skinned another piece of gum and put it between his jaws and munched ruminatively for a moment, then said, “I’m afraid you don’t quite understand, Mr. Dustin. The true ruby is far
more rare
than any other stone. There are no
Cullinans
, no
Kohinoors
. Two of the largest known to history are those belonging to the King of
Bishenpur
in India.
Fifty four and three-quarter, and seventeen and one-half carats, both of which are priceless.
The bracelet you were shown is a beautiful example of selection and design.

“Each stone is perfect and uniform, the result of years of tireless seeking among the great markets of the world. The price you were asked—”