A quick glance estimated that there were more brooches in this room than any other kind of piece. And what brooches: animals, flowers, bars, geometric shapes, something to suit every taste, though not, he saw, every wallet. Montfort admired the creativity: aquamarine, peridot, and diamonds in an art deco style; a surreal Humpty Dumpty in ivory and yellow beryl; pink topaz, seed pearls, and garnets on a rose; moonstones with amethyst accents; a Star of David in cat’s-eye and ruby, very unusual; a brilliant-cut green tourmaline, set with chrysoberyl and turqoise cabochons in black gold.

He felt quite privileged, even uplifted, to see work of this quality on sale. Surely gems like these belonged in museums.

There was a classic peacock feather aigrette brooch in the centre of the display. Montfort nodded to himself; a student of jewellery had made this one. He knew he should keep his presence here secret, under the radar. But he could not help himself. He lifted his eyes, searching for the girl who had greeted him.

She was standing behind the counter and noticed him at once. She came out to him promptly, her kitten heels clicking delicately on the wood floor.

“What can you tell me about this brooch?” Montfort asked, pointing to it.

“You have an excellent eye, Monsieur. That is the tribute of one of our designers to Tiffany’s feather brooch, containing the Brunswick diamond, which was exhibited in America in 1876.”

“The Centennial Exhibition in Philadelphia.”

She smiled. “You know your history, Monsieur.”

“But that is not a yellow diamond,” Montfort commented, nodding at the gloriously sparkling gem set in the centre of the feather.

“No, Monsieur.” The girl waited, as it was clear Montfort wanted to guess.

“It doesn’t have the depth of a yellow sapphire. Not quite beryl tint, either. I think it must be a very fine citrine with an unusual lemon cast.”

Claudette inclined her head. “Monsieur is absolutely correct. The small stones outlining the surrounding diamonds are yellow sapphires, however.”

Hugh sighed with pleasure. “Magnificent.”

“Are you interested in purchasing the piece?”

“I am,” he said. He had no idea why, except that it was outstandingly lovely, and he intended to have it.

“This piece is ninety-five thousand euros.”

“Expensive,” he commented.

“Yes, Monsieur. But unique.” Claudette smiled. “There are over six hundred stones in the piece, exactly like the original. Unlike the original, though, the artist has used colours other than yellow—sapphires, emeralds, rubies, imperial topaz, and peridot as well as the white diamonds that form most of the piece. This, I think, ensures that it is a tribute, rather than a copy.”

Hugh nodded.

“If the style appeals, Monsieur, I can show you some other, smaller examples that may suit your taste that are under fifteen thousand.”

“No, this is the one. Wrap it up for me, please.”

“Certainly, Monsieur.”