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From her perch by the dormer window, Klara had a perfect view of the garden party below. The cream of London’s antiquities scene milled about on the manicured lawn, sipping champagne and pretending not to hate each other. And there, holding court under a weeping beech tree, was Georgina Gee.
“Magnificent kaftan,” Klara said, stopping a respectful two feet from Georgina. “Is it Pucci? Early seventies?”
No point in lying. “It belongs to my family’s trust. The earl was a guest. He abused that trust. The ruby should never have left the vault.” klara devine & georgina gee
Georgina gave a slow, deliberate blink. “Some secrets are worth more than any ruby. You came here to steal a stone. I am giving you a chance to earn a story. Keep my diary out of your report. Leave my goddaughter’s name in the footnotes of history. And in return…” She unclasped the beaded bag and pressed a small velvet pouch into Klara’s palm. “The Star of Myrrha, returned to its rightful home. No fuss. No police. Just two old thieves—one young, one ancient—doing a quiet deal under a beech tree.”
For a long moment, Georgina studied her. The garden party hummed around them—the clink of glasses, the distant thwack of croquet mallets. Then Georgina leaned in. “I have a counter-offer, Miss Devine.” From her perch by the dormer window, Klara
“The ruby is flawed. You know that. But its true value isn’t monetary. It’s sentimental—it was your grandmother’s, I believe. The one who built the Trust.” Georgina’s voice softened, just a fraction. “I am not a villain in your story. I am an old woman who is very, very bored. I will give you the ruby, here and now, on one condition.”
Descending the attic stairs, Klara melted into the party. She accepted a flute of bubbles, laughed at a boring baron’s joke, and let the summer breeze guide her toward the weeping beech. “It belongs to my family’s trust
“What other item?”
