I hesitated, unsure if I should, and in that silence, Octavia said, “My grandmother passed this down to my father, and he gave it to my mother as a gift. You know my grandmother’s story, don’t you? She and Leandra Claremont ruled high society from the shadows as guardians of the jewels. But that meant nothing to my father or me. This piece of amber is…well, it’s been my mother and father ever since the accident. I once promised myself that I would never give it away and would have it be destroyed with me when my time came to leave this Earth.”
She paused and shook her head. Joachim casually slipped away from me and reappeared at Octavia’s side with a supportive arm around her shoulder. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Mr. Nakata, do you know the story of Jūratė and Kastytis? It is a folktale from the regions surrounding the Baltic Sea.”
I shook my head no. As Richard would have vouched for, that was outside the scope of my knowledge set.
Octavia told me the tragic story in a calm, measured voice. Jūratė and Kastytis were a goddess and mortal man. Jūratė, the queen of an amber palace buried beneath the waves, fell in love with the handsome fisherman Kastytis. The two of them lived happily together under the sea until a god of the skies discovered the love between a human and an immortal. In his wrath, Kastytis was killed, the amber palace was destroyed, and Jūratė was imprisoned in the ruins of her castle. To this day, the story said, she mourned the death of her lover and wept down there on the ocean floor.
Amber tended to wash up on the shores of the Baltic Sea in the wake of storms. The stories claimed these gems were either Jūratė’s tears or fragments of the sundered palace.
“My mother told me that story many years ago. To me, this piece of amber is the last shimmer of a beautiful memory. It used to mean everything to me. It was the last thing I had left, like the last remaining shard of my broken palace. But now…because I’ve had it with me for so long, it just makes me terribly sad…”
“I understand.”
“So, I was thinking, I’d like to leave it with someone else for safekeeping. Someone I can trust.”
And that meant…me?
Uncertain, I suggested she leave it in a bank vault or something. Octavia shook her head with force. Her long golden locks swayed with the dignity of a sea queen.
“If you wouldn’t mind…would you keep my amber next to Mr. Richard’s white sapphire?”
“His sapphire? Oh, that’s—”
“Yes, I am aware. It is memories made crystal. Yours, Mr. Richard’s, and all your friends and family. So if you could…well, add my piece of amber to that…”
She hesitated. “Then,” she said, “I don’t think I would be lonely anymore.”
Octavia gave the marmalade-colored gem a loving pat. The sap had congealed into thick lumps, almost like large, goopy teardrops. Or to Octavia, lumps of memories of her loved ones. She didn’t want her amber to be lonely, the same way a parent would feel about their child. So, I took the stone, touched it once myself with great care, and handed it right back to her.
“You’re always welcome to put your amber next to Richard’s sapphire. But I don’t think you should leave your brooch with me. If you can, give it to Henry for safekeeping. I’ll be going back to Sri Lanka besides, and maybe Tokyo after that. Then who knows? I could be anywhere, so I think you should keep the brooch with someone who will be staying closer to you. I’m pretty sure that someone has made all the preparations for you two to live together.”
“…If you must know, I was hoping you would pass the brooch along to the earl in a few years.”
“Oh, I see. So that was the plan!”
“Never mind. I retract my offer.”
“No, if you already have a plan, I’m happy to help.”
Octavia reddened, shook her head, and mumbled under her breath that, now that I had brought it up, there was one more thing…
One more what? She didn’t tell me.
She passed the amber brooch to Joachim, who fastened it around her neck once more. He reassured her that the pin wasn’t bent and that she hadn’t ripped a hole in her dress. Octavia, I realized, shared my bold streak. We both tended to rush headlong into danger, so maybe it was for the best that she had someone around to support her. Once again, I was so glad for the earl’s warmth and foresight.
“By the way, didn’t you have plans…?” Joachim prompted me.
“Oh! Sorry, gotta run!”
I waved goodbye to the two of them before hailing a taxi. I climbed into the black cab and told the driver my destination: “The V&A.” The Victoria and Albert Museum, or the V&A for short. London had two museums noted for their jewelry, one being the Tower of London—of raven and prison fame—and the other being the V&A. However, I wasn’t going to look at stones. I was there to meet someone.
If the note Vince gave me before I left Nuwara Eliya was correct, this was the place.
Entry was free, and after walking through the gate, I ignored the stairs leading up to an exhibition hall on the second floor and went straight ahead toward a courtyard. It had a huge, if very shallow, pool where kids with their pants pulled up to their ankles played and splashed around. Their parents—tourists, from the looks of them—watched on. The opposite side of the courtyard led to a separate building with what was probably the world’s oldest museum café. It had a brick wall facade with classical columns.
I scanned the area around the pool and spotted an open seat on a three-person bench. A woman with a baby stroller occupied the right side, but the left half was free. Two kids in onesies—one cream, one sky blue—slept quietly in the stroller.
“Sorry, is this seat free?”
“Help yourself.”
I spoke to her in Japanese, and she responded right back in Japanese. That’s her, I thought, but I didn’t say anything as I sat down. I couldn’t. I knew who she was, but she didn’t know me.
When Vince and I had last seen each other, he had given me a note with an email address and a message saying someone was hoping to hear from me. That’s what had led me here.
“You must be Seigi,” she said.
The rhetorical “question” left me tongue-tied. She laughed at me in a sort of odd way. This woman had black eyebrows and well-defined red lips. She carried herself with dignity. A large scarf around her neck, a pair of jeans, and beige flats completed the look.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Deborah Shahin, a legal document translator from Berlin.”
“Berlin?…That’s a long way just to see me.”
“Oh, pish. Don’t you worry. I had other business in London, too.”
My thoughts raced. The woman in front of me didn’t look Japanese at all—she had the striking facial features of a European woman—but the Japanese from those red lips was better than mine. I recognized this sensation. It was very, very familiar. These days, it felt almost like an old friend.