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"Lord Peter!" cried Abrahams when his distinguished customer entered, "I told you it would happen like this! You would marry in haste, and I would have no time to match the right stones!"
Lord Peter Wimsey closed the door of the shop and whistled. "You don’t know how shocked I was when I received your letter. I'd thought that I'd have the great pleasure of informing you of what you have spent so many years wishing for. And anyway, I gave you months, in the end, months too long. Don’t tell me an artisan like you couldn’t do it right in three months!"
"Young man, I could have done it in far less. And Bella reads the society pages," Abrahams said, "and the sound she made when she first read that article would have deafened my departed grandmother in her grave, may she rest in peace. Come, now that you are here in person and before we get down to any kind of business, a lechaim. What you would call a toast."
“A capital idea. I would be honored.”
“Bella!” called Abrahams to the back of the shop. “Bring the schnapps and glasses, Lord Peter Wimsey is here and we’re going to have a lechaim!”
There was a sudden cacophony from the back and, soon after, as Lord Peter looked and listened on in bemusement, a loud clatter of glassware and steadily more audible murmuring could be heard. Bella Abrahams emerged with a tray of glasses, a bottle of something Central European, and a look on her face worthy of a Tatler columnist. “My dear Lord Peter! Mazal tov- or, pardon me, I should just say congratulations. You’ll excuse me, it’s an instinct. How absolutely lovely.” She placed the glasses on the counter and filled them as she spoke and as her husband beamed on. “You should have heard me when I saw the news in the paper! Could have knocked me over with a feather. My Nathan he said, I always knew Lord Peter would find the right woman for that ruby, but none of us would have dreamed that she would be Harriet Vane! Did we, Nathan? Of course,” Mrs Abrahams continued, little noticing Lord Peter’s back stiffening slightly as he reached out toward his glass, “Miss Vane is such a wonderful writer. The one with the countess’s Peke and the fishmonger, I wouldn’t have guessed it in a thousand years, until she laid it out so neatly in the final chapter but one that I felt like a perfect fool for not having seen it.”
“She is that,” Wimsey agreed with a sudden and immediately relieved grin. “You should see the one that’s going to come out next- an absolute corker. I helped with one of the characters.”
“How lovely. Imagine, being married to an artist, a real artist. I know that there are snobs out there who look down at this sort of thing, but anyone who can twist up people’s minds like that is an artist, is what I think. And famous too! Though of course you’d be used to that.”
“It is humbling to be associated with someone who earned her fame rather than being born in the right ancestral pile, really.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’ve put in your work, we see it in the papers, and I’m sure Nathan was honored to help you that time with the gemstones in that poor man's stomach. So wonderful that with Miss-”
“It was an honor indeed, Lord Peter,” Abrahams interrupted, a worried expression wrinkling his countenance. “Any assistance I can give you at any time with any case, you know I will be glad to help- but in the meantime, let us celebrate your good fortune. A man who finds a wife finds goodness- may you and the future Lady Peter build an eternal home together, and have healthy children who will bring you pride. Lechaim!”
“Lechaim!” Wimsey and Mrs Abrahams repeated as they followed him in raising their glasses and sipping their schnapps.
“And such a lovely woman too,” Mrs Abrahams continued, ignoring the glances being shot her way by her husband. “The photo of her on the back cover of her last book but one- the one in Madrid with the three matching pistols- she looked divine in that hat. Suited her wonderfully. Her face has such character, even in those smudgy newspaper photographs . ”
"I first saw her in a photograph, like the rest of the civilized world, and the picture was intriguing, but it didn't in the least match herself in person."
"Men in love often say so, that their lady love is nothing like the picture. I think it's sweet," said Mrs Abrahams.
With a wry grin, Lord Peter confessed, "I can't argue with it. In fact, I don't want to. I charge thee, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell her, I am sick of love."
Abrahams let out a long laugh. "Excellent! But you have the verse the wrong way round. It is the lady in the verse who tells her friends that she is lovesick for her beloved. Though I am sure that it is all the same for her, when she thinks of you."
“I should hope so by now, it’s been long enough waiting for it- not quite the seven years that Jacob waited for Rachel, or even that my friend Freddy Arbuthnot waited for Rachel Levy, don’t you know- but five years was still plenty of wear on my poor nerves.”
“And well worth the time and dedication, I’m sure.”
Lord Peter smiled. "Well, of course; her value is above rubies, is it not?"
"When I learned it as a boy I heard that the valorous wife was valued above pearls, as a matter of fact."
"Pearls? Ha! A doctor or a solicitor can value his wife in pearls. When I marry a woman, it's rubies and nothing less."
"That, my dear Lord Peter," said Abrahams with a satisfied sigh, "is why you remain my favorite customer. I have the ruby ready for you in the safe, set to your specifications. Now let's look at the diamonds, for the necklace." And he reached for his loupe.