It means a massive difference in retail price. A five-carat ruby heated to improve clarity costs around five thousand dollars retail. The same size stone from their mines, nearly perfect as is, goes for five-hundred thousand dollars.
Yesterday, Camille also spent time at a charitable organization that provides meals to low-income families, to which she made a hefty donation before we left, followed by a visit with a friend from Bretaria who relocated here a few years ago for graduate school and decided to stay. After that, very much to my surprise, she had a meeting with an editor at a huge publishing house to discuss a children’s book project she’s working on.
Yeah … Camille has layers.
After a shopping trip where she bought nothing but delighted in walking through the high-end stores, she dined with another expat friend from Bretaria at a quaint Italian restaurant that came highly recommended. Ladd and I ate at the bar, no more than ten feet from Camille. Ladd was in New York to meet us but would be heading back to Pittsburgh after dinner. He, Dozer, and Cruce have put together a team of agents in every city we’ll be visiting, everyone working twelve-hour shifts to ensure we’re all fresh and rested.
After Ladd left for his late flight, I escorted Camille and her friend, along with four other nondescript agents, to a nightclub.
Although I assured Camille she was safe and I was fine if she wanted to let her hair down and party, I was a little surprised that she drank water the entire night outside the one glass of wine at dinner.
Today she had more meetings, some of them business related, some charitable, and as the day wound down, it came time for her to just experience the city.
We now have a break before she is to get ready for dinner with the deputy mayor of New York City and his wife. I thought she’d want to rest in her suite, though resting in her suite really means working on emails and other duties she does for the family business.
Instead, she says she wants to walk through the city.
Our hotel is on the Upper West Side, so we stick to the area as there is plenty to see no matter what block we turn down. A surprise walk through Manhattan and part of Central Park doesn’t cause me much heartburn given the level of protection we have surrounding her. All the agents who watch from a distance are dressed to blend in with the New York crowd. I’m dressed to blend with Camille.
It’s cold and gray, a hint of snow in the air. Camille is wearing jeans, a thick sweater, heavy coat, and warm boots with shearling trim. Even though it’s overcast, she has on large sunglasses and a simple knit cap. Unless some would-be kidnapper knows where her hotel is—almost impossible given the secrecy of our plans and the fact she’s using an alias—it’s doubtful she’ll be recognized on the city streets.
Regardless, we may appear to be on a casual stroll, but I stay tight to her side with my hands in my coat pockets. In the right one, I have my CZ 75, a Czech-manufactured semiautomatic pistol, my gun of choice. I’m dressed casually in jeans and a heavy peacoat—we could be any couple taking in the sights.
We arrive back at our hotel close to 5:00 p.m., and Camille has two hours before dinner with the deputy mayor. Just as we’re approaching the revolving door, Camille laughs in delight when a snowflake lands on her cheek and then it starts coming down.
I glance down at her to see her face tipped up to the sky, her eyes closed and her mouth open, with her tongue sticking out.
She waits patiently for a single flake to land where she wants it and when it does, her eyes open, sparkling with joy. Slowly turning in a circle, checking out the snowfall getting heavier, she sighs. “I love snow so much. But then again, my last name is Winterbourne.”
“A lot different from Bretaria’s climate, huh?” I ask as I watch her, certain I haven’t ever seen another woman so lovely.
Her eyes slide to mine and she smiles. “Very different. It’s why I loved going to school in Zurich so much. I love seasons.”
I take her in. I see nothing of a princess before me. Just a woman who loves snow and winter and seasons, and I have an inkling that this might be the real Camille Winterbourne.
She stays out for a few more minutes, and when she’s had enough, we head inside. I drop her off at her suite and wait for her to enter and lock the door before moving to my own room. Granted, our rooms are linked by an adjoining door, but I wouldn’t dare move into her space without her invitation.