TITANIC: A STORY TOLD
Chapter Eight
Rose looked at the drawing in its tray of
water, confronting herself across a span of eighty-four years. Until they could
figure out the best way to preserve it, they had to keep it immersed. It swayed
and rippled, almost as if alive.
Rose's ancient eyes gazed at the drawing.
In her mind's eye, she saw a man's hand,
holding a conte crayon, deftly creating a shoulder and the shape of her hair
with two efficient lines.
She looked at the woman's face in the
drawing, dancing under the water.
Once again, her memories focused on the man's
eyes, just visible over the top of a sketching pad. They looked up suddenly,
right at her. Soft eyes, but fearlessly direct.
Rose smiled, remembering. Brock had the
reference photo of the necklace in his hand.
"Louis the Sixteenth wore a fabulous
stone, called the Blue Diamond of the Crown, which disappeared in 1792, about
the time Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the crown
diamond was chopped too...recut into a heart-like shape...and it became Le
Coeur de la Mer. The Heart of the Ocean. Today it would be worth more than the
Hope Diamond."
Rose shook her head. "It was a dreadful,
heavy thing." She pointed at the drawing. "I only wore it this
once."
Lizzy looked at the picture. "You
actually believe this is you, Nana?"
"It is me, dear. Wasn't I a dish?"
Brock interrupted. "I tracked it down
through insurance records...an old claim that was settled under terms of
absolute secrecy. Do you know who the claimant was, Rose?"
"Someone named Hockley, I should
imagine."
"Nathan Hockley, right. Pittsburgh steel
tycoon. For a diamond necklace his son Caledon Hockley bought in France for his
fiancée...you...a week before he sailed on Titanic. And the claim was filed
right after the sinking. So the diamond had to have gone down with the
ship." He turned to Lizzy. "See the date?"
Lizzy leaned forward, looking closely.
"April 14, 1912."
Bodine broke in, "If your grandmother is
who she says she is, she was wearing the diamond the day Titanic sank."
Brock turned to Rose. "And that makes
you my new best friend." He went to the table across the room. "Over
here are a few things we've recovered from your staterooms."
Laid out on a work table were fifty or so
objects, from mundane to valuable. Rose, shrunken in her chair, could barely
see over the table top. With a trembling hand she lifted a tortoise shell hand
mirror, inlaid with mother of pearl. She caressed it wonderingly.
"This was mine. How extraordinary! It
looks the same as the last time I saw it." She turned the mirror over and
looked at her ancient face in the cracked glass. "The reflection has
changed a bit."
Rose picked up an ornate art-nouveau hair
comb. A jade butterfly took flight on the ebony handle of the comb. She turned
it slowly, remembering. Rose was experiencing a rush of images and emotions
that had lain dormant for eight decades as handled the butterfly comb.
Lovett spoke. "Are you ready to go back
to Titanic?"