The man from insurance had been talking for six minutes.
Celia had said nothing.
There were two black cases on the table between them.
He had opened both when he came in.
Four green stones lay against black velvet.
“The problem isn’t value,” he said. “The scheduled value is already established.”
Celia looked at the earrings.
“The problem is identification.”
He had brought three forms. One was beneath his hand. The second was beside his briefcase. The third had a yellow sheet clipped to it.
“The original pair was scheduled separately. The duplicate was added later for production use. Same stones, same metal, same specifications.”
He turned the first form toward her.
“At some point after they came over from wardrobe, the tags were separated from the cases.”
Celia looked at him.
“We know they were separated before the picture wrapped. We don’t know when.”
He moved one case slightly to the left.
“Ordinary examination doesn’t help us. The duplicate was commissioned to match the first pair exactly.”
He pointed to a paragraph.
“We can authorize material testing.”
Celia looked down at the paragraph.
“It would require sampling. Possibly opening the settings. Depending on what they find, they may need material from the solder.”
He pushed the form toward her.
“Once they establish which pair was assembled first, we can restore the schedule.”
Celia looked at the paper.
“And the earrings?”
“They’d be restored.”
“By whom?”
He gave her the name of a jeweler.
Celia looked at the earrings again.
“The same jeweler?”
“No.”
He continued.
“The work would be documented. Any restoration would be added to the file, and the appraisal would be amended to reflect the condition after examination.”
Celia looked back at him.
“So you’d have another appraisal.”
“Yes.”
“Another description.”
“Yes.”
“The invoice?”
“It remains part of the provenance.”
“But it wouldn’t describe what came back.”
“Not completely.”
He waited.
“That’s why there would be an amended appraisal.”
Celia said nothing.
He pushed the form another inch.
“We have to distinguish them somehow.”
She looked at the two open cases.
The man continued.
“If the first pair we test turns out to be the duplicate, there’s very little difficulty. We document the examination, identify the untouched pair as the original, and amend the schedule.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“Then we’ve identified the original.”
“After taking it apart.”
“To the extent required.”
“And then you repair it.”
“Restore it.”
Celia looked at him.
He corrected himself.
“Restore it.”
“With somebody else’s work in it.”
“Yes.”
He put one finger on the authorization.
“But we would know.”
Celia looked at the earrings.
The man was still speaking.
“The insurer isn’t asking you to certify which pair is which. Only to authorize examination. Once we have a laboratory finding, the rest is administrative.”
She reached toward the nearer case.
He moved the authorization closer.
“If you sign there, I can have them collected this afternoon.”
Celia lifted one earring from the velvet.
The green stone turned once beneath her fingers.
“We’d photograph both pairs before anything was removed. The laboratory report would become part of the permanent file.”
Her thumb found the clasp.
It opened.
She closed it.
“The repaired item would be reinspected before return to the studio. Nothing would be done without a complete record.”
Celia put the earring back.
She reached into the other case.
“The only thing we cannot leave indefinitely is the present designation. We have two scheduled items with different histories and no defensible way to say which history belongs to which.”
Celia lifted the second earring.
“We need a distinction that survives a claim.”
Her thumb found the clasp.
It caught.
The man kept talking.
“If both remain listed without identification and one is lost, there is no way to establish which scheduled value applies. That is the exposure we’re trying to remove.”
Celia pressed the clasp again.
It resisted in exactly the same place.
Her hand stopped.
The man had reached the signature line.
“So, unfortunately, it becomes your problem because the production was the last documented point at which—”
Celia looked up.
“These are the originals.”
He stopped.
The camera pushed in.
Celia held his eyes.
Cut.
WE&P by: EZorrillaMc&Co.
