Skip to main content

Consulting

Still reeling from the shock that Dee Davies and Peridot were cousins, we were cordially greeted by Professor Rossi (Peppe) of the Uffizi, and Mr. Richard Leyland, art collector, in the dining establishment across the street from the Column of Justice in Florence.

“Good evening gentleman,” said Peridot calmly.

As we took our seats my thoughts flashed back to how my alliance with Hercule Peridot had begun. Serendipity, maybe, or was it kismet, as they say in the gem trade?

Not long after I was hired to teach at the school of Gemology in 1987, Professor Peridot completed his sabbatical there and resumed his duties at the University in Los Angeles.

Peridot and I had kept in contact since our meeting. We had become good friends through our shared hobbies of gemstones and computers. In those early days, much of our correspondence was through a bulletin board service I had built, using hardware which now seems archaic; an 80386 computer with 2,400 baud dial-up modems. As the years went by communications technology improved dramatically. The breakthrough came when Steve Jobs of Apple Computer, on June 29, 2007 launched the first generation iPhone.

Peridot had retired from his duties as a tenured professor of Geologic Sciences at the local University. In his retirement, the demand for his services, as academic lecturer and gem expert exploded. He was barraged with requests from clients to serve as their personal shopper.

Peridot encouraged me to complete a degree in business with a focus on e-Commerce. Throughout the curriculum we debated revolutionary new discoveries; the changing technology, and tips for the efficient use of computers and smartphones. These discussions helped solidify my philosophy, you master what you teach. It was during a severe economic downturn, that I resigned my position as an instructor of Gemology. The workforce had been cut by well over 15 percent, management took a severe cut in pay, yes - times were tough.

My livelihood was now solely based on free-lance writing and customized gem presentations to local businesses. People labeled me a consultant but I’ve always been reluctant to adopt that abhorred expression. This springs from my belief that there is no shared risk with a client as a consultant. The value-add comes from the planting of ideas, awareness, and excitement engendered by the rare and beautiful products of nature we present to appreciative audiences.

My mind snapped back to the present when Professor Rossi completed his formal, yet cordial introductions. Quietly, almost magically Mr. Leyland drew a rather large parcel from his coat pocket that contained yet another mystery.

Peridot spoke first. “Gentlemen, this trip to Florence, among other concerns, was initiated by an e-mail from Dr. Kampf, the curator of the Natural History Museum in Los Angeles. His claim that a 122-carat Peridot from St. John’s Island was “borrowed" from the Museum. Any comments?”

“Yes, Mr. Peridot,” said Leyland in his calm demeanor. As an exhibitor of fine art, annually we host collections for sale. As an added attraction fine gemstones are displayed, on loan mostly, from various museums around the world.” He opened the parcel and behold, a lovely yellowish Green gem appeared.

“May I examine it?” asked Peridot.

“Before you do,” interrupted Dee Davies, “Mr. Leyland I believe you have another parcel with a stone that looks identical to this beauty.”

With that Professor Rossi spoke, “I believe you’re talking about this,” as he drew a parcel from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Dr. Kampf sent his museum piece to my office at the Uffizi. Why? To minimize VAT and import duties, of course. It’s very difficult to import rare and valuable gemstones into this country unless it can be demonstrated that they are not for resale.” 

“Adamas, would you examine the stone Peppe has while I take a look at Mr. Leyland’s parcel?”

“Absolutely" I replied. My immediate suspicion since Davies was involved, this had to be a synthetic spinel triplet. With care I directed my penlight through the girdle plane. But something in my mind kept nagging at me, it is very difficult to create synthetic spinel in Peridot green. Gemologists’ know that this particular assembled stone exhibits a colorless glue plane when a light is directed through the girdle. However, to my surprise this one did not . . .

With a bewildered look I turned to Peridot for guidance.

He spoke quietly to me. “Remember my boy, innocent until proven guilty. Natural, until proven synthetic. Do not let your suspicions get the best of you. Deduction is the synthesis of observation, art, and science. You have a quick eye for color. However you must never simply rely on general impressions - concentrate on the details.”

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Sunflowers, French Steel, and the Yellow Jersey

Watching Le Tour de France this year, I found myself transported back to August 1983 as the Peloton in Stage 10, Bastille Day, flowed through the French countryside like a brightly colored ribbon. I was in my twenties, visiting family in the Charente-Maritime region of France, completely obsessed with bicycle racing—and convinced I was much stronger than I was. My connection to cycling—and to France—runs deep. I was born in France, and my very first real road bike, at age fifteen, was a Mercier . To me, it wasn’t just a bicycle; it was a work of art made from beautiful French steel. I rode that bike for miles, through high school, into college, and until the day someone decided they needed it more than I did. I hope they at least appreciated the craftsmanship. Its untimely disappearance led me to a Schwinn Voyageur, and later, when I started racing around Illinois, to a Raleigh Competition . But during that summer of ’83, while staying with my Uncle Jean Paul in Lagord, just north of L...

Rediscovering the Magic of Summer . . .

Summer mornings, especially on a holiday weekend, have a special magic. The air is cool, the world quiet, and the day full of possibilities. This July 4th weekend, Lori and I decided to capture a bit of that magic by beating the holiday traffic with an early morning bicycle ride. We went through our usual pre-flight checklist: Stretched out the morning stiffness. Filled the water bottles. Strapped on the helmets. Checked the tires. Three tires passed inspection. The fourth had apparently declared independence. The rear tire on my e-bike was flatter than a Kansas highway. “Well, it looks like we’re not riding today,” Lori said, with the calm acceptance of someone who had already mentally promoted coffee to the day’s main event. “Why not?” I replied. “I’ll ride my old bike.” She gave me that look —the one that safely translates as, "Are you sure about this? " “Absolutely,” I said. “Why not?” I dragged the bike stand out and surveyed my options. One glance at the aggressive gear...

Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . . Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration. Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds. Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different. Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite , coax...

Misfits at Halloween

In this episode - Misfits at Halloween . . . It’s autumn, and Halloween is approaching - how do you capture the experience, the smells, the rustling sounds of multicolored falling leaves, the quiet, peaceful feeling, the solitude of life in a small town? News flash, I’m here to tell you it’s not always as tranquil as sentimental storytellers like to depict it. Admittedly, like all agrarian communities, Cuba had its pranksters. Thankfully, though, in our small, rural farming community of the late 1960s and early 70s, I’m happy to report there was no teen violence, no gang shootings, and no serious vandalism. Well, ok, we did torment the local policeman, who we dubbed Barney Fife (I don’t remember his name). In the fall, most families would have harvested their gardens by Halloween, but inevitably, there would be leftovers. A group of us would hide behind Jim Welch’s garden fence on Main Street and hurl the leftover, soft, rotten tomatoes at Barney’s squad car as he patrolled the town. F...