Her mother’s hands she could recount like a story.
From safely crossing the road when she was a little girl, to paying for a gift; a new doll. The generosity of her mother’s spirit was told in the crevices of her palms.
It’s funny how certain things remind us of home. Though she had stopped wearing it years ago, the memory of her mother’s David Morris engagement ring still seemed familiar. And perhaps it was because she loved the way it sparkled or perhaps because it reminded her of humility.
Perhaps for the way it looked on her mother’s beautiful hand.
Home had always been London. And now as she was embarking on a journey of her own, she would take a piece of home with her.
“Why emeralds?” She asked as her mother exchanged a mysterious sideward glance with the gentleman jeweller.
“Trust me” Her mother replied with certainty. They were in David Morris on Bond Street.
“If I must,” she joked peeling her eyes away from the diamond necklace she was examining.
“It’s interesting,” she looked down at the exquisite emerald and diamond earrings which lay before her, “that the more perceivably perfect emeralds; the ones with greater clarity and overall sharpness don’t feel to me to have as much fire as those with more variables, like these.”
“They’re all perfect,” jeweller-gentleman responded picking one earring up in the gentle cradle of his glove and squinting at it, “but you’re right. These stones have particular fire.”
Almost absent-mindedly, the earrings found their way onto her ears. Thoughts of her impending trip jostled through her mind like the rumble of an airplane about to take off. And more absent-minded still, she found herself looking toward her reflection in the mirror that jeweller-gentleman was holding up.
And then she become a lot more present.
The emeralds were so deep one became entranced. The earrings tickled the definition of her jaw; the stones contrasting against her porcelain white skin, signature red lipstick and swathes of long, dark hair that fell past her shoulders like sheets of silk.
“What do you think?” Her mother asked wryly (God it was annoying when she was right).
Her red lips turned to a smile, she uttered, 'fire'.
As the car pulled away she gleamed out of the window at the store front while in her mind’s eye passed memories of them through the years in that very boutique. Her London, her jeweller, her fire - the girl in the emerald and diamond earrings.
It seems to me that David Morris holds all of the things that I too hold dear. For jewellery by its nature should be emblematic of love; of heritage and generation - and family. It's often easy to forget that for all of its phenomenal pieces and expertise, David Morris is by no stretch of the imagination an old brand nor one that doesn't value the personability of being passed through generations. Moreover, London. My city; my playground but more than that, the place I was born and bred and the place that founded this spectacular house of jewels. Finally, the creations themselves; representative only of those that in their hearts and souls breed fire and passion and beauty. I chose these earrings to feature and tell a story of because I was told once against my better judgement (I was a classic white - or sometimes blue - diamond girl previously) that emeralds brought out the fire in my eyes.
Love,
Girl in Style.