Her observation feels particularly apt right now, when permanence seems increasingly precious. “I think jewellery’s timelessness has a reassuring aspect,” she says. “You know what you invest in because it will be there to stay. You can pass it on to the next generation and it will be appreciated, have meaning and probably a special memory.” When I mention how jewellery feels more sustainable than fashion purchases, she nods in approval. “It’s the timelessness. It has a reassuring aspect, especially in times like these. You work with precious materials— you buy gold, you buy stones, you understand the value first-hand.”
The transformability represents one of the maison’s greatest technical challenges. “Transformability has always been part of our inspiration,” Rénier says, “so we’ve tried in these collections to bring model signatures that have been very much identified with Van Cleef & Arpels.” When asked about expanding the collections— particularly why there were no bracelets—she laughs. “For Fleur d’Hawaï, it may be more challenging, but for Flowerlace, it could definitely see life in the future. We’ll see what the future brings—let us find enough stones on our way.”
Through this conversation and looking at the wealth of archives and knowledge owned and preserved at Van Cleef & Arpels, one wonders what really makes Rénier feel grounded as CEO of such a global enterprise— particularly in uncertain times. She says, “I think you need to focus on what you can influence and so check the true long-term decisions that are important for your creativity, for your brand equity, for your teams. What you [cannot] control, you’ll manage as it comes along. If you start being anxious about everything that could happen, then you stop sleeping at night.” She pauses, looking out over into the parkland outside. “We all need beauty—there’s a reason jewellery existed when people were literally in caves.”
Her words stay with me as the Highland dancers take their final bow and the evening winds down with that particular melancholy that accompanies the end of magical experiences. As I make my way back to Marine Troon through the Scottish countryside, the Flowerlace and Fleurs d’Hawaï pieces safely tucked away in their velvet cases, I find myself thinking about permanence and impermanence, about the flowers that would wilt in Dumfries House’s gardens come autumn and those that would continue blooming forever in precious metal and stone. Rather like the best of our fantasies—and this Scottish sojourn had certainly qualified as that—they offer the tantalising possibility that beauty, once properly captured and crafted with infinite patience, need never fade. Even if we occasionally have to pack up our Bridgerton dreams and return to reality, some flowers, it seems, are designed to bloom forever.