A few years ago now, my great aunt died. Not a wealthy woman, she lived alone in a picture-windowed bungalow, high up on a hill with a view of the windy Channel. She didn't wear much jewellery-it got in the way when she was gardening-but she did own a silver charm bracelet that her husband, long dead Uncle Fred, gave her when he went away to war. Its array of tiny horseshoes, ladybirds and silver bells jingled together as she cooked my brother and me boiled egg and soldiers, and jingled again as she cleaned the plates away after tea. When she died, she left it to me. It jingles now, as I type. It's worth virtually nothing; but it is an heirloom. It has lasted.

Our instinct is that jewellery, real jewellery, is meant to last. It is meant to be handed down, from mother to daughter, aunt to niece; it is meant to increase in value as it becomes layered with the histories of the women who consecutively own it. Finding the piece-the ring, the necklace the bracelet-to do that job within our own families is an emotionally weighty task.

There are several approaches. Men particularly seem to like buying rare stones: a D flawless diamond from Graff, perhaps. That's not a mistake: stones can tell stories too (think of Elizabeth Taylor, wound up in her rocks) and carry the ghosts of old loves. An extremely old, rich and arthritic English aristocrat once told me she could no longer force her mother's diamond rings-the size and shape of Brazil nuts-over her swollen knuckles. "I'm getting them made into shoe buckles", she announced, "so that they can stay close to me." Did she worry, then, if she wasn't wearing them? "Oh no," she smiled. "I keep them because they remind me of Ma."

Women, on the other hand, tend to be attracted by artistry. The most feted individual designers, such as Michelle Ong in Hong Kong, or Mumbai-based Viren Bhagat, create works as instantly recognisable as a great painter's. Ong weaves strings of diamonds together in fantastical, highly feminine chokers like deep lace collars, whereas Bhagat's one-off, Mughal-inspired pieces play with ideas of old and new, resetting historical Indian gemstones. Both inspire fanatical loyalty and produce the collectibles of tomorrow.

Or you can look backwards, searching out pieces that display their own genealogy. Cartier's new "Inde Mysterieuse" couture collection refer to Cartier's history as the jeweller of choice for early 20th-century maharajahs, who asked the French house to reset their Indian jewels in the fashionable European style. Similarly the tiara from Chaumet's "Attrape-Moi" collection, with its simplified spider-web motif, is directly descended from the house's "high" period of the 1860s, when its designs were inspired by a Darwinian interest in the natural world. There's something fitting about buying a piece of jewellery for the future, knowing that it is aware of its own past.

But whatever the reason for choosing it, an heirloom acts as a repository of memories. Great jewellers know this: they make pieces designed to hold the stories, as well as the fortunes, of generations. These are the heirlooms of tomorrow. They all share the ability to carry and contain something of the different women-young, old and all ages in between-who will wear them.

Photograph by Mary McCartney