It could happen to you

Where there's muck there's money.

 

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU

 

The sky hung low and white with cloud as Marianne and her son, Greg, drove along the narrow, twisting lanes to the village where he had some business interests to see to. Marianne sat and stared through the window in front of her and wondered, as she often had, why Greg’s family had chosen to live in such an out of the way place. The countryside wasn’t ugly, it was just boring to the eye. There were no hills or valleys to break the monotony of the flat fields. The road ahead was lined with hedges and trees. Marianne stared at her son’s profile and wondered whether she should say something. The main reason for her being in the car was so that she wouldn’t be alone all day in a house that wasn’t her own and therefore held no interest for her. Just as she was getting a bit desperate some houses appeared out of nowhere.

“Well, Mother, this is it. We get out here and you can amuse yourself in the local shops and the pub if you like, while I’m off to see about business,” Greg said, as he stopped the car in the pub car park.

“How long will you be gone?” Marianne asked.

“I can’t say for sure, but at least an hour and a half. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes, of course it’s all right,” Marianne said not really believing the words she had uttered.

Greg got back into the car and drove off quickly and was soon a speck moving in the distance. Marianne knew that home-made jams and chutneys were sold in the local food store, this was another good reason to be there. The village was comprised of a long street with shops and small houses lined up on either side. Behind this street were fields, which gave the village a rather isolated feeling. Marianne had noticed that all the villages in that part of the country were somewhat similar in this aspect. She had no difficulty in finding the local grocer’s. It was a typical old-fashioned shop with the walls smothered in shelves which held dry and tinned goods. In some large boxes off to the right were vegetables and fruit. To the left was a large table holding large round jars of jams and chutneys. Marianne went towards the jams and chutneys table. She stood gazing at the well arranged jars, and at the same time took out a list she had made before setting out of the things she wanted.

“Good morning, do you remember me? I bought some of your goods at a summer fête where you had a stall.”

The short grey-haired lady standing behind the table gave Marianne a long, hard, stare.

“It’s possible, but as I go from fête to fête and travel long distances during the summer, I tend to forget people very quickly, unless there’s something extra special about them.”

“I should have realised that. Anyway, I’d like to buy some jam and chutney. I’ll take a look to see what’s on offer.”

“Please do so. When you have decided, just call, I’ll be behind the counter.”

Marianne felt as if she were not in the least welcome in the shop, but pushed the thought to the back of her mind and concentrated on her motive for going to the village. She picked up and paid for two jars of jam and one of chutney in a record short time.

“Good morning,” Marianne said as she opened the door and left.

“Good morning,” the stern-looking woman said.

Marianne holding her shopping bag close to her, and with a feeling of depression beginning to descend on her, walked to the pub car park. There were a few more cars in it than when Greg had parked not long before. There was a board with the words ‘Morning coffee now being served.’ She went into the establishment, and the inside smelling of old carpets and decrepitude greeted her nose. It was good enough for what she wanted, which was to sit down. The owner came up to Marianne.

“Good morning, have you decided what you would like to have? There are more hot drinks apart from coffee, plus cakes and sandwiches.”

“I’ll have a hot chocolate and two scones, please,” Marianne ordered.

The woman went off to fetch Marianne’s order. While she was waiting Marianne spent the time looking around her. There was a group of men at the bar, and elderly people sat at other tables. Marianne noticed that many of the elderly present were women all alone. It made a sad scene. The woman returned with the hot chocolate and scones. There was also a small jar of raspberry jam and a pot of thick cream. Marianne thanked her and started to tuck into her snack.

After her refreshment Marianne looked at her watch and saw it that she still had time on her hands. Her walk took her down the only street in the village and after passing a boots-and-shoe shop and a do-it-yourself shop, she arrived at a shop with the glorious title of Local Antiques. Marianne entered and as soon as she saw the interior the thought came into her head that it was more tat than antiques. As Marianne stepped inside an elderly lady like herself came out of a back room which had probably once been a kitchen, holding a cup of coffee with biscuits in the saucer in her left hand.

“Good morning, may I take a look?” Marianne asked.

“Good morning, of course you may. Are you interested in something special or just looking around to see if you fancy anything?” the shop owner asked.

“I don’t know exactly. If I see a small thing I’ll buy it.”

“By the way my name is Grace, call me if you want anything.”

Inside the front door there was a shelf on which there was a cardboard box full of what appeared to be tatty jewellery. Everything in it was old with a worn out look as if all had seen better days. Marianne ran her fingers through the items which were mostly earrings. She picked up the prettiest pair which were hanging diamonds and stared at them closely. They needed a deep clean but were not unattractive. Marianne went over to Grace and seeing she had finished her coffee and biscuits asked, “Have you got a magnifying glass, please. I’d like to take a more detailed look at these earrings.”

Grace replied, “Here you are. Is there anything wrong?”

“There’s a minute stain on one of them, I think.” Marianne picked up the magnifying glass and sat down at a table where there was a strong lamp. She held the earring steadily in one hand and the magnifying glass in the other. The earring was rather filthy but the design was quite pretty. Turning the earring around in her hand Marianne soon found the stain. It was a rusty brown colour. Marianne called Grace, over to her. “Take a look. What do you think it is?”

Grace took both things from Marianne and carefully examined the earring.

“It’s obviously very dirty, but the stain could be anything, from paint or rust even.”

“Do you think it might be blood?” Marianne ventured.

“No, I don’t. It looks more like something that has damaged the metal. They are not gold as far as I can tell, it’s gold plating on a base metal. The model is very nice though, isn’t it?”

Marianne said, “I’ll take them. How much do they cost?”

“The price is marked. Ten pounds.”

Marianne took out the ten pounds from her purse and handed them over to Grace, who wrapped the earrings in tissue paper and then in a small bag. The small packet was given to Marianne who put it in her handbag.

“Good morning. Thank you,” Marianne said.

“Good morning, and thank you for your custom,” Grace said.

From a backroom a man came into the shop. He was very tall, white-haired, with a hooked nose, a typical aristocratic face. He was Grace’s brother. “Sold something, have you?”

“Yes, Claude, a thing you seem unable to do. I’ve got rid of a pair of decrepit looking earrings. The buyer seemed to be quite happy with her purchase.”

“That’s good, now you can come and help me with the woodworm in the grandfather clock.”

 

Marianne and her son met up at the arranged time and returned to his house. “Did you buy anything ?” Greg asked his mother.

“Yes, I bought you some jam and chutney,” for reasons best known to herself Marianne said nothing about the earrings.

While her son and his family were chatting in the kitchen, Marianne went upstairs to her bedroom and poured some gin into a tumbler, she then placed the earrings in the tumbler and this between the curtain and the window.

Dinner over, Marianne went up to her room early saying that she was tired and wanted to go to bed. A hot shower and pyjamas on, Marianne picked up the tumbler and took out the earrings. They already had a better shine to them. She got a tissue and began very gently to remove the grime from around the stones and the metal. The stain was still evident but that wasn’t a problem the stones were shinier and shinier as she rubbed them. One more dip into clean gin and the earrings were proving to be a sight for sore eyes. Smiling to herself Marianne wrapped them up in a new tissue and put them in her handbag.

Two days later she flew back to her flat in Spain.

 

Two weeks later Marianne picked up the newly mounted earrings from the jeweller she had asked to clean and remount the diamonds.

“Those are very good quality diamonds you brought in. Now you can see them in all their glory,” Juan, the jeweller said, handing her the pair of earrings.

Marianne knew she had been right in assuming that the stones were real diamonds when she had seen them in the village shop. “They have a depth of their own, with such a sparkle. I’m very grateful for the job you have done on them. How much do I owe you?”

Marianne paid Juan for his good work, and happily left the shop. She had told Juan she didn’t want the old setting as it was only cheap.

In the backroom Juan was talking to one of the assistants, “That was an odd woman. She knew the diamonds were good but thought the settings were of no value. It would be interesting to know how she came by them.”

Marianne took the earrings home and put them in her jewellery box.

 

Six months later Marianne died of old age. Her son and his wife went to Spain and took care of everything.

 

In her will, Marianne had left the earrings to her granddaughter. Neither Greg nor his wife understood the value of anything that wasn’t practical or economical, and took all Marianne’s jewellery to the Local Antiques shop near the grocer’s where she had purchased the jams and chutneys. Grace came out of the kitchen to attend Greg and his wife. “What do you think all this stuff is worth?” Greg asked Grace.

Grace picked up one of the earrings, took out a special magnifying glass for studying stones, then carefully and slowly she stared into the stones as if she were trying to reach the heart of each one.

“I’ll give you a hundred pounds for the lot.”

“Thank you, we weren’t expecting to get so much,” Greg replied, holding out his hand for the money.

The couple left the shop and got into their car and drove off.

 

Claude came out of the backroom and saw Grace standing in the shop with the diamond earrings in her hand.

“How much did you give them for the jewellery?”

“A hundred pounds.”

Claude took a closer look at the earring in her hand. “You’re a thief! These are not ordinary trinkets, these earrings are perfect diamonds set in platinum. How much are you going to try to get for them?” asked Claude.

“They’re not for sale. None of the jewellery is. I’m keeping it all,” Grace said, placing the diamond earrings in her ears.

 

Marianne turned in her grave.