Finds - a short story

 Disclaimer: I was told the bare roots of this story quite a number of years ago - whether it is true or not I have no idea ; indeed could be one of those urban legends we hear about where the so-called down-trodden win and we all know how we love to hear those stories! however I have fictionalised and embellished it beyond all resemblance to the original story that I was told.

Brilliant Little Steals

Her white, plump, well manicured hand was poised above the piercing shrill of her telephone, a sweetly saccharine smile touched her lips as her personality did a double declutch from hard nosed business woman to Miss-Caring-Sunshine-Person-of-the-Year.

The caller was asking her advice about some finds he had made at his northern NSW tip, and if she played her cards right she could boost her income quite considerably by down playing the value.

In fact for some time now this was precisely how she had been making quite a tidy little sum through finds at regional NSW tips, not a fortune mind, but enough to make up the difference between a good month and a satisfactory month. Her Accountant, Mr. Briggs of Briggs, Briggs & Snodgrass had just this morning rung to compliment her on her business acumen and ability to find such saleable treasures for her thriving little antique shop, the low prices especially had impressed him.

"People trust me," she had airily told him. "Over the years I have built up quite a following of contacts, people who ring me to ask about their little finds."

"Of course," she assured him, "I never cheat my people".

Naturally in her own mind she wasn't actually cheating anyone, However she was using the fact that they literally had had the goods dumped on them in the first place. Certainly, they didn't have her administrative overheads, why, she thought, the lease on my BMW was enough to make the average man blanch. It was all quite acceptable, not cheating really.

The phone rang again and as she stretched her hand out to pick it up she could not help but admire the way the large diamonds on her right hand glinted in the sun, little sparkles bouncing off the far wall. A warm glow gathered in her stomach as she prepared once more to enhance her bank account.

The caller was a chap who owned a tip at the South Coast and he was wondering about some bits and pieces that had been left at his door so to speak, from the deceased estate of an elderly woman with an interest in art. Actually it was the frames he was asking her to appraise, as he'd already dispensed with a number of the prints. Rather ornate they were, thickish with a curlicue design, quite wide and painted with a thick gold emulsion. He also had a Rolex watch, a ring and a small signed oil painting. He thought that $500.00 was a fair amount to ask for them. Could she please come down and take a look?

Consulting her diary she agreed to make the trip from Double Bay on the coming Friday as that was her "away" day ,when her offsider regularly came in to assist.

Friday was spectacular, bright blue skies with a slight hint of cloud, perfect for driving to the coast with the Beamers' soft top down, the wind through her hair, and a picnic in the boot. A somewhat luscious luncheon carefully packed into a wicker basket, it consisted of fresh crusty bread, a piece of softened Camembert cheese, the leg of the chicken from the previous nights' dinner and a bottle of icy cold Chardonnay.

Morag made good time, arriving in Broulee at 11.30am.and as she had plenty of time to spare before her appointment, she decided to park and watch the salty spray spring into the sky as the waves beat their way onto the shore. Life could be so perfect at times.

Mick had been watching out for her, and when she pulled in he rushed over to greet her.

He was a canny chap who over the years had become a keen observer of life in all of its forms. One particularly, attractive form came in the shape of Morag; the antiques dealer. He was quite fond of her in his own way, he liked the way the wind blew her red curls around her face, her style and elegance, in fact the only thing he did not like was his suspicion that maybe she cut his prices down to suit herself.

Her excuses came in all forms, from the difficulty relating to the resale of goods, to their storage and popularity. He wondered to himself what would be her line of resistance today. It was fast becoming a game to him because what Morag didn't know, was that Mick was thinking of changing dealers, and that today's deal was to be the turning point in their business relationship.

She switched off the engine, opened the car door and in a most ladylike fashion swung her long legs out onto the dusty ground. Mick greeted her enthusiastically, talked about his finds, mentioning that a couple more of the prints had been sent across to the tip but that he had not thrown them out this time, rather he had kept them for her to appraise.

She followed him past the dumping area into a fenced store and from there into the shed where Mick had stacked up his latest collection of goods for her inspection. Morag put on her Cazal glasses and proceeded to pick through everything, carefully, assessing, picking up and putting down each item in a decisive manner.

When it came to Micks' prints she couldn't help herself from examining the signature. She plucked a magnifying glass from the depths of her voluminous Italian leather handbag and examined the signature of the first print, then the next until she had looked at all seven prints, then the Rolex came under scrutiny, the ring and not least the oil painting. In fact she made a couple of examinations of the painting.

Mick was waiting, holding his breath for her pronouncement and agreement to his asking price of $500.

"No" she said. "$100 is all I can offer for these pieces"

"Sorry", Mick replied. "The Rolex must be worth more than that by itself! I'll have to think about it".

Mick was felt quite upset by her determined attitude. The Rolex alone he felt was worth $500, the ring was of some value while those frames must be worth something, bloody cheeky expecting him to sell her the lot for $100. Well, he too had noticed her avid interest in the signatures of the prints and the painting and he decided to ring the National Gallery as soon as she had got back into that flash car of hers, and see what they had to say.

Morag collected her bag and glasses saying to Mick that if he should change his mind regarding her price offer, well then just give her a ring and she'd see what she could do for him. In fact if he could let her know by Tuesday next that would be great, as she had to come back to the coast for another appointment and it wouldn't be difficult for her to call in.

Out on the open road she mentally rubbed her hands in glee. If indeed he did decide to sell to her, a fact about which she had no doubt, there certainly was a nice little killing to be made, the signatures on those prints looked most interesting!

Mick said goodbye to Morag and went straight in to ring the National Gallery, where he was put through to the Curator for Contemporary Australian Art. The curator was almost breathless with excitement, and after telling Mick not to discuss this conversation with anyone at all, he put the phone down. Within four hours he was at the tip, looking with disbelief at Micks' prints.

Tuesday morning arrived and in anticipation of a positive answer Morag rang Mick to ask about her expected sale.

"Well Morag," said Mick. ", I'm delighted to report that after you left, I called Canberra and a chap from the National Gallery came down the very same afternoon. He said my 11 prints are actually tissue woodcuts by Sydeny Nolan, from his Eureka Series, probably worth about $4,000.00 each, and that the small oil painting is by a very famous lady called M. O. and he said that one's probably worth about $10,000.00. In fact I've had to close the tip so that they could dig through to try and find the other paintings I threw away, anyway I'm so pleased I've decided to lash out and keep the Rolex as a memento!".

 

Copyright: a.a.gallagher 1999.