Star of Bombay

Graham Pearson was just about to cash up the til in his jewellery shop in the antique market when a lady walked in.

‘Just closing up now my dear,’ he said politely but firmly, pulling down the blinds. He despised the last minute shopper who wandered in just as he was getting ready to go home for his tea.

‘I have some jewellery you might be interested in,’ she said, as though she had not heard him.

Graham looked at the clock. It was five twenty five. He sighed inwardly. Some cheap shit that used to belong to her Grandmother he guessed.

The woman untied her rain hood and took it off. Now observing her for the first time he saw that she was stunningly attractive, with waves and waves of thick hair and enchanting eyes. Perhaps it was worth staying late after all, he thought to himself with a smile as she lay her bag down on the counter and removed its contents.

She unwrapped the delicate flower brooch and extended a smooth white hand towards him. It was one of the most beautiful pieces he had ever seen, the stones shone under his desk lamp. He knew that he was holding something very valuable and dinner could wait!

‘Where did you get this?’ he enquired.

‘My aunt left it to me in her will,’ she said capturing him with a pretty smile.

Mr Pearson examined it under his lens but there was no doubt that the lovely rubies were genuine.

‘I will give you ten thousand pounds.’

‘Fifteen,’ said the lady holding his gaze with hers.

He reached under the counter for his cheque book.

‘Very well. Fifteen.’

***

Bob Johnson, Kevin McLarty and Daniel Debray had begun the evening in their usual manner, drinking in the Spread Eagle and plotting.

‘What’s on the agenda?’ asked Kevin downing the dregs of his beer and burping loudly.

‘We’re going to gate-crash.’

‘Where?’ asked Bob.

‘Saint Real.’

‘No fucking way,’ said Bob. ‘Are you out of your mind?  The security’s shit hot. It’s run by nuns. They’ve got K9 security services for fuckssake!’