furniture had been sold, and Bessie was dreading the move .... now read on,
and see how she copes!
EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY
It was a miserable day with scattered showers of rain. If they put the stuff on the little
verandah it would get spoilt. The mover’s truck had arrived and was parked at the
gate, and the two helpers were waiting to load the shabby bedroom suite and the
couple of faded velvet chairs as well as some odd bits and pieces.
Bessie came to the door, her face strained. Moving away from this neighbourhood
after so many years was really hard, and to move into a bed-sitter at the Old Aged
Home was something she had dreaded for months, but she and the old man could no
longer afford the escalating rent of their semi-detached house.
Most of their furniture had been sold. There was little enough room in the cramped
quarters they were going to. This morning someone had come to buy the dressing
table and she had let it go for far less than she had wanted, like everything else. But
she had kept a couple of ornaments, a few pictures and a cut-glass vase.
The men moved forward and picked up the heavy wardrobe, sliding it onto the wet
floor of the truck. Hastily they covered it with a stained tarpaulin. When everything
was loaded, the old man left with the movers, while she stayed to gather up and pack
some of the small things her son had offered to take along with her to the Home,
after work. As soon as the truck had left, Bessie saw a strange car stop at the gate. A
well-dressed woman stepped out and walked to the front door.
Bessie opened the door. “I hear you have some odds and ends for sale? My name is
Kate Morris. I’m from Rare Antiques.” She shook Bessie’s hand. “Oh, no,” Bessie
said. “I don’t have any antiques. Sorry. You’ve come to the wrong house.”
Kate Morris had found some real bargains where she had least expected them and
her experienced eye caught sight of the depleted floral dinner service, odd plates and
framed pictures stacked in the far corner of the empty room. “May I have a look at
those?” she asked. “Certainly,” said Bessie, “but they’re not for sale. Hardly worth it;
but the pictures are family heirlooms. Although they’re pretty ancient, I’m not parting
with them.”
One by one Kate Morris lifted the pictures. “It’s not possible,” she thought, when she
came to the last one. In a chipped old Byzantine-style frame, the old canvas was
impregnated with years of dust, grease and grime. She stared in disbelief at the
barely visible signature in the corner … EL GRECO! It was unmistakable. The
strange and beautiful head, the elongated neck expressing some terrible secret. “The
woman has an El Greco and she doesn’t know it,” Kate Morris thought in
amazement. “It’s worth millions!”
“This picture …” she said huskily, trying to suppress her emotions … “Will you sell
it?”.”
“No,” said Bessie. “I don’t think I’ll sell my pictures. They’re all I have from my mother
and she inherited them from her great-grandfather in Spain. He was a very rich man.
I wish I’d been left some of his money.”
“Well,” said Kate Morris, “I’m prepared to give you a good price.”
“A good price?” said Bessie, “and how much would that be?”
“Three thousand rands,” said Kate Morris in a determined voice.
Bessie was stunned. So much? “Oh well,” she said, “I can’t really refuse, can I. But I
want it in cash. I can’t get to the bank to cash a cheque.”
“Wait here,” said Kate Morris. “I won’t be long. I’m going to the bank to get the cash.
Promise me now, you won’t go …”
“No,” said Bessie. “I have to wait for my son to fetch me and these last few things …”
Kate Morris drove off. “Wait until Pete hears about our luck. Three thousand rands!”
thought Bessie.
Before she knew it, Kate Morris was back. “Here’s your money,” she said, counting it
out on the table. Carefully she lifted the El Greco. “Thanks,” she said, “I hope you’re
happy with our deal!”
“It’s wonderful, I can’t thank you enough!” said Bessie, putting the money in her
purse.
Pete arrived. Bessie could not wait to tell him. “Pete, you know the El Greco? I sold it
for R3000.”
“Gee Mum!” Pete said, “I didn’t think it would fetch that! I only got R2000 for the
Murillo! I’ve got my painting of replicas down to a fine art now eh?”
verandah it would get spoilt. The mover’s truck had arrived and was parked at the
gate, and the two helpers were waiting to load the shabby bedroom suite and the
couple of faded velvet chairs as well as some odd bits and pieces.
Bessie came to the door, her face strained. Moving away from this neighbourhood
after so many years was really hard, and to move into a bed-sitter at the Old Aged
Home was something she had dreaded for months, but she and the old man could no
longer afford the escalating rent of their semi-detached house.
Most of their furniture had been sold. There was little enough room in the cramped
quarters they were going to. This morning someone had come to buy the dressing
table and she had let it go for far less than she had wanted, like everything else. But
she had kept a couple of ornaments, a few pictures and a cut-glass vase.
The men moved forward and picked up the heavy wardrobe, sliding it onto the wet
floor of the truck. Hastily they covered it with a stained tarpaulin. When everything
was loaded, the old man left with the movers, while she stayed to gather up and pack
some of the small things her son had offered to take along with her to the Home,
after work. As soon as the truck had left, Bessie saw a strange car stop at the gate. A
well-dressed woman stepped out and walked to the front door.
Bessie opened the door. “I hear you have some odds and ends for sale? My name is
Kate Morris. I’m from Rare Antiques.” She shook Bessie’s hand. “Oh, no,” Bessie
said. “I don’t have any antiques. Sorry. You’ve come to the wrong house.”
Kate Morris had found some real bargains where she had least expected them and
her experienced eye caught sight of the depleted floral dinner service, odd plates and
framed pictures stacked in the far corner of the empty room. “May I have a look at
those?” she asked. “Certainly,” said Bessie, “but they’re not for sale. Hardly worth it;
but the pictures are family heirlooms. Although they’re pretty ancient, I’m not parting
with them.”
One by one Kate Morris lifted the pictures. “It’s not possible,” she thought, when she
came to the last one. In a chipped old Byzantine-style frame, the old canvas was
impregnated with years of dust, grease and grime. She stared in disbelief at the
barely visible signature in the corner … EL GRECO! It was unmistakable. The
strange and beautiful head, the elongated neck expressing some terrible secret. “The
woman has an El Greco and she doesn’t know it,” Kate Morris thought in
amazement. “It’s worth millions!”
“This picture …” she said huskily, trying to suppress her emotions … “Will you sell
it?”.”
“No,” said Bessie. “I don’t think I’ll sell my pictures. They’re all I have from my mother
and she inherited them from her great-grandfather in Spain. He was a very rich man.
I wish I’d been left some of his money.”
“Well,” said Kate Morris, “I’m prepared to give you a good price.”
“A good price?” said Bessie, “and how much would that be?”
“Three thousand rands,” said Kate Morris in a determined voice.
Bessie was stunned. So much? “Oh well,” she said, “I can’t really refuse, can I. But I
want it in cash. I can’t get to the bank to cash a cheque.”
“Wait here,” said Kate Morris. “I won’t be long. I’m going to the bank to get the cash.
Promise me now, you won’t go …”
“No,” said Bessie. “I have to wait for my son to fetch me and these last few things …”
Kate Morris drove off. “Wait until Pete hears about our luck. Three thousand rands!”
thought Bessie.
Before she knew it, Kate Morris was back. “Here’s your money,” she said, counting it
out on the table. Carefully she lifted the El Greco. “Thanks,” she said, “I hope you’re
happy with our deal!”
“It’s wonderful, I can’t thank you enough!” said Bessie, putting the money in her
purse.
Pete arrived. Bessie could not wait to tell him. “Pete, you know the El Greco? I sold it
for R3000.”
“Gee Mum!” Pete said, “I didn’t think it would fetch that! I only got R2000 for the
Murillo! I’ve got my painting of replicas down to a fine art now eh?”