Chapter 48
It seemed to Gemma that it was always the worst and the best things in life that required the most waiting for. The interminable wait for medical results. The tedious length of time it took for a divorce to go through. The yearning for your one holiday abroad of the year.
The problem with waiting for Timothy to show the brooch to the museum curator and then waiting for the curator to offer an opinion on it, was that Gemma didn’t know if the wait was going to be worth it or not.
The brooch could turn out to be an inconsequential piece of contemporary jewellery. Then again …
Gemma couldn’t bear it. She had to stop thinking about it.
She turned off her WhatsApp notifications because the other club members seemed to be equally preoccupied and kept messaging for updates or with speculation that became more and more far-fetched.
Nick fabricated a story about it belonging to a Roman woman who, scorned by her lover, had thrown the brooch into the river in order to forget about him, which was a little too close to home as far as Gemma was concerned.
She tried to be the voice of reason because the chances of the brooch being anything of value to anyone other than herself were so remote it was laughable.
Thankfully, she had a week of work ahead to keep her occupied. One patient – the delightful Sister Francis, with her wicked sense of humour – was finally coming to the end of her treatment, and nursing colleague, Michael, whose baking was improving, had promised to bring in a red velvet cake.
It was a few minutes after one-thirty on Friday afternoon. Gemma was walking back to the hospital, after having gone out to get some fresh air and run some errands, when her phone rang. Light drizzle had turned to cutting rain. She had to angle her umbrella in order to minimise getting too wet.
It was Timothy. ‘Have you got a minute?’
‘Sure.’
‘Are you sitting down?’
‘I’m walking.’
‘Okay, I’ll sit down for you,’ he said.
Gemma pressed the phone to her ear as the rain became louder and heavier. Water from a passing car splashed her legs. She quickened her pace and kept going. The hospital was just up ahead.
‘Are you ready?’ Timothy asked.
‘Sorry, you’ll have to speak loudly,’ she shouted.
‘It’s about the brooch,’ Timothy bellowed. ‘My curator friend wants to schedule a call.’
‘What did she say about it?’
‘She won’t tell me.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I’d say it means something, don’t you? She insisted that she talk to you because you were its finder.’
Gemma’s breath caught in her throat. ‘Gosh. Okay. But I think everyone should hear what she has to say. Shall we meet on your houseboat for a conference call?’
‘Good idea. Let’s not muck around. What about tomorrow?’