To catch a thief
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
It was the 80’s
and I was living with my husband, Martin, in
Kensington Park Road in Notting Hill. The house
was like stepping back in time because, with my
taste and influence as an collectibles dealer, I
had created an Edwardian atmosphere, not of the
80’s with the beginning of the technological
revolutio
One day Martin was tending to plants in the front
garden when a neighbour he did not know, out of
the blue, asked if he needed any antique pieces
of furniture restored, he knew just the man. How
did this stranger know we had antique pieces of
furniture unless he had somehow peeped in through
the net curtains or magically through the closed
shutters?
That night we went to bed earlier than usual.
Normally Martin read until 1 or even 2 in the
morning while I slept peacefully by his side. But
on this particular night, while Martin slept, I
suddenly woke up to find the bedroom in darkness.
Only the hall light was on outside and an arm
slowly closing the open bedroom door. I knew
someone was there. Obviously a burglar!
I forgot there was an alarm bell by the bed and
woke Martin. He had switched off his reading
light early and gone to sleep. My heart was
thumping loudly. I was in panic mode.
‘Wake up Martin, there’s a burglar in
the house’. Said I. With that he put on his
glasses and went to the French windows to look
out. Then he whispered to me to ring the police
from my next door office while he would go
upstairs to his office to see anyone was up there.
The police came round in five minutes. They found
a mobile phone on the doorstep outside and, in
the hallway where I had a round of antiques
pharmaceutical drawers, each drawer was pulled
out.
My lovely rhino hide jewel-box was missing from
the bedroom tall boy containing a jade hand
carved necklace from Hong Kong with matching
earrings valued at £900 amongst other pieces of
jewellery. For some
reason I had taken off my Victorian Ruby, emerald
and diamond engagement ring when I washed my
hands. I had kept the ring as my commission when
I ran rings to Paris to the dealer Helene. I
never took the ring off but on that one fateful
night, I had!
On searching the basement kitchen,
I found my handbag gone containing £40 in cash.The
police found a badge on the floor with the
initial ‘B’ which must have belonged to
the thief.
The culprit was never arrested even though the
police had his mobile phone which had risen out
of his pocket as he squatted down to get the
metal clothes hanger in through the letterbox, a
common burglary technique I was later informed.
Despite having the mobile phone with all his
contacts, the police did nothing to chase up the
robbery. That was the second time I had been
burgled, the first time by Brian the Burglar in
the 70’s but that’s another story.
Written
3/12/24 in Nightingale.
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