If it werent for the innate curiosity he inherited from his father, an antique dealer, Alex would have walked past the glint in the pile of demolition rubble and chalked it up to a broken bottle. He doesnt. He leans over and lifts the deepblack object.
It is an old signet ring forged from dark silver, set with a large stone that has dulled with age. In the glow of a streetlamp the stone catches a faint, velvety blue sheen.
Alex knows antiques better than people. His fingers instinctively trace the inner band, feeling the worn grooves of an old engraving. His heart jumps. He glances aroundthe alley is emptyand slips the find into his pocket.
Back home, under a magnifying glass, any doubt disappears. The stone is a genuine sapphire. His father has told him countless times that such a gem is a talisman of faith, hope and love.
The seal is antique, and after a careful wipe with a soft cloth the sapphire reveals its true coloura rich cornflower blue, not perfectly clear but with a subtle haze. It is not a fortune, but for Alexs modest budget it represents a serious sumenough for a year or two of carefree living, a downpayment on a flat, or an extravagant holiday.
What would you do?
Alex immediately starts looking for excuses not to tell anyone about the find. The ring lay in the rubbish of a condemned Victorian terraceno owner, it would have ended up in a landfill anyway. He found it, so its his by right.
He remembers Mabel. A month ago she had wept, saying, Youre as reliable as a Swiss watch. But now I realise life isnt only about reliability. It needs wild gestures, risks! Im leaving you for Simon.
Wild gesture? Alex sneers, rolling the heavy ring between his palms. Ill pull off a stunt that will make all your Simons jealous. Ill fly to Bali for six months, post pictures, and you can watch and weep.
He doesnt know the exact value yet, but the antique shop he calls gives him a ballpark figure, and the idea of such a gift blows his mind. Somewhere a sweet thrill bubbles. Alex grips the ring tighter, feeling his hands tremble.
He conducts a real appraisal: he searches for information on the seal, compares the gem to photos online. Everything matches. Then he sits down and starts mapping out plans. The process intoxicates him. That night he doesnt close his eyes, dreaming of oceans and palm trees.
Would you have fallen asleep? Probably not
Alex perches on the windowsill, thinking. Selling it means parting with it forever, and that would be a story Yet pragmatism wins. I need a buyer who appreciates its antiquarian worth, not someone who will melt it down.
Someone who owns such a treasure will have a lot to consider. Their imagination will need room to roam.
Bali is decided.
What next?
I could finally start the flat renovation, he muses. I could finally buy the camera lens Ive been saving for three years. He stands, walks to the window, watches the sleepy city, and adds, Or I could simply put the money in a savings account and stop worrying about tomorrow.
In the morning his phone rings. Its his mate whos always ropepulling him into hikes, trips Alex always declines because of work. Maybe this time Ill go, he thinks, eyes drifting to the ring lying on the table, and he drifts back to sleep, lulled by sweet daydreams.
He wakes, grabs the ringno, it wasnt a dream. Deciding to mark the start of a new chapter, Alex heads to the upscale restaurant with floortoceiling windows hes always dreaded because of the price tag.
There, at the bar, he sees herMabelsipping coffee alone. Her face is sad and lost.
Alex wants to turn away, but he stops. Something clicks.
He approaches the hostess.
Do you see that lady over there? he whispers. Id like to settle her bill. And could you give this to her?
Alex pulls the ring from his pocket. It rests on his palm, heavy and mysterious, as if holding the secrets of previous owners.
What? But this is
Just give it to her. Tell her its from someone who can do a proper deed, and that he wishes her happinesswhatever that means.
He doesnt wait for a reaction, turns and walks out, feeling the ground shift beneath him. He has just handed over not merely a ring but his ticket to freedom. For what? To prove what? That he isnt greedy? That he isnt calculating? That her accusation was unfair? Or simply to see astonishment instead of envy in her eyes? That true madness isnt selfishness but the ability to let go?
***
Mabel sits in the nowempty restaurant, unable to move. In her hand lies the antique signet ringheavy, cold, real. Beside it is a note from the hostess: From someone who can do a deed.
Everything clicks.
Its a reply she didnt expectno plea to return. Its something larger. A gesture from a man who, at great personal cost, proves he can act selflessly. Alex didnt spend the money on a car or a holiday. He gave the ring to her. Simply that. In the name of what? Forgiveness? Love? Freedom?
She thinks of Simon, who argued with her yesterday over a café bill, and she understands the quiet, allconsuming power of such a deed. She realises that a deed isnt about bravado but about the quiet strength behind a selfless act.
***
Alex, slightly drunk, has fallen asleep in his nightclothes. He dreams of walking on a beach where, instead of sand, loose sapphires spill beneath his feet. He wakes with a throbbing head and empty pockets, recalling the ring, the restaurant, his wild gesture.
He lies still, the familiar scent of a perfume he once gave her on her birthday hanging in the air.
Alex opens his eyes and props himself up on his forearm. In the doorway stands Mabel, the ring clenched in her fist.
You? Why? Alex begins.
I returned Simons gifts, she says softly. And this Mabel holds out the ring. Now its ours. We could sell it and go to Bali together, or we could keep it. If youre okay with that.
Alex watches her, silent. He is completely sober and utterly content. He has performed the deed. And the deed, worth a small fortune, has given him something far more valuable.
