GRETTA(Jane Lockyer Willis) GRETTA
By Jane Lockyer Willis


How shall I introduce her: this remarkable, eccentric old friend of mine?
I think I'll begin with Gretta's wit which was as dry as one of the martinis she enjoyed mixing. She liked people and entertaining; was a great raconteur, and some of her stories would have you laughing in the aisles. Gretta always seemed to attract a group around her. She was popular, bright and strong and we loved her.

The Georgian house where Gretta lived lay deep in the English countryside and was approached via a long curving drive fringed with rhododendron bushes and trees. It was gracious, full of light with high ceilings and spacious rooms. Her late father had been a rich business man, and as a loving parent had imbued her with a natural confidence and charm that was both affectionate and infectious. When you left Gretta's company you felt refreshed, revitalized and ready to take on the world.
A romantic at heart, she refused to follow the latest fashions but chose instead her own mode of dress comprising capes and dresses of varying hues and bold, daring designs. So you see, before she'd even opened her mouth, you expected someone different.

Gretta and I had not met up for some time. I'd moved abroad, and only recently returned to England. Now back and living fairly close by, I rang her and we arranged to spend the day together at her home. It was wonderful to see her again and looking so well.
Gretta loved sharing her views on this and that and over coffee, I happened to touch on the subject of free will. But as we talked, her oval face darkened and she momentarily closed her eyes. I asked her what was wrong?
Taking a deep breath, she leaned back in her arm-chair and wrapped a scarlet woollen cape around her, as though by doing, the very material might protect her from what she was about to relate:
‘Some while after Jerry died, I met a man slightly older than myself. Falling in love, as you know, carries its own risks and for once in my life I became a victim. Mine had been such a joyful, happy marriage. Jerry was such a dear.'
'He was. A lovely man. I came to his funeral.'
'You did.' She paused. 'You never met Douglas, did you?'
'No, I'd left for the Far East by then; but you did tag his name onto one of your Christmas cards, I seem to remember. What became of him?'
Gretta gave a wry smile. 'Bit of a story, I'm afraid. Perhaps now is as good a time as any to tell it, to lay the ghosts of the past. Please bear with me. I need to talk to a good friend. Do you mind?'
'Of course not, Gretta.'
'Some time after Jerry died, I decided to put my house on the market, thinking it was really too large for one person to live in. Douglas arrived on my doorstep one morning, a complete stranger, smartly dressed and extremely personable. He said that he'd spotted the property in the estate agent's window; he was passing through and could he have a quick tour.
'What a nerve! He should have made an appointment with the agent.'
'I know Jean. It was my first mistake. Anyway, I weakened and showed him around. He told me that he was a retired dentist from London, and that more than anything he wanted to move to the country and as far away as possible from the metropolis. He was ecstatic about the house, in raptures over my rambling garden, and made me an offer on the spot. It was a very good offer too. I was taken off guard, flustered by this very attractive stranger. I told him that he must go straight back to the estate agents and negotiate through them. He agreed readily enough, and laughingly made a joke about being over-impetuous saying how kind I'd been showing him around without an appointment. And then something happened that changed everything.' Gretta's face paled, her breath quickened.
I took her hand. 'Go on, darling. Tell me.'
'He suddenly fixed me with his grey eyes. It was a hard penetrating stare that went on and on. His words became slurred, distant. I grew dizzy, faint, confused - tried to break away - but magnet-like those eyes drew me back, back, back. He eventually broke the gaze by looking away and acted as though nothing had happened; his manner returned to normal and he told me that he'd be in touch. From that moment on I was changed.'
'In what way, changed?'
'Douglas enveigled his way into my life whilst I became a willing victim. Of course, he didn't buy the property, that was never his intention, but good as his word he returned. Oh yes. Friendly chats, and then small outings, the odd gift; working on my feelings, my emotions. Ultimately, and with my consent, he moved into my home and quite simply took over. The house was withdrawn from the market. We re-decorated, enjoyed holidays abroad, ate out a good deal, had fun; Douglas bought a new car and wardrobe all with my money and I loved every minute. Did I care? Not a bit. Oh yes. I was hooked all right.
By your face, Jean, I can see that you thought me terribly rash, but my state of mind had, I believe, been altered. At the time I didn't see it that way. I was in love and thankful to be released from the responsibility of running things and the upheaval of having to sell. Douglas possessed business acumen. He could reason with workmen, get jobs done in record time. I thought he was a god send.'
'Didn't he chip in with all the expenses, Gretta? Pay you rent or anything?'
'Not a bean. But I didn't care.' She paused. 'Do you know anything about hypnosis, Jean?'
I shook my head.
‘It’s a subtle technique; a therapy in the right hands, but in the wrong ones, a disaster.'
'You think that's what he did? Hypnotised you?'
'Yes, I do. Looking back there was something dark, sinister about the man. He could be furtive at times, secretive, but I simply put any negativity to the back of my mind. Blanked it out. I realise now that it was important to Douglas that I should trust him, and perhaps the hypnosis, as I thought it to be, induced this trust, this dependency. From the first I was under his power. It sounds as though I'm passing the buck and being terribly dramatic, doesn't it? Oh dear! I wish I'd listened to my friend, Francine, but you don't, do you, listen to advice, not when you're in love?
'I suppose not.'
'Francine tried to alert me. She said that my personality had somehow - now what was the word she used? Diminished. Yes, that was it, diminished. My sense of purpose, my alertness, my humour even, had been hijacked. But it was so easy to be seduced by this man. Douglas' quiet persona could be so warm, encompassing that at the time I was unaware of the subtle effect he was having on me.'
‘So what did you do?’
‘Do? I didn’t do anything. I mistakenly thought that Francine was jealous, after-all Douglas was very good looking; tall and slim with a full head of white hair. Being in love tends to take charge, to dominate, doesn't it? it's a state that to a degree can dictate its own hypnotic powers and rules. I wasn't fully aware of how I was acting, you see. I felt happy in his company and wanted things to remain as they were. I drew a curtain over the truth; and he was so loving and gentle. This supported my view that he was a good man and without pretence.'

Gretta's hands shook as she took my empty coffee cup and placed it beside her on a black, lacquered table: an elderly, vulnerable woman nursing unpleasant memories. She saw me studying her and rising sharply, moved restlessly about the room before pausing in front of the French window that looked out over the garden with its Cedar of Lebanon dominating the lawn.

‘Things started to go missing. At first I didn’t notice. There are so many ornaments in the house, some more valuable than others. Foolishly I hadn't made an inventory. Living quietly in the country as I do, it never occurred to me. I wasn't sure whether some things had simply been mislaid or taken, so again I didn't dwell on it. But one day I discovered that an emerald and diamond ring had disappeared from my dressing table. Having searched everywhere, I asked Douglas if he'd seen it but he denied all knowledge. In addition to this, I'd inherited from an uncle, a valuable Georgian silver dessert basket that I'd wrapped and stored in the attic. It was worth thousands. One day, Douglas went up there on some pretext or other and I followed without his knowledge. I wear soft soled shoes around the house and so he didn't hear me climb the ladder. Unsuspecting, I was about to tell him that lunch was ready and caught him in the act of packing the basket into a leather hold-all. He startled when he saw me and blushed, but then tried covering his tracks by making some feeble excuse about wanting to clean it. Without a word I gently took the basket from him, said that lunch was ready, descended the ladder and let the matter rest.
'Oh Gretta! Why did you?'
'I know, I know, Jean. The evidence was staring me in the face. I'd like to say that he'd unwittingly broken the spell. Maybe the word spell is putting a fairy tale slant to my tale. All I can say is that even then, after that second incident, I was behaving as he wanted me to behave. I was in denial. It was horrid.'
Seeing her distress, I tried to change the subject, but Gretta waved an impatient hand.
'Let me finish, Jean. One day, about six months later, his brother, whom I'd never met, turned up. Quite unexpectedly he arrived at the front door just as Douglas had done. It was a weekday morning in July and I was about to go to the supermarket for a weekly shop.'
‘Hi there! Sorry to trouble you,' he said. 'I’m Bernard, Douglas' brother. You must be Gretta.' He stretched out a nail bitten ringed hand for me to shake. Douglas had mentioned that he'd a brother who lived in Chichester and made a good living selling curios. He was quite different from Douglas: younger, in his mid- fifties at a guess, plump, fleshy faced and untidily dressed wearing a faded blue anorak and a pair of jeans. He said that he wanted to speak to his brother and could he come in as it was urgent. I told him that Douglas was out but would be back shortly and invited him to stay for lunch. Bernard stomped through the front door trailing mud from his none too clean boots.

He asked a lot of questions whilst seeming to make a mental inventory of everything. I thought the safest place to put him was in the kitchen and having seated him offered coffee.
'I'd prefer a beer. It's some walk from the village.'
'Yes, of course. You came by public transport?'
'Bus. And British Rail.' He sniffed and fumbled in his anorak for his none too clean handkerchief.
'Quite a journey then?'
'You could say that.'
Whilst fixing his drink I encouraged him to talk about he and his brother's childhoods: Douglas’s decision to take up dentistry and Bernard’s to go into the antique business, as he called it. He was none too chatty and skirted round some of my questions. It was a relief to hear a key in the lock and Douglas' return. He seemed as surprised as I'd been to see Bernard sitting there but remained as engaging as ever. We ate a light lunch and made stilted conversation. It was over coffee that the bombshell dropped.
‘You'll be wondering, Dougie, why I’m here,’ said Bernard, picking his teeth with his little finger.
'‘Yes. You should have warned us that you were coming and we’d have laid out the red carpet or something.’
‘A generous thought in the light of my request.’
‘Which is?’
‘You owe me eighteen thousand pounds mate, and I want it back, Today!’
The silence was palpable. It must have been a full half minute that we sat saying nothing. I shifted in my seat unsure whether I should leave. I half got up but Douglas laid a restraining hand on my arm.
The mantelpiece clock struck the half hour. Outside a dog barked.
‘I’m sorry about the money, Bernard,' he said at length, 'but now is not convenient,’
‘Convenience has nothing to do with it. You owe me and I want the money. We made a verbal agreement that you would repay me three months ago, and despite emails and text messages you've done nothing about it.’
‘A bit strapped for cash at the minute. You will have it, I promise.’
‘I want it today. I have debts.’

Douglas was sitting next to me. Suddenly he turned, faced me, stared into my eyes, and started to hum. At first it was a low continuous bee-like hum but then it grew louder and louder, almost deafening. Hum, hum, hum. I felt detached, unworldly, remote. I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came. The humming stopped. I tried again. An important message. I had to deliver an important message. I heard myself speak. 'I'll give you the money, Bernard. I'll ring my bank. I'll do it now..' I came to then, and there the two of them sat watching me, like two birds of prey, waiting my next move. Within minutes I had transferred eighteen thousand pounds from my account to Bernard's current account.'
'But Gretta! I cried, aghast. 'You weren't in your right mind.'
She shrugged.. 'Who would believe that? There were no witnesses. The two men were terribly grateful, of course. Bernard left abruptly after that. I seem to remember Douglas giving him a lift into the village. When he’d gone, I cleared the lunch table, stacked the washing up machine, then sat staring into the distance. I felt quite calm. Quite detached. All would be well, I thought. When Douglas returned I didn't confront him or make demands. We went about our business in silence. I felt quite calm, robotic really.

Gretta suddenly threw back her head and laughed.
I startled at her sudden change of mood. 'Why are you laughing? I don’t find it funny in the least.’
‘The whole thing was a set-up job. There was no brother.’
‘No brother! What do you mean?’
‘Bernard was Douglas’ partner in crime – no relation. The two of them planned the scenario so as to con me out of my money and then clear off; which is exactly what they did.’
‘Bernard wasn't owed money?’
‘Not a penny. They were a couple of fraudsters preying on a rich, elderly widow. When I woke up the following day I found his side of the bed empty; the clothes in his wardrobe gone. He did leave me a note which I suppose was something. It said that he thought our friendship, as he called it, had run its course and he was sorry but he couldn't live with a woman he no longer loved. No admittance to his wrong doings, of course.'
'What a bastard! And you were left stranded in that hypnotic state.’
‘I was, yes. To all intent and purposes I was functioning normally, but I wasn't normal. Not at all.’
‘That’s awful! I suppose you never got the money back?'
'No. At first I was devastated but it was at losing Douglas not the money. Still being under the influence as it were, I was almost prepared to forgive him anything. But I couldn't trace either of them. I didn't phone the police. There was no real proof of anything. Anyway,' she smiled, 'You could say that I had the last laugh.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I found a reputable hypnotist who got me back on track and thanks to him, I was eventually my old self! Very grateful and relieved I was too.'
'And you're over him now?'
'Oh, I'll say!'
She looked at her watch. 'And now Jean, It's lunch time, I've talked long enough and I think we both need a break. I may have just the thing to whet our appetites.’
‘Oh really? What’s that?’
'You'll see.'
Gretta left the room and returned minutes later carrying a tray with wine, two glasses and a small square box.
‘What’s this?’ I asked..
‘Open it and see.’
I lifted the lid and inside lay the most beautiful emerald and diamond ring.
‘Why Gretta! You got it back. How marvellous!’
‘That’s because it never went in the first place.’
‘But I thought Douglas stole it.’
‘Paste!' She grinned. 'It was a very good paste reproduction that he nicked. My late husband gave me this beauty on our wedding anniversary. It's special and so valuable that I kept it in the bank and had a copy made for me to wear. But the other day I thought what a waste! I'm still alive, I'm well, I'm free. And with those two fraudsters gone, I think it safe enough to celebrate my good fortune by wearing the ring henceforth. Don't you agree, Jean?'
'I do. Absolutely!'
It was great to see her on form again. Her voice was stronger and bright with optimism. The old Gretta back.
She poured us glasses of sparkling white wine, lifted the ring out of its box, and placed it on the fourth finger of her left hand, admiring its shimmer as it caught the sunlight's rays.
'Well Jean, what shall we toast to?’
I thought for a moment. 'How about Foresight and Freedom?'
'That'll do! To Foresight and freedom!'
And we raised our glasses and drank.

END

c: Jane Lockyer Willis
NOTE: All characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Jane's website for books and plays:
https://playsbyjanelockyerwillis.co.uk/ 

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