THE PEARL NECKLACE

I suppose it was my own fault; if I hadn’t spoken so warmly of my experiences in the Philippines, nobody would have even thought that they would like to see what I was talking about. My wife and I had been involved in a Rotary Project with a local filipino club and had made several trips there over the past couple of years.  I had shown photographs and shared letters from friends we had made and I had not realised the impression this reporting was having on other members.

 

One night, after the regular meeting, the President came to me and said, “John, several members have suggested that we make an official visit to our sister-club in the Philippines and, because you have been there a few times, I’d like you to organise it.”

 

I was very happy with the idea and contacted a good friend in the Philippines to start making the arrangements.  Eventually, there were four Rotarians who made the trip, accompanied by their wives. Perhaps someone pulled some strings but we were all upgraded to First Class on the PAL flight and arrived in Manila refreshed and excited about the visit.

 

We had a very busy program planned by our friend, Kit and one of the intended activities was a visit to the island of Mindoro.  The Philippines has over 700 islands, but Mindoro is regarded as one of the most beautiful with white sandy beaches overlooking the Sulu Sea.  We could have travelled there by ferry but, instead, we clambered into a traditional filipino banca, a large outrigger canoe propelled by a large sail.

 

When we arrived, most of the members of the party were keen to gather at a café on the beach but my wife and I announced we didn’t want coffee and were going to go off on our own to explore the beach.  We’ve never been able to understand why Rotarians prefer to travel in groups. Is it for safety, perhaps, or is it simply the herd instinct?  Marilyn and I have always chosen to be independent and avoid group activities whenever we can.

 

I didn’t realise that my wife had an ulterior motive.  “Did you hear Kit say that Mindoro is famous for its black pearls?’ she asked. “And did you realise that it’s our fortieth anniversary this month?  And, what do you think is the traditional gift for the 40^th anniversary?”

 

I had no idea but was soon advised that it was pearls. I was usually slow to realise when I was being given a hint but even I understood that a purchase was being considered.   Not knowing the town, we wandered around and eventually stumbled upon a tiny shop with a display of jewellery in the window.  I was attracted by a display of watches but was firmly brought back to the purpose of the visit: black pearls, princess or matinee length with a silver clasp.  The old gentleman in the shop rummaged in the cabinet behind him and produced  three or four examples of what we were looking for.  He took out a cigarette lighter, held the flame to the pearls, apparently to show that they were genuine, and suggested a price which I thought was grossly understated.

 

The purchase was made, credit card handed over, the pearls wrapped in a scrap of tissue paper and placed in a pre-used paper bag.  We returned to meet our friends and I was surprised that Marilyn did not immediately pull out her purchase to show it off.  She told me later that, if she had shown what she had bought to everyone, all the other wives would have demanded that their husbands buy them a necklace too.  She would tell them at the appropriate time when they were at a safe distance from the jeweller.

 

She did, in fact, produce the pearls when we gathered in the sitting room at our accommodation.  The other wives were suitably impressed and the necklace was passed from hand to hand and admired.

 

The next morning, as we were packing for our trip home, my wife asked me whether I had seen her pearls.  They were nowhere to be found.  A frantic search did not uncover them and none of the others in the party could throw any light on the matter, so we returned home disappointed.  We could only put it down to the old story of black pearls being unlucky.

 

Weeks later, we met a friend for coffee. “I bumped into your Rotary President at dinner last night,” he said.  “He had his wife with him and my wife commented on the beautiful string of black pearls she was wearing.  I don’t know why, but she looked very distressed and they left soon after.  I hope we didn’t upset her in some way.”

 

I didn’t try to explain what might have caused her reaction but took out my phone to call the President.  He had some questions to answer.