Puzzle Box
Chapter 1
I remember being fascinated by Grandma’s jewellery box when I was a small girl. Grandpa George was always making things out of wood; for me dolls, puppets on strings, a wooden jigsaw; for my brother Tom I remember a train on a short track with a station and a signal box. And for both of us puzzles, the sort where you have to assemble geometrical shapes out of oddly cut pieces of wood. But the box he had made for Beth, for Grandma, was special. He had made if for her as a jewellery box after my father, Alastair, was born. It was the size of a small stack of hardback books, beautifully made out of pieces of wood of different colours and textures, warm glowing shades of brown, yellow, black and red. I wouldn’t have known the word as a child, but now I recognise it as marquetry, but of the finest quality. The sections of wood around the sides were all small rectangular strips in a variety of natural colours, but all the same shape. The top was more intricate, a mosaic pattern with triangular and hexagonal pieces, daily darker and contrasting lighter pieces. Now it reminds me of the pattern of tiles in an Islamic temple I saw in Istanbul. Then I just thought it was magical.
The box arrived today wrapped in bubble wrap and cardboard with a note from my father and a sealed envelope addressed to me. George died recently and Dad was sorting out his house. The note just said that George had wanted me to have the box. He described it as a puzzle box; but then my father rarely spoke about his mother and he wouldn’t have described it as hers. When I saw it I recognised it as Beth’s jewellery box.
She had died long before I was born and the box had lived on a shelf in the drawing room in George’s house. When we were small we weren’t usually allowed to touch it. But once when I was about 6 or 7 I remember George getting it down from the shelf and setting it in front of Tom and myself. He had a challenge for us; we had to work out how to open it. I remember he stressed that we had to be gentle, not to try to force anything, and he watched us all the time. Tom worked it out, I think by sliding a piece at one edge, but I don’t remember the details. I do remember that George had hidden sweets inside.
George was an old fashioned craftsman. A big man, with strong and beautiful hands. He had started off as a cabinet maker and furniture restorer, like his father before him, but he realised quite early that the money was in factory made pieces and he created a successful chain of shops selling furniture imported from the Far East. In retirement he had gone back to his first love, and even in his 80s he was always working on something. He still lived in Wheatly House, the big old family house which he had been bought when the business took off, and he had converted the garage into a workshop.
I was busy when the box arrived and didn’t have time to look at it properly. I am a school teacher and was in the middle of marking a stack of year 9 homework. So the box was still on the kitchen table surrounded by its wrapping when my husband came home. Patrick is a GP at a practice in Tunbridge Wells, not far from the flat we live in overlooking the common. As usual he was late home after the weekly evening surgery.
“What’s this?” he called.
I put down the essay I was reading and went through to the kitchen. Patrick was holding the box, turning it in his hands. Although it was a bit dusty it had a rich gleam underneath the surface from years of regular polishing.
“Hi. Sorry, busy, I didn’t hear you come in. George, Grandpa George, left it to me in his will. Dad sent it over.”
“It’s beautiful. What is it?”
“It’s my Grandma’s jewellery box. George made it for her.” I ran my hand over it. “Isn’t it amazing?”
Patrick weighed it in his hands. “It’s quite heavy. How do you open it?” He was examining it, poking his finger along the gap where the top would lift off.
“Be gentle with it, you don’t need to force it. It’s a puzzle box. You have to find the catch. I think there’s a sliding panel somewhere. Hang on, there’s a letter that came with it. It might have a clue. I opened the letter. It was from George, undated, and quite short, and I read it aloud.
Dear Jo
I am giving Beth’s box to you, because I remember you admiring it when you were a child. You were drawn to it like a magnet.
I made it for your grandmother, although she sadly passed away just after I finished making it, and she never really used it. So I think it should come to you now. I’m sure Beth would have wanted her granddaughter to have it.
You always loved a puzzle. Have fun working out how to open it, see what you can find inside.
Love from
Grandpa George