As a young woman, I wanted to enter the world of antiques. In this as in many specialisms, a practitioner gains success through hard work and luck. I had plenty of the former and, up to now, none of the latter.

By the age of twenty, I had served my apprenticeship, if you will, at dealers first in Margate, then in London. But in five short years, my mother became an invalid, and being the only child I returned home to Kent to care for her. I managed to eke out a living for us both by opening a small antique shop off the high street. My luck further ebbed away as I discovered that the local clientele traded only in bric-a-brac.

There were some pieces in the £500 plus price range, but these were for display to entice customers who might look in the windows. I hoped to make a killing one day - buying an unknown Gainsborough for a song maybe. I had the eye to spot one. There were occasions when my day was brightened: the old woman with a house clearance box which contained a trove of Clarice Cliff pottery but I couldn’t help myself, selling it at auction and delivering a good return to her for a tiny commission, which I waived.

I knew my stock too, spending endless hours in the shop without a single customer. The stock and I began to look disheveled, destined to stay on the shelf. I would have opportunistic dealers visit the shop too. This was a normal but bittersweet practice. Andrew Law was my favourite of these: successful, honest enough and entertaining. He would tell business tales over tea and biscuits. I would learn about the arrest of Pine Valley John for passing off some “Gillow’s” furniture as the Real McCoy, or how “business was good/business was bad”. Then Andrew would spend £5 on a token piece, wave, and leave me in the silence. The money had gone now. Mum was deteriorating and she was wearing me out. My depression was all consuming but I had to try something soon.

The next time Andrew showed up, I opened up to him as I was preparing builder’s tea and Hobnobs. He was now aware of our unhappy state and sympathetic.

“Can you sell this for me Andrew?” I asked. In my open palms I held a Victorian jeweller’s case. Inside was a weighty diamond and emerald necklace with matching earrings. He sighed, “Not much demand for this, you know. Unlucky are emeralds - worse than that, they’ve unfashionable. Where did you get this?”

I explained, “They’re great-grandma’s, well mother’s technically. She needs to sell them so we can pay for a care home.” Jewellery was not my thing, but I trusted Andrew. “Let’s make a couple of calls.” he said.

He dialled a number, put his phone on speaker. It became clear that I was only going to get two or maybe three thousand for the jewels. Ten years ago it could well have been eight thousand. In either case, that sort of money would only last a very short while. I sobbed.

He put his arm round my shoulder tentatively. “You should have told me before.” he said, “listen -“, producing his cheque book, “the auctioneers are wrong.” He wrote a cheque for £10,000. I sobbed some more and he began to snivel, wiping his nose on a hankie.

“No arguments! Ten. And I’ll be round next week to see how we can dig you out of this.”

The next week, Mum was waiting for a place in care - the council was able to assist more than we thought- and she would be rehomed soon. I waited for Andrew to call in. He appeared, not in his usual Harris Tweed suit but in overalls, his sleeves rolled up. Together, we appraised my stock. “3s and 6d for the whole lot!” he joked. By the end of the day we had a list, a triage if you wish, 3 categories: items for the auctions, items for charity, and largest of all, items for the tip. I felt so empowered. The sun was appearing on the horizon.

Andrew stayed over at the hotel. Next morning a skip arrived and the two of us filled it with ‘stock’. He took me for lunch and produced a letter: it was a property valuation of the shop. £700,000. I was embarrassed, “I can’t sell it Andrew! What else would I do?”

“I have a plan. Demographics have improved round here and I need to expand my business, maybe put a coffee shop in the front too. I’ll buy it and I’ll need a manager. We just need to agree on how much we pay you. And you get the final say on how it’s all run.”

My luck HAD changed. I agreed wholeheartedly to make my most important sale.