Jeffrey Archer - As the Crow Flies

"I'd certainly be willing to have a try," said Selwyn. "I could report back to the board at our next meeting."

Once again Becky admired the way Daphne and Arthur Selwyn between them had defused a time bomb the chairman would have been only too happy to let explode on the boardroom table.

"Thank you, Arthur," Charlie said a little begrudgingly. "So be it. Any other business?"

"Yes," said Becky. "I would like to bring to the board's attention a sale of Georgian silver that will be taking place next month. Catalogues will be sent out during the coming week and I do hope any directors who are free on that particular day will try to attend."

"How did the last antiques sale work out?" asked Mr. Baverstock.

Becky checked her file. "The auction raised twenty-four thousand, seven hundred pounds, of which Trumper's kept seven and a half percent of everything that came under the hammer. Only three items failed to reach their reserve prices, and they were called back in."

"I'm only curious about the success of the sale," said Mr. Baverstock, "because my dear wife purchased a Charles II court cupboard."

"One of the finest items in the sale," said Becky.

"My wife certainly thought so because she bid far more for the piece than she had intended. I'd be obliged if you didn't send her a catalogue for the silver sale."

The other members of the board laughed.

"I've read somewhere," said Tim Newman, "that Sotheby's is considering raising their commission to ten percent."

"I know," said Becky. "That's exactly why I can't contemplate the same move for at least another year. If I'm to go on stealing their best customers I must stay competitive in the short term."

Newman nodded his understanding.

"However," Becky continued, "by remaining at seven and a half percent, my profits for 1950 won't be as high as I might have hoped. But until the leading sellers are willing to come to us, that's a problem I'll continue to face."

"What about the buyers?" queried Paul Merrick.

"They aren't the problem. If you have the product to sell, the buyers will always beat a path to your door. You see, it's the sellers that are the life blood of an auction house, and they're every bit as important as the buyers."

"Funny old outfit you're running," said Charlie with a grin. "Any other business?"

As no one spoke, Charlie thanked all the members of the board for their attendance and rose from his place, a signal he always gave to indicate that the meeting was finally over.

Becky collected her papers and started walking back to the gallery with Simon.

"Have you completed the estimates on the silver sale yet?" she asked as they jumped into the lift just before the doors closed. She touched the "G" and the lift began its slow journey to the ground floor.

"Yes. Finished them last night. One hundred and thirty-two items in all. I reckon they might raise somewhere in the region of seven thousand pounds."

"I saw the catalogue for the first time this morning," said Becky. "It looks to me as if Cathy has done another first-class job. I was only able to pick up one or two minor errors but I'd still like to check over the final proofs before they go back to the printer."

"Of course," said Simon. "I'll ask her to bring all the loose sheets up to your office this afternoon." They stepped out of the lift.

"That girl has turned out to be a real find," said Becky. "Heaven knows what she was doing working in a hotel before she came to us. I shall certainly miss her when she goes back to Australia."

"Rumor has it that she's thinking of staying."

"That's good news," said Becky. "I thought she was only hoping to spend a couple of years in London before she resumed to Melbourne?"

"That's what she had originally planned. However, I may have been able to convince her that she should stay on a little longer."

Becky would have asked Simon to explain in greater detail but once they had set foot in the gallery she was quickly surrounded by staff anxious to gain her attention.

After Becky had dealt with several queries, she asked one of the girls who worked on the counter if she could locate Cathy.

"She's not actually around at the moment, Lady Trumper," the assistant told her. "I saw her go out about an hour ago."

"Do you know where she went?"

"No idea, I'm sorry."

"Well, ask her to come to my office the moment she returns. Meanwhile, could you send up those catalogue proofs for the silver sale?"

Becky stopped several times on the way back to her room to discuss other gallery problems that had arisen in her absence, so that by the time she sat down at her desk, the proofs for the silver sale were already awaiting her. She began to turn the pages slowly, checking each entry against its photograph and then the detailed description. She had to agree with Simon—Cathy Ross had done a first-class job. She was studying the photograph of the Georgian mustard pot that Charlie had overbid for at Christie's some years before when there was a knock on the door and a young woman popped her head in.

"You asked to see me?"

"Yes. Do come in, Cathy." Becky looked up at a tall, slim girl with a mass of curly fair hair and a face that hadn't quite lost all its freckles. She liked to think that her own figure had once been as good as Cathy's—but the bathroom mirror unflatteringly reminded her that she was fast approaching her fiftieth birthday. "I only wanted to check over the final catalogue proofs for the silver sale before they went back to the printer."

"I'm sorry I wasn't around when you returned from the board meeting," Cathy said. "It's just that something came up that worried me. I may be overreacting, but I felt you ought to know about it in any case."

Becky took off her classes, placed them on the desk and looked up intently. "I'm listening."

"Do you remember that man who stood up during the Italian auction and caused all that trouble over the Bronzino?"

"Will I ever forget him?"

"Well, he was in the gallery again this morning."

"Can you be sure?"

"I'm fairly confident. Well-built, graying hair, a brownish moustache and sallow complexion. He even had the nerve to wear that awful tweed jacket and yellow tie again."

"What did he want this time?"

"I can't be certain of that, although I kept a close eye on him. He didn't speak to any member of the staff, but took a great deal of interest in some of the items that were coming up in the silver sale—in particular, Lot 19."

Becky replaced her glasses and turned the catalogue pages over quickly until she came to the item in question: "A Georgian silver tea set made up of four pieces, teapot, sugar bowl, tea strainer and sugar tongs, hallmarked with an anchor. Becky looked down at the letters "AH" printed in the margin. "Estimated value seventy pounds. One of our better items."

"And he obviously agrees with you," Cathy replied, "because he spent a considerable time studying each individual piece, then made copious notes before he left. He even checked the teapot against a photograph he had brought with him."

"Our photograph?"

"No, he seemed to have one of his own."

"Did he now?" said Becky as she rechecked the catalogue photo.

"And I wasn't around when you came back from the board meeting because when he left the gallery I decided to follow him."

"Quick thinking," said Becky, smiling. "And where did our mystery man disappear to?"

"Ended up in Chester Square," said Cathy. "A large house halfway down on the right-hand side. He dropped a package through the letter box but didn't go in."

"Number 19?"

"That's right," said Cathy, looking surprised. "Do you know the house?"

"Only from the outside," said Becky without explanation.

"Is there anything else I can do to help?"