Джеффри Арчер - This Was a Man

‘You may well be right, but I’m still going to make certain it’s me who has the last laugh,’ said Virginia as a waiter appeared by their side, unsure who he should present the bill to. Although Virginia had invited Priscilla to join her for lunch, she was painfully aware that if she wrote a cheque it would bounce. Still, all that was about to change.

‘My turn next time,’ said Virginia. ‘Annabel’s on Thursday night?’ she added, looking the other way.

When Priscilla Bingham returned to her home in the Boltons, she left the Sotheby’s catalogue on the hall table.

‘Quite magnificent,’ said Bob when he spotted the cover. ‘Are you considering bidding for them?’

‘Nice idea,’ said Priscilla, ‘but you’d have to sell an awful lot more fish paste before we could consider that.’

‘Then why are you interested?’

‘They belong to Virginia, and she’s having to put them up for sale because the Hertford family have found a way of cheating her out of her monthly allowance.’

‘I’d like to hear the Hertfords’ side of the story before I make a judgement on that,’ said Bob, as he flicked through the catalogue looking for Lot 43. He let out a low whistle when he read the estimate. ‘I’m surprised the family were willing to part with them.’

‘They weren’t. The duke left them to Virginia in his will without the slightest idea what they were worth.’

Bob pursed his lips, but said nothing.

‘By the way,’ said Priscilla, ‘are we still going to the theatre tonight?’

‘Yes,’ replied Bob. ‘We’ve got tickets for The Phantom of the Opera , and the curtain goes up at seven thirty.’

‘Then I still have time to change,’ said Priscilla as she headed upstairs.

Bob waited for her to disappear into the bedroom before he picked up the catalogue and slipped into his study. Once he was seated at his desk, he turned his attention to Lot 43 and took his time studying the provenance of the two vases. He began to understand why they were considered so important. He pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, took out a large brown envelope and slipped the catalogue inside. He wrote on it in bold capitals:

THE DUKE OF HERTFORD

CASTLE HERTFORD

HERTFORDSHIRE

Bob had dropped it into the postbox on the corner and returned home before Priscilla got out of the bath.

‘Sold! For one hundred and twenty thousand pounds,’ said Poltimore as he brought down the hammer with a thud. ‘Lot thirty-nine,’ he said, turning to the next page of the catalogue. ‘A white jade marriage bowl of the Qianlong period. Shall I open the bidding at ten thousand pounds?’

Poltimore looked up to see the Dowager Duchess of Hertford making an entrance, accompanied by another lady he didn’t recognize. They were led down the central aisle by an assistant and, although the sale room was packed, they were shown to two vacant seats near the front, whose reserved signs were quickly removed before the two ladies sat down.

Virginia enjoyed the murmurs around her, to show that she had arrived. Although the sale had begun at seven o’clock, Mr Poltimore had advised her there was no need to turn up before 7.45, as he didn’t anticipate Lot 43 would be coming under the hammer much before 8.15, possibly 8.30.

She and Priscilla were seated in the fifth row, which Poltimore had assured her were the best seats in the room, not unlike house seats in a West End theatre. As Virginia had no interest in a jade marriage bowl of the Qianlong period, she tried to take in what was going on around her, and hoped it wasn’t too obvious that this was the first time she’d attended a major auction.

‘It’s so exciting,’ she said, as she gripped Priscilla’s hand, admiring the men in the audience who were dressed in dinner jackets, obviously going on to another function once the sale was over, while the rest were wearing smart suits and colourful ties. But it was the women she was most fascinated by, dressed in their designer outfits with the latest accessories. For them, this was more of a fashion show than an auction, each one trying to outdo the other, as if it were the opening night of a new play. Priscilla had told her that sometimes the final price could be decided by these women, who often had plans to make sure a particular item went home with them that evening, while some of the men would bid higher and higher simply to impress the woman they were with — and sometimes a woman they weren’t with.

The room was large and square and Virginia couldn’t see an empty seat. She calculated there must be around four hundred potential customers in a room crammed with collectors, dealers and the simply curious. In fact, several of the audience were having to stand at the back.

Directly in front of her stood Mr Poltimore, on a raised semi-circular dais that offered him a perfect view of his victims. Behind the dais stood another, smaller group of senior staff, experts in their own fields, who were there to assist and advise the auctioneer, while others took a note of the successful bidder and the hammer price. To Poltimore’s right, reined in behind a loose rope, were a group of men and women, notepads open, pens poised, who Virginia assumed were the press.

‘Sold! For twenty-two thousand pounds,’ said Poltimore. ‘Lot forty, an important polychrome decorated carved wood figure of a seated Luohan, circa 1400. I have an opening bid of one hundred thousand.’

The sale was clearly warming up, and Virginia was delighted when the Luohan sold for £240,000 — forty thousand above its high estimate.

‘Lot forty-one, a rare celadon jade model of a lion.’

Virginia had no interest in the lion, which was being held up by a porter for all to see. She looked to her right and noticed for the first time a long table, slightly raised, on which stood a dozen white phones, each manned by a member of Sotheby’s staff. Poltimore had explained to her that they represented overseas clients, or those who simply didn’t want to be seen in the sale room, although they would sometimes be seated discreetly among the audience. Three of the staff were on the phone, hands cupped, whispering to their clients, while the other nine phones lay idle because, like her, those clients were not interested in the little jade lion. Virginia wondered how many of the phones would be ringing when Poltimore opened the bidding for Lot 43.

‘Lot forty-two. An extremely rare, enamelled, imperial yellow-ground floral Yuhuchunping vase. I have an opening bid of one hundred thousand.’

Virginia could feel her heart beating, aware that the next lot to be announced would be her two Ming vases. When the hammer came down on Lot 42 at £260,000, a buzz of anticipation swept around the room. Poltimore looked down at the duchess and gave her a benign smile as two porters placed the magnificent vases on separate stands each side of him.

‘Lot number forty-three. A unique pair of Ming Dynasty vases, circa 1462, that were a gift from the Emperor Jiaqing to the fourth Duke of Hertford in the early nineteenth century. These vases are in perfect condition and are the property of an English lady of title.’ Virginia beamed as the journalists scribbled away. ‘I have an opening bid —’ a silence descended that had not been experienced before — ‘of three hundred thousand pounds.’ The silence was replaced with a gasp, as Poltimore leant back casually and looked around the room. ‘Am I bid three hundred and fifty?’

Virginia felt an eternity had passed, although it was only a few seconds before Poltimore said, ‘Thank you, sir,’ as he gestured to a bidder seated near the back of the room. Virginia wanted to look round, but somehow managed to restrain herself.