The next item was an embroidered box with little gold feet. It looked old as hell. Or maybe just well-used? I had no clue.
“Oooh,” Wayne said. “1850s, French, £800.”
“1880s,” Deacon said. “Italian. £1,000.”
“Hmm,” Vicky said, studying the screen. “I’ll say 1780s, English. £3,000.”
“I have no clue,” I said. “But I’ll go 1910, £500.”
I couldn’t have been more wrong, and Wayne got it right.
The next item was a pale-yellow Chinese vase, maybe eight inches tall, that the owner had found in a thrift shop.
“Ming dynasty,” Deacon said quickly. “£10,000.”
“What?” I said. “That little thing?”
Wayne gave a nod. “I’ll say £20,000. If it’s real. If it’s a replica, eighty quid.”
Jeebus.
“That yellow is for the emperor,” Deacon explained. “It was replicated a lot.”
“Okay,” I said, then totally guessed. “Fake, 1920s replica. £30.”
And it was actually a Ming vase. Ming freaking dynasty. It was legit, and it was estimated to be worth £20,000.
I was stunned.
Then a painting worth a thousand pounds, then a plate worth one hundred pounds, then a signed autograph of some English cricketer I’d never heard of. I got none of them right, but it was so much fun. Wayne was leading by one and although it was all in good fun, they did take it seriously.
The next item were silver model planes, and before the expert or owner could even speak, Deacon said, “Tomcat V-F2, F22 Raptor, Supermarine Spitfire, Lockheed Martin SR-72.”
Then he went on to describe each plane model, specs, and all kinds of things I couldn’t understand.
I stared at him. “Objection, your honor,” I said. “Unfair advantage.”
The way he laughed filled me with something warm and lovely.
Wayne groaned because it meant it was now tied between them, but even I could see how much he liked seeing Deacon laugh. I also noticed how Vicky smiled at him, watching us.
“Last one is always a doozy,” Wayne said.
And it was.
A painting on wood paneling from an old hotel, built in the 1400s, which was incredible to me. They’d found it when doing renovations and it was as if they’d removed the whole panel to bring it in. It was dark, grungy, and their faces were weird with gold plates behind their heads, which I assumed were supposed to be halos, or aliens... It could have gone either way, honestly.
“£10,000,” Wayne declared.
“£35,000,” Deacon said.
I’d have better luck throwing a dart at a number than guess. “Uh... £80,000?” They seemed to just give randomly large amounts at will on this show.
“Built in the 1400s,” I mumbled, flabbergasted. “That’s... that’s two whole centuries before Shakespeare. Three hundred years before this country.” All I could do was shake my head in wonder. “It’s hard to imagine.”
Deacon gave me a nod. “It is remarkable.”
“Can you imagine who’s seen it, who’s touched it? What kind of life they lived?” I wondered out loud. “How fascinating.”
