Gasps. Tina’s eyes darted toward paddle 236, but he was gone.The cup was worth ten times what Ernest was offering. Surely some of the silver experts could see what Ernest was doing. But it was a tall ask, expecting someone to bid at this levelbased ona gut feeling that someone else was orchestrating a con.
From the rostrum, Toby’s eyes scanned the room.
She raised her own paddle.
Toby arched his eyes at her. ‘Seven hundred thousand. Thank you, madam.’
Tina could hardly breathe.What if Ernest bowed out now?What if he left her holding the bid? He could do that. She peeked across at him, wondering if he could smell her fear. Would Hartwells give her time to pay?
Ernest’s mouth curled into a small, sickening smile. A look not meant for the room. Just for her. A warning:I could.
Then he gave a mock-thoughtful glance toward the ceiling. ‘Seven fifty,’ he said.
Now, Toby’s eyes were on her. She lowered her head, gave a tiny shake. At least she’d pushed the dirty rat up another fifty grand.He’ll be already planning where to sell it on.A museum, a collector, a middle eastern prince. He’d already have the network lined up.
Then she heard the auctioneer, ‘ah thank you sir, a new bidder; the bid is now with paddle 385 at eight hundred thousand pounds.’
Her pulse surged with fresh energy. She sent up a silent cheer for paddle 385 ...please keep going.
‘Nine hundred,’ came Ernest’s voice.
Toby’s eyes spun to the other side of the tent. ‘The bid is against you sir. Do I have nine fifty ... Thank you, sir.’
A thrill passed up Tina’s spine. Maybe he knew. Maybe bidder 385 saw the truth behind the lie. The cup wasgood. Museum good.Ten times this good.
Ernest crossed his arms, then said: ‘one million pounds.’
Tina’s fists clenched. But the more he spent, the more she knew. Hehadthe money. The family’s money, and hers, in truth. Years of it. He’d used her hands, her skill, her life.
She caught his eye across the marquee.
He smiled at her – warm, slow, poisonous.
She looked away.
‘One million, one hundred thousand pounds?’ Toby asked, his voice slightly breathless.
Tina’s blood went cold. She didn’t twitch a muscle, keeping her paddle locked to her chest. No more bluffing. Let the other bidder fight. She shuffled her feet, eyes raking the crowds for paddle 385; she couldn’t see the bidder, but she sent up a little cheer when Toby’s voice said, ‘Thank you, sir.’
Then the auctioneer’s eyes swivelled in Ernest’s direction.
Ernest flicked his wrist lazily. ‘One point two.’
‘One million, two hundred thousand pounds’ the auctioneer repeated, drawing out the words. ‘Any advance?’
A gasp burst out of someone. Tina looked around for the other bidder –willing him to keep going.Come on. Come on. Push it higher. Don’t stop now. For a Paul de Lamerie, you’d be getting a bargain at two million.The crowd held still. Even the air seemed suspended.
‘One million, two hundred thousand pounds going once ... going twice ...’
The gavel fell.
‘Sold. Lot 179a to paddle number forty-seven. For one million, two hundred thousand pounds.’
Polite applause scattered across the marquee, brittle and uncertain.
Ernest turned in his chair and smiled at her. Wide. Satisfied. As if they’d shared something intimate.As if he’d just bought her.She didn’t smile back. Instead, she watched the handlers approach the plinth, preparing to remove the cup. It glittered in the sunlight streaming through the marquee’s plastic windows. She crossed to the aisle for a last look at the beautiful loving cup, the finest piece of silver she had ever touched.
The handlers lifted the plinth – one of them wobbling slightly as they tilted it to carry out.
