‘Careful!’ Toby barked.
And then it happened. Fast. A misjudged step, a tangle of feet, a slip. The loving cup rocked – teetered, then toppled.
‘No!’ screeched the crowd.
Instinctively, Tina lunged. She caught it just before it hit the floor, falling to her knees. The marquee erupted into shouting. Time slowed. She sat on the floor, winded, heart hammering, the cup nestled in her lap like a rescued child. Her arms cradled it. Her bag had spilled open beside her, contents scattered – tissues, keys, a compact mirror catching the light. She set the cup down and crawled onto all fours, the precious silver beneath her, and with trembling fingers, gathered the items back, fumbling with the clasp on her bag that seemed suddenly uncooperative.
Gasps gave way to silence.
She looked up. The handlers were still staring at each other, both pale and wide eyed.
Tina stood – unsteadily, dirt on her knees, the cup once more cradled against her chest. She approached the plinth with measured steps, her free hand steadying herself against the display case’s edge. Her bag strap slipped from her shoulder; she adjusted it nervously, the heavy bag swinging against her hip as she leaned forward.
She looked at the crowd and said, with a soft smile, ‘no harm done.’
Tina placed the cup – Ernest’s cup – on the plinth.
Then she stepped back and went into the gardens to calm her racing heart, muttering to herself:que será, será.
Forty-one
The marquee, recently crackling with tension, now sagged in the hush of the auction’s aftermath. Gone were the gasps and raised paddles. In their place was the dry clang of folding tables, the shuffling of departing feet, and the indistinct murmur of staff dismantling the illusion. The theatre was over. The stage was bare.
Outside, dusk settled on the grass, birdsong echoing faintly. Inside the marquee, the air still held traces of fizzing adrenaline.
Tina leaned back against Hamish, drawing comfort from the smell of him –old books, clean cotton, and the aftershave he always forgot the name of. His arm curled around her waist.
‘Well,’ he murmured, kissing her hair, ‘shall we go and collect those miniatures?’
She looked up questioningly. After the tension of the loving cup tussle, Tina had spent an hour wandering round her beloved flower gardens admiring the spring display, returning after all the pictures had been sold. ‘You got them?’ she asked.
He managed, to look sheepish and proud all at once. ‘Yup. Let’s put them back where they belong. I’ve made a serious dent in the house fund, but Pa would’ve haunted me if they’d gone to that hedge-fund vampire from Surrey.’
She laughed, though her nerves hadn’t entirely settled. ‘Yes, let’s do that. And Hamish, about the loving cup, thank you.’
He spun her round to face him. ‘For what exactly?’
‘For not stepping in. For letting me ... fight my own battle.’
Hamish raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t.’ Confused, she frowned. ‘You must have seen me bidding for the cup,’ he said, his voice soft. ‘Paddle 385, pushing him up.’
Tina blinked. ‘That was you?’
‘I trust you,’ Hamish said simply. ‘If you say that cup’s worth a million, I believe you. You didn’t really think I’d let Ernest walk off with it for a handful of change, did you?’
Her heart kicked. If only she’d told him – told anyone – what it was really worth.
‘How would you have paid for it if you’d won?’
He gave a crooked smile. ‘By panicking quietly, then throwing myself at Hartwell’s mercy. Bit of Tudor flair. I’d have gone full Wolsey – on my knees, clutching the paperwork.’
A shaky laugh escaped her. ‘Wolsey didn’t get what he wanted, you know.’
‘Not always, no,’ Hamish said, reaching for her hand. ‘But he tried. And he was loyal. And that counts for a lot.’
‘Come on let’s get those portraits.’ she said. ‘Then we’ll go and fetch Elspeth.’
They reached the collection area – a folding trestle table set up near the exit, now cluttered with paperwork, battered cardboard boxes and rolls of bubble wrap. Auction staff moved briskly, decanting Pemberton treasures into the eager hands of their new owners. Both Tim and Toby Hartwell were assisting.
