Dinner passes. I pick at my food, impatient for the evening to end. It’s the time of my cycle where my patience is thin and I range between mildly aggressive and needing a weather warning for storms. The guests sitting nearby attempt conversation and I do what I need to answer and be civil.Nice.I can play the part assigned to me.
The tables are cleared and the auction begins. It isn’t a silent one, which is a shame. This encourages the men to enter bidding wars, as if rather than bragging publically about the size of their dicks, they show off the size of their wallets.
A spa day, a helicopter flight, a weekend in Paris. All go for exorbitant prices which is good for the ward. A running total is displayed on a screen at the back of a makeshift stage, video footage of each lot being shown, the winner’s name once bidding has ended.
I haven’t seen the inventory. Usually I’d look, choose something silly to spend a fortune on, give the press something to report. Tonight I was going in blind.
“The next lot is a necklace donated from the estate of Miss Marian Wrigley. Made from twenty-four-carat gold, the necklace has three almost identical two-carat green emeralds, set into the gold…” The auctioneer continued, but I didn’t listen. I picked up the listings and saw the picture and the description, recognizing the piece from an afternoon I’d spent once at Sotherby’s in London, learning about jewels.
Sitting back in my chair, I listen to the early bidding. Ten thousand, twenty. It starts to slow around fifty-five until a new bidder ups the ante. I turn around and see Isaac holding up his number. He’s intent on the room around him, watching for other bidders.
I wait for the auctioneer to announce the second going before lifting my number, waiting to be noticed. There’s a slight gasp in the room; this is already the highest valued item and now the English Prime Minister’s advisor is battling against Scotland’s princess.
This time Isaac lets my bid almost win, before stealing the limelight and we climb towards the hundred grand mark. I know that necklace is worth more; I know those emeralds and their story.
For entertainment value, the auctioneer asks for a break before we conclude with the lot and the room laughs, glasses clink. People talk about the necklace. The story of me and Isaac.
There’s a tap on my shoulder and I turn to see Franklyn, who usually hides away at these things, preferring to polish his collection of identical brogues.
“Isaac Everleigh wishes to see you. He’s waiting in the bar.”
I stand and Franklyn moves back my chair, ever the proper help. “How many shoes have you got through?”
He just shakes his head.
Isaac is holding a long drink; if I was a betting woman, I’d guess it was a dark and stormy.
“I took the opportunity to get you a drink.” He holds up a second, identical, drink and sips from it. “Just want to prove it isn’t poisoned.”
I take it from him and find I’m right. The rum is strong and spiced, my first drink of the evening.
“I didn’t expect emeralds to be your thing. Thought you’d have been more about the tour of the distillery and the whisky.” We clink glasses, toasting our rivalry.
“Will you let me win?”
My jaw drops. “Why would I let you win?”
“Please.”
I don’t think it’s a word he says often.
“Maybe. Why should I?”
“It’s what I came here for.” He shakes his head, stopping me from asking more, asking for reasons.
We’re called back into the room, glances from strangers heading towards both myself and Isaac. I’ve never given up on something I wanted in my life and I’m not sure I’m about to start now.
The bidding resumes and we climb higher, the auctioneer making baby steps now with the amount. I don’t know Isaac’s background; neither did Lennox when I asked. I have no idea of his wealth, but I knew politicians and advisors did not make a huge sum from their day job.
At a hundred and fifty thousand I turn and look at Isaac. His curly hair is still neatly styled and his expression gives me nothing. It’s the one word he mouths that makes me pause.
Please.
I cease bidding.
Isaac wins. There’s a round of applause, the crowd entertained, and another lot begins, this for a bespoke suit from an acclaimed Scottish tailor. I bid and win, a gift for Lennox.
* * *
