Cat O'Nine Tales and Other Stories - Jeffrey Archer [44]
He grabbed a bagel on the corner of Third and 66th, before walking another few blocks to Phillips. He spent the rest of the morning at a manuscript sale that was being held in the room where the Chinese auction would take place. He sat silently at the back of the room, watching how the Americans conduct an auction, so that he wouldn’t be wrong-footed later that afternoon.
Max didn’t eat any lunch, and not just because his meager funds were already stretched to their limit. Instead, he used the time to make two overseas calls; the first to Lord Kennington, to confirm that he still had his authority to take the bidding for the red king up to fifty thousand dollars. Max assured him that, the moment the hammer fell, he would call to let him know what sum the piece had sold for. A few minutes later Max made a second call, this time to the Hon. James Kennington at his home in Cadogan Square. James picked up the phone after one ring, clearly relieved to hear Max’s voice on the other end of the line. Max made the Hon. James Kennington exactly the same promise.
Max replaced the phone and made his way across to the bidding counter, where he gave an assistant the details of James Kennington’s telephone number in London and told her of his intention to bid for Lot 23.
“Leave it to us, sir,” the assistant replied. “I’ll make sure we’re in touch with him well in time.”
Max thanked the assistant, made his way back to the saleroom and took his favored place on the end of the eighth row, just to the right of the auctioneer. He began to turn the pages of the catalog, checking on items in which he had no interest. While he sat around, impatiently waiting for the auctioneer to invite bids for lot number one, he tried to work out who were the dealers, who the serious bidders and who the simply curious.
By the time the auctioneer climbed the steps of the rostrum at five minutes to two, the saleroom was full of expectant faces. At two o’clock the auctioneer smiled down at his clientele.
“Lot number one,” he declared, “a delicately crafted ivory fisherman.”
The piece sold for $850, giving no hint of the drama that was about to follow.
Lot 2 reached $1,000, but it wasn’t until Lot 17, the figure of a mandarin bent over a desk reading a ledger, that the $5,000 mark was achieved.
One or two dealers whose only interest was clearly in later lots began to drift into the room, while a couple of others left, having failed or succeeded in acquiring the items they’d been after. Max could hear his heart pounding, although it would still be some time before the auctioneer reached Lot 23.
He turned his attention to the row of phones on a long table by the side of the room. Only three were manned. When the auctioneer called Lot 21, an assistant started to dial. A few moments later, she cupped a hand over the mouthpiece and began to whisper. When Lot 22 was offered, she spoke briefly to her client again. Max assumed that she must be warning James Kennington that the red king would be the next item to come under the hammer.
“Lot twenty-three,” declared the auctioneer glancing down at his notes. “An exquisitely carved red king, provenance unknown. Do I have an opening bid of three hundred dollars?”
Max raised his catalog.
“Five hundred?” inquired the auctioneer turning to face the assistant on the phone. She whispered into the mouthpiece and then nodded firmly. The auctioneer turned his attention back to Max, who had raised his catalog even before a price had been suggested.
“I have a bid of a thousand dollars,” said the auctioneer, returning to face the telephone bidder. “Two thousand,” he ventured, surprised to see the assistant nod