This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(87)

‘She’d be better off spending her time worrying about the health of her own family. Drink, drugs, three in a bed, assaulting the police, and her granddaughter ending up in jail.’

‘It was only for one night,’ Priscilla reminded her. ‘And she was back at the Slade the following term.’

‘Someone must have pulled some very long strings to make that possible,’ said Virginia.

‘Probably your ex-husband,’ suggested Priscilla. ‘He may be in opposition, but I suspect he still has a lot of clout.’

‘And what about your husband?’ asked Virginia, wanting to change the subject. ‘I hope all’s well with him,’ she added, hoping to hear otherwise.

‘He’s still producing a hundred thousand jars of fish paste a week, which allows me to live like a duchess, even if I’m not one.’

‘And is your son still doing the PR for Farthings Kaufman?’ asked Virginia, ignoring the barb.

‘Yes, he is. In fact, Clive’s hoping it won’t be long before they ask him to join the main board.’

‘It must help with Robert being an old friend of the chairman.’

‘And how’s your son?’ asked Priscilla, trading blow for blow.

‘Freddie is not my son, as you well know, Priscilla. And when I last heard, he’d run away from school, which would have solved all my problems, but unfortunately he returned a few days later.’

‘So who takes care of him during the holidays?’

‘My brother Archie, who lives off the income from the family distillery, which Father promised to me.’

‘You haven’t done too badly, duchess,’ said Priscilla, looking back down at the Sotheby’s catalogue.

‘You may well be right, but I’m still going to make certain it’s me who has the last laugh,’ said Virginia as a waiter appeared by their side, unsure who he should present the bill to. Although Virginia had invited Priscilla to join her for lunch, she was painfully aware that if she wrote a cheque it would bounce. Still, all that was about to change.

‘My turn next time,’ said Virginia. ‘Annabel’s on Thursday night?’ she added, looking the other way.





When Priscilla Bingham returned to her home in the Boltons, she left the Sotheby’s catalogue on the hall table.

‘Quite magnificent,’ said Bob when he spotted the cover. ‘Are you considering bidding for them?’

‘Nice idea,’ said Priscilla, ‘but you’d have to sell an awful lot more fish paste before we could consider that.’

‘Then why are you interested?’

‘They belong to Virginia, and she’s having to put them up for sale because the Hertford family have found a way of cheating her out of her monthly allowance.’

‘I’d like to hear the Hertfords’ side of the story before I make a judgement on that,’ said Bob, as he flicked through the catalogue looking for Lot 43. He let out a low whistle when he read the estimate. ‘I’m surprised the family were willing to part with them.’

‘They weren’t. The duke left them to Virginia in his will without the slightest idea what they were worth.’

Bob pursed his lips, but said nothing.

‘By the way,’ said Priscilla, ‘are we still going to the theatre tonight?’

‘Yes,’ replied Bob. ‘We’ve got tickets for The Phantom of the Opera, and the curtain goes up at seven thirty.’

‘Then I still have time to change,’ said Priscilla as she headed upstairs.

Bob waited for her to disappear into the bedroom before he picked up the catalogue and slipped into his study. Once he was seated at his desk, he turned his attention to Lot 43 and took his time studying the provenance of the two vases. He began to understand why they were considered so important. He pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, took out a large brown envelope and slipped the catalogue inside. He wrote on it in bold capitals:

THE DUKE OF HERTFORD



CASTLE HERTFORD



HERTFORDSHIRE





Bob had dropped it into the postbox on the corner and returned home before Priscilla got out of the bath.





37


‘SOLD! FOR ONE HUNDRED and twenty thousand pounds,’ said Poltimore as he brought down the hammer with a thud. ‘Lot thirty-nine,’ he said, turning to the next page of the catalogue. ‘A white jade marriage bowl of the Qianlong period. Shall I open the bidding at ten thousand pounds?’

Poltimore looked up to see the Dowager Duchess of Hertford making an entrance, accompanied by another lady he didn’t recognize. They were led down the central aisle by an assistant and, although the sale room was packed, they were shown to two vacant seats near the front, whose reserved signs were quickly removed before the two ladies sat down.

Virginia enjoyed the murmurs around her, to show that she had arrived. Although the sale had begun at seven o’clock, Mr Poltimore had advised her there was no need to turn up before 7.45, as he didn’t anticipate Lot 43 would be coming under the hammer much before 8.15, possibly 8.30.

She and Priscilla were seated in the fifth row, which Poltimore had assured her were the best seats in the room, not unlike house seats in a West End theatre. As Virginia had no interest in a jade marriage bowl of the Qianlong period, she tried to take in what was going on around her, and hoped it wasn’t too obvious that this was the first time she’d attended a major auction.