This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(88)
‘It’s so exciting,’ she said, as she gripped Priscilla’s hand, admiring the men in the audience who were dressed in dinner jackets, obviously going on to another function once the sale was over, while the rest were wearing smart suits and colourful ties. But it was the women she was most fascinated by, dressed in their designer outfits with the latest accessories. For them, this was more of a fashion show than an auction, each one trying to outdo the other, as if it were the opening night of a new play. Priscilla had told her that sometimes the final price could be decided by these women, who often had plans to make sure a particular item went home with them that evening, while some of the men would bid higher and higher simply to impress the woman they were with – and sometimes a woman they weren’t with.
The room was large and square and Virginia couldn’t see an empty seat. She calculated there must be around four hundred potential customers in a room crammed with collectors, dealers and the simply curious. In fact, several of the audience were having to stand at the back.
Directly in front of her stood Mr Poltimore, on a raised semi-circular dais that offered him a perfect view of his victims. Behind the dais stood another, smaller group of senior staff, experts in their own fields, who were there to assist and advise the auctioneer, while others took a note of the successful bidder and the hammer price. To Poltimore’s right, reined in behind a loose rope, were a group of men and women, notepads open, pens poised, who Virginia assumed were the press.
‘Sold! For twenty-two thousand pounds,’ said Poltimore. ‘Lot forty, an important polychrome decorated carved wood figure of a seated Luohan, circa 1400. I have an opening bid of one hundred thousand.’
The sale was clearly warming up, and Virginia was delighted when the Luohan sold for ￡240,000 – forty thousand above its high estimate.
‘Lot forty-one, a rare celadon jade model of a lion.’
Virginia had no interest in the lion, which was being held up by a porter for all to see. She looked to her right and noticed for the first time a long table, slightly raised, on which stood a dozen white phones, each manned by a member of Sotheby’s staff. Poltimore had explained to her that they represented overseas clients, or those who simply didn’t want to be seen in the sale room, although they would sometimes be seated discreetly among the audience. Three of the staff were on the phone, hands cupped, whispering to their clients, while the other nine phones lay idle because, like her, those clients were not interested in the little jade lion. Virginia wondered how many of the phones would be ringing when Poltimore opened the bidding for Lot 43.
‘Lot forty-two. An extremely rare, enamelled, imperial yellow-ground floral Yuhuchunping vase. I have an opening bid of one hundred thousand.’
Virginia could feel her heart beating, aware that the next lot to be announced would be her two Ming vases. When the hammer came down on Lot 42 at ￡260,000, a buzz of anticipation swept around the room. Poltimore looked down at the duchess and gave her a benign smile as two porters placed the magnificent vases on separate stands each side of him.
‘Lot number forty-three. A unique pair of Ming Dynasty vases, circa 1462, that were a gift from the Emperor Jiaqing to the fourth Duke of Hertford in the early nineteenth century. These vases are in perfect condition and are the property of an English lady of title.’ Virginia beamed as the journalists scribbled away. ‘I have an opening bid –’ a silence descended that had not been experienced before – ‘of three hundred thousand pounds.’ The silence was replaced with a gasp, as Poltimore leant back casually and looked around the room. ‘Am I bid three hundred and fifty?’
Virginia felt an eternity had passed, although it was only a few seconds before Poltimore said, ‘Thank you, sir,’ as he gestured to a bidder seated near the back of the room. Virginia wanted to look round, but somehow managed to restrain herself.
‘Four hundred thousand,’ said Poltimore, turning his attention to the long row of phones on his left, where eight members of staff were keeping their clients informed on how the sale was progressing.
‘Four hundred thousand,’ he repeated, when a smartly dressed young woman at one of the phones raised a hand, while continuing to talk to her client. ‘The bid is on the phone at four hundred thousand,’ said Poltimore, immediately switching his attention to the gentleman at the back of the room. ‘Four hundred and fifty thousand,’ he murmured, before returning to the phones. The young woman’s hand shot up immediately. Poltimore nodded. ‘I have five hundred thousand,’ he declared, returning to the man at the back of the room, who shook his head. ‘I’m looking for five fifty,’ said Poltimore, his eyes once again sweeping the room. ‘Five hundred and fifty thousand pounds,’ he repeated. Virginia was beginning to wish she’d taken the offer from the dealer in Chicago until Poltimore announced, ‘Five fifty,’ his voice rising. ‘I have a new bidder.’ He looked down at the director of the National Museum of China.
When he swung back to the phones, the young woman’s hand was already raised. ‘Six hundred thousand,’ he said, before switching his attention back to the director, who was talking animatedly to the man seated on his right before he eventually looked up and gave Poltimore a slight nod.
‘Six hundred and fifty thousand,’ said Poltimore, his eye fixed once again on the young woman on the phone. This time her response took a little longer, but eventually a hand was raised. ‘Seven hundred thousand pounds,’ demanded Poltimore, aware that this would be a world record for a Chinese piece sold at auction.