Page 76 of The Battle of the Bookshops
“At my age,” snorted Flo. “Who’s going to lend to me? An old baggage with no job and no capital,” she added, with an involuntary downturn of the mouth.
“Not much to show for all those decades of work,” agreed Diana sympathetically, all bombast spent in the face of her dear friend’s admittedly very difficult position.
“But the grimoire!” declared Jules, raising her glass. “May Bridget reach through the centuries and have the last word in the Montbeau versus Capelthorne face-off. A woman to the rescue—it’s long overdue—and if anyone’s capable of it, our Bridget would rock it.”
“To the grimoire!” echoed Flo and Diana, raising their glasses with a certainty that—it was obvious—neither of the older women felt.
“And anyway,” said Flo firmly, “even if an insane amount of moneycouldbe magicked up by the sale of the grimoire, then the priority is obviously to sort out the lease on the shop. Which, of course, is also an impossibility.”
And that, Jules had to admit, was probably very true.
Flo, being a war baby, had packed cheese and pickle sandwiches for their trip to London. She couldn’t bear to spend money on the buffet car sandwiches, which, Charlie and Jules had to agree,weren’t up to much anyhow. She did consent to Jules buying a round of coffees at the station café as they waited for their train to arrive, and the three of them stood shivering on the platform, hands clasped around the cardboard cups for warmth.
Autumn had most definitely arrived now. The air was raw, and a dull gray haze shrouded the sun. Winter awaited, soon enough, and with it, a dramatic change in circumstances again. Jules would be out of a job and homeless. She had felt insulated and warmed by her relationship with Roman—they were spending every moment they could together—but reality had to intrude at some point, or what was she going to do? Let the man keep her in the style to which she would like to become accustomed? She could see his family loving that.
“Of course, there’s every possibility it will sell for just a few hundred pounds,” Flo mused. “It’s not in great condition, after all. Perhaps no one will bid.”
“They’ll bid,” Charlie reassured her. “Feedback from the auction house is that they’ve got at least two buyers lined up for telephone bidding, and there’s this private collector in the States who they reckon will really want to get their hands on it. Plus, we’re destined to make a few thou from the other six books they’ve listed for us.”
“Yes, but you never know,” insisted Flo doggedly. “You just never know...”
Jules knew what her aunt was doing. By talking it down she was insulating against a disappointing result. It had always been her way. Jules worried about the effect any profound failure would have on her. The stakes could hardly be higher. And in a more mundane, practical sense, she worried about the older woman’s stamina. Doing the London trip twice in one day, with the excitement of the auction in between, was a lot for a woman of Flo’s age, not least one who had so recently been unwell.
“I’m perfectly fine,” said Flo, noticing Jules’s anxious gaze.
Arriving at the auction house, Jules was amused to watch Flo being swept up and feted as quite the celebrity. The three of them were met in reception by a charming woman who announced herself as the auction house’s communications manager, Vanessa. She professed herself thrilled to meet not one but two Capelthorne women. Corralled into a meeting room, the three of them discovered a feast of sushi laid out alongside some darling tiny Danish pastries, tea, coffee, and even a gold-foiled bottle of Crémant de Loire, which Vanessa popped the cork of with practiced ease.
“A toast,” she declared, when they all had a glass. “To Capelthorne women. Long may they reign.”
Jules caught Flo’s eye with an amused look as they raised their glasses. It hardly seemed the time to point out to Vanessa that the Capelthorne name looked set to die forever with the self-same women in that room.
Chapter 34
Please let Aunt Flo make enough money to give her a happy life and keep her safe,Jules thought, intensely, as they finished their delicious lunch. Various staff members had popped their heads around the door to say hello and examine their important guests. A couple had made a particular point of greeting Charlie, welcoming him to the company and expressing their pleasure that he would be working with them soon.
After their early start, and the glass of wine, Jules was starting to feel extremely relaxed and sleepy, even more so once they had been ensconced in the front row of the auction room, where there was already a considerable buzz of excitement. The young women staffing the phones for the remote bids were sitting demurely in a row to the right of the auctioneer’s lectern. There was a flurry of chatter and excitement as Richard Davenport strode in like a rock star. He caught Flo’s eye and gave her a courtly nod of the head before beaming at Charlie and Jules and rubbing his hands enthusiastically. He then bowed his head to have a brief, whispered conversation with one of the girls at the phone desk before positioning himself behind the lectern.
As if by a prearranged signal, the chatter in the room died to a hum and the auction began.
The grimoire, as the most eagerly anticipated lot of the sale, was near the end of the list, but the pace was brisk, as Richard raced casually through the preceding lots. Maps, prints, first editions, and whole sets of handsome, leather-bound encyclopedias went briskly under the hammer. Despite his apparently off-hand manner, Richard, Jules noticed, was watching the room like a hawk, bouncing his commentary from one bidder to another, gesturing with little more than a twitch of a finger to acknowledge a raised paddle on one side of the room and then the other, and glancing at his assistant to confirm, with raised eyebrows, as each lot was dispatched and noted.
Charlie’s previous top pick books from the second floor of the shop were scattered among the lots and did well, on the whole. A pretty gold-tooled set of Jane Austens failed to meet their reserve, causing Charlie’s face to fall, but he punched the air with delight when the signed Daphne du Maurier broke through the six-thousand-pound mark, leaving all three of them grinning delightedly at one another. Jules was attempting to tot up the amounts as they went and was quietly reassured to see that Flo would certainly be walking away with a low five-figure sum. Not enough to snap up the divine Hollyhock Cottage, of course, but a nest egg to give her a little security and pay for a few years’ rent on the grotty flat. That was something to be thankful for, wasn’t it?
But then the moment arrived. There was a burst of chatter and then a tense hush as the grimoire, laid on a navy velvet pillow, was brought in ceremonially by the porter and presented to all parts of the room as Richard expertly revved up the bidders with his spiel.
“The authenticated journal and memoir of a Bridget Capelthorne, born circa 1621, a piece of rare provenance, providing a fascinating insight into the life of a woman known as ‘the last witch in England to be executed,’ tragically meeting her death at the gallows in 1685.A priceless piece, I think you will all agree, but who will give me fifty thousand pounds?”
Aunt Flo’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline as she heard the opening bid invitation. Jules threw her an exultant glance.
The bid was quickly confirmed and was then outbid at lightning speed. Richard initially went up in tens of thousands but quickly switched to twenty-five-thousand-pound hikes. Craning her neck, Jules could see two bidders in the room, heads barely twitching to indicate their bids now that Richard had targeted them as the source of the action. There was a rally of bids from two of the telephone girls as well, nodding in rapid sequence as they gabbled into the receivers, updating their mystery buyers on the state of play. There was a communal gasp as the bidding breached the two-hundred-thousand-pound mark, then a quarter of a million, then three hundred thousand, showing no sign of slowing. A rising tide of excited chatter grew in volume as the total soared beyond four hundred thousand, then another twenty, then another... the bids were slowing now. One of the telephone bidder girls shook her head. Then one of the two strong bidders in the room bowed out. Bids were rising in tens of thousands now: 460,000...470,000—nearly enough to buy Hollyhock Cottage outright, even after the auctioneer fee —510,000... 520,000...
Jules felt as if a balloon were slowly expanding inside her. Soon she would simply float from her seat and rise gently to the ceiling of the hot, brightly lit auction room. After what felt like hours but must have been only seconds, the bidding stuttered and then stalled at 535,000 pounds. Richard surveyed the room as he slowed and raised his voice authoritatively.
“I havefivehundred and thirty-fivethousandpounds,” he said. “Going once. Going twice...Soldto the buyer at the back of theroom.” He brought his gavel down with a resounding crash, and the room burst into ecstatic applause.
Jules saw Flo dab her eyes with a tissue and then look around her as dazed as a newborn foal. She reached over and grabbed her darling aunt’s cool, smooth hand and squeezed it, restraining herself from crushing it with the force of her excitement and relief.
“Not quite enough to save the shop,” said Flo, when she could finally summon her words. “I’m so sorry, darling. I wanted to keep it for you.”
