Page 99 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
There was a collective release of breath, a round of applause, a few cheers. Tom whistled softly.
“How much?” she whispered.
“Seven million, three hundred and fifty thousand.”
He had to repeat the figure slowly before she could take it in. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to breathe slowly. Seven million...
People had gathered round to congratulate her.
“That was a very good sale.”
“A record for a Conejero.”
“The Pradera will be delighted to have got it for their collection.”
“Yes... yes, thank you.” She was gripping Tom’s hand tightly, her heart thumping, her mouth dry. Seven million...
The room was emptying slowly as people drifted away. A newspaper photographer wanted a picture of her beside the portrait, the reporter with him wanted to ask questions. She obliged in a blur, not even sure what she was saying.
There was champagne to be sipped with Mr Loughton and the representative from the Pradera, and several other bigwigs of the art world, then paperwork to be attended to. But at last they were able to step out into the early evening bustle of London’s trendy heartland.
“Dinner?” Tom suggested.
“I don’t think I could eat a thing.”
“Let’s see if you can be tempted.”
* * *
The restaurant was just round the corner from the auction house. Leafy fig trees in copper pots, their branches laced with golden fairy lights, were dotted between circular tables with scarlet tablecloths — the impression was of intimacy, though they were surrounded by other diners.
The head waiter showed them to a corner table and presented the leather-bound menus. Vicky barely noticed what she was ordering — she didn’t even realise that Tom had ordered champagne until the waiter filled her glass.
“Oh . . . !”
Tom’s eyes lit with amusement. “It’s a champagne moment, don’t you think?” He raised his glass in a toast. “To Juan-Jorge — and Molly.”
“To Molly.” She took a sip, letting the bubbles sparkle on her tongue. “I’m still in shock. That woman, the one in the red jacket — she was from the Pradera, wasn’t she?”
“That’s right. I spoke to her briefly while you were doing the interview. You’ll be invited over to see the portrait once it’s on exhibition there.”
“They bought the sketches too, didn’t they? Won’t everyone be gobsmacked when they find out how much they’ve made!”
He smiled. “I suspect there’s going to be a very big party.”
Vicky nodded — yes, a party. A housewarming and a celebration of Aunt Molly’s legacy.
The waiter had brought their starter — a cool salmon mousse. Vicky found that her appetite had returned — she had been too excited to eat any lunch and she was starving. The main course — tender lamb cutlets with julienne vegetables — was just as delicious.
“So what happens now?” Tom asked as the waiter came to clear their plates.
“Dessert?”
He laughed. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”
“I thought I wasn’t. But they’ve got tiramisu — my favourite.”
“I’ll just have coffee,” he told the waiter. He picked up the champagne bottle and refilled their glasses. “What I meant was, are you really going to stay in Sturcombe?”
