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Fen hated being late. His alarm had shocked him awake at six-thirty, but getting himself mobile had proved difficult and he’d had to do stretches on the bed to persuade his legs to work properly. Otherwise, he’d have fallen over when he headed to the bathroom. Even getting dressed had been tricky this morning. He was exhausted before he’d left his bedsit. Definitely a day when he needed his crutch.
To make matters worse, the first bus he’d planned to catch didn’t turn up and the next broke down, which meant he arrived at the auction three quarters of an hour after he should have been there. At least his boss, Charles, wouldn’t be waiting to yell at him, though the yelling would come later if Fen had missed any of the items he was supposed to be bidding for.
Fen slipped into the back of the saleroom. A few days ago, he and Charles, the pricklier partner at Winn Brothers Antiques, had been to the auction preview, and Fen had carefully written down the amounts he could go up to in the catalogue, using tiny print by each item. Partly so no one but him could read what he’d written, but mostly because he knew how Charles would react if he didn’t stick to the limits. It would have been easier to bid online, but for some reason, Charles didn’t like internet bidding with this particular auction house so Fen had been instructed to come in person.
He quite liked days out but he was already stressed in case he’d missed any of the lots. There were a few empty seats near the rostrum but Fen didn’t want to draw everyone’s attention, particularly in the middle of an item being sold. He spotted a Victorian washstand that looked sturdy enough to prop up a lightweight like him, wedged his forearm crutch between it and a bookcase, and unfastened his coat. Now he had both hands free to hold the catalogue, pen and his bidding paddle.
The auctioneer brought his hammer down on a nest of tables, not on Fen’s list—phew—and announced, “Item twenty-nine.” The first item Fen had to bid for was thirty-four so there’d be no need to grovel to Charles.
When Fen heard that lots thirty-four and thirty-five had been withdrawn, he mentally groaned. Two items on his list. It wasn’t hard to predict Charles’ reaction. Even if Fen managed to win all of the other lots he’d been instructed to bid for, his boss would still find a way to be pissed off with him. Charles only had to look at Fen to be annoyed.
When they’d been to the preview, Fen had seen something he wanted too. It was an old wooden box with a damaged inlay top, though it was in a cardboard box with a lot of other stuff that he didn’t particularly want. It all depended on the price.
“Item thirty-nine,” said the auctioneer and Fen perked up. “A pair of rustic early 20thcentury, Lutyens-style, hardwood garden seats. Who’ll start me at five hundred pounds?”
Gulp.That was a lot, though the seats were lovely. Fen’s heart banged in his chest as he waited to see the level of interest before he bid. Five hundred was the maximum he could go to. The auctioneer came down in hundreds to get the bidding started with such affected incredulity in his voice that Fen smiled. He liked this guy. Finally, a dealer Fen knew came in at two hundred. Fen joined in at three and won them at four hundred and fifty. He held up the paddle for his number to be taken.
It was a good start but he missed out on the next three items. By a long way on two and by one bid on a punchbowl. If Charles had been here, he might have gone a little higher but Fen never went over the amount he’d been told because he had once, and Charles had taken the money from his wages. The next two lots Charles wanted had been withdrawn and Fen winced.
The box was up next.
“Lot number fifty,” called the auctioneer. “Photo frames, stamp album—no penny blacks—my son checked.”
There was a ripple of laughter.
“A few ornaments, coins, a wooden box and a small painting. No attributed artist. Several other bits and pieces. Where shall we start? Twenty pounds?”
A woman close to the front of the room bid twenty. Fen waited. There were a few people interested and Fen came in at forty-five. He’d only go to fifty so that was his one and only bid.
But when someone bid fifty, Fen waved his paddle to bid again.Shit!He’d broken his own rule. That was it. No more.
There were no other bids and the lot was his. The total cost would be more like seventy-five after auction fees. Money he couldn’t afford, money he shouldn’t have spent, but if he could restore that box and tart up the picture frames and hopefully find something of value in the rest, he should make some money.
Maybe that win turned his luck because he snagged the last four items on the list at well below the limits Charles had set. Hopefully that might improve his boss’s disposition when he learned what he didn’t get. Fen texted to tell him the auction was done, gave details of what needed to be collected, then went to pay.
Fen being unable to drive was another source of aggravation to Charles. Actually, Fencoulddrive, but only automatics and the big van wasn’t an automatic. All items had to be taken away on the day of the auction so Charles would have to come and drag his lazy arse of a son, Scott, with him because Fen wasn’t supposed to do any heavy lifting. At least there were enough items to make Charles’s journey worthwhile.
Fen handed over cash for his lot so it didn’t go on the Winn account. In theory, he should have used a different paddle but the lady behind the counter had let him do this before and she did again today.
Fen shot her a smile. “You’re an angel.”
“And you’re a charmer.”
“Only on Wednesdays.”
She laughed. “It’s Tuesday.”
“Oops.”
Fen waited for more than ninety minutes with no sign of Charles. It had rained solidly for most of that time, but at least Fen had been able to wait inside, though it wasn’t much warmer. Abe, one of the porters, had brought him a cup of tea. Fen tried to tell himself it wasn’t because Abe felt sorry for him, but it probably was.
“Sure someone’s coming?” Abe asked as closing time loomed.
“Yes.” No way would Charles want to pay storage fees.
When the familiar van pulled in, Fen fastened his coat, turned up his collar and went outside. He was surprised to see Charles on his own. It meant Fen would have to give him a hand loading up, a thought that made him wince. He put his crutch aside. Charles backed into the loading bay and Fen stayed under the overhang out of the rain.
