Priceless (46 page)

The boys in particular looked unsure. James had been using the same pair of lucky boxer shorts every time he’d played an important amateur football match since his late teens.

“Of course it can’t,” Nat continued. “The amazing success of this department is all down to the talent and dedication of its individual team members. I promise you
that just because I am not wearing the bunny rabbits, I will not forget how to do my job. I will get up on that stage and sell the hell out of our paintings. And who knows,” he added, with a wink at Sarah Jane, “this tie may turn out to be even luckier than the old one.”

Sarah Jane led the others in a round of applause. Lizzy joined in halfheartedly.

Nat calmed them down by raising his hands like a priest blessing his flock.

“Come on, then, girls and boy. Let’s sell the fuck out of that painting.”

CHAPTER 65

I
t was time for the show to begin. Downstairs, the lobby and the auction room were already filling up with people keen to know how far Nat Wilde could take
The Virgin
. This wasn’t just an auction. It was an occasion. The patrons had really made an effort and dressed up to be there. There was a full contingent from the press.

Photographers lined the road outside the Ludbrook’s building, hoping to catch a snap of someone notable heading for the sale. Soon the scene on New Bond Street was more like the run-up to a film premiere than an art auction. Limousines and gleaming classic cars disgorged famous faces by the dozen. Oligarchs with their entourages. Actors and politicians eager to prove they were in the cultural loop, even if they didn’t have a hope in hell of affording what was on sale that night.

Glancing from her office window, Lizzy watched for a moment in disbelief as a particularly fame-hungry starlet, famous more for her string of high-profile married lovers than for her acting, twirled on the carpet at the entrance as though she were the main attraction. Certainly, her dress was a spectacle—a body-contoured mesh of fine gold wire and crystals that turned her into a walking jewel. Still, despite the glitter, the starlet was outdone moments later by the arrival of the former beauty queen girlfriend of a Siberian media magnate. Though the night was particularly mild, she wore an enormous fur. Real, without doubt. And as she stepped in front of the photographers, she simply let the fur drop to the ground to reveal a red dress with a back that scooped as low as the top of her diamond-studded thong. She posed for a good ten minutes with her puddle of mink around her feet, her expression never changing from a mask of beautiful disdain or, perhaps, pity for those people whose boyfriends would not be in the running for a multimillion-pound painting that night.

But Nat Wilde’s team did not have time to watch the spectacle. Lizzy and the others set to work telephoning absentee bidders to make sure that they were ready to bid when the moment came. More junior members of the Ludbrook’s events team circulated with trays of the very best vintage champagne, following Nat’s instructions to make sure that no potential buyer was ever seen with an empty glass. They did their job so well that the starlet in the gold mesh dress was soon sitting on the lap of the head of a large retail chain, eyes glazed from drinking too much fizz on an empty stomach.

Lizzy worked the room, chatting to clients that she knew well. She answered questions for journalists and made sure that her team was ready to spring into action the moment it was required. She was nervous too. It
wasn’t just Nat who needed to be on the ball that night. If Nat was like a shepherd, then his crew were like sheepdogs, ensuring that he didn’t miss a single crucial member of the flock. Lizzy, Sarah Jane, and the others would draw his attention to the buyers he should be watching out for as each lot came up. As the crowd started to take their places, Lizzy made a mental map of where the really big hitters or their agents were sitting. She briefed Nat in the moments before the auction so that he could be sure to address his funniest remarks to the right people. It was an important way to build trust and maintain relationships with those buyers who might leave that auction disappointed. It was all about guaranteeing that they came back.

By ten to seven all the seats in the auction room had been filled. It was standing room only. Lizzy scanned the people who had arrived late and had to remain on their feet. Nervously, she prayed that no one who might bid on
The Virgin
had suffered such an indignity. Satisfied that all was well, she took her place at one of the phones.

Yasha Suscenko slipped in at the very last moment and leaned against the back wall. Though he wasn’t buying that night, he wouldn’t have missed it for the world. This was going to be a very interesting sale indeed.

It started relatively sedately. A series of three small altar-pieces attributed to the studio of a minor Renaissance artist achieved a little over their estimate. Lizzy wasn’t surprised. They were very pretty. Had she had the price of a studio flat in Chelsea to spare, she would have liked them for herself. Just a little later in the sale, a similar lot went for even more. Already Lizzy could feel a crackle of energy in the room. It boded well for the big ticket items yet to come.

A portrait of a washerwoman attributed to one of the Caravaggisti was the first lot to go for seven figures. After
that the numbers just mushroomed. A million here, a million there. Nat took the big bids without blinking; he could have been selling secondhand cars. The running total for the sale soon equaled the GNP of a small African nation. And then it was time.

“Lot number one forty-seven.
The Virgin Before the Annunciation
. A painting by Giancarlo Ricasoli.”

Nat read out the particulars of the lot just as he had read the details of all the others, as if he considered it to be no more remarkable a painting than all those that had gone before. But then he paused and smiled at the crowd, who looked up at him like excited children at a pantomime. They too knew that the real action was about to kick off.

“Who will start the bidding at sixty-five million pounds? Anyone? Sixty-five million pounds?”

Sixty-five million pounds! There was a moment of palpable shock in the room as the assembled people realized that Nat had started the bidding with a figure
above
the high estimate. A cool ten million above. It was a huge surprise. A risky strategy that could end up backfiring. Ordinarily, bidders saw the high estimate as the maximum they would have to pay,
not
the starting point. Lizzy and her colleagues shared worried glances as they waited for Nat to continue.

“Sixty-five million pounds,” he said again.

“Oh God,” said Olivia. “He’s lost it.”

If nobody answered Nat’s call, he would have to lower the starting bid. It would be an enormous humiliation.

But Nat’s gamble worked. After a few seconds when it seemed as though the sale had stalled at the first bid, three paddles shot up at once. Two on the floor and one at the back of the room. Sarah Jane’s phone bidder. Nat pointed at the person he considered to have been first.

“Sixty-five million, five hundred …”

The other bidder on the floor nodded quickly, eager to be the one with the bid in his hand.

“Sixty-six million.”

Sarah Jane had it now.

Nat was his usual unruffled self as the bids crept up in increments of half a million. Soon it seemed silly that anyone might have thought he had overreached himself by jumping straight in over the estimate. Sarah Jane looked faintly sick as she continued to bid for her client.

“Seventy-five million. Seventy-five million, five hundred thousand … seventy-nine million. Seventy-nine million, five hundred …”

“Oh God,” breathed Lizzy. “He’s going to do it.”

“Eighty million pounds,” said Nat.

The room erupted. Half shock, half awe. It was twice the highest price that had ever been achieved at Ludbrook’s. And yet Nat wasn’t finished. One bidder remained on the floor. Sarah Jane was still in the game too, taking another bid on the phone, looking perhaps faintly disturbed that every nod of her head sent the numbers up by the price of a small house in Clapham.

Lizzy was openmouthed as she watched the figures scrolling across the monitor above Nat’s head. She tried to count the zeros but could hardly keep up with the pace.

“Ninety million, five hundred thousand.”

These were hardly the kind of increments you’d find on eBay, thought Lizzy. She was deeply envious of Sarah Jane at that moment. Lizzy’s own phone buyer had folded his cards before bidding had even begun. He’d banked on the painting not reaching its estimate. Now Sarah Jane and the mysterious man at the center of the room were engaged in the most exciting bid-off Lizzy had ever seen.

“Ninety-five million,” said Nat. Sarah Jane relayed the news to her bidder and returned Nat’s look with a shake of her head. The gavel was poised to come down. In the center of the room, the other bidder’s shoulders relaxed, though not much. The patrons sitting around the leading bidder stared openly. What did a man who was about to spend ninety-five million pounds look like?

“Ninety-five million pounds for this painting of
The Virgin Before …
”

At the back of the room, one of the unmanned telephones started to ring. It was a loud, ugly sound.

Nat paused. He looked a little irritated. He did not appreciate this interruption to his moment of glory.

“I’ll get it,” said Lizzy, who was nearest. “Lizzy Duffy, Ludbrook’s,” she said. The room held its breath. “Right.” She nodded as the caller identified himself. “Are you sure? Well, I think I can. Hold on. I’ll just find out.”

Lizzy turned back toward the room and raised a finger to Nat, asking him to hang on just a little longer. There was a flurry of activity as she sent Marcus to confirm what was being said. Her caller was indeed registered to bid. There was no reason why he shouldn’t.

“But it’s at ninety-five million,” Lizzy warned him. “That’s nine five. Six zeros.”

At last, Lizzy took the phone away from her mouth and shouted, “Ninety-six million,” at Nat.

The bidder in the room, who had been so sure that he had it, let out an expletive. The bidding was at ninety-nine million within a minute.

Lizzy’s heart was pounding as she relayed every second in the auction room to her bidder. On the other end of the line, his voice remained perfectly modulated and calm, and then Lizzy too began to relax into her role. She didn’t have to worry whether this particular buyer would be good for the cash. Of that there was no doubt.

Finally the man at the center of the room shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He was dropping out. Nat brought down the gavel.

“Sold at ninety-nine million, five hundred thousand pounds.”

“You’ve got it,” Lizzy told her bidder. “The painting is yours. Ninety-nine million, five hundred thou.”

“Good,” said her bidder, as though she had just told him that he had won ten pounds on the lottery. “Thank you very much. I’ll be in touch to tell you where the painting should be sent.”

Lizzy was left holding a silent phone while the room went crazy. Everyone knew that records had been broken, smashed like so much glass. Marcus offered Olivia a high five, and for once, amazingly, she shrugged off her uptight demeanor and reciprocated. James planted a kiss on Lizzy’s cheek.

“You’re amazing,” he told her.

“I didn’t do anything,” said Lizzy. “I just kept calm. Nat did it all.” She gazed toward the podium in something approaching admiration. Much as she hated him, he’d done a stunning job. Nat was accepting congratulations from people on either side of him, but at last he brought down his gavel and asked for silence.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said. “Much as I would like to crack open the champagne right this minute, we have another seven lots to go. Up next, this sketch by Rembrandt. Going cheap at a mere one million, five hundred thousand. Who’ll give me one million, five hundred thousand to start?”

The comparison with
The Virgin
must have made the Rembrandt seem like a bargain indeed. Eight hands shot into the air.

•          •          •

At the back of the room, Yasha Suscenko nodded in satisfaction. The matter was concluded for him now. But as he left the Ludbrook’s building and walked home through Mayfair, Yasha was surprised to see a police car pulling up outside his own gallery.

“Mr. Suscenko, may we have a word?”

CHAPTER 66