| |
No one had thought to warn me about how boring auctions were. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be a lot of lots before the painting was up.
"Our next lot is a turn of the century painting in the style of Claude Monet," the auctioneer announced. I noted the words used. He didn't commit to this being the real thing. It was up to us to convince Hubert that it was. "Bidding will start at five thousand pounds."
Ouch. That was low. If we wanted Hubert to bid high, that wasn't going to cut it.
I leaned in so my mouth was by his ear. "That seems like a great price."
"If it's real," he responded under his breath. "If it isn't, then it's a rip-off."
"No takers?" the auctioneer asked. "Then we'll start at four thousand. Do I have four thousand? Yes, thank you to the gentleman at the back of the room."
The bidding started after that, with each thousand easing my worries about taking too little from the con. But Hubert had yet to join in. He sat watching, not committing to a single bid. This was going to be a problem.
Samuel raised his hand in front of us, bidding twenty thousand pounds for our own painting.
"That's the consultant who was talking to me," I whispered.
"Really?" Hubert raised an eyebrow. "He's bidding low."
"What's a real Monet worth?" I asked, despite the fact I was well aware they sold for millions.
"Something around the fifty million mark for one that size," Hubert responded. Greed shone in his eyes. We almost had him. He might not be saying it out loud yet, but he was going to bid on the painting, it was simply a question of how long it took him.
The bids were higher now, around the two hundred thousand mark. Most of that was Samuel and Dean fake bidding against one another. I didn't know what the plan was if one of them actually won it, but I presumed they'd have a different disguise they could get into and disappear into the crowds.
"Forty thousand to the gentleman at the front," the auctioneer said, pointing down to Samuel.
"Are you sure he said he was an art consultant?" Hubert asked.
I nodded hastily. "He said he often came to auctions like this to find art for sale when people didn't know the real value." He hadn't said that at all, but at this point, Hubert's belief in the painting was waning, and I had to do something to fix it.
"Five hundred thousand, does anyone have five hundred thousand for me?"
I held my breath, hoping Hubert would react to this. Dean and Samuel were the only ones bidding now, it was time for him to swoop in and buy it, making the money for Carl to come collect once the auction was over.
Hubert shot his hand into the air.
"Thank you, sir," the auctioneer cried.
Relief flooded through me. This was it. We'd managed it.
"Going once, going twice, sold to the gentleman in the yellow jacket." He pointed towards Hubert.
Oh wow. This was real. Now all we had to do was get away. Which would be the tricky bit.
A polite round of applause came from the room. I joined in, beaming at Hubert. "It's so beautiful. It'll be a great addition to your collection."
He shook his head. "It will be part of Earl Wellesley's collection. I'll simply collect a commission based on the sale price in a few years."
I should feel bad about that. We were trying to take the Earl's money, not Hubert's. But then, this man hadn't stopped oggling me since the moment we met. He wasn't an upstanding member of society by any stretch of the imagination.
As if to prove my thoughts correct, he stretched out an arm and put it around me and leaned in, his hot breath brushing unpleasantly against my ear. "Once I've paid, we can celebrate. There's a bottle of champagne on ice at home. We could slip into something more comfortable and enjoy a glass..." He trailed a hand up my leg, as if to drive home what he'd meant. As if I hadn't understood anyway.
Just then, the phone in my bag chirped.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I should get this. Only my Mum's number makes it ring when it's on silent," I babbled, hoping it was good enough to fool him into thinking it was my mother calling me.
"Of course, dear."
I pulled my phone from my bag and hit the answer button.
"Time to go," Samuel said.
I glanced at where he'd been sitting to find him gone. Ah, he must need to get out of here before anyone could ask him to authenticate the painting. Dean and Carl would clean up the rest of the con while the two of us went home.
I clutched my hand to my chest and pretending to heave a sob. "Mum? Are you okay...Dad? Hospital? I'm so sorry, I'm on my way."
Samuel chuckled down the line. "That's a good one."
I hit the end button and shoved my phone back into my bag. "I'm so sorry, Hubert, there's been an accident and my Dad's in the hospital and I need to go see him."
"I can go with you..." I could tell the offer wasn't sincere. Not that it mattered.
"No, no. You stay here, collect your painting. Call me?" I suggested with wide doe eyes.
"Of course." Confusion flitted across his face, but I didn't linger on it. I had to get out of here.
I pushed through the people in the auction room, apologising to all of them. It was the change over between lots, which gave me a few minutes to clear the room.
The moment I stepped out of the door, Samuel waved me over and into the car. I slipped into the passenger seat, then closed my eyes, relief flooding through me.
"Please tell me there's something cold and delicious ready to drink at home?" I asked Samuel once he was in the driver's seat.
He laughed lightly. "There is."
"Then take me there," I requested. "As fast as the car will take us."