The Endgame

‘What can possibly go wrong?’ asked Cornelius.

‘Well, for a start, have you considered . . . ?’ But he didn’t bother to complete the sentence, because his friend wasn’t listening.

~

Cornelius was the first to arrive at the auction house the following morning. The room was laid out with 120 chairs in neat rows of twelve, ready for the anticipated packed house that afternoon, but Cornelius thought the real drama would unfold in the morning, when only six people would be in attendance.

The next person to appear, fifteen minutes before the auction was due to begin, was Cornelius’s solicitor Frank Vintcent. Observing his client deep in conversation with Mr Botts, who would be conducting the auction, he took a seat towards the back of the room on the right-hand side.

Cornelius’s sister Margaret was the next to make an appearance, and she was not as considerate. She charged straight up to Mr Botts and asked in a shrill voice, ‘Can I sit anywhere I like?’

‘Yes, madam, you most certainly can,’ said Mr Botts. Margaret immediately commandeered the centre seat in the front row, directly below the auctioneer’s podium.

Cornelius gave his sister a nod before walking down the aisle and taking a chair three rows in front of Frank.

Hugh and Elizabeth were the next to arrive. They stood at the back for some time while they considered the layout of the room. Eventually they strolled up the aisle and occupied two seats in the eighth row, which afforded them a perfect sightline to the podium, while at the same time being able to keep an eye on Margaret. Opening move to Elizabeth, thought Cornelius, who was quietly enjoying himself.

As the hour hand of the clock on the wall behind the auctioneer’s rostrum ticked inexorably towards eleven, Cornelius was disappointed that neither Pauline nor Timothy made an appearance.

Just as the auctioneer began to climb the steps to the podium, the door at the back of the room eased open and Pauline’s head peered round. The rest of her body remained hidden behind the door until her eyes settled on Cornelius, who smiled encouragingly. She stepped inside and closed the door, but showed no interest in taking a seat, retreating into a corner instead.

The auctioneer beamed down at the handpicked invitees as the clock struck eleven.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘I’ve been in the business for over thirty years, but this is the first time I’ve conducted a private sale, so this is a most unusual auction even for me. I’d better go over the ground rules, so that no one can be in any doubt should a dispute arise later.

‘All of you present have some special association, whether as family or friends, with Mr Cornelius Barrington, whose personal effects are coming under the hammer. Each of you has been invited to select one item from the inventory, for which you will be allowed to bid. Should you be successful you may not bid for any other lot, but if you fail on the item of your first choice, you may join in the bidding for any other lot. I hope that is clear,’ he said, as the door was flung open and Timothy rushed in.

‘So sorry,’ he said a little breathlessly, ‘but my train was held up.’ He quickly took a seat in the back row. Cornelius smiled – every one of his pawns was now in place.

‘As there are only five of you eligible to bid,’ continued Mr Botts as if there had been no interruption, ‘only five items will come under the hammer. But the law states that if anyone has previously left a written bid, that bid must be recognised as part of the auction. I shall make things as easy to follow as possible by saying if I have a bid at the table, from which you should assume it is a bid left at our office by a member of the public. I think it would be only fair to point out,’ he added, ‘that I have outside bids on four of the five items.

‘Having explained the ground rules, I will with your permission begin the auction.’ He glanced towards the back of the room at Cornelius, who nodded his assent.

‘The first lot I am able to offer is a long-case clock, dated 1892, which was purchased by Mr Barrington from the estate of the late Earl of Bute.

‘I shall open the bidding for this lot at £3,000. Do I see £3,500?’ Mr Botts asked, raising an eyebrow. Elizabeth looked

a little shocked, as three thousand was just below the low estimate and the figure she and Hugh had agreed on that morning.

‘Is anyone interested in this lot?’ asked Mr Botts, looking directly at Elizabeth, but she remained apparently mesmerised. ‘I shall ask once again if anyone wishes to bid £3,500 for this magnificent long-case clock. Fair warning. I see no bids, so I shall have to withdraw this item and place it in the afternoon sale.’

Elizabeth still seemed to be in a state of shock. She immediately turned to her husband and began a whispered conversation with him. Mr Botts looked a little disappointed, but moved quickly on to the second lot.

‘The next lot is a charming watercolour of the Thames by William Turner of Oxford. Can I open the bidding at £2,000?’

Margaret waved her catalogue furiously.

‘Thank you, madam,’ said the auctioneer, beaming down at her. ‘I have an outside bid of £3,000. Will anyone offer me £4,000?’

‘Yes!’ shouted Margaret, as if the room were so crowded that she needed to make herself heard above the din.

‘I have a bid of five thousand at the table – will you bid six, madam?’ he asked, returning his attention to the lady in the front row.

‘I will,’ said Margaret equally firmly.

‘Are there any other bids?’ demanded the auctioneer, glancing around the room – a sure sign that the bids at the table had dried up. ‘Then I’m going to let this picture go for £6,000 to the lady in the front row.’

‘Seven,’ said a voice behind her. Margaret looked round to see that her sister-in-law had joined in the bidding.