This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)

“That’s most unlikely, your grace, with a piece of this importance. And despite that possibility, I still consider it a risk worth taking, because I’ve already approached half a dozen leading collectors in the field, and they all showed considerable interest, including the director of the National Museum of China in Beijing.”

“You’ve convinced me,” said Virginia. “So what should I do next?”

“Once you’ve signed a release form, you can leave the rest to us. You’re well in time to catch the autumn sale, which is always one of the most popular of the year, and I have already suggested that we feature the Hertford vases on the cover of the catalogue. Be assured, our customers won’t be in any doubt how important we consider these pieces to be.”

“Can I mention something in the strictest confidence, Mr. Poltimore?”

“Of course, your grace.”

“I am most keen that there should be the minimum of publicity before the auction, but the maximum amount possible afterward.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem, especially as the arts correspondents from all the national newspapers will be attending the sale. And if the vases fetch the sort of price we anticipate, it will generate considerable interest in the press, so you can be sure that the following morning, everyone will be aware of your triumph.”

“I’m not interested in everyone,” said Virginia, “just one member of one particular family.”

* * *

“A gold-plated bitch,” said Virginia.

“That bad?” asked Priscilla Bingham, once their dessert plates had been whisked away.

“Worse. She has the airs and graces of a duchess, but she’s nothing more than the wife of a jumped-up antipodean sheep farmer.”

“And you said she’s the second daughter?”

“That’s right. But she behaves as if she’s the mistress of Castle Hertford.”

“Wouldn’t all that change if the duke were to get married and decide to reclaim his family seat?”

“That’s unlikely. Clarence is married to the army, and hopes to be the next colonel of the regiment.”

“Like his father before him.”

“He’s nothing like his father,” said Virginia. “If Perry were still alive, he would never have allowed them to humiliate me in this way. But I intend to have the last laugh.” She extracted a newly minted auction catalogue from her bag and handed it to her friend.

“Are these the two vases you told me about?” asked Priscilla, looking admiringly at the cover.

“They are indeed. And you’ll see just how much I’m going to make if you turn to lot forty-three.”

Priscilla flicked through the pages and when she reached Lot 43, Two Ming Vases, circa 1462, her eyes settled on the estimate. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“How very generous of the duke,” she eventually managed.

“He had no idea how much they were worth,” said Virginia, “otherwise he would never have let them go.”

“But surely the family will find out long before the sale takes place.”

“Seems unlikely. Clarence is holed up somewhere in Borneo, Alice is in New York peddling bottles of perfume, and Camilla never leaves the castle unless she has to.”

“But I thought you wanted them to find out?”

“Not until after the sale, by which time I will have banked the check.”

“But even then, they may not hear about it.”

“Mr. Poltimore, who’s conducting the auction, tells me he’s already had calls from several of the leading art correspondents, so we can expect extensive coverage in the press the following morning. That’s when they’ll find out, and by then it will be too late because I will have banked the money. I do hope you’ll be able to come to the auction next Thursday evening, Priscilla, and then you can join me for dinner afterward at Annabel’s to celebrate. I’ve even booked Perry’s favorite table. It will be just like old times.”

“Old times,” repeated Priscilla, as a waiter appeared and served coffee. “Which reminds me, do you ever hear from your ex, following your little coup with Mellor Travel?”