Chapter 34
Please let Aunt Flo make enough money to give her a happy life and keep her safe, Jules thought, intensely, as they finished their delicious lunch. Various staff members had popped their heads around the
door to say hello and examine their important guests. A couple had made a particular point of greeting Charlie, welcoming
him to the company and expressing their pleasure that he would be working with them soon.
After their early start, and the glass of wine, Jules was starting to feel extremely relaxed and sleepy, even more so once
they had been ensconced in the front row of the auction room, where there was already a considerable buzz of excitement. The
young women staffing the phones for the remote bids were sitting demurely in a row to the right of the auctioneer’s lectern.
There was a flurry of chatter and excitement as Richard Davenport strode in like a rock star. He caught Flo’s eye and gave
her a courtly nod of the head before beaming at Charlie and Jules and rubbing his hands enthusiastically. He then bowed his
head to have a brief, whispered conversation with one of the girls at the phone desk before positioning himself behind the
lectern.
As if by a prearranged signal, the chatter in the room died to a hum and the auction began.
The grimoire, as the most eagerly anticipated lot of the sale, was near the end of the list, but the pace was brisk, as Richard raced casually through the preceding lots.
Maps, prints, first editions, and whole sets of handsome, leather-bound encyclopedias went briskly under the hammer.
Despite his apparently off-hand manner, Richard, Jules noticed, was watching the room like a hawk, bouncing his commentary from one bidder to another, gesturing with little more than a twitch of a finger to acknowledge a raised paddle on one side of the room and then the other, and glancing at his assistant to confirm, with raised eyebrows, as each lot was dispatched and noted.
Charlie’s previous top pick books from the second floor of the shop were scattered among the lots and did well, on the whole.
A pretty gold-tooled set of Jane Austens failed to meet their reserve, causing Charlie’s face to fall, but he punched the
air with delight when the signed Daphne du Maurier broke through the six-thousand-pound mark, leaving all three of them grinning
delightedly at one another. Jules was attempting to tot up the amounts as they went and was quietly reassured to see that
Flo would certainly be walking away with a low five-figure sum. Not enough to snap up the divine Hollyhock Cottage, of course,
but a nest egg to give her a little security and pay for a few years’ rent on the grotty flat. That was something to be thankful
for, wasn’t it?
But then the moment arrived. There was a burst of chatter and then a tense hush as the grimoire, laid on a navy velvet pillow,
was brought in ceremonially by the porter and presented to all parts of the room as Richard expertly revved up the bidders
with his spiel.
“The authenticated journal and memoir of a Bridget Capelthorne, born circa 1621, a piece of rare provenance, providing a fascinating insight into the life of a woman known as ‘the last witch in England to be executed,’ tragically meeting her death at the gallows in 1685. A priceless piece, I think you will all agree, but who will give me fifty thousand pounds?”
Aunt Flo’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline as she heard the opening bid invitation. Jules threw her an exultant
glance.
The bid was quickly confirmed and was then outbid at lightning speed. Richard initially went up in tens of thousands but quickly
switched to twenty-five-thousand-pound hikes. Craning her neck, Jules could see two bidders in the room, heads barely twitching
to indicate their bids now that Richard had targeted them as the source of the action. There was a rally of bids from two
of the telephone girls as well, nodding in rapid sequence as they gabbled into the receivers, updating their mystery buyers
on the state of play. There was a communal gasp as the bidding breached the two-hundred-thousand-pound mark, then a quarter
of a million, then three hundred thousand, showing no sign of slowing. A rising tide of excited chatter grew in volume as
the total soared beyond four hundred thousand, then another twenty, then another... the bids were slowing now. One of the
telephone bidder girls shook her head. Then one of the two strong bidders in the room bowed out. Bids were rising in tens
of thousands now: 460,000... 470,000 —nearly enough to buy Hollyhock Cottage outright, even after the auctioneer fee —510,000... 520,000...
Jules felt as if a balloon were slowly expanding inside her. Soon she would simply float from her seat and rise gently to
the ceiling of the hot, brightly lit auction room. After what felt like hours but must have been only seconds, the bidding
stuttered and then stalled at 535,000 pounds. Richard surveyed the room as he slowed and raised his voice authoritatively.
“I have five hundred and thirty-five thousand pounds,” he said. “Going once. Going twice... Sold to the buyer at the back of the room.” He brought his gavel down with a resounding crash, and the room burst into ecstatic applause.
Jules saw Flo dab her eyes with a tissue and then look around her as dazed as a newborn foal. She reached over and grabbed
her darling aunt’s cool, smooth hand and squeezed it, restraining herself from crushing it with the force of her excitement
and relief.
“Not quite enough to save the shop,” said Flo, when she could finally summon her words. “I’m so sorry, darling. I wanted to
keep it for you.”
“But you can buy Hollyhock Cottage,” said Jules, rapidly doing the math. Her own eyes filled with tears as she saw Flo’s brimming
eyes. “You can retire. You can have the garden you’ve always wanted.”
“Yes, I can, my love. Thanks to you. Thanks to you both,” she added, turning to Charlie, who was unashamedly in floods of
tears too.
The rest of the afternoon passed in the most extraordinary daze. There was more toasting, with champagne this time. Vanessa
marshaled them all back into the meeting room, and guarding Flo fiercely, like her very own offspring, she ushered a series
of journalists and film crews in to record their soundbites, hustling them out bossily as soon as they had had their opportunity.
Jules barely remembered getting Flo and Charlie in a taxi back to the station. On the train, they took turns to laugh at one
another as they cycled seemingly endlessly through excited chatter, lunatic grins, and happy tears.
“The poor woman, though,” said Flo soberly at one point. “Doing all she did for her community and then being turned on like
that. It’s heartbreaking even now. And not even a grave in her own churchyard to remember her by.”
“We are remembering her now,” replied Jules emphatically, deciding not to tell her aunt quite yet about the conversations she had recently been having with the vicar of the church at the top of the hill.
Astonishingly, after such high excitement, the women managed to doze on the train in the end, exhausted after their early
start. The morning, when they had stood on the platform with their coffee, felt like a lifetime ago. So much had changed.
Everything had changed.