Bidding amounts fly in rapid succession. The eyes of the auctioneer, standing at the pulpit-like rostrum, dart from one end of the room to the other, never missing a bid. The mood is electrifying. Finally, the gavel comes down with a thud. Sold!
This is a daily scenario in Christie’s salerooms worldwide. As the world’s leading fine art auctioneer, Christie’s has sold fine art, furniture, jewelry and wine since James Christie conducted the first sale in London on 5 December 1766.
Christie’s Geneva lies at the heart of the city’s historic center, in a listed 16th century building once used as a dormitory for monks from the nearby St. Pierre Cathedral, where John Calvin preached from 1536 to 1564, inflaming the protestant reformation.
Mirroring the city’s development into both Europe’s foremost center for jewelry and the watch capital of the world, Christie’s Geneva now focuses on Jewelry, Watches and Wine auctions, held twice a year in May and November, at the Four Seasons Hotel des Bergues.
The next morning after a breakfast of bagels, orange juice and two tall Cappuccinos in the hotel coffee shop David and Miriam drove through the bustling morning city, across the Mont Blanc Bridge and immediately turned left on Quai des Bergues.
Pointing at an imposing building in neo-classic architectural style highlighted with enough gold trim to impress any millionaire just as they turned Miriam exclaimed. “That’s got to be it. It’s beautiful, David. Why aren’t we staying there?
David responded quietly, “Because, Mrs. Cline, we are working, not on holiday and drove under the hotel portico where a tall doorman in a white top hat and full frock coat came toward them, showing a perfect smile that probably paid for his dentist’s new car.
“Tell him were here for the auction and ask where we should park.”
Following the directions, they drove down into the underground parking area, showed their auction passes and identification to a heavily armed, uniformed man and were directed to a vacant spot between a black Bentley Continental convertible and a Ferrari red Bertinetta. As David gently eased their rented Peugeot between the two expensive cars, Miriam laughed, “I hope I can get out without denting the black beauty on my side.”
“I do too, or we may be on the next slow boat back to the Holy Land.”
As the duo got carefully out of their car another uniformed security officer approached and directed them to an elevator, informing them that they would be met on the first floor by Mr. Metz.
The elevator doors slid open and standing in front of them was a frowning man, slightly taller than David, with bulging muscles noticeably outlining a charcoal Valentino business suit. His head was polished to a gloss and he didn’t seem too happy to see them. After showing their passports and photo ID’s to the man identified as Mike Metz on a silver badge above his jacket pocket, he snapped them shut and said, “You’re expected.” Tapping his side-arm and pointing to David’s suit jacket he continued in an almost hostile voice, “But you both will have to leave your weapons here in our safe keeping until your ready to leave the promises.” David looked at Miriam and she shrugged.
“But I thought,” David began to argue.
“I don’t care what you thought. I’m in charge of security here and you’ll do what I ask. Just lay then on the desk there, and don’t forget those little toys on your ankles also.
Grinning he continued, “Jake, will you unload our friends weapons and then escort them into the auction gallery.”
Trying hard to stuff down their anger, David and Miriam were marched down the lovely pastel hall on thick, sky-blue carpeting into the imposing Lobby. It was full of fresh-cut flowers and potted plants, bright and elegantly furnished. The high ceilings and soaring white columns bounced back the sunlight that streamed in through to porticos and open French doors. In between two burly security men they were herded to the open door to the auction room.
After they were seated, just before the bidding started David pointed to two empty chairs near the rear on the far side of the large auction hall. After walking sidewise between rows of the rich and famous dressed in fur, silk and the latest fashion in French perfume, they took their seats. Most of the grey-white room was filled with people either quietly ignoring their neighbor or engrossed in reading the auction catalogue. Miriam spotted Josef out of the corner of her eye but did not acknowledge him. David whispered in Miriam’s ear, “Check out our security friends along the walls with their roaming eyes.” She nodded and continued reading the glossy catalogue.
“There are several items going up for sale today you could get me for my birthday, if you’re in a generous mood. I’ll get you one of those bidding paddles, if you want.”
“Right, dream on Mrs. Cohen. I don’t even know when your birthday is.”
Tam walked down the center aisle and sat midway among the rows of rapidly filling straight-backed mahogany chairs, which were smashed tightly together to maximize the limited space. Behind the pulpit like rostrum was a revolving glass case and, next to it, a bank of telephones staffed by several Christie’s employees. He noticed a heavy-set Chinese man, making his way to a seat in the far left corner, and wondered if he was a watch-dog from the Triad. A blonde, buxom lady with purple eye shadow above her green eyes was a couple of rows back and when he looked her way she pursed her ruby lips as if the whole event was a great waste of her valuable time. He watched as she arranged her oval-necked, long-sleeved, blue velvet dress carefully as if she was about to hold court. She pushed the chairs on either side of her as far away from her as she could and placed her huge, shiny black purse on the floor by the side of her chair. Ten minutes before the auction, Tam noted the heavy presence of private security guards, standing along each side wall scanning the gathering guests like they were watching a tennis match. The elegant grandfather’s clock to the left of the auction podium began striking the hour and the room became as quiet as a church at prayer.
The auctioneer entered, took his place at the podium, and looked over the crowd, impatiently waiting for the last of the guests to be seated. He had a cavalier attitude that indicated he felt his position was below his importance. Finally glancing at the large wall clock, in a deep-toned voice, he announced the opening of the ninety-third auction of Christie’s International, Geneva, welcomed the guests with the warmth of a maǐtre d’ of a plush restaurant, and loudly pounded his gavel in an explanation point. From the glass case a white-gloved young lady came carrying a black leather box, placed in a titled holder on the high table next to the podium. She, with great fanfare, raised the lid, turned, and left quietly. The auctioneer referred to an item number on the printed program reciting details about six large rubies, called the Ghandar Gems now open for bidding, starting at fifty thousand pounds. In less than a minute, the bid rose to one hundred fifty thousand pounds and continued in a vigorous process driven by the slight flutters of bidder’s yellow numbered paddles.
“Fair warning now. Last chance.” Down came the gavel with a loud whack. “Thank you,” mumbled the auctioneer as though he thought that item of no more importance.
Josef, sitting beside Tam, took a small pad and pen from his jacket and wrote, Why are you so nervous, Mr. Tam?
Tam leaned over and whispered, “Do you see that other Asian over there to your left? I think he’s someone sent here by White Paper Fan to keep an eye on me. That’s what makes me nervous.”
Josef wrote, I’ll take him if any trouble.
After about an hour of animated bidding, punctuated with excited affirmations and quiet voices of congratulations, the auctioneer announced that the Wittlesbach Emerald would be the next item offered.