£800,000, £900,000, £1 million followed in quick succession.
‘Do I see one million one hundred thousand?’ asked the auctioneer.
Booth Watson raised his paddle.
That’s when William spotted him.
Miles began to pace around the drawing room as he waited impatiently for the phone to ring, while Christina remained on the sofa stroking the cat.
‘Surely they’ve reached lot twenty-five by now,’ said Miles, checking his watch.
‘You would have thought so,’ said Christina. ‘But I feel sure Mr Booth Watson will call the moment the hammer comes down. He’s so reliable,’ she added as she continued to stroke the cat.
They both purred.
‘One million, eight hundred thousand,’ said the auctioneer as he continued to switch his attention back and forth between the phone bidder and the gentleman seated near the back who appeared to be the only other person left in the chase. Booth Watson was becoming puzzled by who it could possibly be on the other end of the phone, because it couldn’t be Mrs Warwick. Unless...
He raised his paddle once again.
‘The gentleman at the back of the room has bid one million, nine hundred thousand, madam,’ whispered the go-between. ‘Will you go to two million?’
‘Yes,’ said Beth for the last time. She closed her eyes and prayed that whoever was bidding against her had also reached their limit, and their paddle would fail to rise again.
‘I have a bid of two million on the phone,’ said the auctioneer. ‘Will you offer me two million two hundred thousand, sir?’ he asked hopefully, his gaze fixed on the only other remaining bidder.
After what seemed to Beth to be a lifetime, but was in fact only a few seconds, a paddle was raised.
The auctioneer turned his attention back to the phone bidder. ‘I have two million two hundred thousand,’ he said, smiling benevolently.
‘Will you bid two million four, madam?’ asked a voice that now sounded far away.
‘No,’ said Beth. ‘I’ve reached my limit.’
‘Thank you, madam,’ said the Christie’s representative before putting the phone down. He looked at the auctioneer and shook his head. He didn’t tell his client how grateful he was, because it’s always the under-bidder who decides the hammer price.
‘Are there any more bids?’ The auctioneer’s eyes swept the room, but to no avail. He finally brought the hammer down with a loud thud before declaring, ‘Sold to the gentleman at the back of the room for two million, two hundred thousand pounds.’
A round of applause spontaneously broke out in the room after a new record price had been set for a Raphael. Booth Watson didn’t join in.
William still couldn’t be certain who had made the closing bid, as he’d only seen the back of his head, but he wasn’t going to risk hanging around for fear of being recognized. That moment when the stalker becomes the prey.
He quickly left the saleroom, walked down the wide carpeted staircase and out of the front door. He didn’t look back until he’d crossed the street and reached a narrow alley he’d identified the night before, from where he had a clear view of the entrance to the auction house. William stood shivering in the cold as he waited to confirm his worst fear.
The phone in the drawing room began to ring. Miles grabbed it, and listened in silence for a few moments. The blood drained from his face as he repeated: ‘Two million, two hundred thousand?’
‘That’s right,’ said Booth Watson. ‘I’m about to put down the ten per cent deposit. The balance has to be paid within fourteen days.’
‘Who was the under-bidder?’ demanded Miles.
‘That’s the strange thing. There was only one other serious bidder and they were on the phone. I can only assume it had to be Mrs Warwick bidding on behalf of the Fitzmolean.’
‘How can that be possible when Christina only gave her a cheque for one million?’
‘I have no idea,’ admitted Booth Watson. ‘Perhaps you should ask your wife?’
‘I will,’ said Miles as he slammed down the phone, which caused the cat to leap off Christina’s lap and scurry out of the room.
‘Did you get it?’ Christina asked innocently.
‘I did,’ said Miles, but ended up having to pay two point two million.’ He turned to see the flicker of a smile cross Christina’s face. Could it be possible?
After Beth had phoned Tim Knox to tell him the disappointing news, she put on her coat and unlocked the office door. She’d decided to go straight home and share her grief with the twins. At least they wouldn’t gloat. She would then prepare a dish of humble pie which she’d have to share with her know-all husband. She only wondered what else he knew.
At least they had the trip to New York on the Alden to look forward to, and once they were on board, she would forbid him ever to raise the subject again.
The large gathering that had attended the auction were now flooding out of the building and onto the street. Some were looking for taxis, while others headed for their clubs or fashionable restaurants.
William checked every face, but none caused him to take a second look. He didn’t recognize anyone else. He was even beginning to wonder if the £2.2 million might have come from a genuine bidder, and he’d let his imagination run away with him. But he had no intention of going home until the last light in the building had gone out. He accepted it could be a long wait.
Booth Watson put down the phone in the lobby and turned to find a young assistant waiting for him.
‘Congratulations, sir,’ he said.
The successful bidder didn’t feel congratulations were in order, but he didn’t offer an opinion.
‘As you know, sir, we will require a two-hundred-and-twenty-thousand-pound deposit to secure the Raphael, with the balance to be paid within fourteen days.’
Booth Watson took a cheque from an inside pocket that had already been signed and dated, but with the amount left blank. He wrote out £220,000, first in words and then in numbers, before he handed it across to the young man.
‘Thank you, sir. As soon as we’ve received the full amount, you can either collect the painting or we’ll be happy to arrange delivery for you.’
Once again, Booth Watson didn’t comment. He left the gallery assistant standing there, and headed for the main exit.
William was about to accept that he must have been mistaken when a familiar portly figure emerged from the auction house, not looking at all pleased. He hailed a taxi that disappeared in the direction of St James’s.
William began to walk slowly towards the nearest Tube station, but paused when he spotted a red telephone box on the corner of Piccadilly. As William stepped inside, picked up the receiver and dialled a number that wasn’t listed in any telephone directory. When the call was answered by a familiar voice, he pushed a ten-pence piece into the slot.
‘Good evening, sir. I thought you ought to know that Booth Watson was at the auction, and despite my wife bidding two million for the Raphael, hers wasn’t the closing bid.’
‘Well, one thing’s for certain,’ said the Hawk. ‘Booth Watson won’t have been bidding on behalf of Mrs Christina Faulkner, as she’s a seller, not a buyer.’
‘Which rather narrows down the field,’ said William. ‘In fact I’m beginning to wonder, if it’s just possible that Miles Faulkner is still alive.’
‘I never thought he was dead,’ said the commander.