‘Sold for one hundred thousand dollars.’
Grace looked around the large room to see who had bought the painting. This was her final auction at Cranfields. It was sadder than she thought and she had promised Alan she would come to support him. He was devastated when she said she had to go to work at Pajaro.
‘But what use will they have with your skills?’ he had asked petulantly.
Grace sighed. She wasn’t about to tell him about Birdie and Leon; they had still managed to keep it out of the media, thankfully.
‘I know, Alan, but I have to for a while. Not forever,’ she said, hoping this was true.
Now she stood at the back of the room. It was filled with people of all ages, vying to get their piece of the last of the Calthorpe Estate.
‘One hundred thousand dollars! Crazy, huh?’ she heard from someone next to her.
Grace looked in the direction of the voice. A handsome man in a grey hooded sweatshirt, jeans and Converse sneakers stood next to her, holding the catalogue that she had so painstakingly put together.
‘It’s only crazy if you don’t have the money,’ she said, laughing at his expression.
‘I thought I would come down, you know, have a look, but so far everything has gone for ridiculous coin.’
Grace looked over his shoulder at the catalogue he was holding. ‘What do you like?’ she asked.
‘You know, photographs, prints, modernist stuff,’ he said vaguely.
‘There are some lovely Charbonnier and Doiseneau photographs coming up. You might be able to get them – if your budget allows,’ she added tactfully. Looking at the man, she doubted he would be able to afford them.
‘Really?’ he asked disbelievingly.
‘Many of the punters here are after the big ticket items, the small ones get lost sometimes. People underestimate photographs but I love them. Their time will come.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said the man. ‘Do you work in art?’ he asked.
Grace took a deep breath. ‘I used to.’
‘And now?’ he asked. He was friendly and unthreatening, the way Grace liked men.
‘I work in fashion,’ she said.
‘I can see that,’ he said, and she saw him take in her black pants and a grey silk top that was devoid of any detailing at all. Her silver earrings and her dark grey spiked heels were her only adornment.
They stood together quietly as the next lots came through and every time a slot went for more than ten thousand dollars, the man rolled his eyes or made a face at Grace, who was finding it hard not to laugh.
‘Here you go,’ she said quickly as the photographs were held up on the stage in front of them.
Alan started the biding. ‘Do I have five hundred dollars?’
The room was talking and ignoring the photographs in front of them. The man went to put his hand up but Grace held it down. ‘Not yet,’ she whispered.
‘Do I have five hundred dollars? No, three hundred dollars?’ he asked the room.
‘Now,’ hissed Grace and she released the man's hand.
He put his hand up.
‘I have three hundred dollars, do I have more?’ Alan asked.
A hand went up.
‘I have three hundred and fifty dollars. Do I have more?’ He looked at the man next to Grace.
