Mr Botts had already agreed that the sale could take place in a fortnight’s time. He had often repeated that he would have preferred a longer period to prepare the catalogue and send out an extensive mailing for such a fine collection, but at least he showed some sympathy for the position Mr Barrington found himself in. Over the years, Lloyd’s of London, death duties and impending bankruptcy had proved the auctioneer’s best friends.

  ‘We will need to have everything in our storeroom as soon as possible,’ said Mr Botts, ‘so there’s enough time to prepare a catalogue, while still allowing the customers to view on three consecutive days before the sale takes place.’

  Cornelius nodded his agreement.

  The auctioneer also recommended that a full page be taken in the Chudley Advertiser the following Wednesday, giving details of what was coming under the hammer, so they could reach those people they failed to contact by post.

  Cornelius left Mr Botts a few minutes before midday, and on his way back to the bus stop dropped into the removal company. He handed over £100 in fives and tens, leaving the impression that it had taken him a few days to raise the cash.

  While waiting for the bus, he couldn’t help noticing how few people bothered to say good morning, or even acknowledge him. Certainly no one crossed the road to pass the time of day.

  ∼

  Twenty men in three vans spent the next day loading and unloading as they travelled back and forth between The Willows and the auctioneers’ storeroom in the High Street. It was not until the early evening that the last stick of furniture had been removed from the house.

  As he walked through the empty rooms, Cornelius was surprised to find himself thinking that, with one or two exceptions, he wasn’t going to miss many of his worldly possessions. He retired to the bedroom – the only room in the house that was still furnished – and continued to read the novel Elizabeth had recommended before his downfall.

  The following morning he only had one call, from his nephew Timothy, to say he was up for the weekend, and wondered if Uncle Cornelius could find time to see him.

  ‘Time is the one thing I still have plenty of,’ replied Cornelius.

  ‘Then why don’t I drop round this afternoon?’ said Timothy. ‘Shall we say four o’clock?’

  ∼

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a cup of tea,’ said Cornelius, ‘but I finished the last packet this morning, and as I’m probably leaving the house next week . . .’

  ‘It’s not important,’ said Timothy, who was unable to mask his distress at finding the house stripped of his uncle’s possessions.

  ‘Let’s go up to the bedroom. It’s the only room that still has any furniture in it – and most of that will be gone by next week.’

  ‘I had no idea they’d taken everything away. Even the picture of Daniel,’ Timothy said as he passed an oblong patch of a lighter shade of cream than the rest of the wall.

  ‘And my chess set,’ sighed Cornelius. ‘But I can’t complain. I’ve had a good life.’ He began to climb the stairs to the bedroom.

  Cornelius sat in the only chair while Timothy perched on the end of the bed. The old man studied his nephew more closely. He had grown into a fine young man. An open face, with clear brown eyes that served to reveal, to anyone who didn’t already know, that he had been adopted. He must have been twenty-seven or twenty-eight – about the same age Daniel would have been if he were still alive. Cornelius had always had a soft spot for his nephew, and had imagined that his affection was reciprocated. He wondered if he was about to be disillusioned once again.

  Timothy appeared nervous, shuffling uneasily from foot to foot as he perched on the end of the bed. ‘Uncle Cornelius,’ he began, his head slighdy bowed, ‘as you know, I have received a letter from Mr Vintcent, so I thought I ought to come to see you and explain that I simply don’t have £1,000 to my name, and therefore I’m unable to repay my debt at present.’

  Cornelius was disappointed. He had hoped that just one of the family . . .

  ‘However,’ the young man continued, removing a long, thin envelope from an inside pocket of his jacket, ‘on my twenty-first birthday my father presented me with shares of 1 per cent of the company, which I think must be worth at least £1,000, so I wondered if you would consider taking them in exchange for my debt – that is, until I can afford to buy them back.’

  Cornelius felt guilty for having doubted his nephew even for a moment. He wanted to apologise, but knew he couldn’t if the house of cards was to remain in place for a few more days. He took the widow’s mite and thanked Timothy.

  ‘I am aware just how much of a sacrifice this must be for you,’ said Cornelius, ‘remembering how many times you have told me in the past of your ambition to take over the company when your father eventually retires, and your dreams of expanding into areas he has refused even to contemplate.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll ever retire,’ said Timothy, with a sigh. ‘But I was hoping that after all the experience I’ve gained working in London he might take me seriously as a candidate for manager when Mr Leonard retires at the end of the year.’

  ‘I fear your chances won’t be advanced when he learns that you’ve handed over 1 per cent of the company to your bankrupt uncle.’

  ‘My problems can hardly be compared with the ones you are facing, Uncle. I’m only sorry I can’t hand over the cash right now. Before I leave, is there anything else I can do for you?’

  ‘Yes, there is, Timothy,’ said Cornelius, returning to the script. ‘Your mother recommended a novel, which I’ve been enjoying, but my old eyes seem to tire earlier and earlier, and I wondered if you’d be kind enough to read a few pages to me. I’ve marked the place I’ve reached.’

  ‘I can remember you reading to me when I was a child,’ said Timothy. ‘Just William and Swallows and Amazons,’ he added as he took the proffered book.

  Timothy must have read about twenty pages when he suddenly stopped and looked up.

  ‘There’s a bus ticket at page 450. Shall I leave it there, Uncle?’

  ‘Yes, please do,’ said Cornelius. ‘I put it there to remind me of something.’ He paused. ‘Forgive me, but I’m feeling a little tired.’

  Timothy rose and said, ‘I’ll come back soon and finish off the last few pages.’

  ‘No need to bother yourself, I’ll be able to manage that.’

  ‘Oh, I think I’d better, Uncle, otherwise I’ll never find out which one of them becomes Prime Minister.’

  ∼

  The second batch of letters, which Frank Vintcent sent out on the following Friday, caused another flurry of phone calls.

  ‘I’m not sure I fully understand what it means,’ said Margaret, in her first communication with her brother since calling round to see him a fortnight before.

  ‘It means exactly what it says, my dear,’ said Cornelius calmly. ‘All my worldly goods are to come under the hammer, but I am allowing those I consider near and dear to me to select one item that, for sentimental or personal reasons, they would like to see remain in the family. They will then be able to bid for them at the auction next Friday.’

  ‘But we could all be outbid and end up with nothing,’ said Margaret.

  ‘No, my dear,’ said Cornelius, trying not to sound exasperated. ‘The public auction will be held in the afternoon. The selected pieces will be auctioned separately in the morning, with only the family and close friends present. The instructions couldn’t be clearer.’

  ‘And are we able to see the pieces before the auction takes place?’

  ‘Yes, Margaret,’ said her brother, as if addressing a backward child. ‘As Mr Vintcent stated clearly in his letter, “Viewing Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., before the sale on Friday at eleven o’clock”.’

  ‘But we can only select one piece?’

  ‘Yes,’ repeated Cornelius, ‘that is all the petitioner in bankruptcy would allow. But you’ll be pleased to know that the portrait of Daniel, which you have commented on so many times in the past, will be among the lots available for your consideration.’

  ‘Yes, I do like it,’ said Margaret. She hesitated for a moment. ‘But will the Turner also be up for sale?’

  ‘It certainly will,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’m being forced to sell everything.’

  ‘Have you any idea what Hugh and Elizabeth are after?’

  ‘No, I haven’t, but if you want to find out, why don’t you ask them?’ he replied mischievously, aware that they scarcely exchanged a word from one year’s end to the next.

  The second call came only moments after he had put the phone down on his sister.

  ‘At last,’ said a peremptory voice, as if it were somehow Cornelius’s fault that others might also wish to speak to him.

  ‘Good morning, Elizabeth,’ said Cornelius, immediately recognising the voice. ‘How nice to hear from you.’

  ‘It’s about the letter I received this morning.’

  ‘Yes, I thought it might be,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘It’s just, well, I wanted to confirm the value of the table – the Louis XIV piece – and, while I’m on the line, the grandfather clock that used to belong to the Earl of Bute.’

  ‘If you go to the auction house, Elizabeth, they will give you a catalogue, which tells you the high and low estimate for every item in the sale.’

  ‘I see,’ said Elizabeth. She remained silent for some time. ‘I don’t suppose you know if Margaret will be bidding for either of those pieces?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ replied Cornelius. ‘But it was Margaret who was blocking the line when you were trying to get through, and she asked me a similar question, so I suggest you give her a call.’ Another long silence. ‘By the way, Elizabeth, you do realise that you can only bid for one item?’

  ‘Yes, it says as much in the letter,’ replied his sister-in-law tartly.

  ‘I only ask because I always thought Hugh was interested in the chess set.’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t think so,’ said Elizabeth. Cornelius wasn’t in any doubt who would be doing the bidding on behalf of that family on Friday morning.

  ‘Well, good luck,’ said Cornelius. ‘And don’t forget the 15 per cent commission,’ he added as he put the phone down.

  ∼

  Timothy wrote the following day to say he was hoping to attend the auction, as he wanted to pick up a little memento of The Willows and his uncle and aunt.

  Pauline, however, told Cornelius as she tidied up the bedroom that she had no intention of going to the auction.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I’d be sure to make a fool of myself and bid for something I couldn’t afford.’

  ‘Very wise,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ve fallen into that trap once or twice myself. But did you have your eye on anything in particular?’

  ‘Yes, I did, but my savings would never stretch to it.’

  ‘Oh, you can never be sure with auctions,’ said Cornelius. ‘If no one else joins in the bidding, sometimes you can make a killing.’

  ‘Well, I’ll think about it, now I’ve got a new job.’

  ‘I’m so pleased to hear that,’ said Cornelius, who was genuinely disappointed to learn her news.

  ∼

  Neither Cornelius nor Frank was able to concentrate on their weekly chess match that Thursday evening, and after half an hour they abandoned the game and settled on a draw.

  ‘I must confess that I can’t wait for things to return to normal,’ said Frank as his host poured him a glass of cooking sherry.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I find the situation has its compensations.’

  ‘Like what for example?’ said Frank, who frowned after his first sip.

  ‘Well, for a start, I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s auction.’

  ‘But that could still go badly wrong,’ said Frank.

  ‘What can possibly go wrong?’ asked Cornelius.

  ‘Well, for a start, have you considered . . . ?’ But he didn’t bother to complete the sentence, because his friend wasn’t listening.

  ∼

  Cornelius was the first to arrive at the auction house the following morning. The room was laid out with 120 chairs in neat rows of twelve, ready for the anticipated packed house that afternoon, but Cornelius thought the real drama would unfold in the morning, when only six people would be in attendance.

  The next person to appear, fifteen minutes before the auction was due to begin, was Cornelius’s solicitor Frank Vintcent. Observing his client deep in conversation with Mr Botts, who would be conducting the auction, he took a seat towards the back of the room on the right-hand side.

  Cornelius’s sister Margaret was the next to make an appearance, and she was not as considerate. She charged straight up to Mr Botts and asked in a shrill voice, ‘Can I sit anywhere I like?’

  ‘Yes, madam, you most certainly can,’ said Mr Botts. Margaret immediately commandeered the centre seat in the front row, directly below the auctioneer’s podium.

  Cornelius gave his sister a nod before walking down the aisle and taking a chair three rows in front of Frank.

  Hugh and Elizabeth were the next to arrive. They stood at the back for some time while they considered the layout of the room. Eventually they strolled up the aisle and occupied two seats in the eighth row, which afforded them a perfect sightline to the podium, while at the same time being able to keep an eye on Margaret. Opening move to Elizabeth, thought Cornelius, who was quietly enjoying himself.

  As the hour hand of the clock on the wall behind the auctioneer’s rostrum ticked inexorably towards eleven, Cornelius was disappointed that neither Pauline nor Timothy made an appearance.

  Just as the auctioneer began to climb the steps to the podium, the door at the back of the room eased open and Pauline’s head peered round. The rest of her body remained hidden behind the door until her eyes settled on Cornelius, who smiled encouragingly. She stepped inside and closed the door, but showed no interest in taking a seat, retreating into a corner instead.

  The auctioneer beamed down at the handpicked invitees as the clock struck eleven.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘I’ve been in the business for over thirty years, but this is the first time I’ve conducted a private sale, so this is a most unusual auction even for me. I’d better go over the ground rules, so that no one can be in any doubt should a dispute arise later.

  ‘All of you present have some special association, whether as family or friends, with Mr Cornelius Barrington, whose personal effects are coming under the hammer. Each of you has been invited to select one item from the inventory, for which you will be allowed to bid. Should you be successful you may not bid for any other lot, but if you fail on the item of your first choice, you may join in the bidding for any other lot. I hope that is clear,’ he said, as the door was flung open and Timothy rushed in.

  ‘So sorry,’ he said a little breathlessly, ‘but my train was held up.’ He quickly took a seat in the back row. Cornelius smiled – every one of his pawns was now in place.

  ‘As there are only five of you eligible to bid,’ continued Mr Botts as if there had been no interruption, ‘only five items will come under the hammer. But the law states that if anyone has previously left a written bid, that bid must be recognised as part of the auction. I shall make things as easy to follow as possible by saying if I have a bid at the table, from which you should assume it is a bid left at our office by a member of the public. I think it would be only fair to point out,’ he added, ‘that I have outside bids on four of the five items.

  ‘Having explained the ground rules, I will with your permission begin the auction.’ He glanced towards the back of the room at Cornelius, who nodded his assent.

  ‘The first lot I am able to offer is a long-case clock, dated 1892, which was purchased by Mr Barrington from the estate of the late Earl of Bute.

  ‘I shall open the bidding for this lot at £3,000. Do I see £3,500?’ Mr Botts asked, raising an eyebrow. Elizabeth looked a little shocked, as three thousand was just below the low estimate and the figure she and Hugh had agreed on that morning.

  ‘Is anyone interested in this lot?’ asked Mr Botts, looking directly at Elizabeth, but she remained apparently mesmerised. ‘I shall ask once again if anyone wishes to bid £3,500 for this magnificent long-case clock. Fair warning. I see no bids, so I shall have to withdraw this item and place it in the afternoon sale.’

  Elizabeth still seemed to be in a state of shock. She immediately turned to her husband and began a whispered conversation with him. Mr Botts looked a little disappointed, but moved quickly on to the second lot.

  ‘The next lot is a charming watercolour of the Thames by William Turner of Oxford. Can I open the bidding at £2,000?’

  Margaret waved her catalogue furiously.

  ‘Thank you, madam,’ said the auctioneer, beaming down at her. ‘I have an outside bid of £3,000. Will anyone offer me £4,000?’

  ‘Yes!’ shouted Margaret, as if the room were so crowded that she needed to make herself heard above the din.

  ‘I have a bid of five thousand at the table – will you bid six, madam?’ he asked, returning his attention to the lady in the front row.

  ‘I will,’ said Margaret equally firmly.

  ‘Are there any other bids?’ demanded the auctioneer, glancing around the room – a sure sign that the bids at the table had dried up. ‘Then I’m going to let this picture go for £6,000 to the lady in the front row.’

  ‘Seven,’ said a voice behind her. Margaret looked round to see that her sister-in-law had joined in the bidding.

  ‘Eight thousand!’ shouted Margaret.

  ‘Nine,’ said Elizabeth without hesitation.

  ‘Ten thousand!’ bellowed Margaret.

  Suddenly there was silence. Cornelius glanced across the room to see a smile of satisfaction cross Elizabeth’s face, having left her sister-in-law with a bill for £10,000.

  Cornelius wanted to burst out laughing. The auction was turning out to be even more entertaining than he could have hoped.

  ‘There being no more bids, this delightful water-colour is sold to Miss Barrington for £10,000,’ said Mr Botts as he brought the hammer down with a thump. He smiled down at Margaret, as if she had made a wise investment.