Going, Going, Gone

The auction had gone well, until someone unexpected showed up . . .

BEN led the girl outside. He should have taken her to Carol, the woman who ran the office, but he wanted to give the girl the chance to explain. There was something about her look of defiance that struck a chord.

As they made their way outside, she didn’t say a word. She seemed resigned to her fate.

“I should call the police,” he said once they were away from the auction house. “Company policy. Do you have anything to say before I do that?” She looked at him. “What can I say? You saw me do it. I’m not making up some sob story, if that’s what you’re after.”

Ben checked the time. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll tell the boss I’m having my break, then we can talk.”

As he went inside, he wondered if the girl would be there when he got back.

Martin saw Rachel the second she came through the door.

That day, when she’d brought the painting in, he’d wanted to ask her out to lunch, but by the time he found his nerve she’d left. He wouldn’t let that happen twice.

He went over to where she was inspecting one of the puppets.

“Hello again.”

She looked up.

“Oh, hello, Martin. I thought I’d come – see if there’s anything I fancy. I had one of these when I was small. A cat.”

She glanced around. “This isn’t what I expected. There’s hardly any room to turn round.” Martin chuckled. “Forget about the décor, just pile it high and hope most of it sells. That’s the boss’s motto. We’re not like the big auction houses. They have more space.” He pointed to the wall, where the paint was peeling. “And a bigger budget.”

“To be honest, I’m glad it’s a bit shabby. Makes it less intimidating. How many things do you sell?” “Lots.”

“How many is lots?” Martin smiled.

“I meant the things we sell are called ‘lots’. In an average sale we have up to a thousand, maybe more.”

“Goodness!” Rachel cried. “How long do these auctions last? I thought it would be over in an hour.”

“It depends. Some auctioneers manage sixty lots an hour, others can do two hundred.

“There are only six hundred lots plus the ones from the valuation day that will feature on the TV show. It should be over by four.” He cleared his throat.

“Last time we met I wanted to ask if you were free for a drink some time – providing there’s no Mr Matthews.”

“Definitely no Mr Matthews,” Rachel replied. “And yes, thank you. I’d like that very much.”

The girl was still there when Ben came back. “My name’s Ben.” “Katie. If you’re going to call the police, do it. It’s cold out here.”

“I expected you to run.” She shrugged.

“I had to register before they’d let me in, so there was no point legging it. I didn’t want the police turning up at my grandparents’ house.” Ben nodded.

“Let’s have coffee.” He started walking and she followed him to the café. Ben found a table.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t call the police,” he said once they’d been served. Katie bit her lip.

“It’s OK, I’m not going to,” he went on. “There was a time when I was a bit like you. Shoplifting, taking flowers from people’s gardens to give to my mum, always in trouble at school.

“Everything changed when I started this job. I only took it because Mum nagged me about wasting my life. I thought I’d give it a week, then get the sack.” He shrugged.

“It didn’t work out like that. There’s so much going on. I was so busy I didn’t even think about stealing, then when I got my wages I felt so proud of myself.” He paused.

“Why do you take things?”

Katie shrugged.

“You can tell me. I’m good at keeping secrets.” Eventually, she spoke. “My dad left home when I was ten. Two years ago, Mum died. I had to go and live with my grandparents.”

“That must have been hard. What about your dad? Didn’t he come back when your mum died?” Katie shook her head. “We tried to find him, but he’s moved so often. He still doesn’t know she’s gone.”

Ben felt sorry for the girl. “He doesn’t contribute anything moneywise?”

“He did for a while. After that, the only thing he gave me were the puppets. Then they stopped, too.

“I haven’t heard from him for three years. My grandparents are great, but they can’t afford to buy me decent shoes.”

She wiggled her foot to show him her trainers.

“These cost more than fifty pounds.”

Ben nodded. “I understand, but stealing’s not the way. How old are you? Have you thought about getting a job?”

“I turned sixteen last month.” She sighed. “Grandad wants me to stay on at school, get some qualifications.”

“What about you? What do you want?”

“Not sure. Thanks for listening, but . . .” She shrugged again.

Katie reminded Ben so much of himself. If he hadn’t fallen on his feet at King’s Road, well, it didn’t bear thinking about. Then he had an idea. “You should come to the next auction. You’ll be able to buy as many decent trainers as you want.”

He told her about the shoe shop that had gone out of business.

“There’ll be plenty of bargains.”

“I’ve never been to an auction. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you the ropes. But you have to promise me – no more stealing. Deal?”

“I promise. But before you decide to help me, there’s something else.” She took a breath. “I’ve been taking money from my grandparents, too.”

“Take a deep breath,” Martin told himself as he set off to meet Rachel for their date. “She’s probably nervous too.”

He sat in the car outside her house for a while, hoping to steady his nerves, but it was useless. He was about to get out when Rachel came through her front door.

She looked so beautiful that all the things he’d planned to say went out of his head.

“I’ve booked a table at La Cantina. I hope that’s OK.” He opened the door of the car for her.

She nodded and climbed inside.

On the way to the restaurant Martin tried to make conversation, but he was met with one-word answers.

Once there, a waiter led them to a table.

“I’ll bring the wine list.” Rachel stopped him. “I don’t want any wine.” “We’ll just have water,” Martin told the waiter, though he’d been looking forward to a glass of wine, thinking it might help to oil the wheels.

The waiter came back with two menus and for the next couple of minutes they sat there reading, neither of them saying a word.

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” Martin said at last. “I had tonight all planned out in my head. I’d impress you, say clever things that made you laugh. Instead, I’m so nervous I’ve no idea what to do or say.”

To his relief, Rachel laughed.

“Ditto. I haven’t been on a date for years, I spent ages deciding what to wear. I almost cancelled twice!” Martin smiled.

“I’ve an idea. Let’s pretend we’re old friends meeting up after a long absence, sharing a meal together.”

“That sounds perfect. About the wine? I was worried in case it went to my head and I said something silly.”

“Why don’t we have a glass of wine each, rather than a bottle? It’s all I can have anyway, because I’m driving.”

After that, it was easy. By the end of the first course, Martin felt so relaxed he reached across and took Rachel’s hand.

“This is fun, don’t you think?”

She nodded. “Would you like to do it again some time?”

Frank didn’t know what to do about Katie. Sometimes, when he talked to her, it was as though they were speaking different languages.

The problems had started when her father had disappeared. They’d tried to find him, but letters sent to his old address came bouncing back. His employer told them he’d been sacked, but not why.

Nobody knew where he’d gone.

“Had a good day?” Frank asked when Katie came home.

She nodded.

“I went to King’s Road on my way home. They’re selling shoes in the next auction.”

“Did you see any you liked?” Frank smiled. He knew how Katie felt about shoes. Iris liked them, too.

“Yes. I’m thinking about going to the sale to try to grab a bargain.”

“Be careful you don’t buy something by accident.”

“Oh, Grandad,” Katie replied. “I know how to bid. Ben taught me.”

Frank wondered who Ben was, but Katie had already gone into the kitchen and he knew from experience that it was best not to ask her about boys.

Rachel had just closed the front door when her phone buzzed. It was a text from Martin.

Thank you for a lovely evening. Are you free on Wednesday? We could go to the cinema, or whatever you fancy. She texted straight back.

I’m free. You choose.

She hadn’t had such a good time in, well, she couldn’t remember when.

Once they’d had that heart to heart, the conversation had flowed. Martin told amusing stories about his King’s Road customers, but he was a good listener, too. When she’d told him about her dream of going to New York, he hadn’t said anything to dampen her enthusiasm.

“If you want to go, you’ll find a way.”

The daft thing was, she believed him.

On Thursday evenings Iris went to a computer class. Frank had been surprised how quickly she’d taken to computers, never having used them before.

He remembered his own struggles with technology when computers had first arrived at the sorting office. It had taken him ages to pick things up. But Iris was taking it all in her stride.

He put the kettle on, ready for her coming home. It had just boiled when she came through the door. As usual, she was eager to show what she’d learned.

“We spent a lot of time learning about Facebook.”

Frank frowned. He approved of the internet – it made so many things easier, like finding information and filling in forms. But he wasn’t a fan of social media.

They headed to the computer corner. Iris showed him some of the Facebook pages she’d signed up to.

“You wouldn’t believe how much is on here,” she said. “I’ve joined all kinds of groups.”

Frank rubbed his chin. “So almost everyone’s on Facebook?”

“Except you!” Iris gave him a cuddle. “You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?”

“Show me how you find people,” he said in reply.

“You type their name here.” She typed in the name of their favourite take-away. “And bingo, up comes a list.” She pointed to the screen. “See? The Spice Zone.”

“You can do that with people, too?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “I see what you’re getting at. You’re wondering if we can find Katie’s father.”

She began typing his name into the box.

“What’s up? You’re like the cat who’s got the cream.” Carol gasped. “You’ve met someone! I recognise that look.”

“I am seeing somebody, yes.”

“Tell me all about her – or is it a secret?”

Martin laughed. Carol loved a piece of gossip.

“We met when she came to the valuation day. She owns that little Victorian painting, the one by Alfred Hunt.”

“And you chatted her up! Good for you, Martin.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he said, then saw she was teasing. “We’ve been on three dates. It’s going well.”

Ben came into the office. “Am I interrupting?” “No,” Martin said. “Come on, we’ve work to do. People will start arriving soon. I’ll give you all the details later, Carol.”

“Can’t wait,” she said with a grin.

Ben and Martin made sure everything was in its place. First they checked the back rooms where gardening and other tools were displayed, along with fridges and white goods.

On either side of the long, thin room, ancient shelves bore the weight of boxes filled with anything from jigsaws and old board games to tea sets and assorted bric-à-brac.

“No playing to the cameras,” Martin ordered as they emerged into the main hall. “Don’t forget, for us it’s just another day at the office.”

“It’s a special day for you, Mr Lane. You’re the star of the show.” Ben sounded wistful. “I’d love to stand up on that platform, with people hanging on your every word. You make it look so easy.”

“It’s all about confidence,” Martin explained. “So long as you sound as though you know what you’re doing, that’s all it takes.

“Fancy having a go before the rush starts?” He tapped the steps that led up to the platform the auctioneers used.

Ben climbed up the steps. “Wow! It looks so different from up here.”

The boy’s enthusiasm made Martin smile.

He gave Ben a copy of the auction catalogue.

“Have a go. Pretend to sell the first couple of lots.”

Ben took the sheet and cleared his throat.

“Lot number one is an old lawnmower complete with grass box. Will somebody give me ten pounds for it?” Martin stopped him. “That’s good. You have a strong, clear voice, but you need to pick up speed.

“People know what everything is. It’s different at the upmarket auction houses; you can take your time. Here, the faster you can go, the better.”

Ben nodded.

“Lot Two, a cast-iron bath. Ten pounds, anyone? No? Five? I have five pounds over there, six, seven . . .” He paused. “Sold for seven pounds. Lot three, a box of cutlery and an oil can.”

Martin let him run through five lots before stopping him.

“You did well. Mind, it’s harder when there are actual people bidding. You need eight pairs of eyes and bat ears.”

He checked the time. “The TV people will be here soon. If you want a break, take it now. You might not get another chance.”

The morning had passed in a blur. Thanks to the TV cameras, visitor numbers had increased threefold. Ben was sent to and fro with no time to think.

When Katie came in the door, he went over to her.

“Find anything you want to bid on?”

She pulled him over to a row of shelves where large boxes were filled to the brim with new shoes.

“Those,” she said, pointing to Lot 123, “and maybe those.”

Ben chuckled. “Unless your feet are different sizes, most of them won’t fit you.”

She smiled.

“I’m going to sell them on! I’ve already asked round my friends. It depends on how much they go for, but I think I can make a decent profit.”

Ben saw she’d given the idea some thought.

“How much do you want to pay?”

She named a figure above the estimate.

“Good. You might get them for less than that. I’ll give you a few tips on bidding.”

“No need. I’ve seen loads of auctions on TV.”

“It’s different in real life. It’s important not to bid too soon.”

He explained why. “The auctioneer will say, ‘Let’s start the bidding at twenty pounds.’ If somebody bids straightaway, they’ll end

up paying at least twenty.”

“Well?”

“If they’d waited, and if there weren’t any bids, the auctioneer would lower the starting price to ten, maybe even five pounds.” He glanced at the clock. “I’d love to stay but it’s crazy here today. Are you here till the end?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. My grandparents are coming along later. They’re excited about being on TV. We’re going to Mcdonald’s afterwards to celebrate.”

“I was hoping we could meet up,” he said. “If it’s not too late, text me when you’ve eaten.”

“OK.” Katie frowned. “This isn’t a date, is it?”

“No. I’ve had an idea, that’s all.”

“Are you still on Facebook, Iris? It’s time we left. We don’t want to miss the puppets.”

Iris bustled up. “Sorry, love. I decided to have another go, but it’s hopeless. Who would have thought there’d be so many people called Peter Jones?”

“At least we tried. Maybe we can find another way to trace Katie’s dad. You never know, he might see us on TV and his conscience will be pricked!”

Iris put on her coat. She chose a bright blue scarf and put it round her neck.

“What’s that for? It’s warm today.”

“I want to stand out so everyone sees me.” Frank laughed. “Right, shall we go?” He offered her his arm.

“I wonder how much the puppets will fetch?” Iris mused. “I hope it’s enough to get the boiler fixed.”

“I hope so, too. It’s making that noise again.”

Martin loved sale days and today, because of the TV cameras, it was busier than usual. Even the boxes of junk and garden tools were finding bidders.

“Lot One-two-one,” he said, his voice strong and clear. “An ancient bike needing some TLC. Ten pounds, anyone?”

A pause. A quick look round to see if anyone was thinking of bidding.

“Five, then.” As expected, bidder number seventy three, a regular at King’s Road, raised his bidding card. Immediately, another man bid £10.

Martin smiled. On a normal day the bike would have only made a fiver.

When Rachel arrived, he gave her a wave without missing a beat.

After 200 lots, it was time for his break. He needed to be in good voice for his starring role later that day. As he stepped down, Paul, his second in command, took over.

“They’re keen,” Martin whispered. “Have fun.”

He headed to where Rachel was sitting. They shared a brief hug. “Nervous?” he asked her. She nodded. “They’ll want a few words before the painting goes under the hammer, and then your reaction once it’s sold. It’s not live so if anything goes wrong, you can do it again.” He took her hand.

“I’m on a break. Did you want to slip away and get something to eat?”

“I’m not sure I could eat anything, I’m so nervous. Besides, I’m loving this whole experience. Whoever thought auctions could be so much fun?

“I understand why you like your job so much – the atmosphere, the way you command the stage.” Martin chuckled.

“I’m glad you like it. Of course, it’s different today. Lots of people are here for the first time, hoping to end up on TV. With any luck, some of them will catch the auction bug and become regular customers.” He paused.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m parched. How about some tea and cake?” “Just tea, thanks.” “Good. Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

Once the auction had started, time flew by. Ben made sure he was close by when Katie’s shoes came up for sale and watched with pride as she bagged both lots for less than she’d expected to pay.

He’d planned to talk to her later, but maybe now was the right time. He found Martin, getting tea.

“Can I take ten minutes, Mr Lane? There’s somebody I want to talk to.”

“Don’t tell me,” Martin said as he added sugar to his brew. “It’s that young lady, the one with the nose stud. Is she your girlfriend?” Ben shook his head. “No. So, is it OK?” “Go ahead, but be back before the filming starts.”

“Thanks, Mr Lane.” Ben headed over to Katie and without a word, ushered her towards the exit. “I see you got the shoes,” he said once they were outside. Katie grinned.

“Yes. A good price, too, thanks to your advice.”

“Glad to help. I wanted to talk about the other day.”

“You mean when you caught me stealing? I’m sorry about that, really I am. You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

“No.” Ben felt awkward. His own past was hardly blemish free. “Stealing from anyone is wrong, but taking money from your grandparents!”

Katie looked down. “I know, I feel terrible about that. I’ve given them all the puppets. Whatever they make is going towards a new boiler.” She looked up at Ben and smiled.

“Apart from the seahorse. That one’s mine. I’ve said I’ll keep whatever the seahorse makes. Then, if I need any more shoes . . .”

Katie wasn’t daft, Ben decided. The seahorse was likely to make the most money! He hugged her.

“What was that for?” Katie asked, wriggling free.

“Nothing.” He’d been about to ask her to give her grandparents some money from when she sold the shoes, but now there was no need.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

He had to think fast. “Carol, the woman who runs the office, sometimes takes on temporary staff to update records, do filing, and stuff like that. I wondered if you’d be interested.”

“How did you come by the painting?” the presenter asked Rachel.

“It was a gift. From a man, a long time ago.”

“A lovely gift, if I might say so. What will you spend the money on, if it sells?” Rachel smiled. “When I put it up for sale I was hoping to get to New York on the proceeds, but I’d need at least a thousand for that. Martin doesn’t think it will make that much.”

“Martin? The auctioneer?” “Yes. He’s been more than kind.”

She wasn’t about to tell the world that they were dating. That was between her and Martin.

“All good so far,” the cameraman said.

The presenter switched off his TV persona and relaxed.

“You did great. We’ll start filming again when the painting’s being sold. OK?”

“OK.” At least when that happened Rachel wouldn’t need to think about what she was saying. All they wanted was her reaction to whatever price it made.

She watched Martin sell two more lots. Neither featured in the show, giving the film crew time to get into the right position.

When Martin announced Lot 822, her heart rate soared.

“This fine Victorian landscape is by Alfred William Hunt. I’ll start the bidding at two hundred pounds.”

The room was silent. Rachel could hardly breathe as she waited for the first bid, but none came.

“Right. We’ll try one hundred pounds.”

Two bidding cards shot up. The chase was on.

As the price slowly went up, it was hard to keep track of who was bidding. Most of the regulars didn’t bother raising their cards, relying on the auctioneer to watch out for their nod.

When the hammer fell, she gasped. Her painting had sold for £1300!

“Wow!” The presenter

turned to Rachel. “You must be delighted. It seems your friend got it wrong.” Rachel shook her head. “You never know what will happen with auctions,” she said, relaxing as the TV people moved on to the next person.

Ben held up the first of the puppets so that the audience could see it clearly. They were being sold in four separate lots to maximise bids.

The seahorse was the rarest, so that was on its own. The rest had been divided into two lots, with the figures in the last.

Ben scanned the room. Already he’d learned how to read people’s body language and could often tell who was going to make a bid, even how high they’d be prepared to go.

One of the regulars specialised in toys, so he’d definitely be interested, but the great thing about puppets was the nostalgia. So many people had had them as children.

Then there were the cameras. Some people were so keen to get on TV they were making bids when they wouldn’t normally have done.

The bidding for the seahorse started slowly but that meant nothing. People often held back. It didn’t pay to appear too keen.

One hundred and ten, twenty . . . As the price increased he could feel the tension in the room.

When the price reached £160 the bidding slowed down until Martin nodded at the computer monitor.

“One hundred and seventy-five online!”

A quick flurry of bids followed. When the hammer finally came down the little seahorse had sold for £245. The other three lots made a total of £390.

Katie’s grandparents would be delighted.

It was late by the time Martin got away that night. The TV people were in no hurry to leave. It had been a good day.

He called in at the office on his way out.

“I need to pay for lot Eight-two-two,” he told Carol.

“I’m surprised at you,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “It’s not worth what you paid for it. You must like the owner very much.”

“I do,” Martin admitted. “She’s set on visiting her sister in Chicago. Ideally, she’d like to visit New York at the same time. I’m not sure this will be enough, but it’ll help.”

He took the painting. “This will go well with the two I’ve already got.” Carol smiled.

“Does she know you’re the one who bought it?”

“Not yet. I’ll tell her tomorrow over lunch.”

At work the next day, his mind was all over the place. He could hardly wait to see Rachel. They were now so at ease in each other’s company, it was as if they’d known each other for years.

At one o’clock Martin headed to the office.

“I’m meeting Rachel,” he said. “Might be late back.”

“Take all the time you need,” Carol replied as a tall, smartly dressed man strode up to the counter.

“The painting you sold – the one by Alfred Hunt. I want to know who it belonged to.”

Carol bristled at the man’s abrupt tone. She was about to explain about confidentiality when Rachel walked in. The man strode over to her. “Rachel!” “David?” She gasped. Martin didn’t wait to see what happened.

“Tell Rachel I had to go out,” he whispered to Carol, then left.

David, the wealthy businessman who’d given Rachel the painting, was here. The man Rachel had been so deeply in love with, she’d almost gone to America with him.

Martin couldn’t hope to compete with that.

To be concluded.