He grins, eyes ablaze, and immediately Jess realizes she had him wrong. He hasn’t been blindsided by her frailty. He’s not a pity person at all. He’s a life force. A sudden and unexpected thrill rushes through her limbs.
“Certainly it has its uses,” she says, matching the glint in his eye with her own before plowing a path back to the front.
***
Aggie seems anxious. She doesn’t care for the necklace, of course, but she likes a win.
“Game plan?” she urges, as Jess slides into her chair.
“The most important thing is to get the auctioneer’s attention.”
“Like this—?”
Aggie delivers a round of melodramatic nods and winks.
“No, Aggie, that’s just how it happens in movies. No real-life auctioneer is going to notice that. And if they do, they’ll probably assume you’ve got pink eye. It has to be something more emphatic.”
Jess flicks her bidding card.
“Higher,” says Aggie, pushing up her elbow.
“Not too high,” says Jess, pushing back down. “We don’t want to give our game away.”
“Honestly, this is becoming more convoluted than Ed and Tim playing chess. And that’s—”
“Convoluted.”
“If you want the necklace that badly—”
“We,” Jess corrects.
“Then I think we should catch the auctioneer’s eye, flirt a bit. Although in a place like this, such lascivious behavior might be dicey. We’re bringing the average age down by half, you realize. All old codgers. I can practically smell the beta-blockers.”
Jess turns back to the crowd.
“Not all of them are old,” she says, looking out for the curly haired, sparkly eyed man, wondering if she imagined him among the sea of white comb-overs, salmon-pink yachting chinos, and plaid shirts.
“Quick. They’re about to start.”
“Good afternoon,” says the auctioneer. “We have a packed event for you all, a veritable cornucopia of items big and small. Bids at the ready. Starting with lot number one…”
The sisters sit back and exhale in unison. A set of mother-of-pearl cuff links is paraded around the stage by a stern lead man, who looks as though he’d snap the display box shut on the fingers of anyone who so much as pointed at them. The room is slow to get going, which Jess takes as an encouraging sign. They sit through a complete model railway, a crystal decanter, two rare watches, and a variety of Clarice Cliff ceramics. But the waiting is hard. Each time the hammer falls, they are one item closer.
Half an hour in, the necklace is next. Jess’s palms start to sweat. Aggie fusses over the bidding card.
“You know our rule,” she hisses. “Stick to the limit. Don’t go mad.”
“Yes, yes,” Jess replies, eyes wide, fixed on the auctioneer, waiting, watching.
“Item twenty-two,” the auctioneer bellows, “this exquisite art nouveau butterfly necklace, constructed with enamel, silver, and moonstone. Thought to have been made around 1906, its exact origins are unknown, but our experts have suggested it bears some resemblance to the work of French designer René Lalique. A first glance charms. A second impresses the mind. And the third… Well, that’s the magic, ladies and gentlemen. A third glance has the onlooker beguiled, awed by something he cannot quite fathom. Pleasure in the art nouveau aesthetic, perhaps? An interest in lepidoptera? Or…something else? A must for fans of twentieth-century jewelry design, or how about a gift for that special person in your life? With a reserve of one thousand pounds, I open the floor at six hundred. Any advance on six hundred?”
Her breath held tight, Jess’s hand shoots up.
“That’s six fifty. I have six fifty… Any advance on six fifty? Thank you, sir, seven hundred.”
The sisters spin around to see who has dared bid against them, but the bids come so fast the auctioneer’s call bounces around the room like a ping-pong ball. There is no way to see where it has landed or where it will go next.
“Seven fifty…eight hundred…eight fifty…to the gentleman in the green hat, eight fifty. Do I see nine?”
“I wish he’d stop doing that,” Aggie hisses. “He’s putting ideas in their heads.”
“That’s the point,” scolds Jess.
She thrusts her bidding card out again, desperate to catch the wave.
“Nine hundred, to the brunette lady in the front.”
She grins, triumphant that she has reclaimed control, only to have it snatched away immediately. Her hands, at first sweaty, are now trembling.
“Nine fifty…one thousand…one thousand fifty…one thousand one hundred…that’s one thousand one fifty. Remember, ladies and gentlemen, this is a very special item. Do I have one two?”
Jess lifts her card again, her teeth clenched so tight her jaw aches.
“Back here at the front, one thousand two hundred… How about one two fifty?”
“We said no more than one thousand,” Aggie warns.
“But we can’t stop here. It’s only just cooling down. We need to keep control of the bidding until it slows completely, then make sure we get the last—”
“One thousand,” Aggie asserts. “That was the limit.”
“One thousand three…one three fifty…can we go to one four?”
Jess bites down on her thumbnail, then shoots the card up. Aggie clamps it back down. They glare at each other.
“It’s just a silly bit of costume jewelry, Jess.”
“It’s Nancy’s. Don’t you care?”
“Jess, she’s barely with it these days. You’ll get it for her and she won’t remember what it is.”
“That’s not true. Sometimes she is with it. She certainly was just now.”
The bids continue to bounce around the room. One four fifty. One five. One five fifty. Jess’s heart thuds. Aggie bows her head despairingly.
“Not with my money,” she presses.
“Fine,” says Jess. “Then I’ll do this alone.”
She thrusts the card out one more time, holding the auctioneer’s gaze.
“One six, right here,” he says, smiling. “Excellent choice. Any advance on one six?”
The auctioneer takes his attention to the rest of the crowd, but the room is silent. A whirl of emotions fill Jess’s body. The necklace is about to become hers, back in Taylor hands for ever, where it should be. But six hundred pounds more than she said she would spend! Her thoughts fling from one side of reason to the other. She sickens at the thought of the money.
“Last time,” says the auctioneer, “or it goes for one six to the brunette lady at the front.”
Jess glances at Aggie, so stiff, so sensible. Perhaps she should be more like Aggie. But then there’s Nancy. She loves Nancy. She gets Nancy. Nancy gets her. She screws her eyes shut, waits for the hammer to fall, fingers crossed, brow furrowed…
Another bid slips past.
“One six fifty,” the auctioneer calls, a touch of surprise in his voice. “I now have one six fifty. Madam, can you advance on one six fifty?”
Lost in her torment, Jess doesn’t hear, doesn’t open her eyes, doesn’t respond. What was it Nancy said? Minnie’s necklace binds us all. It has to come back. It needs to come back, where it belongs.
“Once…twice… Okay,” says the auctioneer. The hammer falls hard, the sound reverberating like a shotgun. “One six fifty to the gentleman at the back.”
“Wha—?”
Jess’s eyes ping open. The gentleman at the back?
The room relaxes into a chorus of chatter and coughing.
“How? Who?” says Jess in outrage. “What gentleman at the back?”
“The gentleman that’s just been your savior,” says Aggie, arms folded. “Honestly, Jess, that was ridiculous.”
Jess blinks, shakes her head.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Some asshole bid over me, and you just let him get away with it! You knew I hadn’t noticed, didn’t you? You could have nudged me, given me the chance to bid against him! Now it’s gone! Our chance has gone! Our necklace…”
The shock and disappointment cascade over her.
“It should be ours,” she says, disbelieving. “That necklace is meant to be ours. It was loved by our family forever. It’s not for some random stranger who doesn’t care.”
Aggie rearranges the collar of her shirt.
“Once again, Jess, you’re totally over-romanticizing things. Clearly it hasn’t been loved by our family forever, because…why would it be here, being sold for a frankly ridiculous amount of money in some musty auction room?”
Jess just stares into nothing, incredulous that the Taylor necklace has been snatched away, right under her nose. With a groan she hunches over, then galvanizes herself to make sense of it.
“Who got it?” she pesters. “Did you see?”
“Behind you,” says Aggie, the intensity of her sister’s disappointment prompting remorse. “Mister Smug Face over there. He’s still holding up his card. No, wait… He’s getting up… He’s going to collect the necklace!”
Half covering her eyes, Jess turns to look. As she focuses on the distant figure working its way up the side aisle, she gasps.
“Oh my god, no! It’s him! It’s…the curly, sparkly cane guy!”
“The who?”
“Oh, never mind. Just…what a scoundrel! He implied he plays fair, said he wanted to stop the hawk-eyes from nicking other people’s bids. And now he’s done the exact same thing to me. It was obvious I wanted the necklace more than anyone else in this room. I kept my bids in line. Ugh, how dare he!”
She stares in fury as the curly haired, sparkly eyed man strides up the steps, shakes hands with one of the auction assistants, and is handed a purple box, presumably with the necklace inside. Her heart feels as though it’s tearing in two, made worse by the fact that the man casually tucks the box under one arm.
“Like it means nothing to him,” she snarls, “shoving it under his sweaty armpit.”
“He looks too coolheaded to have a sweaty armpit,” says Aggie sullenly.
“That’s beside the point. He’s stolen from us, in a roundabout kind of way, therefore—”
“Therefore?”
“He’s going to hear my wrath.”
“Jess—”
“It’s wrong and I’m going to—”
“Jess! He bid on it fair and square. Besides, the price was out of your league and you know it. Let’s call it a day, go drink a bottle of merlot or something. I’ll break the news to Nancy if you can’t.”
Jess crumbles, buries her head in her hands.
“Oh, Nancy.” She sniffs. “No. I’ll tell her. This was our thing.”
As Jess sulks, Aggie reapplies her lipstick, digs for her car keys, and checks her phone for messages.
“Three voicemails,” she moans, clamping the handset to her ear. “Scratch the wine,” she says, teeth gritted as she listens. “It’s Steph’s school. She’s been skipping class with the Vegan again. Why? Why does she do this to me?”
“Because she’s sixteen,” says Jess. “And you’re her mother.”
“I have to go,” says Aggie. “The high school wants a meeting. Honestly, I never skipped class when I was her age. You did. But I was always on point. My daughter should take after me. Not her rogue aunt. Are you coming?”
Jess pauses, distracted by the memory of Nancy’s telling-off voice; how she’d audibly berate Jess for her subpar school reports, but all the while be hiding a smile, the Nancy twinkle in her eyes. One teen rebel to another. Jess sighs, the disappointment of the necklace feeling like the most enormous fail ever.
“You go,” she says. “Get Steph sorted out. I might hang about for a bit, see if I can waste my money on some other silly piece of costume jewelry. I’ll see you later.”
“But how will you—?”
“Aggie, please. I’m not completely incapable. I can handle an hour on public transport.”
“All right, all right. I’ll see you at home.”
“Good luck. And…don’t be too hard on Steph.”
Chapter Two
Jess sits out the rest of the auction, barely aware of the lots that come and go. She doesn’t lift her card again, but sits shredding it, venting her wrath on its flat, passive form. As the auction comes to a close and the hall starts to empty, the compulsion—and perhaps her true motive for staying behind—comes to the fore. Curly-Sparkle is one of the last to leave, having spent time chatting with other dealers.
As he makes for the door, Jess staggers after. By the time she catches up with him, he’s in the street hailing a taxi cab, the boxed necklace still tucked under his arm. The air is warm, summer in Knightsbridge. The high street is busy with afternoon shoppers. As a cab pulls up, she knows it’s her only chance—now or never.
“Wait!” she cries.
He doesn’t hear but climbs into the back of the cab and starts giving the driver instructions. Jess slams herself forward, ignoring the pain, then blocks the door with her stick. Now he looks up.
“Oh, hello again.”
“We need to talk.”
“We do?”
“Yes.” She eyes the purple box. “About that.”
“You mean my necklace?”
“My necklace,” Jess corrects.
“Er?”
Jess leans into the doorframe. Curly-Sparkle gives her a puzzled smile.
“Something tells me—could it be the way that you’re staring at me with a slightly demonic look in your eyes—that you’re annoyed I won the bid.”
“That necklace,” says Jess, brow furrowed into a deep V, “is my family’s heirloom. I came here to get it back for my eighty-two-year-old grandmother. I had my handle on the auction the entire time, and then just as the hammer was about to drop on my final bid, someone decided to throw out a chippy little one-six-fifty offer. Literally as the hammer was about to drop.”
Curly-Sparkle shrugs.
“Some you win, some you lose.”
“Oh, come on. I deserved that bid and you know it.”
The cab driver coughs. “Do you want this ride, mate?”
“Yes,” says Curly-Sparkle. “Just…give me a moment.”
He turns back to Jess.
“Look, I’m sorry how things turned out, but ultimately my bid won. I appreciate you feel the necklace has something of personal value to you, but you took your eye off the ball. What can I say?”
Their gazes lock together. Jess tries her best to glare him into submission, but his confidence doesn’t waver. He is utterly self-assured. Why…why does this have to be a trait she finds alluring? She stares into the darks of his eyes, wills that beguiling sparkle to go cloudy. He is not. Never. No way.
“Perhaps I could give you a lift somewhere?” he suggests. “And on the way maybe we can resolve the matter. Or you could just scold me some more, whatever helps. Either way, can we come to some kind of peace? I like to sleep easy at night and”—he grins—“you’re strangely endearing.”
Jess snorts her outrage.
“No, thank you,” she asserts.
He smiles, unfazed.
“It’s a hot walk to the Tube.”
“I’ll be fine,” says Jess.
“Suit yourself.”
He shuts the door. Jess hobbles on, purposefully pounding the concrete with her cane, holding her nerve, masking her emotions with a fixed frown. Smart-talking cavaliers? Oh no, she’s been down that road already and look where it got her! A shattered body and a shattered heart. As if to reinforce the point, her hip joint twinges, stopping her in her tracks. She stiffens, winces, waits for the pain to pass. In her periphery she sees the
cab move off. Good riddance. Another unnecessary, unhelpful and, no doubt, messy flirtation averted.
As she walks on, however, a small torment bores into her soul; the thought that Nancy’s necklace, there on the back seat, is about to disappear once more. She’d come so close, but now…no tears. There will not be tears. Oh god! There are tears! They stream down her cheeks, blur her eyes. She increases the pace, determined to bury her frustration. It’s just a necklace, she tells herself. There are bigger things to worry about. But then…
The cab slows beside her. The passenger window comes down. Curly-Sparkle leans out.
“Are you sure?” he says. “I’m heading for Portobello. I can drop you where you like…”
He holds out the purple box as though trying to tempt her with it. She takes a breath, clenches her fists. The moment spirals inside her. He’s trouble, of that she’s certain, but the necklace…its history, its beauty. She can’t let it go. With a resolute shiver, she stops walking, turns to face him.
“Are you open to deals?”
“I might be.”
The door opens. Jess climbs in.
***
“Well, here we are. I’m Guy, by the way, and you are?”
“Jess.”
“Nice to meet you, Jess. First, where are you headed?”
“The Central line would be good. Queensway or Lancaster Gate.”
“Hear that, driver? A drop-off at Queensway Tube. Thanks.”
He turns back to Jess, brushes a hand through his curls. Immediately she notices a large and unusual gold leopard’s-head ring on his middle finger. She always notices people’s jewelry, her way of reading the world. Most people have little idea that every time they place an item on their body, thinking they’re merely accessorizing an outfit, they’re actually sending out a message, leaking some inner truth about their personality.
Bold, she thinks, staring at the leopard ring; someone who’s not afraid of standing out, who knows their own mind, dares to take risks. Someone who lives to be happy. A thought catches in her mind, one she dare not examine. Her gaze drops to the purple box. The urge to lift the lid tingles through her fingertips, but Guy has it right beside him, his ringed hand resting protectively near. He watches her watching it. He isn’t going to give it up easily, she senses, not now it’s a prize pawn.
The Lost and Found Necklace Page 2
