A Bid for Love

by J. B. Sherrard

  A Bid for Love

  By

  J. B. Sherrard

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  A BID FOR LOVE By J. B. Sherrard

  From the moment that Pippa met Fabian Naughton at an antiques auction, she sensed he spelt trouble. Her boss, Hubert, hadn't a good word to say about him, and warned Pippa that he would make a powerful adversary in business. But what would he be like in a loving partnership? She couldn't help wondering. To her mind, he was warm, exciting and quite irresistible, whatever Hubert thought about him! The thrilling part was that Fabian found Pippa equally attractive. But wasn't there a danger that two such charismatic personalities might prove an explosive combination?

  A Bid for Love

  © J. B. Sherrard, 1985

  Chapter One

  It was rather like taking part in an old black and white film, Pippa thought, as the elderly but distinguished black Bentley turned into the drive of Aspley Manor. The mansion stood in Georgian splendour at the end of an avenue of plane trees, obediently still in the chilled February morning. And, as the stately vehicle grated along the gravel path, she smiled to herself, her hazel eyes sparkling as her imagination came to life. In a film, she decided, there would have been a house-party, a couple of murders and keen young men asking if anyone was for tennis, while she swanned around between Charlestons, an ostrich feather at the ready.

  But, in reality, she suspected, today would be rather different. For a start, her layered ash-blonde hair looked decidedly Eighties and she didn't have a single ostrich feather, which was probably just as well since it would have looked somewhat odd with her quilted coat over her fashionable tweed jacket and toning ribbed jumper and skirt. She also doubted whether there would be any foul play, as this was not the norm at auction previews—although there was a possibility that Hubert Saunders might clout the driver of the gleaming red Porsche which had irritatingly followed them for the last few miles, in spite of ample opportunity to overtake.

  "Quite a place, isn't it?" Hubert said, as the full glory of the house became apparent. "I came here once in the Forties."

  A withered groundsman, wearing a fluorescent orange jerkin, waved the car to a parking area by the side of the mansion, and Hubert carefully brought the vehicle to a halt.

  "I shall have something to say to that young lunatic," he added, pointing at the red Porsche whose driver, despite the near freezing temperatures, braved the elements in a blazer and flannels. "Naughton," Hubert said with distaste. "Remind me to tell you about him."

  Pippa looked in the direction of the "distasteful" Naughton at precisely the moment he was looking at them. The young man smiled as if he knew full well that he was the subject of conversation and then walked towards the mansion, his curly blond hair bobbing slightly as he moved.

  "Looks like a woman," Hubert observed gruffly.

  Pippa loved it when Hubert got on his high horse about the younger generation. Fortunately, despite an age difference of nearly fifty years, there was remarkably little conflict between them personally, for Hubert had been a friend of her late grandmother's. He was an imposing figure, tall, with thick white hair which gave him a distinctly military appearance. He owned a chain of antique galleries in the most select parts of London and, with over half a century in the business, was an authority on almost everything. As a matter of policy, he only bought the best, and he expected his staff to be as selective and almost as knowledgeable as himself.

  In the six months she had been working for him, Pippa had learnt a phenomenal amount about the practicalities of dealing in antiques, and felt privileged to learn from such a master. It was a common sentiment, for many of the top dealers in the country had started their careers with Hubert Saunders, and he was revered and respected in the trade. As a result, Hubert received countless applications from aspiring young dealers, even though it was well-known that an interview with him was more demanding than any college examination.

  Although it may have seemed blatantly nepotistic for Hubert to employ Pippa, he maintained that he would have hired her in any case because her knowledge and Fine Arts degree were superb. And Pippa was pleased that the other staff recognised her ability. Not only was Hubert a wonderful employer, he was a good friend, and had been particularly kind to Pippa and her brother Mark, after their grandmother's recent death. It had been an especially great blow to them because Grandma had brought them up single-handed after the tragic death of their parents fifteen years previously.

  Pippa also realised that she was amongst the last to benefit from Hubert's immense experience, for he had finally decided to retire, although whether he would sell the business or hand it down to his godson, Alex Whitley, was still unclear. With so many galleries all in superlative positions and crammed with the very finest antiques, the interest in the business was extensive, not only from competing dealers but also from financial organisations who recognised the superb potential of the Saunders chain—particularly if Hubert could be persuaded to act as a consultant in his retirement.

  "Shall we go in, my dear?" Hubert asked her. "I shall be fascinated to see what's on offer."

  "So will I," said Pippa, for the entire contents of Aspley Manor was due to be auctioned the following Wednesday and today, Thursday, was preview day.

  They walked towards the imposing mansion with Hubert giving Pippa a swift history of the building, which apparently dated from the mid-eighteenth-century and had been in the Aspley family ever since. They made their way to the front of the building, walking through the Doric columns into the hall of the mansion, where Hubert acquired a lavishly illustrated catalogue, which he handed to Pippa. Each lot was carefully described, and the auctioneers had put the estimated price range beneath each description. From a quick glance, both Pippa and Hubert could tell that some of the expected prices were clearly optimistic, while others had been seriously under-valued.

  "No idea, these people," said Hubert, shaking his head. "I may send you to do the bidding," he told her, "so as we go round note the maximum bid beside each item of interest."

  "Do you want it coded?" Pippa asked, for antique dealers, like auctioneers, often used their own codes in case their notes fell into the wrong hands or flashed before the eyes of the unwitting general public.

  "I don't think it's necessary today, my dear," Hubert said. "Pounds, shillings and pence, will do." He chuckled. "I bet you don't remember those."

  "I'm twenty-two, so I'm not that young!" Pippa said, remembering the old-fashioned silver sixpence she used to be given as pocket money when she was a little girl.

  "I think twenty-two's very young!" Hubert assured her. "And so will you one day! Shall we begin?"

  They started their tour in the hall where Pippa noticed that every item, from the suits of armour to the umbrella stand, was numbered. Hubert, with his highly-trained eye, knew exactly what he was interested in and what things were worth, both trade and retail.

  "I'm really after the furniture," Hubert told her, "but we'll see the whole lot. You never know what turns up in these places."

  They inspected the dining-room and the library. Occasionally, Hubert would ask Pippa to tell him about a particular item without referring to the catalogue. He didn't fault her answers at all.

  "You're good, my dear. Very good," Hubert told her. "You know your stuff."

  "Thank you." And Pippa knew it was high praise.

  It was an idyllic job, she decided, today in particular. Hubert had driven her from London to the house in Oxfordshire containing some fantastic treasures, which were not only b
eautiful to behold but meant even more to her, given that she knew so much about their origins. She sincerely hoped that Hubert would allow her to attend the auction on his behalf, because it was a side of the business she found exhilarating—especially as she wasn't spending her own money!

  Hubert was highly impressed with the quality of the lots on offer, and Pippa made careful notes on the top bids he was prepared to make. Hubert knew exactly where to draw the line. If his maximum bid was exceeded by so much as a penny, he would never increase it to secure an item. And, judging by his undoubted prosperity, this policy and willpower had something to commend it.

  They had finished with the ground floor and were just about to make their way upstairs to the first floor when Pippa spotted the "distasteful" Naughton. who had followed them into the grounds. Although Hubert may have accused him of looking feminine, there was no doubt in her mind that he was all man: good-looking and elegant, perhaps—but certainly masculine. He was coming down the stairs. He was just over six feet, Pippa thought, about seven inches taller than her.

  " 'Morning," he said. "Nice to see you, Hubert."

  "I imagine it is," Hubert retorted, dismissing the young man.

  "Hello," Naughton said to Pippa. "And goodbye."

  "Goodbye," Pippa said softly and followed Hubert upstairs.

  "Ghastly fellow," Hubert said, sufficiently loudly for Naughton to hear. "I'll tell you all about him later."

  "That's what you said before," Pippa reminded him.

  "Well, you'll just have to wait till we're in private, my dear."

  Pippa was having difficulty in working out precisely what was wrong with Naughton. Apart from his luxuriant, flowing curly hair, which Hubert automatically held against him, he seemed a courteous and respectable enough chap. He reminded her a bit of David Gower, the cricketer. They shared the same type of hair, carried themselves with a similar boyish lope and were roughly the same build.

  Tall and slim, he exuded breeding, with a voice to match. He looked about twenty-seven, Pippa thought, and his clothes suggested taste and prosperity, being so well-cut they were surely custom-made. He wore a striped tie that suggested somebody's old school, and well-polished brogues. Apart from his car, which was admittedly on the flashy side, he didn't appear in the least offensive.

  True, that was on a superficial level, and Pippa was prepared to concede that not all that glitters is gold. But, at first glance, he seemed the sort of chap from whom you would probably buy a second-hand car, or even an antique!

  The bedroom furniture revealed a couple of pieces that interested Hubert. What caught Pippa's eyes, though, was a late Victorian heart-shaped enamel snuffbox which was probably worth no more than the estimated twenty-five pounds but which she found very pleasing.

  "Spoil yourself and put in a bid," Hubert said when she showed it to him. "Don't pay more than twenty, mind you."

  So Pippa made a note beside its description in the catalogue and decided that she would bid for it the following week. If she acquired it, it would be an early birthday present to herself. They moved on to the next room. An hour and three quarters later, they had completed their tour of the house, by which time the exhilaration of finding so very much of commercial interest was slightly dampened by hunger. They walked out to the Bentley, and no sooner had Hubert started to move out of the drive than the red Porsche once again began to follow them.

  "It's deliberate!" Hubert said huffily. "I shall have words with that young man."

  Pippa turned round to look at the car and, seeing her, Naughton honked his horn and waved.

  "Do not encourage him," Hubert snapped.

  Pippa, somewhat chastened by the brusqueness, remained silent.

  "Sorry, old girl," Hubert said, sensing that he had been unnecessarily firm. "An irritating young toad," he added. "Let me tell you all about him."

  The Bentley edged out on to the main road and, although it was perfectly clear to over-take, the red car stayed closely on their tail.

  "Mark my word, he knows about as much about driving as he does about antiques." Hubert began. "And he's insufferably arrogant. He was set up four or five years ago by his father, some sort of tycoon, and decided to take the antiques world by storm. Well, he had until I had a go at him." Hubert smiled mischievously and Pippa noticed he had slowed down considerably. "Having to stick at thirty will drive a young tearaway like Naughton crazy," Hubert said confidently. But the red Porsche stayed close behind them while other vehicles overtook them both. "If I know Naughton, he's following us because he wants somewhere decent for lunch. Typical behaviour. He sits in auctions and follows the serious dealers in bidding. For example, he knows if I bid for something it'll be good—so he uses my expertise. He's just a parasite."

  Such characters were not unknown to Pippa and it was an established fact that they tended to do rather well. Certainly Naughton's car suggested success, unless his family were underwriting him entirely. As they drove along, Hubert explained how he had given the young man his come-uppance.

  "You'll understand why I'm not his favourite person." Hubert chuckled. "It was at Phillips' the year before last, at one of the Victorian furniture sales. George Duncan knew Naughton had been following him all morning, so in the afternoon we taught him a lesson. I stayed at the back of the auction while George bid from the front in full view of Naughton. When George stopped bidding, Naughton would try and close the sale. If the lots were good, I'd step in and outbid Naughton, but with the bulk of the items George upped the bidding to an absurd degree, and at the end of the day Naughton was left with a pile of over-priced rubbish, which George and I drew to his attention later that afternoon. It had to be done," Hubert said with satisfaction.

  "What did Naughton do?" Pippa asked.

  "He was uncomfortable at first. Thought we were kidding until the auctioneer commented that the prices had been surprisingly high. Naughton went quite white and told us all we'd regret it and then stomped off. But, funnily enough, he's been as nice as pie from that day. And I'll tell you something else, he hasn't bid against George or myself since." Hubert looked in his mirror and spotted the lingering Porsche. "He's obviously going to follow us whether we do seven miles an hour or seventy," he observed, and accelerated swiftly. "I'm getting hungry." As the Bentley sped along the dual carriageway, the Porsche followed like an obedient shadow.

  The two cars arrived at the hotel simultaneously but, to his satisfaction, Hubert managed to secure the last parking place, so Naughton had to find somewhere else. The hotel was a converted Cotswold farmhouse. Judging from the expensive cars that littered the car park, it was a well-to-do place and Pippa couldn't help smiling to herself at her immense good fortune; a superb job, days in the country, rides in a Bentley and lunch at a smashing hotel. But the hotel's popularity was their undoing because the head-waiter informed them that there were no tables available in the restaurant.

  "May I recommend the bar, sir, where substantial hot dishes are available?"

  So they went through to the bar, a charming room with exposed wooden beams and a roaring log fire at the far end.

  "This'll do nicely," Hubert said.

  "It certainly will," Pippa agreed. "Look, there's a table over there." She led Hubert over to the corner where there was a perfect view of the blackboard menu that listed the day's fare. They both opted for steak and kidney pie and Pippa went to the bar to order.

  "Get me a whisky and soda, too," Hubert said. "But bring me the syphon."

  Pippa bought the drinks and, just as she was leaving the bar, holding three items in two hands, Naughton appeared.

  "Can I help you?" he asked politely. Close to, she noticed that he had rather attractive grey eyes which appeared surprisingly sincere.

  Had it not been for the unfortunate angle at which she was holding Hubert's syphon, she would have declined, but she feared she was about to drop it. Without waiting for her answer, he had relieved her of the syphon and then followed her to Hubert's table. The elderly gentleman wa
s not amused to see her escort.

  "Just lending a helping hand," Naughton said jovially. "Your granddaughter seemed to be having a little difficulty."

  Pippa squirmed, not because Hubert would have made a bad grandfather but because she knew he would not have taken kindly to the reference to his age. And anyway, he was a bachelor!

  "Very decent of you, Naughton," Hubert said coldly while the young man hovered, waiting for an invitation to join them which was not forthcoming.

  "Yes, thank you," Pippa said. "And Mr. Saunders is my employer, not my grandfather," she added, trying to put the record straight.

  "Oh, I see," Naughton said innocently. "Then obviously you're not Miss Saunders. You are . . ?"

  "Miss Gibson," Pippa said, feeling like a school ma'am.

  "I'm Mr. Naughton, Fabian Naughton. How do you do?"

  "How do you do?" They shook hands.

  His handshake was crisp and strong and he smiled at her with laughing eyes.

  "Would you mind if I joined you?" he asked politely.

  "If you must," Hubert said coldly.

  But the young man was not deterred. "I must!" The insult was like water off a duck's back. "It's a nice place this. I knew you'd know somewhere decent round here," he said, confirming the parasitic portrait Hubert had drawn.

  Pippa sat down and Fabian Naughton sat down next to her, placing his auction catalogue on top of hers.

  "Well, what did you think about Aspley?" Fabian asked.

  But Hubert wasn't prepared to give the young man any assistance and adroitly turned the question round.

  "Tell us what you think of Aspley?" Hubert said.

  "Very interesting," Fabian began, and actually sounded as if he knew what he was talking about in the short summary he gave them. He wasn't as much of an ignoramus as Hubert had led her to believe, and Fabian held forth until the pies arrived.