by Fiona Grace
As soon as the words were out of her lips, she knew the answer, and looked across the road, past her father’s badly parked truck, through the window of Tom’s patisserie. It was quite an ask, but if anyone could do it, it would be him.
“I’m going to the patisserie,” she called.
She marched with purpose out the exit and crossed over the cobblestone road to the patisserie. The bell tinkled overhead as she went inside. It was toasty warm inside, and full of customers enjoying baked goods and hot chocolates in between their early Christmas shopping. The familiar, sweet, buttery smell of Tom’s signature pastry tickled Lacey’s nostrils.
Tom was at the counter, using silver tongs to transfer a delicious-looking apricot Danish from the glass display cabinet onto a floral patterned plate. He was wearing a white shirt beneath his apron, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off his tanned forearms. How Tom managed to still look tanned in the winter was beyond Lacey. He must have some Cypriot blood in him somewhere down the line.
“Hello, fiancé,” Lacey said as she stepped up to the counter.
Tom looked up and his green eyes twinkled lovingly. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Or can I guess. Everything with your dad’s getting a bit much…”
“Oh. That?” Lacey said, casting her mind back to the disastrous four-way speaker-call. “I’m putting a pin in that for now. Something came up. Something crazy and far more pressing is afoot.”
“More pressing than having found your long-lost father?” Tom asked, sounding skeptical.
He continued what he was doing, selecting pastries with the silver tongs.
“I’m doing an impromptu, last-minute auction tomorrow,” Lacey told him. “The item is an original letter from Queen Victoria to Charles Dickens, valued at one million pounds.”
The croissant in Tom’s tongs slipped out. “I’m sorry, what?” he exclaimed with astonishment.
“I know!” Lacey exclaimed, nodding with excitement. “Turns out finding my long-lost father isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened to me this week.”
Tom’s green eyes searched hers. “Did you say you’re holding it tomorrow? Why so soon?”
“Because the owner doesn’t want to hold onto the letter,” Lacey explained. “And he doesn’t feel comfortable locking it up at the store.”
“I wonder why…” Tom said.
His gaze flicked up toward the cattle van outside, and Lacey realized he was making a dig at her father. She put her hands on her hips. “I take it you’ve noticed my dad is working on upgrading the security system?”
“I was here when he arrived this morning,” Tom said. “You can hear that cattle-truck thing coming from a mile off.” He crinkled his nose. “Not to mention smell it.”
Lacey glanced over her shoulder at the dirty truck parked haphazardly against the sidewalk. It was quite the eyesore. And Tom was right; it did smell of manure. She’d have to have words with her dad about parking it a bit further away from their respective stores.
“I had no idea he was going to get up so early,” she said.
“He must be an early riser, like his daughter,” Tom quipped.
Lacey knew he was being sarcastic. Tom woke up at five a.m. most mornings to bake pastries and bread in time for everyone’s breakfast. Lacey only got up at seven because Chester forced her to.
“Ha, ha,” she said.
Tom tonged a fresh croissant onto the plate, then placed a teapot on the tray beside it. He picked it up and ducked out beneath the hatch of the counter. Lacey followed alongside him as he carried it over to the waiting customer and placed it on their table.
From across the street, the view into the antiques store showed it was bustling with activity. Frank’s spaghetti wires were all over the place. Tom put his hands on his hips.
“Are you sure he knows what he’s doing?” he asked Lacey.
“He said he trained as an electrician,” Lacey replied, her gaze fixed on her father’s figure through the window as he worked.
“And are you sure he’s telling the truth?” Tom countered. “Because it really looks like he’s just pulling wires out of the wall willy-nilly.”
“He wouldn’t lie to me,” Lacey said.
In her peripheral vision, she saw Tom turn his head to her. “Wouldn’t he?”
She faced him, frowning. “No. He wouldn’t. And I don’t have time for whatever issue or grudge you two have against each other right now. You both promised me to wait until after the wedding.”
“You’re right,” he said, sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”
He flashed her his megawatt smile. It was impossible for Lacey to stay mad at him.
“So, I’m guessing you’re here to ask me to cater for tomorrow,” Tom said.
“You’re a mind reader,” Lacey joked.
“What do you need?”
“Just a few hors d’oeuvres. You know, the tiny ones that rich people eat. It’s going to be a very exclusive event, and it needs to feel that way.”
“No problem,” Tom said. “I can do that.” He turned his body to face hers and rubbed the tops of her arms affectionately. “This sounds like a great opportunity, Lacey. Not to mention a cool hundred grand commission? Not bad for a day’s work, eh? We’ll definitely be able to afford those reindeer at the wedding for your mom now!”
“Actually…” Lacey said. “It will be two hundred. He offered me double commission.”
Tom looked astonished. “Double? That’s amazing! But why?”
Lacey felt her doubts return. “That’s the thing. I’m kind of suspicious about it. Why me? He said he didn’t trust the big auction houses, but then why trust some random independent relative newbie with next to no real reputation? I thought maybe it was something to do with me being an American and not knowing about how royal property works, but Percy assures me this whole thing is legit.”
“What do you mean ‘no real reputation’?” Tom challenged her, gently. “You have a stellar reputation. You auctioned the whole of the Penrose Manor estate, after all. That sort of stuff puts you on the radar for certain types of people. You’ve proved yourself time and time again. Why else do you think Knightsbridge offered you a job?” He rubbed her arms affectionately. “You should have more faith in yourself.”
“Thank you,” Lacey said, genuinely touched.
She’d needed the pep talk. And Tom, as always, had delivered. Bolstered, Lacey returned to the store with a renewed sense of vigor, ready to take on the significant challenge she was now facing head on.
CHAPTER NINE
Lacey entered her store on the morning of the auction a bundle of nerves. The main shop floor had been almost entirely cleared away. Only a few of the more pricey and ornate pieces remained. It made her store look more like Taryn’s sparse boutique than the usual clutter-core Lacey favored.
If Lacey thought her Halloween-themed auction had drawn in an unusual crowd, the black-clad punks and goths had nothing on the types of people now filing through her doors. They exuded wealth. Even their pores seemed to glisten. And they all appeared to be flanked by security personnel, black suited, somber-looking men and women with curly-wired earpieces coming from their ears.
But not all the aristocrats in attendance dressed for their wealth. There were a few rich eccentrics amongst the crowd. A man in Indian-style silk pants and sandals—yes, even though it was winter—and an older woman who looked like a Victorian dowager. The only “normal”-looking people were the representatives from the V&A and Charles Dickens museum, who looked like your average suited office workers and weren’t flanked by security guards.
The crowd mingled, helping themselves to the champagne and hors d’oeuvres laid out on Tom’s catering table. It was an odd vibe, Lacey thought, like the auction room was actually an art gallery with everyone waiting for a single piece of art to be revealed. It was unlike any auction she’d ever attended or held. She felt very out of place in this world of wealth, and couldn’t help but wonder if s
he’d bitten off more than she could chew.
A man beelined for Lacey. He was dressed flamboyantly in a dark purple velvet suit.
“Hello. I’m Lord Fairfax,” he said. “Thirty-eighth in line to the throne.”
“Oh,” Lacey said. “It’s—er—very nice to meet you.” She looked across to the bald, broad-shouldered security guard beside him. “Both of you.”
“This is Hounslow,” Lord Fairfax said. “My valet.”
The stony-faced Hounslow looked Lacey up and down slowly, his gray eyes set deeply into their sockets, giving him a mole-like appearance.
“He doesn’t speak,” Lord Fairfax finished.
“Right,” Lacey replied, squirming under Hounslow’s glare.
“Come on, Hounslow,” Lord Fairfax said, patting his arm. “Let’s take a seat at the front.”
As the unusual-looking pair settled down, Frank came up to her.
“This is exciting, isn’t it?” he said. “Who do you think is the richest person here?”
Lacey pointed at Lord Fairfax. “Probably him,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “He wasted no time telling me he’s thirty-eighth in line to the throne.”
Frank laughed.
Just then, Ronan Pike arrived. He hurried up to Lacey.
“You’ve got the letter and the authentication note?” she asked him. “We ought to display them so the guests can check them over themselves in advance of bidding.”
“Yes, okay,” Ronan said.
He took them both from his bag and handed them to her. Lacey took them to the easels, displaying one on each. A murmur of excitement went through the gathered crowd. The patrons quickly formed an orderly cluster around them, politely taking it in turns to get a good look.
Gina entered the auction room then and gave the signal that all the guests had arrived, and the front door had been secured so the auction could take place unimpeded.
It was time to begin.
Lacey went up to the podium and gave her gavel a little tap. The audience, who was clearly more used to auctions than she herself was, immediately fell into a hushed silence.
“Good afternoon ladies, gentlemen,” she began. “And lords.”
She gestured her hand to Lord Fairfax. He looked as pleased as punch to have been singled out, and did the royal wave over his head. The gesture earned him a groan from the others present. Evidently, Lord Fairfax was a fixture at these actions. An unwelcome one, too, by the looks of things.
“Thank you for joining me on this chilly morning for a very special, exclusive auction,” Lacey continued. “You’ve been hand-selected to bid on this very exciting, rare find: an authentic letter from Queen Victoria to Charles Dickens. It was recently unearthed from the private collection of Charles Dickens’ assistant’s heirs.”
She nodded at Ronan, hoping to convey sympathy. He lowered his head in a somber gesture of acknowledgment. Lacey reminded herself that however excited she was for the opportunity he’d given her, she had to behave as professionally and respectfully as possible. There was a grieving son at the center of it.
“The letter has been authenticated by the esteemed Westminster auctioneers,” she continued. “And valued at one million pounds.”
She felt her throat tighten as she announced the value of the letter, still stunned that she’d been tasked with selling something quite so expensive. But around the room, none of the patrons seemed particularly shocked by the price. That was how things were with the super wealthy. A million pounds was chump change to these people.
“In line with the valuation done by Westminster, we’ll start the bidding at one million pounds.”
Straight away, a sea of red paddles went into the air. It appeared to Lacey that every single attendee had put in a bid.
“Oh good, that makes it nice and easy for me,” she joked.
Her audience laughed appreciatively.
Lacey pointed at Lord Fairfax, accepting his bid as the initial one to kick things off. “One million pounds,” she said, nodding at him. “Can I get one million and ten thousand pounds?”
Every single paddle stayed in the air.
Think bigger, Lacey told herself. An extra ten thousand is obviously nothing to these people.
She pointed to a lady in the front row, who was wearing a tight-fitting nude-colored dress and matching heels and fascinator, which made her look a bit like a strange alien creature.
“One million and ten thousand pounds, thank you,” she said. “Can I get one million and fifty thousand pounds?”
The leap in forty thousand pounds had no impact whatsoever. Everyone was still in the running. This was going to be a long slog! But Lacey didn’t care how long it took. It was thrilling. She could already feel the buzz of adrenaline rising up from her toes.
Then she caught sight of her father watching on with a proud look, and felt a swell of pride. Standing at the other side of the buffet table was Tom, watching her work with an adoring expression. If only the two of them could get on with another now! Still, their support gave her confidence.
“Can I get two millions pounds?” Lacey exclaimed, dizzy with excitement.
Despite the way Lord Fairfax was obnoxiously waving his paddle, Lacey accepted the bid from the woman with the fascinator.
“Two million, one hundred thousand pounds?” she asked.
This time, she accepted Lord Fairfax’s bid.
Just then, the female representative from the V&A rolled her eyes and exited the room. followed shortly by the one from the Dickens museum. Wow, so the official people had been priced out! This was going better than Lacey could have ever anticipated. She was going to make a crazy amount of commission. A life-changing sum. Yet somehow, despite the high she was riding, Lacey managed to maintain her professional demeanor.
“Can I get two million and two hundred thousand pounds?” she asked the room.
Suddenly, Lord Fairfax stood up. “I’m getting tired,” he announced. “Can we please skip to the part where I win?”
CHAPTER TEN
The whole audience groaned. Lacey’s eyebrows rose. She’d never dealt with a heckler before! This was a wholly novel experience.
“Um—” she began. But she was quickly cut off.
“You know full well that’s not how auctions work, Fairfax!” the alien woman said, viciously.
Lord Fairfax turned to her. “What is your ceiling bid, Penelope?” he asked. “You must have one. Tell me it now, and I’ll add an extra ten thousand to it so we can all get on with our days. Okay?”
He looked at Lacey. Lacey was too stunned to know what to say.
“It’s two and a half million,” Penelope, the alien woman, said.
“Oh? That low?” Lord Fairfax said with a chuckle. “And there was me willing to go to three.” He looked at Lacey. “So, shall we call it quits at two million, five hundred and ten thousand pounds?”
Lacey’s mouth went completely dry. She caught sight of her dad at the back of the hall, looking astonished, then Tom, the other side, mouth agape. Finally, she glanced over at Ronan, whose eyes were as wide as saucers, his face the picture image of astonishment.
“That’s—I—” Lacey stammered. This was completely outside of the rule book. She had no idea what she was supposed to do now.
Lord Fairfax removed a checkbook from his pocket and poised his fountain pen above it, looking expectantly at Lacey. “Well?”
Lacey addressed Penelope. “Are you out?”
The woman huffed. “Yes.” She folded her arms. “Lord Fairfax wins again!”
Lord Fairfax laughed merrily. “It’s true. I do have a habit of always winning.” He looked at Lacey expectantly. “So, can you bang the gavel already? Chop, chop.”
Lacey fumbled for the gavel, her fingers trembling. “S—sold,” she said, banging it down, “To Lord Fairfax for t—two million, five hundred and—wait, what was it?”
“Oh, let’s just call it two million, six hundred thousand shall we? It’s easier to writ
e.”
“Okay,” Lacey squeaked, breathlessly. “Two millions and six hundred thousand pounds.”
She banged the gavel several times to punctuate her statement and signify it was the finale of the auction. And what a bizarre conclusion!
The crowd let out a collective murmur and shot daggers at Lord Fairfax as they began collecting themselves and heading for the exit. The man appeared to be lauding in their complaints. He chuckled and waved at them, giving Lacey the distinct impression that this was a stunt he’d pulled many, many times before. She wondered if he even cared about the letter at all, or whether he was just showing off. At least he’d provided them all with a theatrical conclusion to the auction.
Lacey watched as Lord Fairfax ripped the check from his book and handed it to the beefy Hounslow. The valet raised his six-foot-six frame slowly from his chair and strode over to Lacey. Without saying a word, he placed the check onto her podium.
Lacey stared down at the huge sum of money and the whopping huge commission she’d be slicing from it. It felt too good to be true.
Lord Fairfax headed toward the display, rubbing his hands gleefully together. Hounslow walked dutifully beside him.
“What a beaut!” Lord Fairfax said to Ronan, extending his hand to shake. “Good doing business with you.”
“And you,” Ronan said. He looked a little overcome with emotion. “Excuse me,” he said, suddenly, before quickly scarpering.
Lacey stepped down from the podium and joined Lord Fairfax and Hounslow, in order to complete the final step of the auction—the physical exchange of goods.
“You must be a big Dickens fan,” she said to Lord Fairfax as she retrieved the framed letter from the easel.
“Not me,” Lord Fairfax said. “My sister. It’s our birthday. We’re twins.”
“How lovely,” Lacey said aloud, though in her mind she couldn’t begin to fathom spending so much money on a gift. She held the frame out to him. “You must be very close!”
Lord Fairfax took the frame in both hands. “Not really. But last year she bought me a yacht, so this year I had to beat her.”
