DANNY JUMPED OFF the bus and began walking up Bond Street. He could see a blue flag fluttering in the breeze, boldly displaying in gold the legend
Danny had never attended an auction before, and was beginning to wish he'd sat in on one or two other sales before he lost his virginity. The uniformed officer on the door saluted him as he walked in, as if he were a regular who thought nothing of spending a few million on a minor Impressionist.
'Where is the stamp sale being held?' Danny asked the woman behind the reception desk.
'Up the stairs,' she said pointing to her right, 'on the first floor. You can't miss it. Do you want a paddle?' she asked. Danny wasn't sure what she meant. 'Will you be bidding?'
'No,' said Danny. 'Collecting, I hope.'
Danny climbed the stairs and walked into a large, brightly lit room, to find half a dozen people milling around. He wasn't certain if he was in the right place until he spotted Mr. Blundell talking to a man in smart green overalls. The room was filled with rows and rows of chairs, although only a few were occupied. At the front, where Blundell was standing, was a highly polished circular podium, from which Danny assumed the auction would be conducted. On the wall behind it was a large screen giving the conversion rates of several different currencies, so that any bidders from abroad would know how much they were expected to pay, while on the right-hand side of the room a row of white telephones were evenly spaced on a long table.
Danny hung around at the back of the room as more people began to stroll in and take their places. He decided to sit at the far end of the back row so that he could keep his eye on all those who were bidding, as well as the auctioneer. He felt like an observer rather than a participant. Danny leafed through the pages of the catalog, although he had already read it several times. His only real interest was Lot 37, but he noticed that Lot 36, an 1861 Cape of Good Hope four-penny red, had a low estimate of ?40,000 and a high of ?60,000, making it the most expensive item in the sale.
He looked up to see Mr. Prendergast from Stanley Gibbons enter the room and join a small group of dealers who were whispering among themselves at the back of the room.
Danny began to relax as more and more people carrying paddles strolled in and took their seats. He checked his watch-the one Nick's grandfather had given him for his twenty-first birthday-it was ten to ten. He couldn't help noticing when a man who must have weighed over twenty-five stone waddled into the room, carrying a large unlit cigar in his right hand. He made his way slowly down the aisle before taking a seat on the end of the fifth row that appeared to have been reserved for him.
When Blundell spotted the man-not that he could have missed him-he left the group he was with and walked across to greet him. To Danny's surprise they both turned and looked in his direction. Blundell raised his catalog in acknowledgment, and Danny nodded. The man with the cigar smiled as if he recognized Danny, and then continued his conversation with the auctioneer.
The seats were quickly beginning to fill as seasoned customers appeared only moments before Blundell returned to the front of the sale room. He mounted the half-dozen steps of the podium, smiled down at his potential customers, and then filled a glass with water before checking the clock on the wall. He tapped his microphone and said, 'Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to our biannual auction of rare stamps. Lot number one.' An enlarged image of the stamp displayed in the catalog appeared on the screen by his side.
'We begin today with a penny black, dated 1841, in near mint condition. Do I see an opening bid of one thousand pounds?' A dealer standing in Prendergast's small group at the back raised his paddle. 'One thousand two hundred?' This was met by an immediate response from a bidder in the third row who, six bids later, ended up purchasing the stamp for ?1,800.
Danny was delighted that the penny black had sold for a far higher price than its estimate, but as each new lot came under the hammer, the prices achieved were inconsistent. There seemed no reason to Danny why some of them exceeded the high estimate, while others failed to reach the low, after which the auctioneer said quietly, 'No sale.' Danny didn't want to think about the consequences of 'no sale' when it came to Lot 37.
Danny occasionally glanced at the man with the cigar, but there was no sign that he was bidding for any of the early lots. He hoped his interest was in the de Coubertin envelope, otherwise why would Blundell have pointed him out?
By the time the auctioneer had reached Lot 35, an assortment of Commonwealth stamps, which was disposed of in less than thirty seconds for ?1,000, Danny was becoming increasingly nervous. Lot No. 36 caused an outbreak of chatter, which made Danny check his catalog once again: the 1861 Cape of Good Hope four-penny red, one of only six known in the world.
Blundell opened the bidding at ?30,000, and after some dealers and a few minor collectors had dropped out, the only two bidders left appeared to be the man with the cigar and an anonymous telephone bidder. Danny watched the man with the cigar very closely. He didn't seem to give any sign that he was bidding, but when Mr. Blundell finally received a shake of the head from the woman on the phone, he turned back to him and said, 'Sold to Mr. Hunsacker for seventy-five thousand pounds.' The man smiled and removed the cigar from his mouth.
Danny had become so engrossed in the bidding war that had just taken place that he was taken by surprise when Mr. Blundell announced, 'Lot number thirty-seven, a unique envelope showing an eighteen ninety-six first edition of a stamp issued by the French government to celebrate the opening ceremony of the modern Olympic Games. The envelope is addressed to the founder of the Games, Baron Pierre de Coubertin. Do I have an opening bid of a thousand pounds?' Danny was disappointed that Blundell had started the bidding at such a low figure, until he saw several paddles being raised around the room.
'Fifteen hundred?' Almost as many.
'Two thousand?' Not quite as many.
'Two thousand five hundred?' Mr. Hunsacker kept the unlit cigar in his mouth.
'Three thousand?' Danny craned his neck and peered around the room, but couldn't see where the bidding was coming from.
'Three thousand five hundred?' The cigar remained in the mouth.
'Four thousand. Four thousand five hundred. Five thousand. Five thousand five hundred. Six thousand.' Hunsacker removed his cigar and frowned.
'Sold, to the gentleman in the front row, for six thousand pounds,' said the auctioneer as he brought the hammer down. ' Lot thirty-eight, a rare example of…'
Danny tried to see who was seated in the front row, but he couldn't work out which one of them had bought his envelope. He wanted to thank them for bidding three times the high estimate. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and looked around to see the man with the cigar towering over him.
'My name is Gene Hunsacker,' he said in a voice almost as loud as the auctioneer's. 'If you'd care to join me for a coffee, Sir Nicholas, it's possible that we may have something of mutual interest to discuss. I'm a Texan,' he said, shaking Danny by the hand, 'which may not come as a big surprise, as we met in Washington. I had the honor of knowing your grand-daddy,' he added as they left the room and walked down the stairs together. Danny didn't say a word. Never offer hostages, he had learned since he had begun playing the role of Nick. When they reached the ground floor, Hunsacker led him into the restaurant and headed for another seat that appeared to be his by right.
'Two black coffees,' he said to a passing waiter, without giving Danny any choice. 'Now, Sir Nicholas. I'm puzzled.'
'Puzzled?' said Danny, speaking for the first time.
'I can't work out why you let the de Coubertin come up for auction, and then allowed your uncle to outbid me for it. Unless you and he were working together, and hoped you could force me to go even higher.'
'My uncle and I are not on speaking terms,' said Danny, selecting his words carefully.
'That's something you have in common with your late grand-daddy,' said Hunsacker.
'You were a friend of my grandfather's?' asked Danny.
'
'My father is dead,' Danny said.
