A bell rang and the music system was flooded with the sound of Elgar’s “Trumpet Voluntary,” Tollemache’s signature piece. Like cattle, the bidders made their way towards the seating area. Heavy wine-red ropes kept the journalists and tourists at a distance, and girls wearing plain black dresses and holding clipboards were stationed at each gap in the ropes. They directed every bidder to a specific numbered seat, ticking people off as they passed. Mona Rae, I noticed, was sitting right up front, perfectly positioned for journalists to get a spectacular photo of her when the Sheba made an appearance.
But the Anguissola wasn’t coming up until the second lot. The crowd settled into their seats, the air vibrating with energy. Suddenly, the music crashed to a crescendo and the red velvet curtains parted. Behind was a line of porters dressed in racing green coveralls, Tollemache’s logo stitched in gold on each breast pocket. Making her way through the gauntlet of porters was the auctioneer, Lilja Koskela.
She was fortyish and thin like a whippet with a nose like one too. I didn’t know Finns came with black hair, but this one did, and she was sporting a pair of Verdura necklaces—heavy gold chains dotted with a variety of gemstones. Later I looked them up and found out they were worth about eighty grand. If I’d known that at the time, I might have at least considered branching into jewel theft. Lilja Koskela strode to the podium like an Oscar favorite accepting her statue. She looked coolly at the crowd and made a few announcements, her English only barely tinged with a Finnish vowel here and there.
I was half listening to her as my gaze wandered over the crowd. I would have missed him if it hadn’t been for the quick flash of white cuff. He was dressed with nondescript good taste, plain Burberry trench, dull plaid scarf, navy trilby pulled down over his brow. I sipped at my champagne and waited. He was discreet; only another pro would have noticed the small, sweeping scans he made of the crowd. But I kept behind a pillar, one of the floodlights positioned just above me, throwing me into shadow.
At the podium, Lilja Koskela finished her announcements and there was a sudden rousing blare of Handel’s Water Music as a pair of porters carried in Vallayer-Coster’s Pineapple. They set it on the easel and the crowd leaned forward. It was the only still life in the group and about as exciting as you’d expect a pineapple to be. But Koskela was a born storyteller, and by the time she finished describing the composition and the provenance, bidders were reaching for their paddles.
She started them at ￡400,000 and suddenly we were off to the races, bids flying all over the room. At first, it seemed like there were eight different bidders, but some of them may have been chandelier bids—a technique Mary Alice had explained. It’s when the auctioneer pretends to accept a bid from a phantom bidder in order to drive the price up. It was a risky proposition if you weren’t sure someone in the room would top it, but Koskela worked the crowd, milking them like dairy cows until she got them up to ￡750,000. At an exchange rate of one pound sterling to $1.308, plus fees, the Pineapple might look like SpongeBob’s house, but it was working its way towards a cool million.
She brought the hammer down at ￡775,000 and the crowd went nuts, at least nuts for an auction crowd. There was a brief interlude before the music blared—Handel again. The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba. Koskela read through the provenance. She opened the bidding at ￡300,000. There were a number of bidders to start—a few museums, a couple of private dealers. Representations of Black women in Renaissance art weren’t all that common, after all. And Anguissola was a good bet to appreciate in value. She wasn’t well-known outside the art world, but female artists were increasingly in vogue and Anguissola was one of the best.
I could have made a move then, but I was feeling sentimental. I wanted to see the Sheba get her due. Mona Rae had her paddle in the air when the hammer came down: ￡1.2 million. A new record for Anguissola, Koskela announced in a throaty purr. Mona Rae threw up her hands in victory and was immediately escorted out by a senior staff member to arrange payment and gloat over her win.
Everyone’s attention was focused on the auctioneer as the marquee painting—a sentimental Cassatt—was brought out. It was time. The chair next to Vance was open and I slipped into it.
“I’m glad the Sheba went for so much,” I said conversationally. “A nice little bonus for the Museum. And it’s getting such a good home. I really think Mona Rae feels what Anguissola was going for.”
I gave him a sideways look, happy to see that he looked older than I’d expected. He hadn’t run to fat. There was no paunch underneath that Burberry. But the eyes had seen a lot. They were hard and flat as he flicked a glance in my direction.