by Fiona Grace
Out in the foyer, Lacey took a breath, only to discover she’d scurried away so fast, she’d left Chester behind! She couldn’t go back in for him now. It would give off the wrong impression.
Luckily, at that moment, Chester came bounding out into the foyer. He looked thoroughly displeased at having been left behind.
“There you are,” Lacey said, as she hurried out of the auction house at a clip, Chester at her heels.
Lacey trotted down the steps and marched to the van. She carefully added the paintings to the rest of her merchandise in the back seats, then jumped up into the driver’s seat and looked over at Chester.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
He blinked.
“I completely failed to speak to anyone about my dad. I just lost my nerve. And Colin kept distracting me.”
She didn’t want to go back in now. It would be asking for trouble!
“I have their number on the flyer,” she continued, reeling out yet more excuses to Chester. “I’ll call them once I’m home, I promise. That would be better anyway if you think about it. It will give me time to mentally prepare.”
Chester gave her a suspicious eyebrow twitch. He clearly wasn’t buying it, and Lacey wasn’t surprised; she wasn’t buying her excuses either. But her fear of knowing the previously unknown was too great. For today, at least, her search for her father would be put on the back burner.
CHAPTER SIX
Lacey’s next stop on her tour was the art store in Weymouth. She was particularly excited for this stop; she’d gotten quite into oil paintings during her decorating spree at Crag Cottage and was eager to see whether she could find some hidden gems. But before she had a chance to set off from the parking lot of Sawyer & Sons, her stomach grumbled loudly.
Lacey realized she hadn’t eaten enough today. Considering how many wonderful different dishes she’d seen on sale, it was a sin not to have tried any of them!
She checked her phone app to see if there were any good places to stop for food on the way to Weymouth. Disappointingly, the only close option was a convenience store in a gas station.
“Chips and sandwiches for lunch?” Lacey said to Chester, looking on the bright side. “I’ll use it as an excuse to try some weird British snacks.”
Tom was always talking Lacey out of trying British junk food by reminding her she wasn’t exactly missing anything while tempting her away by wafting the scent of one of his signature baked pastries toward her.
Thinking of Tom made Lacey’s chest sink. She pushed the thoughts away and started the van. As she maneuvered out of the parking lot of the auction house, she spotted Colin in her rearview mirror, trotting down the steps. She hit the gas and sped away.
It was a bright day, and the tree-lined country lanes looked stunning in the sunshine. Lacey traversed hills and fields before she found the pokey little gas station beside a very traditional-looking British pub called The Red Lion. She filled up Tom’s tank with gas (it was only polite to return it with a full tank, after all), then went into the store and perused the shelves of brightly packaged snack foods. She chose a box of Jaffa Cakes (which, by the picture on the front, appeared to be round spongy cakes with an orange jelly filling and chocolate coating), a packet of pickled onion–flavored chips (which were clearly targeted at children by the looks of the lurid purple packaging covered in cartoon monsters), and a generic ham sandwich from the cooler.
At the till, she grabbed Chester a chewy dog treat. Then she took her nutritionally lacking picnic back to the van and started munching away behind the steering wheel as she drove through the winding country lanes to the last destination on her treasure hunt.
Chester stretched out in the back seat of the van noisily working his way through his bone-shaped treat.
“I’ll give that sandwich five out of ten,” she told him in the rearview mirror. “The bread was a bit soggy. And the ham was kind of tasteless. And there was nowhere near enough condiments.” She paused. “On second thought, I’ll give it a four.”
She’d been very spoiled by Tom’s home-baked loaves, Lacey realized now, and the organic honey-glazed ham he always got from the farmer’s market.
“Now… let’s try this Monster Munch.”
She opened the pack and the stench of onions wafted out. Cautiously, Lacey took out one of the monster-feet-shaped chips and popped it in her mouth.
She regretted it immediately. The flavor was intense, a tangy sharpness that seemed to ignite taste buds that had thus far remained dormant her entire thirty-nine years.
Her eyes watered. She abandoned the packet on the passenger seat.
“That’s meant for kids?” she exclaimed.
So Tom was right. She wasn’t missing out on anything with regards to British snack foods.
Just then, Lacey saw a road sign for Weymouth and turned into the picturesque little town. It ran alongside a river, and there were cottages and tree-lined streets in full bloom.
The small art store was in the annex of a church building—a yellow brick new build with a block glass crucifix-shaped window. The cherry trees in the yard outside were shedding their pink and white blossoms like snow.
Lacey parked beside the curb, then entered in through the large glass doors.
Inside the art store, the space was vast and bright, with big windows and skylights letting in plenty of summer sunshine, and a cool breeze from the air conditioning making it feel airy. The walls were a stark white, the floorboards pale, varnished beech, and it was so serene, Lacey felt like she ought to be quiet. She gestured for Chester to be quiet with a finger to the lips. He tipped his head in acknowledgment, but his claws still clicked on the boards as he followed Lacey as she tiptoed across the room toward the displays.
Lacey perused the prints searching for horse-related ones. There were many reproductions of famous paintings by Edgar Degas and George Stubbs, but from what Gina had told her, the horse festival attendees weren’t the sort of people to hang reprints on their walls. They would want originals.
Lacey was about to head toward the counter to speak to the clerk but was distracted by a beautiful hanging tapestry. It was a gorgeous appliqué in red and gold, and though it wasn’t suitable for her upcoming auction, it would be perfect for the large empty space beside the big window on the second-floor landing of Crag Cottage.
Just then, Lacey felt Chester nudging his nose into her palm.
“I know,” she murmured. “I’m not supposed to be shopping for myself. But just look at it. It’s gorgeous.”
Chester let out a whine of exasperation.
“Do you need any help?” a male voice said from behind Lacey.
She swirled on the spot to find the store clerk standing behind her. He was a portly man, short and stocky, with a kind face lined with wrinkles.
“I was just admiring this beautiful tapestry,” Lacey told him.
The man flashed her a coy smile. “Thank you, I don’t get many compliments on my appliqués.”
“You made it?” Lacey exclaimed, surprised.
“I did,” he said.
He seemed very humble, Lacey thought. Almost embarrassed by his exceptional talent.
“There’s not much of a market for tapestries,” he continued, wistfully. “Or original paintings, unfortunately. Most people are only after prints by famous painters.”
Lacey exchanged a look with Chester. How could she resist now, after hearing the man’s woeful story?
Chester’s eyebrows twitched as if with defeat.
“Well, I guess in that case I’m not most people,” Lacey told the clerk. “I’ll take it.”
His eyes lit up. “Really? You will?”
She nodded. “I will. And I’d very much like to see what other originals you have for sale.”
The man looked thrilled. “Of course. Right this way.”
He gestured with his arm and Lacey followed him as he bustled through an archway into the next room. Here it was even more like a museum or
gallery, because the walls were adorned with paintings displayed side by side.
Lacey immediately homed in on an oil painting, a landscape of spring trees beside a river, with grazing horses in the foreground. It was exactly the sort of thing she was looking for. She paced over and read the signature: John Mace. She recognized the name. He was a popular British artist, and this was just the sort of piece she wanted to sell at her auction.
“I’ll take this one,” she told the clerk, excitement rippling through her.
The clerk hurried over and stuck a little red sticker next to it. Lacey moved on to the next painting that had caught her eye.
It was a watercolor by Mabel Gear, an artist from the 1950s whose paintings were frequently reproduced for greetings cards, and it was displayed next to an equally great find—a graphite master sketch of horses by the French artist Alexandre Pau De Saint Martin, dated 1800.
“I’ll take both of these, too,” Lacey said.
“You like horses,” the clerk commented, excitedly placing his little red stickers next to the two artworks.
“Actually, my customers do,” she told him. “I’m an auctioneer. I’m holding an auction for the Summer Equestrian Festival in Wilfordshire.”
The clerk’s eyes widened with recognition. “Why didn’t you say? I have just the thing!”
He hurried over to a door at the side of the room, pulling a bunch of keys from his pocket as he went. He unlocked the door with one hand, beckoning for Lacey to follow with the other. Curious, Lacey walked over.
As the clerk opened the door, a sort of storeroom-cum-artist’s studio was revealed. It was filled with industrial shelves and sawdust. Two grimy skylights above lit up a loom and a big workbench table covered in blocks of wood and sanding equipment.
“Now, where did I put it?” the clerk said as he started scanning the shelves. “Aha! Here.”
He moved aside to reveal a bronze sculpture of a jockey.
Lacey’s mouth fell open. She recognized it immediately. It was an Isidore Bonheur, one of the nineteenth century’s most distinguished French animalier sculptors, whose cast bronze sculptures were sought-after antiques. A statue in good condition could fetch thousands of pounds at auction.
“May I take a closer look?” Lacey asked, feeling little trembles of excitement in her hands.
“Of course,” the clerk said. “I keep it out back because no one seems interested in it.”
“I’m interested,” Lacey murmured.
She inspected the sculpture. It depicted a triumphant jockey patting the flank of its horse, made of bronze and set on a marble plinth. It was one of the artist’s most popular designs, a commercial success he’d had cast in four different sizes, if she recalled correctly, and was in excellent condition, with next to no scratches or marks. It was a stunning and magnificent find that left Lacey nearly breathless.
That was, until she saw the price tag. Two thousand pounds.
Lacey balked. It was a lot of money to put down all in one go on one item. Lacey had learned a hard lesson about putting down too much money on stock during her time renovating the Lodge with Suzy. That had almost ended in financial ruin for her. And if she bought the sculpture, it would drain every last penny of her profit from the Roman coin.
“I can see you’re deliberating,” the clerk said. “Let me leave you with your thoughts for a moment while I attend to this customer.”
Lacey had been so enthralled by the sculpture she’d not even heard the door open, nor the sound of heavy footsteps of another customer as he paced around perusing the artworks.
“Of course,” she said. “Thank you.”
The clerk headed off into the other room, leaving Lacey to mull over her options.
The sculpture was an amazing find. It would certainly cause some hype for her auction. Indeed, it may well even be THE big-ticket item with which to lure people in. Whether she was able to recoup her investment would really come down to her skill on auction day. As long as she didn’t choke, and worked the crowd properly, it could mean a big win for her. But a big win was also a big risk. Her normal method was to have a range of diverse, unique, and good quality merchandise, splurge items the average person could still afford if they felt like treating themselves. But this sculpture could only be sold to the customers attending the festival. If no one bought it during her auction, then she’d have to wait a whole year until they came back. Keeping a load of expensive stock unsold for a year was far from ideal.
As Lacey weighed her options, she could hear the murmuring voices of the clerk and his customer in the other room. There was something familiar about the customer’s voice, and Lacey was hit by a hunch.
“Wait a second…” she muttered as she paced over to the door and peeked out.
She was right. It was Colin!
CHAPTER SEVEN
What was he doing here? Lacey thought. Had he followed her? How else would he have arrived in Weymouth, in the same obscure art store in the annex of a church, down a quiet cherry tree–lined road?
She hadn’t noticed him driving behind her at any point, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t; she’d been so preoccupied with soggy sandwiches and beautiful countryside she could have easily missed him tailing her. The thought of it made her shudder.
Chester barked excitedly at the sight of the familiar face, completely blowing her cover. His claws click-clacked on the floorboards as he trotted over to greet Colin.
Colin glanced up. “Well, if it isn’t Chester!” he said, ruffling the dog’s ears. Then his gaze flicked over to where Lacey was half hiding behind the wall, and his eyes sparked with amusement. “Lacey. Fancy catching you here.”
Lacey stepped from around the wall and folded her arms, adopting a guarded, suspicious pose. “What are you doing here?”
Colin didn’t look fazed by her less than cordial tone. “I heard from someone at Sawyer’s that there was an Isidore Bonheur sculpture for sale here. I came to check it out.”
The clerk piped up. “I was just telling the gentleman that you already have first dibs. But it seems as if you already know each other?”
“We’re old friends,” Colin quipped. “We go way back.”
“We’re barely acquaintances,” Lacey amended. She looked away from Colin and back to the clerk. “I’ve made my decision. I’m going to take the statue.”
The clerk’s eyebrows rose with surprise. Chester tipped his head to the side and let out a noise of confusion.
Lacey knew she was being rash, but something about Colin’s presence made her want to leave as soon as possible. She didn’t trust him. It felt to her like he was up to something.
“Brilliant,” the clerk said, seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere. “I’ll get packing!”
He hurried off with a triumphant look, leaving Lacey alone with Colin.
“You beat me to it,” Colin said, flashing her a genial smile. “Again.”
He was behaving just as warmly as he had at the auction house, but Lacey couldn’t quell her suspicions.
“I guess today’s not your day,” she said, a little stiffly. “So tell me, where is it you’re heading next? We seem to be on the same treasure hunt.”
She figured if she knew where he was going next, then if he turned up at the same place as her she’d know he was following her. She’d be able to catch him in a trick, if he was indeed playing one.
“Why? Did you want to come with me?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Lacey tightened her folded arms. “No. I’m just curious.”
A knowing smirk spread across his lips. “You know what they say about curiosity. It killed the cat.”
Lacey flared her nostrils. “Good thing I’m not a cat then,” she replied in a deadpan tone.
The clerk bustled into the room then, his jolliness shifting the energy in the room. Under his arm, Lacey caught sight of a bulky item wrapped in bubble wrap. The Isidore Bonheur.
A tightness starting to form in her throat. Was she being crazy putt
ing down such a huge amount on one item? It would wipe out all her profits from the coin. And if she wasn’t able to sell it at the auction, would she end up hanging on to it for years with no interested parties, like the art store owner had?
Then she remembered a little pearl of wisdom Naomi had told her from her yoga retreat year. Physiologically, nerves and excitement are the same thing. She just had to channel her nerves at taking such a huge risk into excitement, and use that excitement to power her through to her goal.
Which was easier said than done, because the clerk was ringing up all her purchases at the till, and the figure on the digital screen was climbing higher and higher.
Her pulse started thrumming in her ears.
I’m not nervous, I’m excited…. she tried to tell herself. I’ll make the money back at the auction.
At least, she should make the money back at the auction. But there were no guarantees in the world of auctioneering. It was hard enough to predict the outcome for a normal auction, let alone a special one with a new and unfamiliar clientele. The horsey people were an unknown entity to Lacey, and she really had no idea what to expect from them. According to Gina, their favorite hobby was parting with their cash, but whether they decided to do so at her auction house, and on her wares, was a different matter altogether.
The till bleeped as the clerk punched in the final item—the tapestry for the wall of Crag Cottage—and the digital display updated itself. Lacey’s mouth went as dry as the Sahara. Parting with this kind of money was nothing for the Saskias of the world, but Lacey wasn’t used to being well off yet, and it still felt a little alarming for her. Especially considering the tapestry wasn’t for the auction at all, and she’d just splurged on it in a moment of bravado.
It’s one of a kind, she told herself. It will pay you back in joy.
“Are you okay?” Colin asked from beside her, his tone hinting at amusement. “You’ve gone quite pale.”
“I’m fine,” Lacey replied, tersely. She handed her credit card to the clerk.