The House in the Clouds - Victoria Connelly Page 0,3
for a brief moment, was fearful that she might not be able to bid at all – that some strange power might prevent her, and so she raised her hand.
‘We have a new bidder in the room,’ the auctioneer announced. How ghastly, Abi thought, as heads turned to seek her out, but at least she was a part of things now.
As far as she could see, there were four other bidders, one on the telephone, one online and two in the room. Abi had known ahead of time that she could have bid from her place in London, but she’d wanted to be in the auction room itself and had been desperate to visit the hall too so she could imbibe some of its magic beforehand.
The price continued to rise and she noticed that the bidder on the phone had dropped out. It was getting closer to becoming hers, she thought. She just had to keep going and make sure hers was the last hand in the air when the gavel fell. She’d set a price limit, of course. It seemed ridiculously high to her and she’d seen other similar properties online, fully restored, selling for much less, but she knew that Winfield was special. Its setting made it unique and that would come at a premium, she realised.
Still, the price rose until another bidder bowed out. How many were left now? Abi quickly glanced around the room. It was just her and one other: a man in a sharp, dark suit with neat sandy hair and a gold watch which caught the light each time his hand rose to bid.
For a few tense moments, it was just her and him. She bid; he bid. On it went, the price rocketing, scarily close to her limit. She swallowed hard. What would she do if it reached her limit? Could she risk spending more?
She bid; he bid.
She mustn’t forget how much it would cost to renovate. It would probably be as much as the sale price and then there were bound to be a few surprises. She’d heard there always were with older properties.
She bid; he bid.
Then there’d be the auctioneer’s fee on top of the sales price.
Abi felt a wave of panic. They were reaching her limit.
She bid and there was a pause. Then he bid. The limit had been reached and the bid was with him.
Tentatively, she raised her hand and bid again.
He raised his and the price shot up.
Once more, she told herself – just once. She touched her locket. One more lucky bid. She raised her hand. There was a pause. The auctioneer looked at the gentleman. He bid again.
‘Are we all done?’ the auctioneer asked, looking at Abi in case she had another bid in her. But she couldn’t do it. She shook her head, slowly realising that it wasn’t meant to be. So much for her vision of the future. This, she thought, was where flights of fancy got you.
As the auctioneer’s gavel closed the winning bid like a cruel gunshot, Abi’s heart broke a little. She picked up her bag and got up to leave the room.
Stephen slapped Edward on the back as they left the auction room together.
‘Well done, mate!’ he said. ‘I know how much it means to you to get this place.’
‘Thanks,’ Edward said. ‘Hey, you know who she is?’ He nodded to the fair-haired woman ahead of them.
‘Who?’
‘My underbidder – over there.’
Stephen looked at the woman who had paused to pick up a catalogue an elderly gentleman had dropped.
‘She’s that artist, I think,’ he said.
‘What artist?’
‘The one who does the patterns and things.’
‘Is she good?’
‘Yeah, actually. Bit of a success story,’ Stephen said. ‘Abigail something. Carrick. No, that’s not right. Carey! Does those pretty prints that women like. You know – cushions, curtains, aprons – that kind of thing. Got a chain of shops in London and a big factory somewhere up north.’
Edward nodded. He wasn’t aware of the world of interior design. When he’d bought his London apartment, he’d hired someone to decorate it for him, writing down two words: sober, minimalist. He’d always had an aversion to feminine florals and anything in a pastel colour.
‘How do you know all this?’ Edward asked.
‘Saw an interview with her in a magazine. My wife was going on about her. She wanted to give our bedroom the Abigail Carey touch, she said.’
‘And did she?’
‘Yes, she did! There’s a sunflower wherever I look!’
Edward laughed. ‘I think I’ll stick to my nice grey walls.’