Up and Down

Chapter 3: Competition

"It's Morris, Sir."

"What do you mean, Morris?"

"Well... you seem to be more interested in ruining Miss Linton than in actually making money yourself."

"What?" Mr Ambrose's eyes shot icicles at the man. "Preposterous!"

"Yes, Sir."

"I never want to hear such nonsense again, do you hear?"

"Of course, Sir."

Mr Morris was sacked later that day.

More time passed. It was another warm summer night - in 1929, this time - when Mr Ambrose arrived at Sotheby's auction house in Bond Street. Normally, he was no particular admirer of the fine arts and of people who sold them, like Sotheby's. He just couldn't see why anyone would want to pay millions of pounds for the painting of a naked female standing in a giant sea shell, when he could theoretically go to the nearest nude beach and look at both naked women and an impressive collection of seashells for far less expense. But there were people who seemed interested in buying art, and so he was interested in buying art, too, as long as he could always sell it for a higher price later.

"Good evening, Mr Ambrose," the doorman greeted him as he passed. Servants inside took his hat and coat and he preceded to the auction room. He immediately caught sight of the piece he wanted to acquire. It was hard to miss: the large painting of something that looked like a cross between an elephant and an old-fashioned oven, with a decapitated naked woman in the corner[if !supportFootnotes][1][endif]. A great piece of art, his advisers had assured him, and likely to rise in value.

Well, Mr Ambrose knew that most people in the world were crazy, so it was possible.

He marched through the auction room, ignoring the looks and whispers he drew from all sides. There was an empty seat in the second row, on the left side of the room. Altering his course slightly, he marched straight towards it. And then he saw her.

She was sitting not far away, also in the second row, but rather towards the right side of the room, wearing a far too expensive and far too stunning red satin dress. Even he had to admit that for a woman of over a hundred, she looked amazing. There were people with her, two old men with pointy beards and round glasses who practically had the word "art critic" stamped on their foreheads.

Why was she here?

Mr Ambrose's eyes flashed to the oven-elephant and the decapitated woman. He knew why she was here, if he really admitted it to himself. There hadn't been one deal of his in the last few months in which she hadn't tried to interfere in some way. His fists clenched.

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen..." A man in a smart suit had appeared at the podium, and was giving his distinguished audience a friendly, but reserved smile. "We are ready to begin the auction. If you would take your seats, please?"

Everybody was already sitting, of course. It was just a formality.

"We start with this beautiful ancient Greek vase. A stunning Hydria of the black figure type, with excellent..."

Not being interested in the least in black figures on Ancient Greek Hydrias, Mr Ambrose tuned out the voice of the auctioneer. Instead, his gaze wandered back to the figure sitting half a dozen seats away from him. She! Why did she have to be here? Why did she always have to be there?

"Three-thousand pounds!"

"Three-thousand two-hundred."

"Three-thousand two-hundred pounds.... Going once, going twice, going three times - sold! Sold to Mr David Henry Barnes! And now, this clock from the collection of..."