The Paris Secret Read Online Free Page B

room, the phone bidder now alone in the ring.
    Flora looked at the grey-suited guy just as he nodded his head. Back in the game.
    Satisfied by her accurate prediction, she let the two of them play for a bit. The estimate had been set between £1.2 and £1.8 million but they were at £1.92 million now and the
pace of the sale had slowed down, with longer pauses between the bids. The bidder in the room was nearing his limit; Flora could tell from the way he spread his shoulders wide and forward, trying
to release the tension in his neck. He was looking round the room more, too, checking no one else was coming in. He hadn’t spotted her – or if he had, he hadn’t considered her a
threat.
    Which was a mistake. This was why Angus had hired her. When it came to the saleroom, she had a fine pedigree for winning, but she was regimented too, never overspending her clients’ money.
That was for amateurs.
    She tossed her head lightly, feeling warm and relaxed, sensing that her moment was approaching. She sat straighter, her fingers clutching the paddle in readiness. They were at £2.1 million
now, which was clearly not a number either bidder was comfortable with. She wasn’t thrilled with it herself – every increment over £2 million cut into potential growth profit, but
the research she had undertaken in readiness for today had taken into account expansion in the contemporary market as well as global factors such as the Chinese economic slowdown, and she was happy
to go to £2.3 million max, having estimated a minimum 2 per cent growth in the next five years, 8 per cent in the next ten. Even at that it would be a good return, a sound investment. Worth
it. She was paid to make that judgement call.
    Giles was pointing at Grey Suit now, his gavel in the air. He was scanning the room but with no real conviction of another bid.
    ‘Two point one five,’ he called. ‘Going once . . . going twice . . .’
    She flashed her paddle, bringing an audible gasp from the people sitting immediately in the vicinity who already had their hands poised to clap. Giles’s auctioneer’s eyebrows shot to
the top of his head as he saw her, his arm already raised above his head in anticipation of dramatically swooping down and concluding the sale.
    ‘I have two point two!’ he cried, in disbelief as much as happiness.
    Grey Suit swivelled in his seat, his languid pose completely banished as he looked to see who was gazumping him at this last moment. Flora didn’t move a hair.
    Grey Suit’s arm shot up – angrily, defiantly.
    ‘Two point two five.’ Giles looked back at Flora and she nodded again. ‘Two point three.’ He looked across at Grey Suit.
    ‘Two point five!’ the man shouted, with an imperial flourish of his hand.
    There was another collective gasp, murmurs of appreciation, some chuckles. The gauntlet had been thrown.
    Flora tutted and sat back, shaking her head. She was out. She wouldn’t breach her ceiling.
    Grey Suit smirked and faced the front again, clapping himself as the gavel came down a few moments later and the prize was his.
    ‘Oh, bad luck, Flora,’ Angus murmured as the crowd cogitated.
    ‘Not really. Christie’s Palm Beach have got the Elizabeth Taylor next month. I wasn’t happy about going over two anyway. He’s paid way over the odds, typical amateur
getting carried away. Are you staying for the Bacon?’
    ‘I can’t believe you’re not,’ he said, shifting his legs as she stood up and made to pass.
    ‘Dinner plans.’
    ‘Date?’
    ‘Something like that. See you tomorrow. I’ll be in late. I’m having breakfast at the Wolseley with the new head of Old Masters at Phillips.’
    ‘Have fun,’ Angus called after her as she politely made her way down the row, past all the angled legs.
    ‘Which one – dinner or breakfast?’
    ‘Both!’
    She smiled, reaching the aisle at the same time as Grey Suit. She held out her hand for him to shake.
    ‘Congratulations,’ she smiled. ‘It’s a