his pocket and nods towards the front again.
Over the next hour, I sit through a dozen lots. I watch as a dozen people part with insane amounts of cash for pieces of art and historical antiques. The most insane being a music box from the twelfth century sold for £400,000. It was stunning, made of pink crystal and edged in a silver trim, with white diamonds embellishing the lid, but I was still staggered by the winning bid. My knowledge of antiques and art is vast, but I’ve neglected to appreciate the worth of the treasures I’ve indulged in over the years. The history. That’s all that mattered to me.
I’m the perfect spectator. I don’t speak, just absorb it all, flicking through my catalogue to the right page each time a piece is presented on stage. Becker hasn’t breathed a word. He’s sat next to me, hardly paying attention, busy on his phone. I’ve left him to it.
My attention is stolen momentarily by the coffee man again, and this time I take a tall latte, replacing my empty espresso glass at the same time.
‘This is what we’re here for.’ Becker nudges me in the side, and my head snaps around, knowing what I’m going to find. The gasps of shock filling the room only confirm it. It’s not being handled by delicate white-gloved fingers like everything else presented today. Instead, it’s in a glass case that’s being wheeled on to the stage by two rather smart-looking, albeit massive, guys. The room is quickly a hive of chatter, people leaning in to each other and whispering. The excitement is palpable, but again Becker remains expressionless in his seat, not giving anything away. I watch him closely as he gazes around the room for a few moments before letting his eyes settle on the lost piece of treasure. His face remains impassive, which is probably a good thing, since Brent keeps flicking glances our way. I wrap my fingers around my latte glass, sinking deeper into my chair, like I have something to hide. I’m nervous. Becker wants that sculpture desperately. Does everyone here know that? No idea, but I do know Brent does.
The auctioneer waits for the chatter to die down, looking around the room with a smile on his face. Once it’s quiet, he remains silent for a long, extended length of time before he begins to talk. It’s a tension builder, if ever there was one, and it works. Everyone in the room is holding their breath, except Becker. His eyes are still rooted firmly on the glass cabinet.
‘Head of a Faun,’ the auctioneer begins, low and dramatic, slowly gliding his gavel through the air until it’s pointing at the glass cabinet. ‘The lost sculpture of the Italian Renaissance master Michelangelo himself.’ A few whispers start again, but only briefly before silence falls and the auctioneer continues. ‘It’s been authenticated by world-class Michelangelo experts. We all know that many of the master’s pieces have been found hidden in obscurity. This is a perfect example. I won’t bore you with what you already know.’ He chuckles to himself, and for the first time I hear life from Becker in the form of a tired sigh. He might look impassive, but he’s bored out of his mind. I smile and bring my coffee to my lips, feeling relaxed for the first time since they brought out the sculpture. ‘A true discovery,’ the auctioneer continues. ‘I’ll say no more and start with a commission bid of ten million pounds.’
Ten million pounds? I inhale sharply, sucking back the coffee I just tipped into my mouth. It hits the back of my throat and I proceed to cough all over the place, spraying milky liquid in every direction. Ten million. I splutter uncontrollably, my hands now vibrating, the remaining coffee in my cup swishing around precariously. Ten million? I couldn’t have heard him right.
I’m so busy trying to compose myself and wipe the dribbles of coffee from my chin, I don’t notice that everyone in the room has craned their necks to see who’s causing the drama.
‘Smooth,’ Becker mutters, whipping a hanky from his jacket pocket and dangling it in front of me without looking at my frightful state. ‘You’re dribbling.’
I peek up through my lashes and spy a million eyes, all narrowed, looking my way. I wince, shrink into my chair until I’m practically lying on the floor, and blush harder than I ever have before. And that’s an achievement, given my susceptible