Page 103 of An Eye for an Eye

‘How very kind of you to take the trouble to visit my husband, Mr Khalil,’ Hannah said, taking Simon by surprise.

‘What beautiful roses, Mrs Hartley,’ responded Khalil. ‘In full bloom, just like you, if I may say so.’

‘How sweet of you,’ said Hannah, ‘and I’d love to show you around my garden, if you have time.’

‘I can think of nothing that would give me greater pleasure, Mrs Hartley.’

‘Hannah, please,’ she said as she led him out of the room, with a dumbstruck Simon following in her wake.

When they reached the front door, Hannah opened it and stood aside to allow her guest to step out onto the path while she remained on the doorstep. ‘My grandfather used to tell me when I was a little girl,’ said Hannah, ‘that the English language was so exquisite, every word should be treasured.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Khalil.

‘Then I can only hope he’ll forgive me when I tell you to fuck off, Mr Khalil, because you won’t be getting a penny.’

Hannah slammed the door in his face and couldn’t resist a smile.

Simon stared at her in disbelief and said, ‘It’s possible, my darling, that you’ve just lost the British government three billion pounds.’

‘Worth every penny,’ said Hannah as she walked into the kitchen, selected a vase and began to arrange the roses.

CHAPTER 29

THE AUCTION HOUSE WAS PACKED,with almost every seat taken, by the time Miles Faulkner walked onto the stage, like a Shakespearean actor on the opening night.

He made his way slowly down the centre aisle, enjoying the whispered conversations when heads turned to look in his direction as he and Booth Watson took the two remaining seats in the front row.

Miles opened his catalogue to check the next lot: Number 88 – perfect timing. Three more lots to come under the hammer before Lot 91 would be offered to the public, although only a handful of people in the room could afford to join in the bidding. He looked around the packed auditorium, his eyes settling on Michael Bloomberg, who’d just announced he was running for mayor, seated four rows back on the centre aisle, studying the catalogue.

‘Lot Eighty-Nine, a walking stick owned by Alexander Hamilton. I have an opening bid of ten thousand dollars.’

Miles’s eyes continued to scan the room, stopping onlywhen he spotted two empty seats six rows back, on the other side of the aisle. He could only wonder who would make such a late appearance for the sold out show. Moments later, his unasked question was answered when the late arrival made an entrance worthy of Augustus Caesar, lacking only a drum roll and a trumpet fanfare.

‘Sold! For twenty thousand dollars,’ said the auctioneer, but the audience were no longer interested in Hamilton’s walking stick now that Donald Trump had entered the room and was walking slowly down the aisle to a buzz of heightened conversation. He stopped several times to shake outstretched hands, and didn’t sit down until he was confident everyone was looking at him.

‘Lot Ninety,’ said the auctioneer, trying to recapture the audience’s attention as Trump and Melania took the only two unoccupied seats in the room. ‘A quill pen owned by John Adams, the second president, with which it is thought he signed the Declaration of Independence.’

The crowd went on talking as the quill pen held little interest for most of them, and there was almost a sigh of relief when the hammer finally came down at $25,000 and the auctioneer announced Lot 91. Suddenly, for a surreal moment, the room fell silent, and the ringmaster was finally back in charge.

‘A unique copy of the Declaration of Independence,’ declared the auctioneer in a stage whisper, ‘penned by Thomas Jefferson, and known by scholars as the Fair Copy.’ He allowed himself a dramatic pause as he looked down at the framed lot that two porters were placing on an easel in front of him.

‘Before I begin the bidding, I should point out that this item has been verified by Saul Rosenberg, the emeritus professor of American history at Princeton University, who is universally acknowledged as the leading authority in thecountry on the constitution, having been awarded the Medal of Honour by Congress for his service to education.’ A thousand eyes looked up when the auctioneer announced, ‘I have an opening bid for the Declaration of five million dollars.’

Six, seven, eight, nine and ten followed in quick succession. But even Miles was taken by surprise when an unmistakable voice cried, ‘Twenty million,’ and everyone turned to look in Trump’s direction, as he raised a clenched fist in the air, accompanied by his trademark smile.

A moment later, a more refined hand was raised by one of the Christie’s phone reps, who was standing behind a long table on the left side of the room, along with several of her colleagues, all with telephones pressed against ears, waiting to find out if their anonymous client wished to join the circus.

‘I have a bid of twenty-two million,’ said the auctioneer, looking towards the bank of phones.

Miles wondered who it might be on the other end of the line, aware that phone bidders considered their anonymity paramount, and even the auctioneer would be unaware who the Christie’s rep was representing. Miles had a feeling it might be George Soros, who had recently sold the pound short and made a killing and, when he was asked byTimemagazine if he would be bidding for the Fair Copy, had been unusually reticent.

‘Twenty-five million,’ said Trump, like a heavyweight boxer going for the knockout.

But the phone bidder wasn’t quite so easily floored, and the rep raised her hand once again.

‘Twenty-seven million,’ the auctioneer announced.

‘Thirty million,’ declared Bloomberg, before Trump could land the next blow.

---