THE auction was being held in the large Georgian drawing-room in the newer part of the house. When Jenna made her way there, she found the room less than half full, which was reassuring. The auctioneer was already in place, studying some papers in front of him, and Jenna suspected that the small group of bystanders gathered together to one side of him were probably more curious than actively interested in bidding.
Jenna had already been in contact with the firm of estate agents, who were acting as auctioneers, on several occasions in connection with the house and up until this morning she had felt that she stood every chance of securing the property at the reserve price. She saw James Allingham come into the room and saunter across it to stand almost opposite. There was no smile in his eyes now, and Jenna felt as though they were two opponents facing one another prior to joining battle. She wondered if anyone else in the room was as aware of the animosity between them as she was herself. She was in little doubt that James Allingham had sought her out so that he could gauge the competition he might have in the bidding, and she was aware of a tiny frisson of fear running over her skin as the bidding began.
Gradually as the minutes ticked by the more halfhearted bidders dropped out. Soon it was down to Jenna, James Allingham, and one other, a bluff beefy Northerner, who, Jenna heard someone next to her whisper, was a builder.
When they reached the reserve price her stomach nerves knotted in tension. The builder dropped out, and Jenna felt herself tense as she saw James Allingham coolly raise his hand.
Dare she try to outbid him? She bit her lip worrying at it, knowing down to the last thousand pounds how high she could go, and then desire overrode caution and she raised her rolled pamphlet, forcing herself not to glance across the room at James Allingham as she did so.
She was conscious of a stir of interest around her as the bystanders began to realise they were witnessing a tense duel between the dark-haired man and the redheaded woman. Caution vanished as Jenna was urged on, both by her desire for the house and her desire to triumph over James Allingham.
The price crept inex
orably upwards and Jenna’s heart sank as she realised she could not continue bidding for much longer. Already she was way, way over her self-imposed limit and Harley would be having a fit if he was here with her.
She saw James Allingham’s brief nod to the auctioneer after her own latest bid.
‘Another thousand…am I bid another thousand?’ The auctioneer looked encouragingly at her and Jenna knew she should bow out, but she couldn’t do it…not with so many speculative pairs of eyes watching…not when she wanted the Hall so desperately that she was ready to mortgage her very soul for it…not when losing meant James Allingham winning. She raised her hand, curling her fingers into her palm to prevent them from trembling. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of someone approaching James Allingham and touching him on his shoulder.
The auctioneer was declaring her bid. Unlike her he probably could not see the smaller man standing almost behind James Allingham and whispering urgently to him.
‘For the last time…at one hundred and eighty-five thousand pounds…going.…’
Jenna saw James Allingham frown and turn towards the dais, but his companion was still talking to him. He frowned again, very deeply, his attention distracted from the auctioneer. Jenna held her breath, waiting to hear James Allingham interrupt the auctioneer with a raised bid, but suddenly for some reason all his attention was concentrated on his companion.
‘Gone! At one hundred and eighty-five thousand pounds!’
Jenna was so engrossed in watching James Allingham that she was barely aware of what the auctioneer was saying. Across the width of the room he lifted his head and looked at her, but somehow his gaze was unfocused, as though he wasn’t really seeing her…as though he wasn’t even really aware of where he was. What on earth could his companion have said to him to take his attention so completely away from the auction? Jenna knew that whatever it was she ought to be grateful to the other man but, strangely, she felt cheated, as though somehow her victory was unfairly won—by default almost.
The auctioneer was heading towards her, claiming her attention, and when Jenna looked again James Allingham had disappeared.
* * *
The old Hall was hers! Even now Jenna could hardly believe it. She had spent the rest of the day sorting out all the formalities connected with the purchase. A telephone call to her bank had secured for her the increased mortgage facilities she would require and Jenna quailed a little as she contemplated the financial burden she had taken on. She was in no doubt about her ability to pay off the mortgage eventually, but initially it would be a struggle.
She gave a brief mental shrug. She would just have to hope for some good commissions locally in the early months.
A small voice inside her reminded her that fortune was seldom so kind. Harley would go mad, she acknowledged as she took a taxi from the estate agent’s office back to Bill’s and Nancy’s.
Instead of feeling excited, enthusiastic, she was conscious of a flat, let-down feeling. Telling herself it was merely reaction she walked towards the front door.
Lucy was sitting sulkily in front of the television. She barely glanced up as Jenna walked in.
‘Well, how did it go?’
Thank heavens for Bill, Jenna thought, sinking into the chair he indicated. ‘I got it.’
‘You don’t sound too pleased about it.’
‘I had to pay over the reserve price.’ That was the excuse she was using to herself to cover her lack of enthusiasm and it certainly seemed to deceive Bill.
‘I hope you haven’t taken on more than you can handle,’ he warned her worriedly. ‘Old houses like the Hall gobble up money.’
‘I know, but as I intend to use it as a showplace for the craftsmen I employ, I’m hoping to be able to set a certain amount of the cost off as a business expense.’ Jenna hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. Her accountants had cautioned her against hoping for too much when it came to convincing the tax authorities of the authenticity of her claim.
‘Even so…’ Bill was still frowning, but he smiled briefly as Nancy came into the room carrying a tea tray.
‘I heard you come in,’ Nancy told her. ‘How did it go?’