“No, wait. There’s a bid of one million three. But I’m confident it would be yours if you were to bid one four.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said the voice on the other end of the line, “but I’m afraid I’ve reached my limit. Thanks anyway,” he said before he put the phone down. He stepped out of the telephone box, and dodged in and out of the traffic as he crossed Bond Street.
The auctioneer continued to stare hopefully at the young assistant, but she shook her head and put the phone down. The auctioneer brought down his hammer with a thud, and said, “Sold, for one million three hundred thousand pounds to the Metropolitan Museum in New York.”
The audience burst into spontaneous applause, and even the countess allowed herself a smile as Sasha came dashing into the room. He walked quickly down the aisle and took the only empty seat, next to his father-in-law.
“I’m afraid you’ve missed all the drama,” said Mr. Dangerfield.
“Yes, I know. Sorry, I got held up.”
Sasha leaned across and congratulated the countess. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and said, “Thank you, Sasha,” as she turned to the next page of her catalog.
“Lot number nineteen,” said the auctioneer once the audience had settled. “A fine marble bust of Tsar Nicholas the Second. I have an opening bid of ten thousand pounds.”
“Eleven,” said a familiar voice from the back of the room. The countess didn’t bother to turn around, but simply raised her gloved hand slowly. When she caught the attention of the auctioneer she said, almost in a whisper, “Fifty thousand,” which was followed by a gasp from all those around her. But then she considered it a small price to pay for a masterpiece she’d last seen on the desk in her father’s study. She also knew which member of the family had put it up for sale, and accepted that he needed the money even more than she did.
26
SASHA
London
“You’re looking very smart, Mama,” said Sasha. “Is that a new suit?”
Elena didn’t look up from the reservations book.
“And as it’s three in the afternoon, you must either be meeting a friend for tea or going for a job interview.”
Elena pulled on a pair of gloves, while continuing to ignore her son.
“I hope it’s not a job interview,” teased Sasha, “because frankly we couldn’t run the place without you.”
“I’ll be back long before we open this evening,” said Elena tersely. “Is the first sitting fully booked?”
“Except for tables twelve and fourteen.”
Elena nodded. Although the restaurant was often booked out days in advance, Mr. Agnelli had taught Sasha to always keep two of the best tables in reserve for regulars, and not to release them before seven o’clock.
“Have a good time, Mama, wherever it is you’re off to.” In fact he had already worked out exactly where she was going.
Elena left the restaurant without another word. She walk
ed for a hundred yards down the road before turning right at the corner and hailing a taxi. She didn’t want Sasha to see her being extravagant. She would normally have caught a bus, but not in her smart new Armani outfit, and in any case, there are no bus stops in Lowndes Square.
“Forty-three Lowndes Square,” she told the cabbie.
Elena had been touched when the countess had sent a handwritten note inviting her to tea, which would give her the opportunity to see the new flat. The Fabergé egg had changed all their lives. Mike Dangerfield had split his commission with Sasha and Charlie, which had allowed them to buy a flat just around the corner from the restaurant. Elena was sad that they no longer lived with her, but she understood that a young married couple would want a home of their own, especially if they were planning to start a family.
Sasha worked all the hours in the day, and several during the night, as he attempted to juggle working in the restaurant with attending the course he’d signed up for at the London School of Economics, not to mention, or at least not to Charlie or Elena, that he had recently joined the local Labour Club. Chess nights had bitten the dust.
Elena’s was going from strength to strength, not least because when Tremlett’s restaurant closed, Elena had been able to pick up their best waiters and kitchen staff. The Tremletts, père and fils, had moved to Majorca and opened an estate agency soon after Councilor Tremlett had resigned, citing ill health following an inquiry into the council’s decision to grant planning permission for a proposed new block of flats in Stamford Place. Sasha didn’t need to read between the lines of the local paper’s report to realize they wouldn’t be coming back.
While Elena oversaw the kitchen, and Gino ran front of house, Sasha kept a tight rein on income and expenditure, an area where his mother was completely at a loss, although he had tried to explain to her the difference between tax avoidance and being tax efficient. He plowed most of the profits back into the business, and they had recently acquired two double-decker freezers, an industrial dishwasher, and sixty new linen tablecloths and napkins. He planned to build a bar at the front of the restaurant, but not until they could afford it.
As she sat in the back of the taxi, Elena thought about the countess, whom she hadn’t seen recently. Her unsocial hours at the restaurant meant that she had little time for a private life, so the invitation to tea was a pleasant break from her normal routine. And she was looking forward to seeing the new apartment.
When the taxi drew up outside number 43 Lowndes Square, Elena gave the cabbie a handsome tip. She had never forgotten Mr. Agnelli telling her, you can hardly expect to be tipped yourself, if you’re not generous to those who give you service.