Daughters of the Silk Road: A beautiful and epic novel of family, love and the secrets of a Ming Vase (26 page)

A
t ten minutes
to nine o’clock, Miranda and Jeremy sat together in the shop, preparing to make the call to Hong Kong. She had assembled all the ‘evidence’ that she was the rightful owner of the vase, but was understandably nervous. Now that she had some indication that the vase might be valuable, the whole process seemed fraught with pitfalls and dangers.

‘It’s odd,’ she had said to Jeremy the previous night when they finally got back from Gloucestershire. ‘When I had nothing – financially, I mean – I was quite happy. But now that there is the possibility that I might actually be about to have a little money, it’s terrifying. It’s a bit like winning the lottery, but not being quite sure if you can remember where you put the ticket, you know?’

They had agreed to meet at the shop, as Jeremy was due to open that day. If she arrived by nine o’clock it would be two o’clock in Hong Kong and she would be able to speak to the person in charge of the porcelain sale.

She sat at Jeremy’s desk, her hand on the telephone, her palms sweating. A cup of tea lay untouched beside her. ‘Oh God, Jeremy, I feel sick. I’m not quite sure how to explain it,’ said Miranda. ‘What if they don’t believe me?’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, Miranda, just get on with it; how hard can it be?’

He dialled the Hong Kong auctioneer’s number.

‘Good afternoon, this is Anstruthers Hong Kong.’ The voice was singsong, English, female.

‘Oh, good afternoon, I wonder if you can help me. I would like to speak to the person in charge of the sale of a piece of Ming China – a vase – that you have in a sale on the 15th of January.’

‘Putting you through,’ said the singsong voice.

‘Good afternoon, Michael Hennessy speaking.’

It didn’t take Miranda long to explain her predicament. ‘So to sum up, Mr Hennessy, this man misled me, I believe deliberately, about the value of the vase. He took it from me, without actually asking me, as it happens. He did leave a cheque for two hundred pounds on the hall table, but I’ve not cashed it. And I don’t want to. It was when I started to try to trace him to get the vase back that I discovered he had put it in your sale in Hong Kong and that it is not just some cheap copy worth £100 or so as he said it was but the real thing.’

‘Well. That’s most disturbing, Mrs…?’

‘Sharp – Miranda Sharp.’

‘Mrs Sharp. I’m sorry I have to ask you this, but do you have any kind of proof that the vase is yours? Some kind of bill of sale, or at least a description?’

‘I have no bill of sale unfortunately, but I have a photograph that I took of it on my own hall table. I also have a photograph taken by the solicitor who arranged my aunt’s bequest, including the marks on the base. Finally, I have a letter from my aunt describing the vase and explaining that it had been in her Dutch husband’s family for many years – “lost in the mists of time” is how she put it. Will that do?’

‘Could you email all that to me, do you think?’

‘Yes, I’ll do it now. Then what?’

‘If we can establish that you
are
the rightful owner, and that the vase was taken from you in error, or indeed fraudulently, then we must have another conversation and explore if you are still keen to sell the property, or if you would prefer to have it returned.’

‘I see,’ said Miranda. ‘I’m not sure. I suppose if I’m honest it rather it depends on what it’s worth.’

There was a moment’s silence at the other end. ‘That’s a tricky one. The key issue is its provenance, you see. That’s what matters and attracts buyers. But it could be worth a million or more.’

‘A million what?’

‘Sterling – at least that, if I’m honest. But I’m reluctant to say more. Am I to take it that you would like to proceed with the sale, on the 15
^th
of January?’

‘Well, yes, I think I would be interested.’

‘Good. Well, first things first. Send over that information to me and then I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.’

‘Just one thing more,’ said Miranda.

‘The man who brought it to you, was he called Charles Davenport?’

‘No, he wasn’t.’

‘Oh… Simon Manning, then?’

Silence.

‘I take it that the silence means that was the name he gave you.’

‘I really couldn’t say, Mrs Sharp. It’s complicated. But the good news is that the vase has not yet been sold and you have found us. Do you think you would be coming out for the sale?’

‘Out to Hong Kong? No, I don’t think I could afford to do that.’

‘Well, you could go to our offices in London if that would work for you – on the day of the sale – and observe from there, or online – you know?’

T
he saleroom began
to fill up from nine-thirty. Proceedings were due to kick off at ten o’clock and there was a definite ‘buzz’ in the building. Michael Hennessy, dressed in his best auctioneer’s suit – a dark grey striped three-piece made for him by his tailors in Savile Row rather than by their cheaper Hong Kong counterparts – had arrived earlier than usual, well before eight o’clock. He had been an auctioneer since his early twenties, but now, aged fifty-three, he had a feeling that he was about to make history.

The Ming vase had attracted a huge amount of international attention. There was no doubt it was genuine. The marks on the base of the jar were perfect, consisting of six characters said to have been made originally by the famous calligrapher Shendu. The symbol for ‘Da’, meaning ‘great’, looked like a man running, his arms outstretched, his front leg extended. One could usually detect a Ming forgery by checking this symbol. The forger invariably failed to get that sense of ‘movement’ that ‘Da’ required, as if the man were leaping forward over a stream. The lower half of the symbol on the top left was also tricky to get right. Shendu made it using just four strokes of the pen. Forgers, not quite understanding the significance of that economy, frequently used too many strokes. It was always a give-away.

Since Miranda Sharp had sent over the information about the vase’s provenance, the fine ceramics department had been hard at work putting together expert opinion and endeavouring to discover a little more about how this Ming storage jar had come into the possession of the Kaerel family.

A genealogist had been employed at considerable expense to uncover the family’s bloodline and had come to some remarkable conclusions. The Kaerels were one of the original families involved in the Dutch East India Trading Company. They had specialized in imports of Chinese porcelain from 1625 and had been crucial to the development of the blue and white porcelain export industry in Europe. But this vase pre-dated that. This was where the information became a little more complicated. Kaerel’s great grandmother, Margarethe Haas, had been traced back to Antwerp. Pushing on further, they discovered that she had been born in Bruges. But the search had reached a fever pitch when a specialist in Anstruthers’ art department uncovered a relatively unknown Dutch painter’s portrait of a young couple believed to be Margarethe Haas and her husband. Not being considered of top quality, it had been languishing in a storeroom at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. Called ‘The Betrothal’, it featured a beautiful young woman dressed in turquoise blue silk, her young husband holding her hand. A little dog lay at her feet. A Ming bowl filled with oranges stood on the chest at the side, and in the centre of the picture, on the mantle shelf, stood a Ming vase with an angry dragon chasing around its centre. It appeared to be identical to the one that Anstruthers had at that moment in their vault.

Hennessy had been ecstatic at the news. ‘This is a game-changer, Antonia,’ he said to the art historian. ‘How on earth did you find it?’

‘Well, it was odd. I had done some research for my PhD years ago, which was about the influence of foreign trade on art in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in the Low Countries. I had been to all the museums in Bruges, Amsterdam and so on, and to Venice and Florence too, of course. And I had a nagging memory of this picture. You know that the Flemish Baroque painters had a passion for mixing ordinary household objects – wine jugs, a dead pheasant – with more valuable items like Ming bowls filled with fruit, or whatever. I was interested in that juxtaposition of exquisite items, used in an everyday context, to demonstrate the enormous wealth of those Flemish cities. You know, how they’d arrange a bowl precariously on its side on a lovely linen cloth, with crystal glasses and wine nearby. Or a piece of Ming, used as a vase for flowers. It’s a sort of decadence, I suppose. While I was visiting the team at the Rijksmuseum, they mentioned this picture. It was from the school of Jan van Eyck, who painted that marvellous painting of the Arnolfini wedding, also done in Bruges. Do you know it? But the brushwork in ‘The Betrothal’ is not so good. The quality of light is less luminous. And so it had been relegated to the storeroom. I think they bring it out occasionally for special Baroque exhibitions. They asked if I’d like to see it. I referenced it, in fact, in my final thesis. And to be honest, I’d forgotten all about it. But when you asked for help in tracing this piece, it came to me in the middle of the night. I’d seen that vase before. I’ve asked the team at Rijksmuseum for a JPEG of the painting and they are sending it today. We can put it online or use it during the sale.’

‘Well done, Antonia, that’s great work.’

‘There’s more. I don’t know how we can use this bit of information for the sale, but I thought you’d like to know.’

‘Go on,’ said Michael Hennessy, leaning forward in anticipation.

‘There’s another painting at the Rijksmuseum. They acquired it many years ago, and although of quite a different style, they crossed-referenced it with ‘The Betrothal’. It’s a Chinese painting. But it features two women, one older than the other – perhaps a mother and daughter. They are sitting in a garden, fairly clearly in the Imperial Palace, in the Forbidden City, in Beijing. The garden is exquisitely painted, of course; blossom trees, birds and so on. And in the centre of the painting, sitting looking out onto the garden, are these two women. They are clearly not Chinese, even though they are dressed in traditional Chinese clothing, but their hair is loose – which was most unusual – and both have quite remarkable bright blue eyes, turquoise almost. The younger of the two looks so remarkably like the woman in ‘The Betrothal’ painting that some bright spark at the museum had a feeling they must be connected, perhaps even related. They are sending a copy of that to us too.’

‘Do they know who painted it?’

‘Well, this is the thing. It has all the hallmarks of the Emperor Xuande himself. You know, of course, that he was the only one of the Ming Emperors who demonstrated quite remarkable talent as an artist. He preferred subjects like animals and flowers. But he also did that wonderful picture of the two gibbons – do you know it?’

Hennessy nodded.

‘Well, this picture of the two women is marked with characters that imply it was painted in the Hall Of Military Grace in 1435 – the year he died.’

‘My God,’ said Hennesy. ‘Are you saying that the woman in the Chinese painting is the same woman as the one in the painting in Bruges?’

‘Well, she can’t be the same woman, as that painting was done in 1435, and the Bruges painting was done in 1469. But she might be a relation of some kind. She certainly looks very similar. It can only be conjecture, you know. But it might provide a theory for how the vase came to Europe. If these two women were part of a merchant family who travelled in the Far East, they would of course have brought back items from that part of the world; perhaps even items from the Palace itself. We could cross-check all the merchant travellers from Europe to China at that time and see if someone suitable comes to light?’

‘Well, it’s tempting Antonia, but I think not. It’s too much of a long shot and I’m not sure we can prove anything from it. Besides, we’re running out of time. I think we need to show the Chinese painting, and perhaps you could write it up for me and I’ll have a think about how we can use it. But we can’t, in all honesty, claim it has a connection to the vase. No, Antonia, you have done your work, and very, very well done.’

The saleroom was packed. Ranged down one side, at tables specially set up with screens and phones, were the dealers who would manage the online and telephone bids. The room was laid out with over one hundred gilt banqueting chairs. Coffee and tea were served in an anteroom, along with homemade shortbread biscuits. The auction house contrived to be a little bit of England in the heart of Hong Kong.

Potential bidders from across the world were ranged up ready to purchase the fabulous collection of porcelain that Anstruthers had assembled for the sale. But there was no doubting the star lot: Lot Number Forty-Two, the Ming vase, Xuande period, a previously undiscovered Ming storage jar in perfect condition.

Hennessy and a colleague, Jonnie Chambers, would share the auctioneering. This was to be a long process and they could only manage around one hour each. Chambers started the bidding off on the first lots, fielding telephone and online bids effortlessly with those in the room. ‘Lot One: a remarkable example of Kraak porcelain; made for export to Holland in approximately 1620. What am I bid?’

Paddles with numbers were raised in the room. Young men and women fielding the phones raised their hands periodically.

‘Paddle 1871, Sir,’ said one pretty blonde employee.

‘I have ten thousand Hong Kong dollars; fifteen thousand; ’ said Chambers. ‘Thank you, good swift bidding online, thank you for that, we appreciate the speed.’ He nodded at the pretty blonde girl. ‘Twenty-five thousand in the room… Just in time… It’s now or never. Ah, another telephone bid, thank you… Thirty thousand… Are we all done now? Warning you, on the phone and online… Going once, going twice.’ He smashed his gavel down hard on the lectern.

He rattled through the lots, the items gathering speed and becoming more and more valuable. ‘Lot Twenty-Seven: one small Qing dynasty bowl. I have a bid with me here for three-hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars,’ he said, staring at the screen on his lectern. ‘Who will start me at three-hundred-and-fifty thousand Hong Kong dollars?’ The bidding rose frantically to four-hundred thousand.

A dark-haired girl with an Italian accent raised her paddle. ‘Sir, I have to translate…’ Chambers looked irritated at this delay, as she proceeded to speak in fluent Chinese to her client on the phone.

‘Carlotta,’ said Chambers, ‘do you wish to pay four-hundred-and-fifty thousand?’

Carlotta gesticulated towards the phone, where her client was clearly speaking rapidly to her in Chinese. She responded to him, a sense of urgency in her voice.

‘Still with you,’ said the auctioneer fractiously, tapping his fingers on the lectern.

A bidder in the room raised his hand.

‘Four-hundred-and-fifty thousand,’ Chambers said, ‘in the room.’

‘Four-hundred five… Against you,’ he said, gesturing to the previous bidder, before turning to the Italian girl once again. ‘Does your man want to bid at five-hundred thousand?’ Carlotta nodded eagerly whilst speaking quickly and quietly to her mystery bidder on the phone.

‘I must bring the hammer down sometime soon,’ said Chambers in a languid manner, as if this was really the most irritating process to have to endure. ‘Still with you,’ he said, pointing to Carlotta. But another bidder in the room joined in the process.

‘Five-hundred-and–fifty in the room.’

This went on for another five minutes until Chambers finally, and apparently with complete indifference, bought that particular lot to an end. ‘With warning, I’m selling at six-hundred thousand.’ He brought his gavel down with a flourish.

In Anstruthers’ London offices, Miranda, Georgie, Jeremy and Miranda’s parents sat together in a room that had been set aside for a handful of customers, whose bids were dealt with by a small team from Anstruthers with a hotline to Hong Kong. It was usual for those who couldn’t get to the actual sale to bid online from home, but clearly one or two enjoyed the atmosphere in the saleroom and had come especially to London.

Miranda and her party sat at the back of the room with a member of the porcelain team from Anstruthers’ London offices at their side. They drank tea and coffee and watched the sale unfold with fascination. Miranda had an overwhelming sense of anticipation. Her palms were damp and she kept fiddling with her mobile phone. ‘When is our lot coming up?’ she asked the young employee.

‘It won’t be long now,’ he replied with the air of a young hospital doctor encouraging a mother in labour. He wore a rather tired blue suit, had floppy blond hair that fell over his eyes and a suggestion of acne sprinkled across his cheeks. He was probably no more than twenty-three years old.

‘How long have you worked here?’ asked Miranda, desperate for distraction.

‘Oh, about six months – it’s my first job after uni,’ he replied enthusiastically.

‘Oh, what did you study?’ she asked, not truly interested in the answer.

‘History of art,’ he replied, predictably.

‘Is it interesting, working here?’

‘Oh yes, jolly interesting.’

‘Do you like porcelain?’

‘Well, I’m learning, you know?’

Back in Hong Kong, Chambers was coming to the end of his shift. Hennessy paced the edge of the room. He felt curiously nervous, rather as he had done when he first started as an auctioneer. Phone and online staff ambled in and out of the saleroom, materialising when a particular lot their client was interested in came up. It had the air of a busy market. The noise in the room was quite loud, with clients chatting and drinking coffee. Only those people who were actually bidding for a particular item were concentrating on the matter in hand. Everyone else appeared to be treating the event as a sort of glorified party.

At Lot Number Thirty, Chambers left the lectern and handed Hennessy the gavel. He got off to a good start and ploughed through the lots. ‘Lot Thirty-Four – a very nice nineteenth-century porcelain vase from Guangdong province. I’ve got bids here… Of nine thousand Hong Kong dollars.’ He looked around the room and spotted one of the Internet bidders waving her paddle at him. He checked the screen on his lectern.

‘I’ve got a bidder in Taiwan on the Internet trying to get in… Fifteen thousand… That’s a Taiwanese bid. Are we all done?’ He paused to let the bidders in the room catch up. ‘Ah, it’s a telephone bid. It’s in the room, on the telephone, against the Internet. It’s going abroad then. Are we all done?’ He smashed his gavel down.

The lots unfolded, fetching smaller or larger amounts of money. Lot Thirty-Eight went for over four million dollars; Lot Number Forty for over eight million. Finally they arrived at Lot Number Forty-Two.