The Dream House (54 page)

It was only the latest in a whole wave of publicity generated by the event. Not only had the local paper flagged the auction over the previous few months, but
The Times
and the
T
elegraph
had both sent journalists down and Farrell’s had made sure that the sale had been fully written up in all the relevant journals, magazines and websites for the art and antiques trade.

‘Everything’s ready now,’ said Ursula, who was today dressed in a severe navy trouser suit in readiness for her role as chief auctioneer. ‘We’ve record numbers for registration and the big players are all in place.’

Kate knew that long-distance telephone bidding from key dealers would decide the fate of some of the more valuable pieces.

‘We’ve just run over all the equipment again to make sure there will be no technical hitches. You’ve found where you’re sitting? Good. Well, I’ll see you in a few minutes, then. And don’t worry, Kate. It’s going to be terrific.’ And Ursula hurried off in the same direction as Dan and Daisy.

Kate stayed to welcome the vicar, who had arrived with his wife, the belly-dancer, a lively woman with a mane of fair curls cascading over her shoulders and an Indian print dress. Close behind was Peter Overden, the chairman of the school governors. And there was Raj, hurrying over from the refreshments tent, a Styrofoam coffee cup held out before him. She had spoken to him earlier, when he joined her conversation with a collector.

‘This is one of the most important sales of miniatures outside London that there’s been for some time,’ the man was saying.

‘Miss Melton was a most wonderful person,’ Raj told him. ‘An expert in her field. She would be happy to think that her collection would be admired and valued by others, wouldn’t she, Mrs Hutchinson?’

‘Most definitely,’ Kate agreed. ‘And you know, part of me feels that she’s here with us today. I wanted this sale to be in memory of her.’

It was Kate who had suggested the preface to the sales brochure, which commemorated Agnes’s life and work. Farrell’s had even unearthed a photograph of Agnes from years before to accompany it. The picture had illustrated an article she had written for a magazine and showed her in lively conversation with the then director of Christie’s.

‘Have you seen Max?’ Kate called to Raj now.

‘He was looking for his ladyfriend,’ said Raj. ‘Look, here they come now.’ Max appeared from the direction of the house deep in conversation with a slender dark-haired woman.

‘They look so much like brother and sister, those two,’ Raj said, amused.

And it was true. The doctor Max had met at a Christmas party in Norwich had small round glasses and the same earnest expression that he did. As Kate and Raj watched, the couple stopped and Olivia brushed a leaf off Max’s dark sheen of hair, then kissed him quickly.

‘But she’s much prettier than he is,’ Kate told Raj and giggled. Max’s two daughters were delicate female versions of him, too. Grace and Emily had been to visit the Hutchinsons several times now, and Sam and Daisy were enchanted to have acquired two cousins, though, ‘I wish Emily was a boy,’ sighed Sam.

Despite briefcase and coffee, Raj managed to squint at his watch. ‘Five to ten, Kate. Time to sit down.’

‘And the maiden bid is two hundred and eighty. Am I bid two ninety, three hundred, yes, the gentleman over there, three twenty, three fifty, four hundred, five hundred, six hundred. Six hundred, are you all done? Seven hundred, eight hundred. At eight hundred against you all, eight hundred. Thank you, the lady here by the aisle . . . Now, Lot 46 . . .’

Kate could hardly breathe as she listened to the sale of the miniatures. There was particularly fierce bidding for a portrait of one of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s descendants and a little girl in an Empire-line dress, both of which made more than ten times the estimated value. The picture of the girl eventually went to a local lady who, one of Ursula’s colleagues told Kate as she gulped down a lunchtime sandwich, had reason to be convinced it was of one of her ancestors.

Nearly all of the paintings had also reached prices well beyond Farrell’s estimates. Kate was gobsmacked when a delicate watercolour by a fringe member of the Bloomsbury group sold for £30,000 instead of the estimate of £5,000. ‘This can happen at these country-house auctions,’ Ursula had explained earlier. ‘There’s such a mix of interests – international dealers, local people bidding for sentimental reasons. Caution will sometimes be thrown to the winds. It’s quite impossible to predict in advance how things will go.’

By the end of the first day, it was clear that almost twice the total estimated figure had been reached. Virtually everything had found a buyer.

By the end of the second day, only a few lots were unsold and Ursula was ecstatic. ‘We’re looking at over a million,’ she confided to Kate and Dan, when they cracked open the champagne early that evening, ‘though I would need to confirm that with you, of course.’

‘That’s amazing,’ said Kate. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much, Ursula.’ She turned to Dan, her eyes shining. ‘It means I can do everything I promised.’

They had worked it out between them, Max, Dan and Kate, over the previous six months. All three were to receive equal payments from the Melton estate – both Kate and Dan were determined Max wouldn’t lose out because of the discovery of Dan’s ancestry, proved, incidentally, by the DNA test Raj had gently insisted on. There was one further donation Kate intended to make. In her bag was an envelope with a cheque for £25,000 made out to the Save Fernley School appeal. £25,000 had already been promised from other sources, mostly through Jasmin Thornton’s efforts. When Mr Overden came to say goodbye, Kate gave him the envelope. His look of astonishment when he opened it made her laugh out loud.

‘I still can’t imagine myself actually living here,’ said Kate as she and Dan strolled through the gardens of Seddington House in the golden light of evening.

‘It’ll be a mess for a while with the builders and decorators,’ said Dan, ‘but you’ll make it yours all right.’

‘It’s not just a matter of interior decoration, Dan. It’s that I’ve seen the place for so long through Agnes’s eyes. Her spirit is part of it all. Do you believe in ghosts?’

‘I suppose I think that Agnes was ready to die when she did, and that she’s happy wherever she is now. So there wouldn’t be any reason for her to hang around here, would there?’

‘I just wondered – because of the dreams. I wondered whether I might have some special connection to her.’

‘You’ll remember her, won’t you? And you’ll tell your children and grandchildren about her. That will be your thanks to her. She will live on through our memories.’

‘You’re right, I’m just being fanciful.’ Kate stopped and turned to face him. ‘Dan, will you think about what I said? Would you come and live here, too? The children are so fond of you. I think it would work. And it’s a great idea to keep your house as your studio.’

Dan shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled the gravel with his shoes. ‘It would have to more than work,’ he said, his voice gruff. ‘And what about you? Are you “fond” of me, too, Kate?’ he said, teasing her.

Kate’s answer was to wrap her arms around him and kiss him passionately. After a long moment, he raised his face and looked at her. His face was suddenly serious.

‘How about this? Will the lady in the big house,’ he said, stroking her hair, ‘take the man in the little house, to have and to hold?’

‘She will. But the lady in the big house,’ she said, trying not to smile, ‘would give up the big house without a single regret, to come and live in the little house with the man.’

‘The lady in the big house might find it a bit of a squash for her children,’ he said. ‘Especially if we have any more.’

‘Oh! We haven’t talked about that one yet.’

‘We’ve plenty of time to talk,’ he said, laughing. ‘And for everything else.’

And, taking her hand, he led her into the house that was to be their home.