by P.A.Bines.
Based on characters created by E.F.Benson.
This story (c) 2003 P.A.Bines
Adrian had not expected to visit the sleepy little town of Tilling again; at least not so soon after the funeral. He had not been particularly close to his Uncle in the last few years of that extremely elderly gentleman's life, and it was only a guilty conscience that led him to pop down when he did, less than a week before the end. His uncle had, by then, known that "the end was nigh", as the cliché has it, and had wanted to give some small token to his favourite, and only, nephew before shedding the dust of his human existence from his spiritual feet and heading for his eternal rest.
Adrian had, somewhat grudgingly, accepted a piece of unfinished embroidery depicting what appeared to be a naked shepherdess - an unusual parting gift, certainly, but one perfectly suited to the eccentricities of the man making it.
After the funeral, in the small graveyard by the church (and facing his beloved home), the will had been read, and this was a swift affair, as the house and all it's contents had been left to The National Trust, to be used as they saw fit. "And that was that", thought Adrian, as he drove back to London. "No more letters describing the goings on of the town, no more sketches of the Crooked Chimney, no more moaning about the Mapp-Flints and their curiously devious ways, and no more Christmas Cards from "The Shilling Tray" (Whatever had his uncle meant by that? Shillings hadn't been in use for 20 odd years!)
So, it came as something of a surprise to receive the invitation to the auction being held by Woolgar, Pipstow and Sons of "The Contents of Mallards, formerly the home of Sir George Pilson". Apparently, though touched by the generous bequest, The National Trust could not quite find a practical use for much of the contents of the house, and had therefore opted to raise funds for the restoration of Mallards (to enable viewing by the general public) by selling off such items as were deemed dispensable. Adrian had received an invitation due to his familial relationship; perhaps he might find some treasured item of his uncle that he might wish to purchase, and so help the charity which was evidently a favourite cause of that late gentleman?
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It was a bright and sunny day, such as is only experienced in Sussex in the summertime, and Adrian was in the community Hall, the only place large enough to host the auction, looking disinterestedly amongst the collected fragments of a man's life. There was a rather fine late 18th century coal scuttle - admittedly useless now, due to the hole, but it would certainly make a fine decorative addition to anyone's home; or perhaps the collection of watercolours and sketches stacked in a box at the back? HE wandered from table to table, picking up odd items and giving them a cursory glance, and it was just as he got to the table laden with books that he noticed the stunning blonde standing at the porcelain table beyond. She looked about as out of place in this dusty collection as he did, and he wondered who she was. As he mused, he picked up a rather tatty notebook; something about it seemed rather familiar, but he couldn't think what. It was only as he raised it up to look at it a little closer that he caught a faint whiff of, what was it? Prawn Cocktail? Thousand Island Dressing? "No!" he said excitedly to himself, "It can't be!" He opened up the book and, flicking through the pages, found that it WAS, it WAS, it WAS! It was the personal recipe book of his late Aunt Emmeline, Uncle George's wife - and one page had the fabled sentence beginning "Take Two Hen Lobsters…". The secret of Lobster a la Riseholme, which he had tasted only the once, and which had been thought lost by any and all who had ever sampled the delicious dish, was here in his hands! Adrian toyed briefly with the idea of casually slipping the book into his jacket pocket and leaving immediately, but as he looked up, he caught sight of his aunt, in mayoral robes, in an extremely large portrait - and something about the face suggested that whilst he would reap the rewards of the recipe in the short term, he would in all probability be selling his soul in the long term. He made a note of the lot number, and replaced it on the table. HE moved away, and as he pondered over exactly how much he could safely bid before the bank manager got in touch about the overdraft, he bumped into the stunning blonde.
"Oops! Sorry!" he said, bending down to retrieve her catalogue, which had fallen to the floor in the encounter, "Here you are! My apologies, I was miles away!"
"Not at all, " replied the blonde, "I was the same." She smiled a brilliant white smile that dazzled Adrian, and caused his heart to skip just a little. "I'm Libby, by the way" she said, offering her hand, "And you are…?"
"Adrian, Adrian Pilson-Thomas", he answered, taking her hand and smiling in return. "Look, I AM sorry about bumping into you like that, perhaps we could meet up for a coffee or something after the sale?"
"I'd like that!" said Libby, 'Odd name!' thought Adrian. They parted; she to continue browsing, and he to take a seat in the main sale area.
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The sale began. There was not much interest in the early lots - assorted canes and umbrellas which went for £5, some of the watercolours of the Crooked Chimney, which went for £25, and a snuff box which got to £50 (and which received some desultory applause.)
Things picked up a little as some of Uncle Georgie's more highly prized 'bibelot' came under the hammer; and items started to sell for £100, £200, £300… Adrian even bid on a couple of items while he waited for the book, and succeeded in winning sketch of Mallards by Aunt Emmeline, beating a rather determined, and decidedly eccentric, old lady wearing tatty jeans and an army greatcoat, and smoking a pipe (despite the numerous "No Smoking" signs displayed prominently on the walls!)
Finally, however, up came lot 106. "a collection of notebooks and scrapbooks, containing cuttings, recipes, photograph and the like."
"Who will start the bidding at five pounds?" asked the auctioneer, a rotund and balding man, with a rather high-pitched voice" "Any bids at five pounds?" he asked, looking around the room. After a few moments of slightly embarrassed silence, a bid was made from the back of the hall. "I have five, five pounds I'm bid".
Adrian raised his paddle. "Six? Six Pounds I have on my left; Seven at the back". Adrian raised again. "and eight, nine, ten," The bidding was fast, and seemed to be between Adrian and one other person, standing, apparently, at the back of the hall, and out of his field of vision.
After Adrian's bid of Ten pounds, the auctioneer stepped up the increments to five pounds, and when bidding eventually reached one hundred, he increased again to ten pound increments. The rest of the assembled bidders watched with interest - this was turning into a battle royal! Two determined bidders, each seemingly willing to outbid the other in their attempt to secure whatever it was in the tatty collection of scraps that they deemed so important.
At five hundred pounds, things slowed a little; each bib caused Adrian to think carefully about his bank balance. "I could sell the pearls - someone will take them on eBay, and they're probably seed anyway." He thought to himself at seven fifty. "I wonder if I can put off servicing the car for a few more months" he thought at nine hundred. "Perhaps I can do some more overtime" he mused as the bid hit one thousand two hundred and fifty pounds.
Finally, he had to be realistic - there was no way he was going to be able to find Two thousand pounds for a notebook, no matter how prized it was, so when the auctioneer looked at him for his bid, Adrian shook his head. "I'm all done at one thousand, Nine Hundred and fifty pounds. And more bids? No?" with a small tap, on the desk, the auction was ended, and there was applause from the rest of the bidders. Adrian got up to leave, and as he did so, he again bumped into Libby. "Hello again", she said, "What about that coffee?"
They walked outside, and along to 'Plaistow's Place' a tarted up 'olde worlde' coffee bar. Libby entered first and sat down at a table near the counter. The espresso machine on top of the counter let out the occasional burst of steam; probably a leaky pipe. Adrian sat down also, and they ordered two coffees, and a couple of sticky buns.
"So, how did you do? Get anything?" asked Libby, raising her cup to her beautiful lips (Adrian had to admit, he was smitten!) Adrian mentioned the sketch. "Otherwise, I've been out of luck - kept getting outbid on things"
"Me too, " said Libby, "though I did have a little luck; I think my aunt must have been watching over me!"
Adrian looked at his watch. "Hell, is that the time?" he said, "I have to be back in London!" He looked at Libby; he'd like to meet her again. "Listen, is there any chance we could meet up again? I'll give you my number, if you like?" ('if you like? What sort of thing was THAT to say? Idiot!' he thought)
2Sure! I'd like that!" replied Libby, rummaging in her shoulder bag. "Here, have one of my cards, give me a call some time next week." She got up to leave and Adrian gratefully took the card from her. Idly, he glanced down to see what was written o nit, and as he did so, one thing leapt out immediately at him. He knew, at that precise moment, exactly who it was that had bid on the books, who had won the books. He knew immediately that they had only one reason to bid for the books, the same reason HE had been bidding.
Libby Mapp smiled. "Perhaps I can show you some of my winnings next time?" she said. And walked out of the café.
Behind a stunned looking Adrian, the espresso machine let out another burst of steam, though if you used your imagination, you could have taken the sound for a deep, heartfelt sigh from the other world…
-O-