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‘Nerves,’ she confirms. ‘We can’t have butterfingers around all these fine pieces.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘We only deal in the finest, dear.’
‘You have many beautiful things.’ It’s a million miles away from what I’m used to, and I’m alive with the potential of working with these wonderful antiques. I want to work here. If I saw the cab thief now, I might kiss him instead of slapping him. I can see myself lost among these treasured artefacts of history. I’m suddenly buzzing, full of enthusiasm. I have to nail this.
Mrs Potts releases my hands and casts a proud eye around the room. ‘That we do. Now, how are your archiving skills?’
‘You mean filing?’
‘Chronologically, yes.’
‘Very good,’ I confirm, because they are. I expect there will be a few more files here than my father had, but I’m ready for the challenge. ‘My father’s records go back decades. They were a shambles before I rebuilt his filing system.’
She smiles. ‘Your telephone manners?’
‘I’m very diplomatic.’
‘That’s good. We deal with the top auction houses – Sotheby’s, Bonhams, not to mention our clients who are mostly English aristocracy. We need to be polite.’
Sotheby’s? Bonhams? I could scream my excitement. Mrs Potts’s head cocks, and I know she’s thinking about my earlier outburst when I couldn’t see a damn thing in that dark alley.
‘I’m very polite.’ When I’m not trapped in a pitch-black hole with no escape.
‘Indeed. Now, how broad is your knowledge?’ She casts her arm around the room, and my eyes follow, taking it all in again.
This is a test. My chance to impress. ‘Well, over there is a pencil portrait of Francis of Lorraine. He was the Duke of Guise. I believe François Clouet was commissioned by the duke himself.’ I smile when Mrs Potts nods, eyes bright. ‘And that over there next to Anne Boleyn’s necklace’ – oh my fucking days, it’s her actual necklace – ‘is a solid gold statue of King Tutankhamun. Or King Tutankhaten, before he changed his religion. It weighs sixty pounds, and I believe it was lost in history until an American named Professor Limmington unearthed it on an expedition in Cairo in 1845.’ I’m almost breathless, because this room is truly mind-blowing. ‘And I know that that over there is a rare example of a Louis the fourteenth chair.’
‘With original gilding,’ Mrs Potts adds, smiling.
‘With original gilding.’
She chuckles and returns to her pad. ‘Organisation skills?’
‘Brilliant.’
She waves her chubby hand through the air again, laughing. ‘That’ll make him happy.’
‘Him?’
‘The boss, dear. Keep up.’ She’s out of her chair and walking across the room, my eyes following her path before glancing up at the glass wall that’s guarding the room. Prickles are pitter-pattering across my skin. It’s the oddest sensation. ‘Confidence in handling comes through years of experience,’ she continues, pulling my attention back to her. ‘But you have a nice steady hand, so you’re off to a good start.’
‘I worked in my father’s antique shop for years,’ I say, avoiding the fact that my dad’s treasure could never compare to what I’m surrounded by now. I also avoid the pang of guilt that stabs me. It might not have been treasure on this scale, but it was still treasure to my dad.
‘How lovely.’ Mrs Potts chuckles, slipping some white gloves on before opening a cabinet and picking up an intricately patterned Ming vase. She then proceeds to juggle it between her hands like it’s a ball. I straighten my back, nervous at the sight of such a rare piece being handled so cavalierly. She places it down and twirls it to the right, smiling at it fondly for a few moments while I look on. ‘Now then.’ She marches over to me and hands me another pair of gloves. ‘Pick it up, dear.’ She nods towards the Ming vase.
I accept the gloves and approach the vase nervously, concerned the pressure will throw my confidence. I get the feeling that the care of these treasures is more important than any knowledge I might have in the antique department. So, I pull up my big girl knickers, put on the gloves, and take hold of the vase with both hands.
I turn to present the treasure to Mrs Potts. ‘It’s stunning.’
She smiles brightly. ‘Of course it is. It was made for the Qianlong Emperor.’ She inclines her head, like I should know that.
I didn’t, but I know who the Qianlong Emperor is. ‘Oh my God.’ I’m holding something close to three hundred years old.
‘It’s worth one point two million.’
‘What?’ My hands instantly start to shake, and Mrs Potts flies to me at a speed that defies her round body and her age.
‘I’ll take that.’ She swipes it from my hands, leaving me to grab a nearby heavily carved Elizabethan sideboard to steady myself.
‘One point two million?’ I blurt, watching her tucking it away safely in the cabinet. Holy shit, I’ve underestimated how far removed this is from my father’s business. I think the most he ever achieved for a piece that he spent two months lovingly restoring was a grand. A thousand pounds for nine weeks’ work. But 1.2 million? Yes, my knowledge is broad, but the value of pieces hasn’t been something I’ve much cared for, just the history. The responsibility and pressure of dealing with them, handling them, is something I’ve grossly underestimated.
