Page 296 of Double or Nothing

“Seven hundred and twenty-five thousand,” I say.

Bryce’s face hardens. Pissed off.

The auctioneer acknowledges me.

“At seven hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds with paddle one hundred and eighteen.”

Harrow doesn’t move.

Of course he doesn’t.

His catalogue opens again.

Finished.

The auctioneer surveys the room.

“At seven hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds… going…”

Fuck. I’ve crossed our ceiling. The triptych is about to become mine.

Come on, Mercer.

The auctioneer raises the hammer.

“Fair warning.”

Thank fuck, Helena Mercer finally lifts her paddle.

“Seven hundred and fifty thousand near the aisle,” the auctioneer says.

The relief is so fierce I almost laugh.

Bryce lowers his head for half a second. I wonder if he’s wet himself. His pulse must be racing faster than mine.

But fuck our limit now, the game is alive.

I respond at eight hundred.

Mercer waits.

Her adviser says something.

She looks at the screen, not at me.

Eight fifty.

I answer with nine, trusting my instincts.

A whisper moves through the room.

Christopher turns towards the paintings as though he’s trying to read a foreign language. Bill stares straight ahead.

Alice is crying.

Silently.

I can see it in her shoulders.