Read Online The Careful Use of Compliments by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online Page B

And then a moment later, “Yes, of course.”
    The bidding started low. The house had a bid in hand which had been put in for a client, and then it climbed. Isabel came in after the fourth bid, with a bid of ten thousand pounds, but that was immediately raised by a telephone bidder. Then somebody from the back of the hall put in a bid and the price went up another thousand. Jamie turned in his seat to see who it was, but there were heads in the way. Isabel now raised her card again and a thousand pounds was added. There were consultations on the telephone and a nod—another thousand.
    At twenty thousand, Isabel was the highest bidder. The auctioneer looked up from his desk and surveyed the room.
    â€œIt’s going to be you,” whispered Jamie. “You’re going to win.”
    â€œI’m not sure…” she began.
    Jamie was alarmed. “Not sure you want it?”
    The auctioneer glanced at Isabel and then looked over her head towards the back. He nodded at the bidder. “Twenty-one thousand pounds.”
    â€œNo,” said Isabel, slipping her numbered bidding card into her pocket.
    The auctioneer looked at her enquiringly and she shook her head. Then he looked at his two colleagues with the telephones: both indicated that they were going no further. The auctioneer repeated the bid from the back and then dropped his hammer, a short tap, his hand covering the small wooden head.
    Jamie looked at Isabel, who was reaching for the bag at her feet. “Bad luck,” he whispered.
    Isabel shrugged. “That’s what auctions are about. They tell us something rather important, don’t you think?”
    â€œThat what matters—”
    Isabel completed the sentence for him. “Is money. Yes. It doesn’t matter how much somebody likes something or deserves to get it—it’s money that decides things. A simple lesson.” She stuffed her catalogue into the bag.
    Bidding had started on the next item, and they waited until this had finished before they rose to their feet and began to make their way towards the back of the room. A couple who had been standing at the end of the row quickly took their vacant seats, smiling thankfully at Jamie, who had looked back at them.
    Isabel turned to Jamie. “Did you see who got it?” she asked.
    â€œThere were heads in the way,” he said. “But it was somebody over there.” He pointed to the back, which was lined with thirty or forty people who had not managed to find a seat. “One of them, I think.”
    Isabel looked at the crowd of people: any one of them could have been the bidder.
    â€œWhy do you want to know?” asked Jamie, from beside her.
    â€œPure curiosity,” she said. And she realised that there was no reason for her to know who had outbid her.
    She stopped. There was a familiar face in the crowd, a man standing on the edge, examining his catalogue.
    â€œPeter?”
    Her friend, Peter Stevenson, looked up from his catalogue and smiled at Isabel. “I saw you,” he said quietly—the bidding had begun on another painting. “I saw you bidding for that McInnes. You must have wanted it an awful lot.”
    Isabel made a gesture of acceptance. “All’s fair in love and auctions.”
    Love. Peter glanced at Jamie, who was standing behind her: he thoroughly approved of the relationship between Isabel and Jamie and had once, at a dinner party, spoken up when somebody had made a pointed remark about the disparity in age between Isabel and her new boyfriend. Envy, he had muttered, sotto voce but just loud enough to be heard by the entire table and to bring a blush of shame to the countenance of Isabel’s detractor. Peter’s wife, Susie, had looked at him sharply, but she, like most others at the table, thought his comment well placed.
    â€œWell, I’m sorry,” whispered Peter. “Walter Buie obviously wanted it more than you did.”
    Isabel