Chapter 9
The Auction
The next day
The Lamont-Vilain auction house was located in metropolitan Paris, nestled in a side street just off a main road, on the north side of the Seine. The building it occupied was nondescript; three storeys, brick with white plaster rendering.
Wearing a dark grey Brioni suit, Bond ascended the staircase to the first floor auction hall. There was a small foyer at the first floor landing of the staircase, just outside the hall. A small trickle of men and women in suits came and left through the open double door. Several loitered, sipping at champagne flutes obtained from a nearby table.
The auction hall itself was luxuriously appointed, with wood furnishings bordering the floor and ceiling, and framed paintings hanging on the off-white walls. The auctioneer stood at a large wooden lectern on a raised stage at the end of the hall, with a white projector screen on the wall behind him.
The small hall was a little over half full, by Bond's reckoning, with over seventy people seated. The prospective bidders were mostly suited men and women in their forties and older, seated in rows facing the auctioneer.
Bond spotted Davide Dubois sitting four rows from the auctioneer, wearing a charcoal suit. He had thinning brown hair with a bald spot and gray temples. The man had a long, angular face that was thin to the point of looking gaunt. Bond probably would have missed him if he hadn't turned to talk to the man next to him.
Finding an empty seat, he sat in the row in front of him. This wasn't the first time he had attended an auction in the course of an assignment; as soon as M had told him about the auction, he recalled the time he had gone to Sotheby's to observe the auction of a Fabergé egg – the 'property of a lady', the auctioneer had called it. She remembered it, too: he had been given a strict order to not bid on the book.
The auctioneer, a balding white man in his mid-forties, started the auction by reading a brief description of the book in French-accented English from a lectern.
"Lot number fifteen. An illuminated manuscript of the Tales and Histories of the Order of Paris. Authors unknown, circa 1335, believed to be from a monastery in Nice. One hundred leaves of vellum parchment, bound with cord in a leather-covered wooden cover. Note the condition of the cover; the leather has worn at the edges. Script is single column, hand-written in Old French in black ink. Several pages have full-colour miniatures with colour borders. The leather cover is embossed and gilded with gold, although much of the gold is absent..."
As he spoke, a PowerPoint presentation with photographs of the book was projected onto the screen behind him, each page of the presentation taken up by a picture of the book. Considering its age, it looked to be in very good condition; no major tears in the parchment, and the text was legible, save for some smudged borders and cracks. Bond could make out a few French words, but not enough to be able to translate the text.
Interspersed throughout the book were several miniatures – little illustrations that took up a whole page, surrounded by elaborate borders. These, too, were mostly in good condition, although one had what looked like a massive crack or scratch in it where the pigments had either cracked with age or were scraped off, exposing the yellow parchment beneath. Most of them depicted either villagers or armoured knights, although one or two featured what looked like a royal court or a king receiving guests.
The presentation ended with an image of the cover, the same one it started with. The brown leather cover was worn, with patches of leather absent, revealing darkly stained wood beneath. An image had been embossed in the leather and gilded with gold leaf. A lot of the gold was missing, but the image was still visible: a pair of robed women, kneeling and facing each other, each holding a sword vertically in both hands.
The book itself was on display on the desk by the auctioneer, nestled in felt in a padded metal case. Apparently, it had been sitting in a wealthy French family's private collection for about two hundred years. The expectation was that it would end up with either a museum or a university, but it had also attracted the attention of wealthy private collectors.
Bond turned briefly to look back at Dubois. His expression was neutral, indifferent.
"The bidding will start at fifty thousand euros."
Bond had read the listing on the company's website on the way in to Paris. He knew how much vintage manuscripts sold for at the big auction houses like Christie's or Sotheby's; by those standards, fifty thousand was a pretty low opening price. That didn't seem like a lot, considering the book's age and condition, but then again, perhaps that was because it wasn't written by a noteworthy author. Still, if it was an obscure, undiscovered work by a previously unknown author, maybe it would attract a high price as a new discovery.
"Do I have fifty thousand?"
A man in the row in front of Bond raised a hand.
"Yes, sir, fifty thousand." The auctioneer gestured in the direction of the man. "Sixty?"
Another bidder raised his hand.
"Sixty thousand euros. Do I have seventy?"
"Eighty." Dubois said it in a neutral, flat tone as he raised his hand. Bond glanced back at him.
"Eighty thousand euros. The bid is at eighty thousand euros."
A woman seated in the row in front of Bond raised a slender hand. "One hundred," she said in a French accent.
"One hundred thousand euros to the lady in blue," the auctioneer declared.
"One-twenty," Dubois announced.
"One hundred and twenty thousand euros to you, sir."
Bond glanced back at Dubois. His face was calm, expressionless, but there seemed to be some intentness or eagerness in his eyes. He turned back to face the screen, an eyebrow slightly raised.
"One-twenty. We stand at one hundred and twenty thousand euros. Do we have any other bids? One-thirty?"
He was only to observe, but like the auction at Sotheby's, Bond couldn't resist placing a bid. He wanted to know how badly Dubois wanted the book.
Bond raised his right hand. "One-fifty." Again, not the first time he'd placed a bid at an auction he was only meant to observe. Bond briefly smiled to himself at the thought.
Bond looked over at Dubois again, curious for a reaction. Dubois glanced at him, irritated. He knew how much the man was worth: at this stage, a rival bid was an annoyance, not a serious threat. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how much Dubois was willing to spend on this book.
Dubois raised a hand. "Two hundred."
That was enough for now. No reason to bid again.
"Two-twenty." The French woman again.
Yet another bidder raised a hand. "Two twenty-five."
"Two fifty." Dubois.
"Three hundred." An old man, hitherto silent, with a German accent, six seats across from Bond.
Bond turned around. Dubois was tapping his index finger against the end of his chair's armrest. He was clearly uncomfortable. "Four hundred."
"Four hundred thousand euros," the auctioneer announced.
"Four fifty." The old German.
Bond thought he could hear an annoyed gasp from Dubois. "Four eighty."
"Five hundred." Another bidder.
Bond couldn't resist placing another bid. "Five fifty."
"Six." Dubois. There was now an ever-so-slight edge in his voice. Annoyance? Desperation?
Several observers and bidders murmured amongst themselves.
"Six hundred thousand euros. Do we have any other bids?"
No one raised their hands.
"No other bids?"
Still no raised hands.
"The bid stands at six hundred thousand euros."
Several observers started to get up and leave.
"Six hundred going once. Twice."
Bond glanced around the room. Looks like this is it. One book for Mister Dubois at six hundred –
"Seven hundred." The old German raised a hand.
Almost everyone who had stood up to leave turned to him in surprise. Bond heard a few gasps.
"A new bid. Seven hundred thousand euros from the gentleman here," the auctioneer declared, pointing at the German.
"Any more bids? The bid stands at seven hundred."
Again, no-one raised their hands.
Bond turned back to Dubois. He looked uncomfortable. His averted eyes shifted up and down, as if he was thinking.
Finally, he raised a hand. "Eight."
"Eight hundred thousand euros to you, sir." The auctioneer's mild surprise vanished. "Any higher bids? Eight fifty?"
Bond looked around the hall. Several patrons who had been departing were still standing where they had been when the German made his bid.
He turned to the German. He could just make out the shake in the man's head. He was done.
"Eight hundred going once. Twice." The auctioneer struck his gavel on the lectern. "Sold to the gentleman in black for eight hundred thousand euros."
The audience politely applauded. On the stage, Bond saw a suited attendant wearing white cotton gloves close the lid on the book's case.
Lamont-Vilain's clients used a small underground parking lot. Winning bidders could choose to have their items brought down to their cars, if they were sufficiently small, or use the entrance in the alley behind the building, which served as the loading dock and a discreet pick-up point.
Bond suspected that the book would be brought down to the parking lot.
Dubois' car was a black Rolls-Royce Ghost. Bond stood over it, inspecting it. He would readily acknowledge it was an impressive machine, but the car itself wasn't what interested him.
He knelt down, inspecting one of the alloy wheels. He drew a GPS tracker from his suit pocket, a small, black metal box. He flipped open the hinged cover on one side, and pressed the power button inside. A small red LED next to the button blinked four times in rapid succession, then stayed dark.
The device activated, Bond flipped the cover closed, stuck his hand under the front bumper and carefully placed it under the front of the car, ahead of the front wheel. One side of the device was magnetic, allowing it to stick to the underbody of the car.
His task done, Bond straightened himself. Turning, he saw Dubois approaching several metres away, followed by a man who was either a bodyguard or chauffeur and the attendant from the auction, carrying the metal case in both hands. He looked a lot calmer now, and, Bond thought, a little self-satisfied.
Bond nodded at the car, smiling at it. "Impressive car," he said in French.
"It is, isn't it?" Dubois offered a brief grin of his own. "Thank you."
"I was just admiring it on my way out." Bond's gaze lingered on the car for another second before looking up at Dubois. "I saw you in the auction for lot fifteen." He nodded at the metal box. "Congratulations on your win."
"Thank you. To be honest, I was hoping I wouldn't have to fight so hard for it. That last bid came as a surprise." Dubois turned to the man beside him. "Go ahead, open it up."
The man had his right hand in his pocket. The boot lid popped open. The chauffeur walked over to the boot, followed closely by the man with the case.
"So, is it going to a private collection?" Bond asked.
"Yes," Dubois replied, the word slightly drawn out. "I seem to have made a habit of collecting these things."
Bond knew better, of course. He nodded as if in approval. "I've developed something of a taste for antiques myself. I was hoping to dip my toe in the water, as it were."
Dubois smiled. "Good luck with your search."
At the back of the car, Dubois' chauffeur had opened the boot, allowing the young man in the suit and gloves to carefully load the metal case into the boot.
Satisfied that the case wouldn't slide about, the attendant nodded at the chauffeur and walked over to Dubois. "Sir, your book is in the car."
Dubois nodded with a smile. "Thank you very much." He drew his wallet from his hip pocket and withdrew a €100 note. "For your trouble."
The man took the note graciously, smiling up at him. "Thank you very much, sir. Enjoy the book. Have a nice day."
Dubois nodded. "Thank you."
The young man nodded briefly, shook Dubois' proffered hand, and walked back towards the lifts.
"Well, I suppose I'd best be off." He shook Bond's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mister...?"
"Peregrine Carruthers," Bond replied without missing a beat.
"Davide Dubois. Again, good luck finding something you'll enjoy. Pleasure meeting you, Mister Carruthers."
"The pleasure was all mine." Bond gave a final smile and a nod before Dubois entered the front passenger seat.