No, she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She wanted her mum. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and no one was coming to rescue her. ‘Okay, okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to grit our teeth, smile and blag our way through the next hour that’s what we’re going to do.’
Piers stared at her for a long moment before throwing the remaining contents of his champagne glass down his throat. ‘Okay, I’ll get us another a drink.’ With a wave, he summoned a server and swapped his empty glass for a new one. When he spotted the glass of water Lucie still clutched between numb fingers, he swiped it from her and thrust a second glass of champagne towards her. ‘Here.’
‘I wasn’t going to drink tonight.’
He bit off the beginnings of a hysterical laugh. ‘You’re going to need it. And you might as well get something from the company whilst you can.’
Whilst she could? What on earth was that supposed to mean? Oh. ‘They’re going to sack me.’
Piers gave her a sad smile. ‘Well, I don’t think they’re going to invite you to join the board of directors, that’s for sure. Right, drink up and put a smile on your face. This is supposed to be your moment of triumph. If anyone catches you looking like a wet weekend, the game will be up. If one or other of us catches Carl alone, we’ll have to try and warn him.’ Following his own advice, Piers took a long swig from his glass then turned away from her. ‘Ah, Charles, there you are! What do you think of our little masterpiece then?’
*
The hour that followed was one of the longest of Lucie’s life. Fascinated by the backstory as much as the painting itself, one guest after another demanded her version of events from first discovery to finding the bill of sale. Jaw aching from the rictus grin she’d plastered on, Lucie drank and chatted like the life and soul of the party, her eyes never straying far from Piers as he worked the opposite side of the room. Carl maintained his position beside the painting, acting as master of ceremonies and still seemingly oblivious to the impending disaster.
When Piers moved towards him, Lucie feared the champagne churning in her belly would end up spewed all over the antique rug beneath her feet. Like witnessing a slow-motion car crash she watched the colour drain from Carl’s face as Piers muttered into his ear. When Carl’s disbelieving gaze met hers, there was nothing Lucie could do other than nod miserably to confirm the terrible news.
*
‘What the hell happened?’ Carl asked for the dozenth time in the ten minutes since they’d entered his office after ushering out the last guest. Lucie had stopped trying to explain after the first five times he’d asked it. At least he’d stopped yelling. Her eyes strayed to the pile of shattered glass in one corner, the remnants of a Lalique paperweight he’d snatched from his desk and flung against the bookcase in his rage. She’d never seen him out of control and had Piers not stepped in front of her at the first signs of Carl’s temper, she might have been more scared. As though he’d finally blown out the last of his fury, Carl dropped like a stone into the leather chair behind his desk and buried his face in his hands for a few seconds before lifting it to stare at them. ‘We’ll have to cancel the sale. Spin some story about the owner having second thoughts about parting with it. I’ll speak to the publicity department first thing tomorrow.’
Feeling like it was safe to come out from behind Piers now Carl sounded so much calmer, Lucie edged to her right. ‘I’ll see if I can contact Mrs Richardson.’
‘No.’ Carl’s sharp response ricocheted around the room like the bang of a gun. ‘You will gather your things and leave this building immediately. Consider yourself on suspension until further notice. You won’t speak a word to anyone about this other than the internal security team when they contact you.’
Feeling sick, Lucie swayed for a moment before forcing some steel into her spine. She hadn’t done anything wrong. There had to be a logical explanation for this, if she could just stop the panicked swirl of her brain for two minutes, she knew she could fathom it out. ‘I’m happy to cooperate, of course, but I’m sure it’s just some kind of mistake.’
‘Mistake? How can you stand there and tell me the most important artwork of the season has been replaced by a fake whilst it was under your care, and call it nothing more than a mistake? The word you are looking for is fraud.’
The word struck her like a blow, spinning her back almost fifteen years as she watched a team of policemen root through the contents of her bedroom as her mother sobbed in a heap on the landing. ‘You…you can’t…’ Swallowing, she tried again. ‘You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with this?’ She turned from Carl to Piers, hands held out in appeal. ‘Why would I tell you it wasn’t the right painting if I was trying to pull off some kind of scam?’
Piers glanced down at the carpet, clearly uncomfortable. ‘But you didn’t tell me, not until it was obvious I’d spotted there was something wrong with it.’
‘What? No! That’s not how it happened at all! As soon as Carl pulled off the cover I knew it wasn’t right, I told you.’ Frantic, she ran through the events in her head. As soon as she’d realised something was wrong, she’d…oh. She hadn’t said anything, had she? She’d backed away instead of immediately making Carl aware of it. And it had been Piers who’d approached her, not the other way around. ‘I swear to you both, I don’t know anything about this. I swear.’
Piers flushed. ‘I’m not accusing you of anything, not at all, but none of this makes sense.’
‘I trusted you, Lucie.’ The accusation in Carl’s tone cut her to the quick. ‘I should have listened to my instincts when I found out about your background, about the kind of family you come from. Instead, I gave you the benefit of the doubt, and this is how you repay me!’
A wave of nausea swept through her and she pressed a hand to her lips as though to hold it back. He couldn’t be implying… ‘You had my background investigated? Is that even legal?’ Even as she said it, the fight left her. It didn’t matter what she did, how diligently she worked to prove herself, she was never going to escape her name. Her past.
Drawing himself up to his full height, Carl shot her a look of such contempt she knew it was true. ‘We are the premier auction house in the country for a reason, and protecting our reputation is tantamount!’ There was no denial in any of that, he really had looked into her background.
‘It was fifteen years ago! I was a child, I had nothing to do with anything my father did.’ She could hear the pitch in her voice climbing and forced herself back into silence. Like father, like daughter. The apple never falls far from the tree. All those sayings existed for a reason—because people actually believed them.
Raising his hands to his face, Carl scrubbed at his eyes, tone quieter now, as though he was talking to himself. ‘Employing the daughter of a convicted fraudster? What was I thinking! It won’t be just you losing your bloody job over this.’ He pointed towards the door. ‘Get out of my sight!’
Only the neat crescents of her nails digging deep into the palms of her clenched fists stopped the tears of frustration from spilling over. Crying wouldn’t do any good, it might even serve to demonstrate a guilty conscience. Lucie followed Piers with her eyes as he crossed the room to pull open the door. He muttered something to whoever was outside, then stepped back. To her horror, Mr Hazeltine, Witherby’s head of security stood in the corridor. God, this was some kind of terrible joke. She looked from Carl to Piers and back again. Grim-faced, neither of them spoke.
‘If
