‘How can Cyril be so stupid? He knows why we’re cutting back – like everyone else around here.’ Sally swallowed the last of her sandwich. ‘And, anyway, he could have asked me yesterday. I was chatting to him at the market. He was asking whether we’d all move away from Bellevue-sur-Mer once we were rich! Marcel seemed very worried by the idea.’

‘Why would Marcel care?’ asked Zoe. ‘He owns the brasserie next door. I’d think he’d be whooping it up at the idea of us all buggering off. His business would double without us.’

‘This is nerve-racking.’ Theresa fiddled with the teapot. ‘Why don’t they just get on with it?’

‘Perhaps lots 1 to 254 are taking longer than expected,’ said Carol. ‘The timings they give are mere approximations, you know.’

‘Like the estimates they give us on the works of art, you mean?’ said Sally, reaching for a second sandwich.

Carol held up her large hands. ‘I don’t know why we’re all being like this. After all, whatever we get is a win. No?’

‘If we get the lower estimate, it’s only a mini-win,’ said Sally.

‘Stop moaning. It would still get us out of hot water.’

The phone rang again. This time Theresa didn’t wait, and snatched the receiver. ‘Allô? . . . William! Any news?’

‘Put it on speakerphone,’ said Zoe. ‘Let us all hear.’

Sally fiddled with the phone base and eventually got the speakerphone turned on.

‘There’s an internet bid of two million,’ said William. ‘They’re starting at two million.’

Carol crossed herself and rolled her eyes up to look at the ceiling.

They all leaned in towards the phone, straining to hear the auctioneer as he called out the bids.

‘Two million five hundred thousand . . . Two million eight . . .’

‘Can you hear all right?’ William said.

‘If you’d shut up we might,’ snapped Zoe.

Sally hushed her.

‘Three million . . . Do I hear three and a half? Madam? The gentleman in the green tweed suit?’

‘I hope he isn’t accidentally bidding while he’s waving his phone about,’ said Zoe. ‘A green tweed suit sounds quite William’s style.’

‘Four million . . .’

‘Alleluia!’ Carol made jazz hands.

‘I need a stiff drink,’ said Theresa.

‘Four million five . . . Yes, sir. Five million . . . Six million . . .’

‘Six million and rising!’ hissed Sally, closing her eyes. ‘There is a God.’

‘Seven million . . .’

‘With seven million we won’t need to run a restaurant,’ said Sally. ‘We can just live the life of Riley.’

‘Who is this Riley?’ asked Zoe. ‘I’ve often wondered.’

‘Shut up, Zoe!’ Theresa was still leaning over the phone.

‘Spoilsport.’ Zoe scoffed. ‘I think we can all sigh an enormous sigh of relief now. Can’t we?’

‘Wait a minute . . .’ William said.

‘Is there a bottle of champagne in the house?’ yelled Carol.

‘What?’ It was William, whispering hoarsely into the phone. ‘WHAT?’

‘WHAT?’ replied everyone, excitedly pressing in around the table. ‘WHAT???’