The hall was filling rapidly again. Paddy wove through the crowds and made her way to Lindsay’s side. “We’re doing very well so far,” she said. “And I recognize at least a couple of book dealers among that lot, so perhaps we’ll get some decent prices. There are one or two real rarities coming up. Shall we find ourselves a seat?”

Bidding was slow for the first few lots, all newish first editions by moderately successful writers. But it soon became brisk as the quality began to improve. An autographed first edition of T.S. Eliot’s Essays Ancient and Modern fetched a very healthy price, and a second edition of Virginia Woolf’s Orlando with a dedication by the author climbed swiftly and was bought for an outrageous amount by the doting mother of one of Paddy’s fifth-formers. Paddy whispered in Lindsay’s ear, “That woman will try anything to get her Marjory to pass A level English.” Lindsay bid for a couple of items, but the things she really wanted were beyond her means. After all, she reasoned, it was crazy to spend more than she would earn this weekend on one book. Her resolution vanished, however, when it came to lot 68.

Cordelia grinned broadly and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, what can I say? A unique opportunity to purchase an autographed first edition of a priceless contemporary novel. The One-Day Summer, the first novel of Booker prize nominee, yours truly. A great chance to acquire this rarity. Who’ll start me at a fiver?”

Lindsay thrust her arm into the air. “Five pounds I am bid. Do I hear six? Yes, six. Seven over there. Ten from the gentleman in the tweed hat. Eleven pounds, madam. Eleven once, eleven twice . . . twelve, thank you, sir. Do I hear thirteen? Yes, Thirteen once, thirteen twice, sold for thirteen pounds—unlucky for some—to Lindsay Gordon. A purchase you’ll never regret, I may say.”

An embarrassed Lindsay made her way over to the desk where the fourth-formers were collecting the money and wrapping the purchases. She didn’t feel much like facing Paddy’s sardonic grin right away, so she slipped down to the end of the hall by the stage and crossed through the heavy velvet curtains to the deserted backstage area where all the music rooms were situated. As she rounded the corner of the corridor, she saw Lorna Smith-Couper coming up a side corridor. The cellist did not notice Lindsay, because she was turning her head back to talk to someone coming round the corner of the corridor behind her. Without thinking, Lindsay slid through a half-open door and found herself behind the heavy backdrop of the stage. She could hear every word of the conversation in the corridor. Lorna Smith-Couper was speaking angrily.