Jade Island by Elizabeth Lowell Page B

with people, whispers, perfumes, and the slithery whisper of silk dresses against synthetic panty hose. Spectators sat separate from bidders and enjoyed the drama. Inexperienced bidders sat with their catalogs dog-eared, note-ridden, and open to the piece they wanted. The bidding paddles they clutched were cream parchment with bold, stylized numbers on both sides.
    Experienced bidders were more relaxed, or at least appeared to be. Their catalogs were closed, their paddles casually held. They already knew what they would bid on any given piece, and the line they wouldn’t cross between profit and desire to possess. Auction fever was for innocents.
    Whether it was due to charity or the rising international interest in Asian art objects, the bidding had been aggressive. No bargains were walking out of the hotel tonight. A Warring States bronze with gold, silver, and copper inlay had brought one hundred and fifteen thousand dollars. A large, very nice Ming vase had just sold for more than seven hundred thousand dollars.
    A collective sigh went through the crowd when the palm-sized gong sounded, signifying that the bidding on the third session was about to begin. Catalogs rustled and shimmered in the bright light as pages were turned to thefirst group up for auction. As with the bronzes and porcelains, the bidding was brisk.
    Seated down in front with the rest of the bidders, Lianne became progressively more nervous as piece after piece of jade was presented, bid on, and sold. The single piece of jade that Wen had agreed to part with for charity—a rather ordinary Ch’ing dynasty shoulao, or sculpture of an old man with a walking stick—had been bid up to a surprising seven thousand dollars before the gong sounded. The Shang dynasty bracelets had gone for six thousand dollars. Each. The Warring States buckle she had admired had sold on a preemptive bid of five thousand dollars.
    The Neolithic blade was next up for auction.
    Breathing a silent prayer that the bidding wouldn’t go beyond four thousand dollars—preferably twenty-five hundred—Lianne sat back and tried to get a feel for the bidders who were interested in the blade.
    The minimum opening bid listed in the catalog was one thousand dollars. Three paddles went up at once, beginning the auction. A single glance told Lianne that the eager paddles belonged to bottom fishers, not serious bidders. The real bidders would be like her, waiting to see who was earnest and who was simply using the auction paddle to fan his face.
    “Fifteen hundred,” the auctioneer said, scanning the crowd.
    Two paddles lifted, then a third. The last one belonged to Charles Singer, the owner of an excellent jade shop in downtown Seattle.
    “Two thousand.”
    Singer’s paddle lifted, along with two others.
    “Twenty-five hundred.”
    Again Singer raised his paddle. Only one other person was bidding against him now.
    “Three thousand.”
    No one raised a paddle.
    “Come, now, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer coaxed. “This is a very fine example of Neolithic artistry.The stone fairly glows with mystery, immortality, and six thousand years of secrets. Surely that’s worth at least fifty cents a year to a discerning collector?”
    The audience laughed. Singer raised his paddle in the manner of a man who knows he is paying too much but is willing to do it for charity.
    “We have three thousand dollars. Will someone bid thirty-three hundred?”
    Singer’s paddle remained in his lap.
    Kyle and Lianne raised their paddles simultaneously. So did a man in the back of the bidding section.
    “Excellent,” purred the auctioneer. “I just knew this room was full of civic spirit.”
    The crowd laughed while the bidding quickly rose to thirty-nine hundred dollars. Singer and the man in the rear of the section went head-to-head for another five hundred dollars’ worth of bids. Then Singer dropped out, leaving only the anonymous man, whom Lianne couldn’t see.
    “Forty-five hundred. We