Dervla pursed her lips and stared fixedly at the floor for several seconds. She seemed to make her mind up about something and leant forward. I responded in kind. We were about as entre nous as a couple could get.
And that was when bloody Sheridan stuck his oar in.
‘Dervla, darling, we really do need to get proceedings under way. Thomas has to be somewhere in half an hour . . .’
Irritating though his interruption was, I could understand Sheridan’s apprehension. The ad guy could have bought and sold everyone in the room.
Dervla scooped up her phone. ‘Let’s talk after the auction,’ she said to me.
‘We have to be in Hammersmith by three for Melvyn,’ Sheridan reminded her.
‘I do know my own fucking schedule,’ Dervla snapped like a stroppy teenager. She got to her feet and smoothed the creases from her dress. Whatever it was she’d been on the point of telling me would have to keep. ‘Treat yourself to a few more drinks, Kenny.’ Dervla smiled radiantly at her guests. ‘God knows they all will,’ she muttered.
Sheridan rapped a gavel on a table and called the room to order. ‘Good afternoon, everyone, my name’s Sheridan Talbot-White and I’d like to welcome you to Assassins. As I’m sure you’re all aware, this afternoon is primarily about raising money for a very worthy cause. CALICO was founded in 1996 to finance creative workshops within deprived inner-city areas. Since then the fund has generated in excess of four million pounds and helped finance over two hundred projects . . .’
He paused for applause and received it.
‘It was Dervla’s idea to combine the launch of her retrospective with an event on CALICO’s behalf.’ Sheridan nodded at the tome on the lectern. ‘This is the first signed impression of five hundred. It retails at five thousand pounds, although I’m sure we can do better than that. After all, you’ll be bidding for something that celebrates the genius of the most talented artist of her generation. Before we get to the auction, though, Dervla would like to say a few words.’
He stepped back from the microphone, which was the cue for the audience to start clapping. Dervla got out of her chair. Sheridan sat down in his.
‘First of all,’ she said, ‘I’d like to thank Sherry for lying so convincingly . . .’
Big laugh.
‘Anyone who knows me will testify that I’m a total pain in the arse and a long way off being a genius . . .’
Cries of disagreement.
‘However, he’s undoubtedly the best agent in the business, and I’d like to thank him for his continued support. Also, I’d like to thank you lot for turning up to today, but, let’s be honest, most of you would run a mile in flip-flops for a free can of shandy and a Curly Wurly . . .’
Universal hilarity.
‘To those of you who might think that thirty-seven is a little early for a career retrospective,’ she continued, ‘I had the same qualms myself. But as Sherry pointed out, you’re never too young to involve yourself in a cynical moneymaking exercise.’
Lots more laughter, although Sheridan’s smile seemed a little strained to me.
‘Today, though, is all about bringing culture into the lives of some underprivileged kids. So I’d like to ask those of you with deep pockets not to keep your hands in them, and to bid some positively ludicrous amounts of money. Over to you, Sherry.’
‘Thank you, Dervla,’ he said, getting back to his feet. ‘Yours truly is the auctioneer this afternoon, so without further ado I’ll get proceedings under way. Shall we open on a paltry ten thousand?’
A ginger-haired guy in his fifties raised his hand.
‘Ten thousand, I’m bid,’ Sheridan said. ‘Do I hear eleven?’
This time the ad man responded.
‘Twelve?’
Ginger nodded.
‘Thirteen?’
Back to Ad Man.
‘Fourteen?’
Whoever the ginger guy was, he must have had a few quid in his sock drawer. Over the next ten minutes we proceeded incrementally up to thirty grand. Thomas could probably have kept going indefinitely, although, as Sheridan had told us, he had to nip off to another engagement. Perhaps for this reason his next bid was a hike of five thousand. Despite Sheridan’s best efforts to convince him otherwise, that was a bridge too far for Ginge, and the gavel was brought down to enthusiastic applause.
‘Sold to Mr Thomas Sclerotta,’ Sheridan said with a delighted tone in his voice. He turned and looked for his client. Then he looked a bit more. After which he carried on looking. All of which turned out to be to no avail.
Dervla Bishop had vanished.
THIRTEEN
A couple of waiters checked the toilets and drew a blank. While our attention had been focused on the Tommy and Ginge show, Dervla had made her exit. I’d gained the impression that she wasn’t exactly thrilled to be attending the auction but it seemed a tad rude to simply piss off halfway through. Sheridan announced that his client hadn’t been feeling too well. A woman with her own face screen-printed across her T-shirt smirked and said that more likely she couldn’t wait for a fix.
If Dervla Bishop was still using, I didn’t think it was smack. Most addicts look like shit warmed over and nod out when you’re talking to them. Dervla might not have taken more than ten minutes to get ready that morning, but she hadn’t shown any signs of withdrawal. Not unless irritation and boredom counted as symptoms.
She had also seemed bright enough when making her speech. And while Dervla clearly had a general distaste for the crowd in Assassins, all she had to do was have her picture taken with Thomas Sclerotta, after which she and Sheridan could have buggered off to the fleshpots of Hammersmith. A small price to pay for some skint kids to get their mitts on thirty-five grand’s worth of art supplies.
Crucially she had left without revealing what had been on the tip of her tongue when Sheridan interrupted our conversation. I didn’t have her number and she didn’t have mine. It meant that I had to approach Sheridan if I wanted to arrange a follow-up meeting. I hadn’t expected him simply to tut-tut and give me her details. Just as well, because that isn’t what he did at all. ‘What the hell were the pair of you talking about?’ he barked.
‘I’m afraid it was a private conversation,’ I said.
‘Well, I’m holding you responsible for this debacle. And if I find out that you really are a reporter, then I’ll have no hesitation in approaching the PCC.’
‘I’m not from the press.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Unfortunately, I can’t reveal that.’
‘Well, there’s one thing I can reveal.’ Sheridan drew himself up to his full height. ‘If you haven’t left this club in two minutes, I’ll have you thrown out.’
Sheridan’s full height was around five foot six. The waiters, on the other hand, were considerably larger. And while they would hardly give me a kicking in an alleyway, I didn’t relish the humiliation of being frogmarched down the stairs.
‘Perhaps you could give Dervla my card,’ I said, holding one out. ‘Best if she calls the mobile number and not the landline.’ To my surprise, Sheridan took it from me.
Then he tore it in two and let the pieces drop to the floor.