Remaindered Read Free Page B

which was why the Christie collection had so excited him. It was easy to imagine his emotional state here in the office that Sunday evening. His unhealthy heart must have been under intolerable strain.
    The find of a lifetime had triggered the end of a lifetime.
    And now Tanya wondered about her own heart. She had a rock band playing in her chest.
    If a copy without its jacket fetched ten grand, how much was this little beauty worth? Surely enough to cover her every need for months, if not years, to come.
    So tempting.
    Robert had never trusted the computer. He’d used it as a glorified typewriter and little else. His contact details for his main customers were kept in a card index that Tanya now flicked through, looking for wealthy people interested in what Robert had called ‘British Golden Age mysteries’. She picked out five names. On each card were noted the deals he had done and the prices paid for early editions of Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers and Anthony Berkeley. They weren’t five figure sums, but the books almost certainly hadn’t been such fine copies as these.
    It wouldn’t hurt to phone some of these customers and ask if they would be interested in making an offer for a 1921 Bodley Head first edition of The Mysterious Affair at Styles —with a dust jacket.
    â€œI’d need to see it,” the first voice said, plainly trying to sound laid back. Then gave himself away by adding, “You haven’t even told me who you are. Where are you calling from? I don’t mind getting on a plane.”
    Tanya was cautious. “In fairness, I need to speak to some other potential buyers.”
    â€œHow much do you have in mind?” he said. “I can arrange a transfer into any account you care to name and no questions asked. Tell me the price you want.”
    Collecting can be addictive.
    â€œIt’s not decided yet,” she said. “This is just an enquiry to find out who is interested. As I said, I have other calls to make.”
    â€œAre you planning to auction it, or what?”
    â€œI’m not going through an auctioneer. It would be a private sale, but at some point I may ask for your best offer.”
    â€œYou say it has the original jacket? Is it complete? Sometimes they come with a panel detached or missing.”
    â€œBelieve me, it’s complete.”
    There was a pause at the end of the line. Then: “I’d be willing to offer a six figure sum. If I can examine it for staining and so on and you tell me the provenance, I could run to more than that.”
    A six figure sum? Did he really mean that?
    â€œThank you,” Tanya succeeded in saying in a small, shocked voice. “I must make some more calls now.”
    â€œScrew it, a hundred and twenty grand.”
    She swallowed hard. “I’m not yet accepting offers, but I may come back to you.”
    â€œOne forty.” He was terrified to put the phone down.
    â€œI’ll bear that in mind,” Tanya said, and closed the call.
    She tried a second collector of Golden Age mysteries and this one wasn’t interested in staining or provenance. He couldn’t contain his excitement. “Lady, name your price,” he said. “I’d kill for that book.” Without any prompting, he offered a hundred and fifty thousand, “In used banknotes, if you want.”
    She didn’t bother to call the others. She needed to collect her thoughts. Robert’s sudden death had come as such a shock that no one else had given a thought to the value of the Agatha Christies. She was the only person in Poketown with the faintest idea and she could scarcely believe what she’d been offered. Could the existence of a dust jacket—a sheet of paper printed on one side—really mean a mark-up of more than a hundred grand?
    She lifted more books out, first editions all. The Murder on the Links, The Secret of Chimneys and The Murder of Roger Ackroyd . The beauty