That same afternoon, I found myself in a long queue between Marek and Mistress. We were in a posh building with lots of smells around to keep me busy. I got a whiff of Estee Lauder from the woman ahead of us and a strong stench of varnish, which made me feel dizzy. I think it might have been Marek’s bacon sandwiches that added to the impression.

Finally I sat squat on my haunches and had to be dragged to the front of the desk when it was our turn.

“I need to refer you to the room at the end of the corridor,” said the girl behind the counter, when she heard the story about the picture from Mistress.

There was a lot of travelling in this place, I thought and I had a sudden desire for home. But I followed Mistress and Marek down the passage like a dutiful dog. I had every intention of behaving like the aristocrat I knew myself to be.

“What can I do for you?” asked a man with little glasses and a fringe. He leant over his desk and made a clucking sound. “We don’t allow dogs in the auction house,” he said.

Marek didn’t hesitate. He scooped me up and there I was, at the same level as all of them! I bared my teeth at the man.

“This only take a minute,” replied Marek. “We have come to withdraw Lot 85, which is for sale tomorrow.”

“The Victorian Picture Sale at 2pm,” Mistress said. “I am so sorry to ask at this late stage, but there are personal reasons.”

The man with the fringe stared at his computer for a long time. I watched the clock on the wall above him and the black arrow that made circles around it. I yawned. The heat didn’t suit me and my stomach kept grumbling. I would have to get some air soon.

“This is very unfortunate,” muttered the man. “The ‘Sibthorpe’ is a fine surviving example from the 1830’s. I am afraid there will be a withdrawal charge.”

“How much?” asked Marek. He was delving into his pocket and fingering some of those money notes I had seen earlier. “Whatever the price, I pay. We have to have our picture back.”

“That will be £945.52p,” the man replied smoothly. “But you will need to go to another floor for invoicing, I’m afraid and then to the ground for collection.”

I began to bark then. Marek had to put me down as all these notes came out of his pocket. I saw only stars. A large bubble wrapped package lay up against a corner of the man’s desk. I was intent on getting close.

The warning never came. Suddenly, I was sick all over the bubble wrap and it took a while to realise that a woman stood with her legs apart directly above me.

“Get that bloody dog out of here!” she shouted.

Marek was beside me, as I drew back, panting.

“Who is this woman with big bottom?” he asked, to no-one in particular.

The woman had a loud voice. “I am the director here!” she said.