When Freddie Bampfylde became Chairman of Christoby’s UK, the first thing he did was get rid of the desk in the mahogany-panelled study which became his with the new role. As he told a journalist from the Telegraph, he needed a much larger desk to accommodate Johnny the Antelope, the huge, purple antelope head by Damien Hirst which he strokes for luck before he takes an auction. He is also rather fond of the photograph of him dressed as Batman taking an auction at the Royal Hospital in aid of the Pensioners and has placed it next to the silver-framed photograph of his wife, children and pugs sitting on the sweeping stone steps leading to the doors of his house, Evenlode. Additionally, the desk accommodates large, shiny gold letters spelling out ‘ROCKSTAR’ which his elder children gave to him when he was listed as No. 1 in Tatler’s ‘10 People in the Art World You Need to Know’: ‘Freddie Bampfylde, the rockstar auctioneer you need to have on speed dial for your charity auction (just don’t forget he’s also a lord).’
He likes to look a bit snazzy; it turns the dial down on the whole lord thing, he finds
With an Impressionist Evening Sale to take in 20 minutes’ time, Freddie gives Johnny the Antelope a quick stroke before brushing the shoulders of his bright blue suit. He glances at his reflection in the glass of a Tracey Emin etching and adjusts the knot of his knitted orange tie. He likes to look a bit snazzy; it turns the dial down on the whole lord thing, he finds.
Walking through the Old Masters Department on his way to the Great Room, Freddie feels a pang of nostalgia as he spies a group of young specialists standing round an easel, huddling over a portrait of a young girl in a dress with a pink sash. One chap has a UV torch which he is shining onto the painted face of the girl.
‘Cracking Romney!’ Freddie exclaims and smiles to himself as he sees that he’s set them all aflutter. He misses his time in Old Masters. Back then, he could really get down and dirty with a painting, studying every inch of the canvas on his hands and knees. A bit of TLC and close examination of the rear could uncover what centuries of neglect in a corridor in some vast house had hidden. He’d caught the auction bug as a teenager, observing at close quarters the Christoby’s experts who had descended on Evenlode to catalogue the contents of its attics on the instructions of his grandparents. He was only 14 then, but what his father viewed as the flogging of his inheritance, he viewed as a vocation. Eight years later, he joined Christoby’s himself, taken under the wing of the great Constable expert, Martin Glossop.
When his father, William, 13th Lord Bampfylde, died and Freddie succeeded to the title, he did something that would have made the old boy spin in his grave: he sold a family painting. The Gainsborough portrait of The Hon. Jane Gifford, wife of the 7th Lord Bampfylde, was burning a hole on the wall of one of his drawing rooms. He couldn’t really afford to keep it any longer, especially after his expensive divorce from Serena. Christoby’s got the gig, of course, but this was one auction that Freddie was forced to sit out. Nevertheless, the rather pleasing hammer price of £11m softened the blow of parting with such a staggering painting. Freddie joked to friends that he had had to sell one Lady Bampfylde to make way for another. Davina, his now wife, was rather less amused by this quip than the press.
Entering the Great Room, he presses the flesh with a few clients before heading to the phone bidding desk to have a chat with Marcus, Head of the Impressionist Department. Marcus tells him to go slowly on the Degas and Manet, as he has a tricky client on his phone who likes to bid at the last moment. ‘Leave it with me,’ Freddie tells him. ‘We’ll get those bids out of him, and some.’
He ascends the rostrum. The chatter in the room dies down. A few people fan themselves with their paddles. It’s standing room only now at the back of the Great Room, and the adjacent gallery with the video link to the auction is full. Lot 1, a luminous oil sketch of water lilies by Monet, stands spotlit on its pedestal, flanked by handsome porters in aprons. Freddie runs his fingers over the initials F.T.W.R.J.N.B. engraved on his gavel and slides it into his left hand. Time to rock and roll.
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