Page 38

‘Good,’ said Miles, ‘because I prefer to work with empty stomachs, and I won’t be tossing him any scraps unless he delivers.’

‘But what exactly will he be expected to deliver?’ asked Booth Watson.

Miles took his time briefing his silk, and it quickly became clear to Booth Watson that his client hadn’t been idle while he’d been away.

‘I’ve already transferred one thousand pounds to Mumford’s account,’ said Booth Watson, ‘so should I assume theAngelis ready to fly?’

‘Yes, but not yet ready to join the heavenly host,’ said Miles.

‘But what’s in it for you,’ asked Booth Watson, ‘if all those present will know within moments they are staring at a fake?’

‘But that’s the point, BW,’ said Miles, ‘because once everyone realizes it is a fake, Mrs Warwick will have to resign as director of the Fitzmolean, and I can assure you it won’t be to take up a new post as director of Tate.’

‘Will that finally be enough for you to move on?’ asked Booth Watson, as Mario appeared by their side.

‘Far from it,’ said Miles. ‘I have no intention of moving on until her husband suffers the same fate, and his dream of becoming the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police turns out to be a nightmare.’

‘Would you care to order breakfast, Mr Faulkner?’ asked the maître d’.

‘Yes, I’ll have the full English, Mario,’ said Miles, not looking at the menu.

•••

Simon had been locked up for days – or was it weeks? – since last seeing Sir Bernard. He had no way of judging the passing of time. When the cell door finally opened once again, he looked up to see three prison guards staring down at him.

One of them stepped forward and yanked him off the thin, stinking mattress and dragged him out into the corridor, where he came face to face with the Governor.

‘Good morning, Hartley,’ he said. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear we’re moving you to cell block A, which only houses murderers, so you should feel at home, among friends.’

‘I’m not a murderer,’ spat out Simon, ‘and you know it.’

‘However,’ said the Governor, who wasn’t in the habit of being interrupted, ‘you might not be quite so pleased to learn you’ll be sharing your cell with a professional killer,’ he added as they led the prisoner up a spiral staircase to the ground floor, one guard in front of him, one behind. ‘And by professional, I mean he does it for a living, and you might be surprised by how little he charges.’

Simon would have been sick, had there been anything left in his stomach.

‘And something else I feel I ought to let you know beforeI introduce you to Sean O’Driscoll. He does enjoy having a cell to himself, and as his last three cellmates have died in their sleep, it might not be wise to doze off.’

Hartley got the message.

‘The last piece of information I feel I ought to share with you,’ continued the Governor, ‘is that O’Driscoll was an IRA group commander, and if there’s one thing he hates even more than us lot, it’s an Englishman, especially an upper-class one – what he calls a toff. So let’s hope you can survive for another couple of months, because that’s how long he’s got before we execute him in the market square, and if you’re still alive then, it could be you who ends up with a cell to yourself.’

Simon watched as one of the guards took his time unlocking three locks before slowly pulling open a heavy door. The other guard threw him inside, and he landed at the feet of a vast bull of a man, who stared down at his new cellmate as if he were his next meal.

‘See you in a few weeks’ time,’ said the Governor, as the door closed, ‘but then again, perhaps not.’

Simon looked up at his new cellmate and began to wish he was back in solitary.

CHAPTER 9

ON THE MORNING OF THEunveiling the chairman, board of directors and senior staff stood in a semicircle admiring the drawing for some time before anyone spoke.

‘How lucky we are,’ said Beth, ‘to be able to add such a magnificent example of Rembrandt’s work to our collection.’

‘Only made possible,’ said a recently appointed board member, ‘because of the remarkable generosity of an anonymous benefactor.’

‘We should raise a glass to them on the night of the unveiling,’ suggested Sir Nicholas.

‘Perhaps they’ll turn up, unable to resist a peep,’ volunteered the keeper of pictures.