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‘Only if they are a patron or a friend,’ Beth reminded them, ‘otherwise they wouldn’t be on the guest list.’

Christina stared at Rembrandt’s familiar signature and smiled. How lucky they were to have acquired the drawing as part of the gallery’s collection. The provenance of comingfrom the Duke of Hamilton’s estate would leave no one in any doubt it was the original.

‘It surely would have amused Rembrandt to know,’ suggested Beth, ‘that we had to raise a million to buy one of his drawings.’

‘Especially when you remember,’ said the keeper of pictures, ‘that Rembrandt died a bankrupt.’

‘Any last-minute news from the palace?’ asked Beth.

‘Yes,’ said Sir Nicholas. ‘I had a call from them this morning. HRH’s secretary has confirmed she will be attending the opening at 7 p.m., which means of course 6.59.’

‘A Dutch master to be unveiled by an English royal,’ commented the keeper.

‘Right,’ said Beth. ‘As there’s nothing more we can do, I’m off home to change, but we must all be back on parade before seven.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ they all said in unison.

•••

Alan Roberts was standing on the top step of the Fitzmolean patiently waiting. He had received a call earlier that morning, so was expecting them. A van drew up outside the museum and parked a few minutes before five.

Roberts watched as the back door opened and five men dressed in police uniforms jumped out, accompanied by two sniffer dogs, both spaniels.

Alan stepped forward and introduced himself to the sergeant in charge, before leading his little group up the wide staircase to the Rembrandt room on the first floor, where the stage was set for the unveiling later that evening.

On the far wall hung a red velvet curtain with a gold cord attached, waiting to be pulled by Her Royal Highness the Countess of Wessex.

‘If you and your team could wait outside and make sure no one enters the gallery while we do our job,’ the sergeant said to Alan, ‘this shouldn’t take too long.’

Alan left them to allow the sniffer dogs to go about their task.

Twelve minutes later, the sergeant reappeared and said, ‘All clear, Alan. However, one small problem has arisen, that I feel sure you can help me with.’

‘Of course,’ said Alan, as he followed him back into the main gallery.

‘Where does that corridor lead?’ asked the sergeant, pointing to the far side of the room.

‘To a fire escape, which is only used in an emergency.’

‘And the three lavatories?’

‘Are for the use of the general public.’

‘Would it be possible, Alan, to lock the ladies’ toilet and keep it locked in case HRH needs to use it? It’s most unlikely, but just to be on the safe side.’

‘Consider it done,’ said Alan, who took out his keyring, selected the master key and locked the door. ‘And I won’t unlock it until the principal guest has left,’ he said, with an air of authority.

‘Thank you for your cooperation, Alan,’ said the sergeant, ‘and as our job is done, we’ll be on our way.’

Alan led the search party back down the stairs and out onto the street.

‘I hope the evening will be a great success,’ said the sergeant, as his team climbed into the back of the van with the dogs still wagging their tails.

‘How did it go?’ asked the driver, when the sergeant joined him in the front.

‘Couldn’t have gone better – but then, as you predicted, if you look the part, no one questions you.’

‘Is the ladies’ toilet locked?’ asked the former Superintendent, as he switched on the ignition and moved off to join the early evening traffic.