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‘It will be recorded in the minutes for all to see, Chairman,’ Beth reminded him, ‘so I’m bound to find out eventually.’

‘The board voted four to three in your favour with three abstentions.’

‘But there were only nine board members present at the meeting,’ Beth reminded him.

‘True,’ said the chairman a little uneasily, ‘but when the tally was three all, and I couldn’t budge any of the three abstainers, I used my casting vote in your favour.’

‘For which I will be eternally grateful, Nicholas, but four–three with you delivering the casting vote can hardly be described as overwhelming.’

‘But this will all blow over in a few days, Beth. Meanwhile, you can get on with what you do best – running the Fitz.’

‘It’s kind of you to say so, Nicholas, but we both know that’s not realistic in the long term. The gallery has to be managed by someone whose authority is never in doubt. You don’t need a wounded director whose decisions the board could question and, therefore, might have to resign at a moment’s notice.’ Beth tried not to show any emotion as she said, ‘No, the wisest course of action for me to take as director – and you know it – is to resign so that you can move on with someone fresh at the helm.’

CHAPTER 12

ONE THING THEGOVERNOR OF‘Ulaysha Prison hadn’t taken into consideration after he’d moved Simon Hartley into his new cell was that he had built his career on reading people – and Sean O’Driscoll made a particularly interesting case study, uneducated but no fool, and in different circumstances …

After three weeks in solitary, Simon accepted that he needed Sean to be on his side if he had any chance of beating the system, let alone the Governor who held most of the cards in his hand.

It had taken Simon twenty-four hours to work out O’Driscoll’s strengths. He was amoral, ruthless and, as he had less than a couple of months to live, feared nobody. It took Simon a little longer to identify his one weakness: Sean had a wife and three children back in the Emerald Isle. His oldest son, Patrick, had written to tell his father he wanted to be a teacher, but his mother couldn’t afford to send him to Trinity College, Dublin, on a cleaner’s salary while she had two otherchildren to support, however many hours she was willing to work.

By the end of their second week together, Simon had convinced his ‘new best friend’ that providence had thrown the two of them together. Providence consisted of Simon writing a letter to an old Harvard friend, now a professor at Trinity, to see if there was any way he could help young Patrick.

‘What do you want in return?’ Sean asked after Simon’s old friend wrote back confirming a place had been found for his son at Trinity.

‘Help to get me out of here,’ said Simon, without guile.

‘There’s only one way out of this shithole,’ said Sean, accompanied by several expletives, ‘and that’s in a coffin. I know, because that’s the way I’ll be leaving in twenty-three days’ time after the bastards have hanged me in the market square, but at least then you’ll have the cell to yourself.’

Sean had just given him the one piece of information he needed to plan his escape, but he still needed Sean’s help.

Whenever one of the guards slid open the little shutter in the door to check up on the two prisoners, they were surprised to find them chatting away as if they were old friends – an observation they reported to the Governor, who wasn’t pleased by the news.

After another fortnight, the Governor had no choice but to grant prisoner A6175 a second meeting with the British Ambassador. He couldn’t hold up Sir Bernard Anscombe’s persistent demands indefinitely, however much Khalil paid him.

By the time the meeting took place, Simon was well prepared, as he realized he wouldn’t have a moment to waste.

He was accompanied from his cell by two officers who took him to a room at the other end of the prison that boreno resemblance to the life Simon led a block away. Neither man was fooled.

The first thing the Ambassador noticed when his countryman entered the dimly lit room was that, although Hartley’s beard had grown, it was neatly trimmed. At first, Sir Bernard was relieved to find that Simon appeared to be surviving, despite the telltale signs of lack of sleep not helped by a prison diet. The poor man looked exhausted.

‘I have spoken to your mother and your wife,’ he said, even before he’d sat down, recalling that their last meeting had been cut short without warning.

‘How are my family bearing up?’ asked Simon.

‘As well as can be expected given the circumstances,’ Sir Bernard replied, ‘but neither of them could disguise how anxious they are about your present situation. However, I think I was able to convince them both that it will only be a matter of time before you are released. The good news is that, with the Defence Minister’s plan to visit London and Paris going ahead the week after next, the authorities are expecting you to be deported within days of the arms deal being signed.’

Simon wasn’t convinced, but didn’t offer an opinion.

‘I suspect the Chief of Police hasn’t yet decided which horse to back,’ continued the Ambassador, ‘as he knows only too well that Prince Ahmed is the guilty party.’

‘But while he’s receiving handouts from Khalil …’ began Simon.

‘That will all change when the King gets to hear what his young nephew has been up to.’

‘But who will have the courage to tell the King?’ asked Simon.

After a diplomatic silence, the Ambassador said, ‘That’s a question I’m not at liberty to answer.’