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‘Do you have that letter with you, by any chance?’ asked Ms Bates.

Christina hesitated for a moment before she said, ‘Yes, I do.’

‘And would you allow the committee to see it?’

Christina opened her bag and took out an envelope, which she sent on a relay down one side of the table to the chair.

Sir Nicholas opened the envelope, extracted the letter and read it. A few moments later, all he said was, ‘I am able to confirm that should Christina become our next chair, DrWarwick would be willing to return as director, but only if that was met with the approval of the board.’

‘How considerate of her,’ said Ms Bates, ‘but may I ask, Sir Nicholas, as you are the only member of the board who has read the letter, if Dr Warwick would be willing to make the same commitment should someone else be appointed as chair?’

Sir Nicholas looked embarrassed, and before he could respond, Christina said, ‘It’s a very personal letter, Ms Bates, and I think the chair has answered your specific question.’

‘But not the one you seem unwilling to answer?’ came back Ms Bates. ‘So I am bound to ask—’

‘Don’t you think, Ms Bates,’ interjected the chair, ‘that it might be time for someone else to ask a question?’

‘I didn’t realize you were putting a limit on how many questions one could ask, Sir Nicholas, before we consider the only important decision the board will make, possibly for the next ten years – namely who should be our next chair?’

‘I will allow you one more question, Ms Bates,’ said Sir Nicholas, sounding exasperated, ‘but then we must move on.’

‘Mrs Hackensack,’ said Ms Bates. ‘As chair of the fundraising committee, do you know the name of the extremely generous benefactor who donated the two hundred and fifty thousand that made it possible for the Fitzmolean to acquire Rembrandt’sJacob Wrestling with the Angel?’

This was the one question Christina had been dreading, even though she’d given it some considerable thought. But Wilbur had warned her, that if she was asked, there was no way she could do anything other than tell the truth.

‘Yes, I think I do,’ she said truthfully.

‘Then allow me to ask which of your husbands it was who so generously made that donation.’

Christina knew she’d been trapped, but she had no choice but to say, ‘The donation did not come from my husband.’

‘Your ex-husband, perhaps?’

‘Possibly,’ admitted Christina.

‘Do you think Mr Faulkner would have been quite so generous had he thought you might be our next chair?’

‘You do not have to answer that question, Christina,’ said Sir Nicholas.

‘Why not?’ demanded Ms Bates.

‘Lady Morland,’ said the chair, ignoring the interruption.

‘Can I ask you, Mrs Hackensack, if your present husband supports your ambition to succeed Sir Nicholas as chair?’

‘One hundred per cent,’ said Christina. ‘Not only did he drive me here this evening, but he’s now sitting in the car outside, waiting to find out how I’ve got on. “Could have done better”, I shall tell him!’

A little laughter broke out, which helped Christina to relax, but not for long.

‘I think there’s time for a couple more questions,’ said the chair, looking around the table.

One of the waverers raised a hand, and the chair nodded.

‘You were on the premises when Rembrandt’sAngelwas switched right in front of our eyes, so I wondered if you had any theories as to how that happened, or who was responsible for such an inexplicable and very embarrassing sequence of events?’

Christina could once again hear Wilbur whispering in her ear:whatever you do, don’t even hint that you know only too well who orchestrated the whole performance, because if you do, and you’re not willing to name him, the waverers will no longer be wavering.

‘Like you, Mrs Amhurst, it remains a mystery to me.’