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‘I know exactly who you’re calling,’ said Wilbur, ‘and I can tell you, she’s standing by the phone waiting.’

Christina turned back to face him. ‘Don’t tell me she already knows, as well.’

‘No, she doesn’t,’ said Wilbur, ‘but then I thought, if you were going to have to suffer, so should she.’

‘Are you the new chair?’ asked a voice on the other end of the line.

‘Sure am,’ said Christina, ‘and the first thing I want to know, Dr Warwick is, are you willing to come back as the museum’s director?’

‘Of course I am,’ said Beth, ‘and while I’ve got you on the phone I have several ideas I need to discuss with you before the next board meeting, not least …’

CHAPTER 23

‘WHAT ARE WE HOPING TOachieve?’ asked Ross as Danny drove out of the Yard onto Victoria Street.

‘I’m not quite sure myself,’ admitted William, ‘but if the “Titled Lady” referred to in the Christie’s catalogue is Lady Hartley, we’re going to have to tread carefully, remembering she’s recently lost her husband, and her only son is locked up in a Saudi jail charged with a murder he didn’t commit.’

‘And the real mystery,’ said Ross, ‘is how did she ever come into contact with Miles Faulkner?’

‘I think it’s more likely she crossed paths with Booth Watson, remembering – after all – her husband was the Home Secretary. We’ll have to be especially careful, as it’s possible the wily old lawyer even represents her.’

‘What makes you think that?’ asked Ross.

‘Rebecca,’ said William. ‘A force to be reckoned with. Sergeant Pankhurst visited Bucklebury yesterday afternoon and had a word with the vicar, amongst others, who told her he met Booth Watson at the wake.’

‘Help!’ said Ross. ‘That means everything we say could be reported back to Booth Watson within minutes of us leaving.’

‘And to Faulkner seconds later, and remembering that, I’ve prepared a list of questions we need answers to, and have divided them between us.’

‘Of course you have,’ said Ross, as William handed him a long list of questions, which he began to study.

‘We’re sorry to impose on you at this particular time, Lady Hartley, but …’

By the time they reached Bucklebury a couple of hours later, they were confident they had their good cop/good cop routine in place. They just hoped Her Ladyship would be willing to play her part.

While Danny parked the car in the drive outside Hartley Hall, William rapped once on an ancient oak door and took a pace back. A few moments later, the door was answered by a frail old lady, who didn’t seem surprised to find two policemen standing on her doorstep.

‘Do come in, Chief Superintendent,’ she said after William had shown her his warrant card. ‘I’ve been expecting you for some time.’ This took both of them by surprise, as it wasn’t on their list of possible responses.

Lady Hartley didn’t speak again until she had accompanied them into the drawing room. Once they were settled, she said, ‘You have to understand, I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been desperate.’

‘Done what?’ enquired Ross, coming off script.

‘Sold the Constable painting of the old mill at Bucklebury for five hundred thousand pounds to that kind gentleman,’ said Lady Hartley, looking up at the faded rectangle on the wall above her, where the painting had hung for over two hundred years.

‘But that’s not a crime,’ suggested William, as he took the seat opposite her.

‘It is when you know it wasn’t by the master,’ said Lady Hartley. ‘Even though it was painted by Breck LaFave, one of Constable’s most accomplished pupils, it can’t be worth more than a few thousand pounds at most.’

‘I think it might be wise to consult a lawyer before you say anything else, Lady Hartley,’ said William, a suggestion he had never made in the past when someone was in the middle of a confession. To his surprise Ross nodded, closed his notebook and put his pen back in his pocket, as William had also abandoned the script.

‘No, I can’t do that,’ said Lady Hartley firmly. ‘I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I deceived the poor man, so I have to get it off my chest.’

‘The poor man,’ said William, repeating her words.

‘Mr Booth Watson,’ said Lady Hartley, ‘a distinguished QC, who was a friend of my late husband.’

‘Do you know Mr Booth Watson well?’ ventured William. Back on script.