Page 37 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

T HE REST OF THE DAY ran smoothly enough, with no unscheduled meetings taking place. In fact, William began to wonder if he was becoming paranoid and the closing ceremony would be an anticlimax. He only hoped it would be. But he still didn’t relax.

When he left the stadium, William hailed a taxi – a necessary expense if he wasn’t going to be late for Beth. In fact, the first thing he said to the ma?tre d’ as he entered Le Caprice was, ‘Tell me I got here before my wife.’

‘You are the first to arrive,’ the maitre d’ confirmed, as he took William to his table, but only just, because William had just sat down when Beth appeared.

‘Can I show you to your table, madam?’ asked the ma?tre d’.

‘Thank you,’ said Beth, who had never dined at Le Caprice before, and was amused to see how many familiar faces littered the room.

The ma?tre d’ guided her to a table in the corner, where her host was waiting. He stood up the moment he saw her.

‘Good evening,’ she said, offering her hand. ‘My name is Beth Warwick and I have a feeling we’ve met before, but I can’t remember where.’

‘I deserved that,’ said William, as he took his wife in his arms. ‘But I promise to make it up to you. It’s the closing ceremony tomorrow and after that I’ll be handing over to DI Adaja for the Paralympics.’

‘When perhaps we can share a few treasured memories together,’ suggested Beth, ‘like how we first met, somehow became engaged, married, and ended up with two wonderful children.’

‘I do adore you,’ said William, as he held back her seat.

‘And I love you too,’ admitted Beth, as she sat down. ‘But I’m trying to remember why.’

William took her hand, and a concerned smile appeared, replacing the gentle rebuke.

‘How are you all coping after losing Jackie?’ she asked quietly.

‘Not well,’ admitted William. ‘And it doesn’t help that the murderer is still on the loose but, thanks to Arte, at least we have a photo of the suspect, and a piece of evidence that even she won’t be able to hide.’

Beth was just about to ask what piece of evidence when the ma?tre d’ appeared by their side. Beth opened the menu and remained silent for a moment, before she said, ‘That was easy enough. Smoked salmon and veal piccata, please.’

‘And you, sir?’

‘The Parma ham and melon followed by a rump steak, well done,’ said William.

‘So predictable,’ sighed Beth, as she handed back her menu to the ma?tre d’.

‘And your choice of wine, sir?’ asked the ma?tre d’.

‘Why don’t you decide what will complement our selection?’ said Beth sweetly.

‘Well, that should take care of my wages for the next month,’ said William, as the ma?tre d’ bowed and disappeared. ‘How are the children?’

‘I’m so glad you asked,’ said Beth, ‘and your starter for ten is, can you remember their names?’

‘Let’s begin with Artemisia,’ said William, playing along.

‘Her article has been picked up by every other paper and looks as if it will run and run, which you may have missed, stuck down in your dungeon.’

‘I can assure you, I didn’t miss it,’ said William, ‘But has the editor offered her a full-time job, as he promised, if she came up with a genuine exclusive?’

‘Yes, he has,’ replied Beth. ‘She begins life as a junior staff reporter the day after the Paralympics have ended.’

‘Well done, Arte,’ said William, raising an empty glass.

‘She’s still struggling with guilt after what happened to Natasha,’ said Beth, as a plate of thinly sliced smoked salmon was placed in front of her.

‘I suspect,’ said William, ‘that’s a common problem for journalists when faced with such a dilemma. How to remain detached so that it never becomes personal. You know Robert called me to ask for my permission to propose to Arte?’

‘How wonderfully old-fashioned of him,’ said Beth.

‘And for her to agree,’ said William. ‘A lot of young people don’t bother with marriage nowadays, and as for having children …’

He held Beth’s hand again as if it were a first date.

···

Paul sat on his motorbike outside the Russian Embassy, but there was no sign of the Ambassador. He watched as a dozen guests, dressed in dinner jackets, went inside, only to reappear a couple of hours later and climb back into their cars, to go their separate ways.

He hung around for a couple more hours, and didn’t leave until the last light in the embassy had gone out, when he returned home, hoping to grab a few hours’ sleep before returning to the stadium well in time for the closing ceremony.

···

The ma?tre d’ reappeared by their side. ‘I have chosen the Chablis 2001, madam, which I hope will meet with your approval.’

After taking a sip, Beth said, ‘Quite superb, it couldn’t be better, and you can give my would-be boyfriend half a glass. No more.’

‘And dare I ask about Peter?’ said William, as he sipped his wine. ‘What has he been up to?’

‘Funny you should ask that,’ said Beth, ‘because on Wednesday he left the house just after three in the morning and got back home just in time for breakfast. When I raised the subject with him, he behaved like a lawyer. I wondered if you could throw any light on it.’

‘A young woman, perhaps,’ said William.

‘Good try, Commander, but I suspect you know only too well where you both were at that time in the morning, even if you’re not going to let me in on the secret.’

‘How are things at the Fitz?’ William asked, changing the subject.

‘Couldn’t be much worse,’ admitted Beth.

‘Has Christina burnt down the museum on your day off?’ he asked, as the ma?tre d’ poured them both a second glass of wine.

‘Far worse,’ said Beth. ‘Miles Faulkner has been elected to the board, so I … well, I felt I had no choice but to resign.’

‘I had no idea,’ said William, once again taking her hand. ‘I’m so sorry. But why didn’t you tell me?’

Beth remained silent as their plates were whisked away. ‘Because you have quite enough to worry about,’ said Beth, ‘and after Jackie, I just … I didn’t want to add to your problems.’

‘I’m so very sorry,’ repeated William, squeezing her hand. ‘But surely Christina put up a fight? The last thing she’d want is for her ex to be taking her place on the board.’

‘The vote went against her after Faulkner promised to leave his private collection, including the Van Gogh self-portrait, to the Fitz. Once the board had voted five to one to accept the offer, Christina didn’t feel she had the right to oppose his election, even though, as Wilbur pointed out, now that he’s on the board, there’s nothing to stop him rewriting his Will and not informing them. ’

‘I suspect he has his eyes on higher things,’ said William, moving on.

Beth emptied her glass. ‘Like what?’

···

Ross sat behind the wheel of his taxi at the end of Cadogan Square that evening and when Faulkner appeared, just after seven, dressed in his familiar long black coat with velvet collar, Collins leapt out of the Rolls and opened the back door to allow his master to climb in.

Collins drove him to the Savoy, where he disappeared inside, no doubt heading for his usual watering hole.

The only surprise was that Booth Watson arrived a few minutes later. Ross had never known him to be late before.

···

Rebecca’s evening was proving equally uneventful.

She had followed CN1 when it left the residence on Portland Place all the way to Chinatown, where it had parked outside his Excellency’s favourite restaurant, and she had watched as the Ambassador and his wife disappeared inside.

She sat alone, munching a ham sandwich, which she tried to make last as long as possible. She heard the news on the hour twice.

The Ambassador and his wife reappeared just before the ten o’clock news, climbed into the back of their limousine and were whisked away.

Rebecca brushed a crumb off her jacket before following them back to the residence. She didn’t go home until she’d seen the driver park the car and disappear inside the back door of the embassy.

···

‘If I remember correctly,’ said William, as a succulent steak was placed in front of him, ‘it can’t be too long before Christina stands down as chairman.’

‘At the end of the year,’ said Beth. ‘But if Faulkner were to become the next chairman, I think Christina will finally carry out her threat to kill him.’

‘It will be quite hard for him to become chairman,’ said William, ‘if he’s in jail.’

‘That’s the first piece of good news I’ve heard in weeks,’ said Beth. ‘I don’t suppose you intend to tell me how you’re going to pull that one off?’

William gave her a sphinx-like smile.

‘I thought as much,’ said Beth. ‘And because Jojo was a member of the presentation party, she will be allowed to join the British team out on the track for tomorrow’s closing ceremony.’

‘Lucky girl. While you’ll only be allowed to sit in a reserved box with Christina, Wilbur, the twins and Robert for company.’

Beth dropped her knife and fork, threw her arms around William and said, ‘All is forgiven.’

‘However, I must warn you,’ said William, ‘you’ll be sharing the box with the two professors, a general and two REME sergeants – but at least you’ll be in the front row.’

Beth raised an eyebrow in hope of an explanation.

‘Don’t even ask,’ said William. ‘It’s a very long story.’ He paused to take a sip of the wine, before he said, ‘Well, several long stories.’

···

Ross watched as Faulkner, with Booth Watson in tow, pushed their way through the swing doors of the Savoy and emerged onto the pavement just after ten twenty. Faulkner climbed into the back of his Rolls, while the ever-reliable Collins held open the back door.

As the car drove off, Booth Watson began walking down the Strand in the direction of his flat in Middle Temple.

Ross followed the Rolls, and when Collins dropped his boss outside his home in Cadogan Square, he watched him enter the house before Collins drove off.

Ross didn’t depart until the light in Faulkner’s bedroom had gone out. By the time he crept into bed, Alice was fast asleep.

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