Page 47 of End Game (William Warwick #8)
EPILOGUE
B ETH HAD TO TAP THE MICROPHONE several times before all the guests fell silent. Once she had gained their attention, she looked down at the packed audience and gave them a warm smile before delivering the opening words of her speech.
‘Who would have thought it possible,’ began Beth, ‘that the day would come when I’d be standing on this stage singing the praises of Miles Faulkner?’
A smattering of laughter broke out.
‘But that day has surely arrived, because this sell-out exhibition would not have been possible without his truly generous bequest, which is why we have named this room the Miles Faulkner Gallery, as a lasting tribute to his memory.’
A warm round of applause followed, and even Sir Julian and the Hawk managed to join in.
‘This extraordinary endowment has raised the reputation of the Fitzmolean overnight,’ said Beth.
‘When I first became director in 1996, the Guardian described the Fitz as top of the second division in the museum league. But now, thanks to this munificent endowment, we have surely been promoted to the premier division,’ she paused, ‘where we intend to stay.’
The burst of applause that followed lasted for some time, and allowed Beth to turn the page.
‘How appropriate it is,’ Beth continued, once the applause had died down, ‘that those of you who join us tonight to celebrate this special occasion are the gallery’s closest friends and supporters, along with our respected in-house team, led by Christina, who chaired her last board meeting this afternoon, having served the museum for over a decade. ’
The outburst of applause caused Beth to pause before she could complete the sentence. ‘However, I know you will be delighted to learn that the board voted unanimously to invite her husband, Wilbur, to take her place as chairman.’
No one looked more surprised than Wilbur, but the prolonged applause left him in no doubt how the guests felt about the appointment.
‘As you all know, Wilbur has been a generous supporter and benefactor of the museum over many years. He once told me: “I never needed to make a pre-nup with Christina, but I sure should have made one with the Fitzmolean”.’
Laughter and applause followed.
When Beth turned to the last page of her speech, her voice became quiet and thoughtful.
‘I read in the press quite recently,’ she said, ‘that I’m being tipped to become the next director of the Victoria and Albert Museum.
’ A sudden hush fell over the room. ‘So, it’s only fair to let you know,’ she paused, ‘I ain’t goin’ nowhere. ’
Beth quietly stepped off the stage to join her guests, accompanied by the loudest cheer of the evening ringing in her ears.
‘Thanks for the warning,’ said Wilbur, as he gave Beth a hug. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about, you during the day and Christina at night. How long can I hope to survive?’
‘You have to survive for at least a decade,’ said Beth. ‘That’s what’s recorded in the minutes.’
‘Great speech,’ said Christina, as she walked across to join them. She lowered her voice and asked, ‘But how much do we owe to William for getting his hands on Miles’s Will before …’
‘When I showed William an early draft of my speech, he crossed out that particular paragraph, suggesting that perhaps it was better they weren’t told the whole story.’
Beth smiled as she looked across the room to see William chatting to his father and the Hawk.
···
‘I’m reliably informed,’ said Sir Julian, ‘that the Home Secretary, after consulting the Mayor of London, has made her recommendation to the Prime Minister as to who should be the next Police Commissioner. As tradition demands with any public appointment, the PM was presented with two names, leaving him to make the final decision.’
‘No prizes for guessing the other name,’ said the Hawk.
‘It won’t have done Sinclair any harm,’ suggested Julian, ‘that Bernie Longe ended up with a life sentence, and Booth Watson was sent down for seven years.’
‘I think Booth Watson got off lightly,’ said the Hawk.
‘So how long should he have been sentenced for?’ asked Julian.
‘He should have been deported .’
‘Dare I ask where?’
‘Australia, of course,’ said the Hawk.
‘Which reminds me,’ said Julian. ‘I’ve got a couple of tickets for the opening day of the Test match at Lord’s against the Aussies, and wondered if you’d care to join me, Jack.’
William suppressed a smile. He wondered if the day would ever come when he felt able to address the Hawk as Jack.
Laughter broke out nearby, and William turned to see Jojo chatting to Ross and Alice.
···
‘Will you be leaving the force when the Hawk retires?’ Jojo asked her father.
‘That rather depends on who our next Commissioner is,’ said Ross.
‘I’ve already given my word to one of the candidates that I’ll be happy to stay on if he gets the job, while making it clear to the other that, if he’s appointed Commissioner, I’ll resign the same day.
Frankly, the decision is in the Home Secretary’s hands, not mine. ’
‘Then we must all pray that William gets the job,’ said Alice, ‘because I don’t need your father under my feet all day.’
‘But why would you have to resign if Sinclair gets the job?’ pressed Jojo.
‘He might ask me how your grandmother is,’ said Ross, ‘and I’d have to admit she’s in perfect health. So, Jojo, if I do have to resign, will you take pity on your dad and join him for lunch from time to time?’
‘Not a hope,’ said Jojo, ‘unless you can join me at the Algonquin, because I’m off to New York next week to do a photoshoot for Vogue .’ Jojo stood on her toes and kissed her father on the cheek before leaving him and Alice to admire a Van Gogh.
‘I could have sworn,’ said Alice, taking a closer look at the masterpiece, ‘that I saw this particular painting at the Russian Embassy only a few months ago.’
‘Do you think Jojo will make the cover of Vogue ?’ asked Ross, as he looked across at his daughter, who was chatting to Artemisia and Peter.
···
‘I’m surprised you had the nerve to turn up this evening,’ suggested Peter, ‘after reading your article about tonight’s opening in the Mail . The headline alone—’
‘I don’t decide the headline,’ said Artemisia. ‘That’s a sub-editor’s job.’
‘What was the headline?’ asked Jojo innocently.
‘Buried-Alive Gangster Leaves His Spoils to the Fitzmolean,’ said Robert, unable to suppress a grin.
Artemisia smiled. ‘Which I feel I should point out is the reason this show’s a complete sell-out.’
‘That wasn’t how Mum saw it when she read your piece over breakfast this morning,’ Peter warned her.
‘Then she isn’t going to like my follow-up story tomorrow,’ admitted Artemisia, ‘although it will guarantee that Mum will have to extend the show for months. The headline is’ – she paused, and made them wait for a moment before she announced, ‘Why Did the Russians Hand Over One of Their Masterpieces to a Second-Rate Crook?’
‘And the answer?’ asked Jojo.
‘You’ll have to buy tomorrow’s paper,’ said Artemisia, ‘and read my latest exclusive.’
‘Faulkner would sue if he was still alive,’ said Peter.
‘But he isn’t,’ came back Artemisia, ‘and the Russian Ambassador’s been called back to Moscow, so he’s hardly going to object. Shame, though, because I would have liked to have interviewed both of them and heard their side of the story.’
‘And on behalf of the defence, m’lud,’ said Peter, clinging onto the lapels of his jacket, imitating his grandfather, ‘I would suggest to the jury that after viewing this magnificent exhibition, you can only conclude that my client, Mr Miles Faulkner, was not a second-rate crook, but in fact a master criminal.’
‘Not bad,’ said Artemisia, jotting down her brother’s words, as she glanced across to the other side of the room to see her father breaking one of Beth’s golden gallery rules. His phone was ringing, and he was checking the name of the caller.
‘You answer that at your peril,’ said Beth, ‘because the last time you did, we didn’t get a holiday.’
William looked at the screen. ‘It’s the Home Secretary,’ he whispered.
Beth was unable to hide her excitement. ‘Then you must have got the job.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said William calmly. ‘Mrs May is a courteous woman, who will call the loser first to let them know it was a close-run thing.’
William left the packed, noisy room and almost ran out into the corridor, before he pressed the green button on his mobile and said, ‘Good evening, Home Secretary.’