Page 113 of Next in Line

William seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then thought better of it. ‘Will you be applying for the job?,’ he said, as if he hadn’t heard the question. ‘After all, they must realize you’re the reason the Hals self-portrait is still hanging on the museum’s wall.’

‘I’m torn,’ said Beth as she took another sip of champagne. ‘If I were to become director of the Fitzmolean, it would mean a cut of around fifty per cent of my current income, and back to office hours, which means I’d see far less of the children. At the same time, I’d have to cope with the continual demands to raise funds to keep the museum afloat.’

‘Then I’ll have to be promoted to Chief Superintendent,’ said William.

‘Perhaps they won’t even offer me the job,’ said Beth wistfully.

‘They won’t make that mistake a second time.’

Lucio reappeared at their table and placed the sole meunièrein front of Beth, then reluctantly dumped a portion of fish and chips on William’s side of the table. Both of them looked content. The sommelier stepped forward and uncorked the Pouilly-Fumé, pouring a small amount in Beth’s glass. She took a sip and smiled. He topped up her glass while Lucio placed a pint of beer in front of William.

Beth had just picked up her knife and fork, when William’s mobile began to ring.

‘You answer that at your peril, caveman,’ said Beth.

William took his mobile from an inside pocket and was about to switch it off when he saw whose number it was flashing up on the screen. The rings continued while he thought about the consequences, but decided to take his life in his hands and pressed the phone to his ear.

‘Good evening, sir,’ he said. ‘Can I assume you’re calling to wish Beth and me a happy anniversary, as we’re just about to begin our main course.’

‘Happy anniversary,’ said the Hawk and, without pausing, added, ‘I’ve just had a call from Number …’ William listened carefully to what the commander had to say, while Beth raised her fish knife high above her head.

‘I’m on my way,’ he said, switching off his phone and giving his wife an apologetic look.

‘Can you think of one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you?’ she said, her fish knife inching towards his heart.

‘No, I can’t,’ he admitted. ‘But could I plead for a stay of execution until after I’ve seen the Prime Minister?’