Page 86 of Next in Line

‘Do you have anything in writing to prove you made this deal?’ asked William.

‘I most certainly do,’ said Miles. He strolled across to the library counter, opened a drawer and, after searching through some papers, found what he was looking for. He handed the document across to William, who took his time reading it before passing it to Rebecca.

‘As you can see, Mr Faulkner, my father hasn’t signed this agreement.’

Miles noted that Warwick had addressed him as ‘Mr’ for the first time since he’d been in prison.

‘Yes, he has. That’s only a copy. BW has shown me the original and, I assure you, your father’s signature was on the last page.’

William said nothing, but one look at Miles made him realize he just might be telling the truth. ‘I’ll make some enquiries and come back to you,’ he eventually managed.

‘Meanwhile,’ continued Faulkner, ‘I’ve got a maniac living on my wing, who must have his suspicions as to who made it possible for “Rule Britannia” to reach the second verse.’

‘Mansour Khalifah was placed in solitary confinement earlier this morning,’ William reassured him, ‘and his small clique of followers have all been moved to different prisons. You’re in no immediate danger.’

‘And that’s all the reward I get,’ Faulkner paused, ‘for saving how many lives?’

Fair point, William wanted to say, but satisfied himself with, ‘I’ll come back tomorrow, Mr Faulkner, by which time I’ll have spoken to my father and Commander Hawksby.’

‘What about BW? Don’t forget he’s got the original document signed by your father.’

‘That’s assuming you’re telling the truth.’

‘Was I telling you the truth about what Khalifah had planned for the Last Night of the Proms? Because if I wasn’t, why was Tareq Omar found hanging from the railing outside my cell this morning?’

•••

The front doorbell rang, and Beth wondered who it could possibly be at that time in the morning. The children were at school, it was Sarah’s day off, and she wasn’t expecting anyone.

She closed her Cheffins catalogue, walked out into the hall and opened the front door to find Christina standing on the doorstep, head bowed.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Beth. She knew only too well what the matter was, and had been wondering when Christina would finally turn up and admit it. Without another word, she took her through to the study. She didn’t offer her a coffee.

Christina stood silently for a few moments, looking up at the portrait above Beth’s desk, before bursting into tears. ‘How did you get hold of that?’ she managed between sobs.

‘Johnny van Haeften sold it for five thousand pounds to one of his regular customers who asked for it to be delivered to me. No prizes for guessing who that customer was.’

‘I’d always intended to split the profit with you,’ said Christina, with a Girl Guide look on her face.

‘That’s the last thing you intended to do,’ said Beth, no longer able to hide her anger.

‘I’ve lost every penny because of my stupidity,’ Christina admitted as she collapsed into the nearest chair. ‘But then I should have realized Miles would use his knowledge of the art world to get the better of me.’

‘And his knowledge of your ravenous appetite for money.’

Christina didn’t attempt to defend herself.

‘However, you haven’t quite lost every penny,’ said Beth, ‘because van Haeften asked me to give you the five thousandpounds. Just a pity you couldn’t read Dutch, something I expect Miles considered a risk worth taking.’

Christina looked as if she were trying to summon up the courage to say something, before finally blurting out, ‘I’m so sorry, Beth, but five thousand won’t be enough. I need the hundred thousand back that I invested in your company,’ she eventually managed, unable to look Beth in the face.

Beth sat down at her desk and wrote out a cheque for £127,000.

‘Why so much?’ asked Christina after Beth had handed it over.

‘It includes the profit we made on the recent sale of a Warhol in New York, when we were still partners.’

‘But that would mean you won’t be able to carry on with your business?’