Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(111)

A couple of lots later, Martinez rose from his place in the third row and barged along the line of people without the slightest concern that they might still be following the auction. Once he’d reached the aisle, he marched back down, a look of satisfaction on his face, and disappeared out of the room. The two young men who followed in his wake had the grace to look embarrassed.

Sir Alan waited for half a dozen more lots to find new owners before he slipped out. When he stepped on to Bond Street, it was such a pleasant evening that he decided to walk to his club in Pall Mall and treat himself to half a dozen oysters and a glass of champagne. He would have given a month’s salary to see Martinez’s face when he discovered that his victory had turned out to be hollow.





43


THE FOLLOWING MORNING, the anonymous telephone bidder made three phone calls before he left 44 Eaton Square a few minutes after ten o’clock. He hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take him to 19 St James’s Street. When they drew up outside the Midland Bank, he instructed the cabbie to wait.

He wasn’t surprised that the bank manager was available to see him. After all, he couldn’t have too many customers who had never seen red. The manager invited him into his office, and once the customer was seated he asked, ‘Who would you like the banker’s draft made out to?’

‘Sotheby’s.’

The manager wrote out the draft, signed it, placed it in an envelope, then passed it to young Mr Martinez, as the banker thought of him. Diego placed the envelope in an inside pocket and left without another word.

‘Sotheby’s,’ was again the only word he uttered as he pulled the taxi door closed and sank into the back seat.

When the taxi came to a halt outside the Bond Street entrance of the auction house, Diego once again instructed the driver to wait. He got out of the cab, pushed his way through the front door and headed straight for the settlement desk.

‘How can I help you, sir?’ asked the young man standing behind the counter.

‘I purchased lot number twenty-nine in last night’s sale,’ said Diego, ‘and I’d like to settle my bill.’ The young man leafed through the catalogue.

‘Ah yes, Rodin’s The Thinker.’ Diego wondered how many items got the ‘Ah yes’ treatment. ‘That will be one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, sir.’

‘Of course,’ said Diego. He took the envelope out of his pocket, extracted the banker’s draft – an instrument that ensured the buyer could never be traced – and placed it on the counter.

‘Shall we deliver the piece, sir, or would you prefer to pick it up?’

‘I will collect it in one hour’s time.’

‘I’m not sure that will be possible,’ said the young man. ‘You see, sir, the day after a major sale we’re always run off our feet.’

Diego took out his wallet and placed a five-pound note on the counter, probably more than the young man earned in a week.

‘Make those feet run in my direction,’ he said. ‘And if the package is waiting for me when I return in an hour, there’ll be two more where this one came from.’

The young man slipped the note into a back pocket to confirm the deal had been closed.

Diego returned to the waiting taxi and this time gave the driver an address in Victoria. When he pulled up outside the building, Diego got out of the cab and parted with another of his father’s five-pound notes. He waited for the change, and placed two real pound notes in his wallet and gave the cabbie sixpence. He walked into the building and went straight up to the only available sales assistant.

‘May I help you?’ asked a young woman dressed in a brown and yellow uniform.

‘My name is Martinez,’ he said. ‘I called earlier this morning and booked a large heavy-duty truck.’

Once Diego had filled in the obligatory form he parted with another five-pound note, and placed three more legal notes in his wallet.

‘Thank you, sir. You’ll find the truck in the back yard. It’s parked in bay number seventy-one.’ She handed him a key.

Diego strolled into the yard and, after identifying the truck, he unlocked the back door and checked inside. It was perfect for the job. He climbed behind the wheel, switched on the ignition and set off on the return journey to Sotheby’s. Twenty minutes later, he parked outside the rear entrance on George Street.

As he climbed out of the van, the rear door of the auction house swung open and a large packing case with several red SOLD stickers plastered all over it was wheeled out on to the pavement, accompanied by six men in long green coats who, from their solid build, looked as if they might have been professional pugilists before they came to work for Sotheby’s.

Diego opened the back door of the truck, and twelve hands lifted the crate off the trolley as if it contained a feather duster and slid it into the back of the vehicle. Diego locked the door and handed the young man from the settlement desk two more five-pound notes.

Once he was back behind the wheel, he checked his watch: 11.41. No reason he shouldn’t make it to Shillingford in a couple of hours, although he knew his father would be pacing up and down the driveway long before then.



When Sebastian spotted the light blue crest of Cambridge University among the morning mail, he grabbed the envelope and opened it immediately. The first thing he always did with any letter was to check the signature at the bottom of the page. Dr Brian Padgett, a name he was unfamiliar with.