Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(112)

Dear Mr Clifton,





That was still taking him a little time to get used to.

Many congratulations on being awarded the College’s Modern Languages scholarship. As I am sure you know, Michaelmas Term begins on September 16th, but I am hoping we can meet before then in order to discuss one or two matters, including your reading list before term begins. I would also like to guide you through the syllabus for your freshman year.

Perhaps you could drop me a line or, better still, give me a ring.

Yours sincerely,

Dr Brian Padgett

Senior Tutor





After he’d read it a second time, he decided to phone Bruno and find out if he’d received a similar letter, in which case they could travel up to Cambridge together.



Diego wasn’t at all surprised to see his father come running out of the front door the moment he drove through the entrance gates. But what did surprise him was to see his brother Luis and every member of the Shillingford Hall staff following a few paces behind. Karl was bringing up the rear clutching a leather bag.

‘Have you got the statue?’ asked his father, even before Diego had stepped out of the truck.

‘Yes,’ replied Diego, who shook hands with his brother before walking around to the back of the truck. He unlocked the door to reveal the massive crate with over a dozen red SOLD stickers. Don Pedro smiled and patted the crate as if it was one of his pet dogs, then stepped aside to allow everyone else to do the heavy work.

Diego supervised the team, who began to push and pull the vast packing case out of the truck inch by inch until it was about to topple over. Karl and Luis quickly grabbed two of the corners while Diego and the chef clung on to the other end, and the chauffeur and the gardener held on firmly to the middle.

The six unlikely porters staggered around to the back of the house and dumped the crate in the middle of the lawn. The gardener didn’t look pleased.

‘Do you want it upright?’ asked Diego, once they’d caught their breath.

‘No,’ said Don Pedro, ‘leave it on its side, then it will be easier to remove the base.’

Karl took a claw hammer out of his tool bag and set about loosening the deeply embedded nails that held the wooden slats in place. At the same time, the chef, the gardener and the chauffeur began to rip off the wooden panels from the sides with their hands.

Once the last piece of wood had been removed, they all stood back and stared at The Thinker as he lay unceremoniously on his backside. Don Pedro’s eyes never left the wooden base. He bent down and looked more closely, but couldn’t detect anything that might suggest it had been tampered with. He glanced up at Karl and nodded.

His trusted bodyguard bent down and studied the four butterfly screws. He took a pair of pliers out of the tool bag and began to unscrew one of them. It moved grudgingly at first, then a little more easily, until finally it swivelled off its bevelled rod and fell on the grass. He repeated the exercise three more times until all four screws had been removed. He then paused, but only for a moment before he grabbed hold of both sides of the wooden base and, with all the strength he could muster, pulled it off the statue and dropped it on the grass. With a smile of satisfaction, he stood aside to allow his master the pleasure of being the first to look inside.

Martinez fell to his knees and stared into the gaping hole, while Diego and the rest of the team awaited his next command. There was a long silence before Don Pedro suddenly let out a piercing scream that would have woken those resting peacefully in the nearby parish graveyard. The six men, displaying different degrees of fear, stared down at him, not sure what had caused the outburst, until he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Where’s my money?’

Diego had never seen his father so angry. He quickly knelt down by his side, thrust his hands into the statue and flailed about in search of the missing millions, but all he managed to retrieve was a rogue five-pound note that had got stuck to the inside of the bronze.

‘Where the hell’s the money?’ said Diego.

‘Someone must have stolen it,’ said Luis.

‘That’s stating the f*cking obvious!’ bellowed Don Pedro.

No one else considered offering an opinion while he continued to stare into the hollow base, still unwilling to accept that all he had to show after a year of preparing for this moment was a single counterfeit five-pound note. Several minutes passed before he rose unsteadily to his feet, and when he finally spoke he appeared remarkably calm.

‘I don’t know who is responsible for this,’ he said, pointing at the statue, ‘but if it’s the last thing I do, I will track them down, and leave my calling card.’

Without another word, Don Pedro turned his back on the statue and marched towards the house. Only Diego, Luis and Karl dared to follow him. He walked through the front door, across the hall, into the drawing room, and stopped in front of a full-length portrait of Tissot’s mistress. He lifted Mrs Kathleen Newton off the wall and propped her up against the windowsill. He then began to swivel a dial several times, first to the left and then to the right, until he heard a click, when he heaved open the heavy door of the safe. Martinez stared for a moment at the piles of neatly stacked five-pound notes that members of his family and trusted staff had smuggled into England over the past ten years, before removing three large bundles of notes and handing one to Diego, another to Luis and the third to Karl. He looked fixedly at the three of them. ‘No one rests until we’ve found out who was responsible for stealing my money. Each one of you must play your part, and you will only be rewarded by results.’