Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(103)

‘Both,’ said William as she straightened his tie.

‘Who’s in the dock?’

‘Miles Faulkner. He’s about to find out how many more years he’s going to have to spend in jail.’

‘I know your team run a book on the outcome of any trial they’re involved in. So when do you think he’ll be released – 2003? 2004? 2005?’

‘That will depend on how he pleads.’

‘But even if he pleads guilty,’ said Beth, ‘he escaped from custody, faked his own death and went on the run. Surely the judge will have to take that into consideration.’

‘True. But if the jury decide he was unlawfully abducted from his home in Spain, and taken to England against his will without an extradition order, it could be me who ends up in the dock.’

‘I promise to visit you in jail,’ said Beth. ‘From time to time, as I’m rather busy at the moment.’

‘It’s no laughing matter,’ said William. ‘Booth Watson will also claim that I removed a valuable painting from Faulkner’s house in Spain without his permission, brought it back to London and gave it to you.’

‘Loaned it to me,’ said Beth defiantly. ‘I can prove I’d already agreed with Booth Watson to return it the day the Hals exhibition closes, which I did, meaning you only borrowed the painting and had every intention of returning it to its rightful owner.’

‘But who is the rightful owner?’ asked William.

‘Christina. And she’s already agreed that the Fitzmolean can add it to their permanent collection.’

‘I suspect Booth Watson will dispute that,’ said William, ‘and claim that it belongs to his client.’

‘Which at least proves you never intended to steal the portrait in the first place.’

‘A nice point of law,’ said William, ‘as I’m sure my father would eloquently opine in my defence. But the judge might not agree with him, and you can be certain Booth Watson will keep reminding the jury, not to mention the press, that prosecuting counsel is my father, and perhaps the wrong man’s in the dock.’

‘That would be a pity,’ said Beth, ‘because I was looking forward to celebrating our wedding anniversary at Lucio’s this evening and it might not be quite as easy to book a table at Belmarsh.’

? ? ?

‘Where are you off to, my darling?’ asked Sebastian as he helped Christina on with her coat.

‘The theatre.’

‘At nine o’clock in the morning?’

She laughed as Sebastian opened the front door of her apartment.

‘The curtain rises at the Old Bailey at ten, but I’ll be taking my seat in the stalls long before then.’

As they walked towards the lift, Christina added, ‘The judge on this occasion will be played by Mr Justice Sedgwick, who will have to decide the fate of the lead actor, Mr Miles Faulkner. My ex may well be giving his farewell performance in front of an audience of twelve members of the public who hopefully, when the foreman is asked to deliver their verdict, will only utter one word.’

‘But if Miles pleads guilty,’ said Sebastian as they stepped into the lift, ‘there’ll be no need for a jury.’

‘Not Miles’s style,’ replied Christina as they stepped out onto the ground floor. ‘He’d rather go down all guns blazing than admit defeat. In fact, I have to confess I almost feel sorry for him.’

‘I can’t think why,’ said Sebastian. ‘After all, he tricked you out of your half of his art collection and then stole the ten million he paid you for it. Ten million that would have kept us in champagne and caviar for the rest of our lives.’

‘Don’t forget that Miles could be spending the rest of his life in a confined space with only bread and water to sustain him, while I’ll still have the apartment and an income of two thousand alimony a week, as well as the occasional bonus from my partnership with Beth Warwick,’ said Christina as they left the building and her chauffeur pulled up outside the front door. ‘So you don’t have anything to complain about.’

As the Mercedes moved off, she waved goodbye to Sebastian, having finally decided that he’d passed his sell-by date.

? ? ?

‘Your usual, sir?’ asked the head waiter as Booth Watson handed him back the menu.

‘No. As I won’t have time for lunch, I think I’ll order the full English breakfast.’

The waiter gave him a slight bow.

Booth Watson settled back to read The Times as another waiter poured him a cup of steaming black coffee. His eyes settled on an article informing its readers that the Crown v Miles Faulkner would open in court number one at the Old Bailey that morning. He was pleased that Mr Justice Sedgwick had been chosen to preside over the case, as he was not a man who believed in clemency. Booth Watson was quietly confident that his client would be spending several more years in prison, which would look like a triumph for Sir Julian, as he himself would graciously acknowledge before telling his old rival that he’d decided enough was enough, and the time had come for him to take off his wig, hang up his gown and settle down in the country. He just wouldn’t tell him which country.

Once his client had been safely shipped back to Belmarsh, Booth Watson would carry out his well-planned exit strategy. First, he would contact Art Removals Ltd and instruct them to go to Gatwick Storage, pack up Miles’s art collection and ship it to Hong Kong. He would tell them he was in no particular hurry, as he had other matters to deal with before he left the country. Not least, he would need to make several visits to Miles’s bank in Mayfair, as his Gladstone bag could only hold ￡100,000 at a time. So it would take a little time for him to remove the final ten million from the safe-deposit box. Perhaps he would have to take two Gladstone bags in future.