Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(59)

‘I have to admit the damn man riled me, and I may have gone over the top,’ said William as they crossed Victoria Street. ‘If he decides to wait until the Commissioner’s seen the Prince of Wales, heaven knows which one of us will be out on our necks.’

‘But you were doing no more than the Hawk instructed you to do.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said William. ‘I didn’t follow the commander’s advice, and simply deliver the facts while remaining calm.’

‘I have a feeling you’ll be all right, sir,’ said Rebecca.

‘What makes you say that?’ asked William as they crossed Victoria Street.

‘DI Reynolds and Sergeant Jennings were standing outside in the corridor listening to every word and, when you came out, they didn’t rush in to join their paymaster, but disappeared into their own offices. So I think you’ll find all three of them are writing their letters of resignation right now, and will hand them in before midday.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’

‘Bullies are invariably cowards,’ Rebecca replied.

? ? ?

Beth knocked on the director’s door just before nine o’clock, and waited for the word ‘Enter.’

When she did, Sloane waved her into the chair on the other side of his desk, as if she were a junior member of staff.

‘I thought you’d like to know, Gerald—’

‘I think, Mrs Warwick, it would be more appropriate if you addressed me as director or sir, during working hours.’

‘As you wish, sir, but I thought you’d be pleased to hear—’

‘Later,’ insisted Sloane. ‘I have more pressing matters to discuss with you at the moment.’ Beth fell silent. ‘In this morning’s post I received a letter from a Mr Booth Watson QC, who informs me that once the Hals exhibition is over, he will be collecting the self-portrait, which he claims belongs to his client, Mr Miles Faulkner, and was removed from his home without his permission.’ He peered across at Beth as if she was in the witness box.

‘Faulkner doesn’t own it,’ protested Beth. ‘It belongs to his wife, Christina.’

‘It would seem that is not the case,’ said Sloane. ‘Mr Booth Watson assures me that your friend Mrs Faulkner returned the picture to her ex-husband as part of their recent divorce settlement.’

Beth would have protested, but realized that once again Christina hadn’t told her the whole story.

‘Our lawyers have advised me it would be pointless to dispute the claim. And as if that wasn’t enough,’ said Sloane once again returning to the letter, ‘Mr Booth Watson goes on to say that his client will also be reclaiming his Raphael and Rembrandt, which you led me to believe were on permanent loan.’

‘They are,’ protested Beth. ‘We should not hesitate to dispute his claim—’

‘On this, the lawyers suggest we are on firmer ground,’ admitted Sloane. ‘However, if Mr Faulkner were to sue, as Booth Watson threatens he will, we might well win the case, but only at considerable cost both financially and to our reputation. Should we lose, and I’m advised it’s a fifty-fifty call, it would drain the museum’s resources to breaking point.’ Sloane paused, before adding, ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be responsible for that.’

‘Of course not,’ said Beth. ‘But I may have found a way to cover the cost—’

‘Frankly, Mrs Warwick, I think you should have read the contract more carefully before you misled the board into believing we owned the painting.’

‘But we can still hold on to it if—’

‘Given the circumstances, I wonder if you should consider your position as Keeper of Pictures, because clearly that is the one job you are not doing, Mrs Warwick.’

Beth had to grip the arms of the chair to stop herself telling Sloane what she really thought of him. Knowing that William would have advised her to remain calm and bide her time, she delivered a sentence she felt confident even Sir Julian would have approved of. ‘I’m sure you’re right, director.’

Sloane was taken by surprise, having assumed this was only the first round in what would be a long skirmish. But he recovered quickly, and said, ‘I think that’s a wise decision, Mrs Warwick.’ He gave her a warm smile before adding, ‘I believe there was something else you wanted to discuss?’

‘No, it wasn’t important, director. Especially as I won’t be around to see it through.’

Beth returned to her office, sat down and wrote out her letter of resignation, and was surprised how relieved she felt when she handed it to the director’s secretary an hour later. She spent the afternoon saying goodbye to old friends and colleagues who she’d worked with for many years, before clearing her desk and packing eight years of memorabilia into three large cardboard boxes.

At one minute past five, Beth left the museum, hailed a taxi and, after giving the driver her address, sat in the back surrounded by boxes and unashamedly shed a tear.

The moment Beth arrived home she went straight to her study, looked up a number and rang a small auction house in Pittsburgh. She registered her interest in Lot 71, and told them five hundred dollars was her upper limit. She didn’t mention that if her bid was successful, it would clean out her account.