Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(69)

‘Every bit as devious as your father,’ the commander repeated as he looked across at Sir Julian, who was quietly applauding.





CHAPTER 25





‘HOW NICE TO SEE YOU again, Mrs Faulkner,’ said Johnny van Haeften as Christina strolled into his gallery on Duke Street.

Christina was impressed that van Haeften remembered her, as she’d only met him on a couple of occasions when she’d attended packed gallery openings with Miles.

‘Can you tell me anything about a missing Hans Holbein portrait of Henry VIII?’ she asked, coming straight to the point.

‘Hans Holbein the Younger,’ said van Haeften, ‘painted the King on three occasions. The earliest is on display at the Walker Gallery in Liverpool. The next was sadly destroyed in a fire in 1698. The third is in private hands, and hasn’t been seen by the public since it was last exhibited at the old Staatsgalerie in Stuttgart in 1873.’

‘If it were to come on the market, how much would you expect it to fetch?’ asked Christina, sounding like a second-hand car dealer.

‘It’s difficult to make an accurate estimate for a picture of such historic importance, but certainly twelve million, and possibly fifteen in the present overheated market. Your husband, as you will know, Mrs Faulkner, has been looking for a Holbein for some years.’

She didn’t know, but was delighted to hear it.

‘He once told me he considered it a gaping hole in his Renaissance collection that he intended to fill if one ever came on the market.’

‘How interesting,’ said Christina, glancing at her watch. ‘Forgive me, I have a lunch appointment. Must dash.’

As she turned to leave, van Haeften said, ‘Do give your husband my best wishes when you next see him.’

‘I most certainly will,’ said Christina, adding under her breath, ‘when I next see him.’

She slipped out of the gallery and headed for the Ritz. She didn’t notice the man standing in a doorway on St James’s Street, even though she walked straight past him.

? ? ?

‘How are you, Constable?’ enquired the prison governor.

‘I’m well, thank you, sir,’ said William, ignoring the tongue-in-cheek demotion.

‘Any chance of you calling me Richard, after all these years?’

‘None whatsoever, sir.’

‘I’m not surprised, but then you were old school when you were still in short trousers.’

Rebecca laughed, then looked embarrassed.

‘And who are you?’ the governor asked, peering down at her.

‘Detective Sergeant Pankhurst, sir.’

‘You needn’t worry about her,’ said William. ‘She’s even older school.’

‘Glad to hear it. But you ought to know your distinguished ancestor spent a few weeks here. Before my time, of course.’

‘Only just,’ whispered William to Rebecca.

‘The last time we met,’ continued the governor, ‘you wanted to know about a young woman who was visiting her father at Pentonville, when I was then deputy governor, if I remember correctly.’

‘You have a good memory,’ said William, joining in the game. Rebecca looked puzzled.

‘The young lady’s father, a Mr Rainsford, was on remand while facing a charge of murder, and your brilliant father got him off. It must have been one of his easier cases, as even his fellow inmates knew he wasn’t guilty.’

‘It didn’t feel that way at the time,’ said William.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you end up marrying the young lady in question?’

‘I did indeed, sir. We have two children – well, three, in a way. A pair of twins, Artemisia and Peter, and—’

‘Josephine Junior,’ said the governor, ‘Ross Hogan’s daughter. A man I greatly admire, who, as you know, spent some time in Pentonville working undercover, which made it possible for you to close down the Rashidi drugs empire. I believe Hogan also came into contact with Miles Faulkner around that time, when he was first working in the prison library. Don’t tell Faulkner, but I’m glad to have him back, as the library has never been more efficiently run.’

‘It was good of you to arrange a meeting with Faulkner at such short notice,’ said William.

‘Jack Hawksby called me this morning, so I’m fully briefed. I’ll take you to the library by the “off-limits” route. That way, there’ll be less chance of any of the other inmates spotting you and the rumour mill grinding into action.’

Without another word, the governor led them out of his office and down a long, bleak corridor into a barren yard, surrounded on all sides by concrete walls topped with razor wire. They crossed the yard to an isolated brick building with a sign reading ‘LIBRARY’ on its door. The governor marched in, followed by William and Rebecca.

When William saw Miles, he was taken by surprise. A blue and white striped open-neck shirt, faded jeans and trainers had replaced the hand-tailored suit, silk tie and black highly polished leather shoes William had become accustomed to seeing him wearing. He’d also put on a few pounds.

Miles put down the book he was reading, stood up and said, ‘Good morning, governor.’

‘Good morning, Faulkner. But be warned, it won’t be a good one for you if you cause my old friend, Superintendent Warwick, any trouble. If you do, I’ll be looking for a new librarian. Is that clear?’