Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(72)

‘Then why did he come to London?’ Artemisia asked.

‘Behave yourself,’ said Beth. ‘Try to remember James is our guest, and don’t speak with your mouth full.’

‘It’s quite simple really,’ said James. ‘I came to seek your mother’s advice on a delicate matter.’

‘Must be about art,’ said Artemisia, ‘and not crime.’

‘A little bit of both,’ admitted James.

‘Do you still own one of the biggest shipping lines in the world?’ asked Peter.

‘Peter!’ said William, sounding exasperated.

‘I was only asking.’

‘No, I don’t,’ said James, smiling. ‘My father is chairman of the Buchanan Shipping Line, but I’m still at Harvard, and when I graduate, I plan to join the FBI.’

‘What’s the FBI?’ piped up Jojo, speaking for the first time.

‘The Federal Bureau of Investigation.’

‘Who do they investigate?’ asked Artemisia as Sarah walked into the room.

‘It’s past your bedtime, children,’ she announced firmly, which elicited a groan from Artemisia, before she asked, ‘Can you read, James?’

‘I think you’ll find it’s still a requirement if you hope to get into Harvard,’ said James.

‘Then you can read to us once you’ve told Mum why you’ve really come to London.’

‘Out!’ said William firmly.

James stifled a laugh. After several good nights and Artemisia giving her father a half-hearted kiss, the children were ushered out of the kitchen by Sarah.

Once the door was closed, Beth said, ‘Artemisia was right about one thing, I can’t wait to find out why you wanted to see me.’

‘And not me,’ said William, trying to sound offended.

James finished his coffee and waited for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.

‘You’ll no doubt remember my late grandfather, Hamish Buchanan, who founded the shipping line, and who, to say the least, led an unpredictable and complicated life. But it’s only recently I’ve discovered just how unpredictable and complicated.’

Beth sat back and listened.

‘I’ve recently become aware,’ continued James, ‘that my grandfather was a bigamist.’ He paused for a moment to allow them to take in the revelation. William spilt his coffee, while Beth tried to remain composed. ‘It turns out that not only did he have a wife in New York, my grandmother, but another one in London, who none of my family knew about.’

Several questions flashed through William’s mind, but he remained silent. He had a feeling most of them were about to be answered.

‘My grandmother, God bless her, still remains unaware of the double life Grandfather led, and my father wishes it to remain that way.’

‘Understandably,’ said William. ‘But how did you find out?’

‘I would never have found out if I hadn’t received a letter from a solicitor in London who represented the late Mrs Isla Buchanan, informing me that she’d died and left everything to me in her will.’

‘Didn’t she have any children of her own?’ asked Beth.

‘That was my first question. But her solicitor assured me there were no other relations who had any claim on the estate.’

‘Then I suspect she was doing no more than carrying out your grandfather’s wishes,’ said William. ‘After all, it was well-known you were his favourite grandson.’

‘So where do I fit into this unlikely triangle?’ asked Beth.

‘The bulk of her estate,’ continued James, ‘consists of a house in Onslow Square, which I’ve already put on the market. However, it turns out that Isla also shared my grandfather’s passion for Scottish art, and they collected works by Sir Henry Raeburn, Samuel Peploe, Allan Ramsay and someone called Charles Rennie Mackintosh.’

‘Never utter those three words to a Scotsman without bowing your head. He’s become part of Glaswegian folklore.’

James lowered his head and said, ‘However, if I’m to comply with my father’s wishes, I must dispose of the entire collection without drawing attention to its provenance.’

‘You don’t want to hold on to any of them?’ asked Beth in disbelief.

‘It’s not a risk my father is willing to take. So I was wondering what you would advise me to do in the circumstances.’

‘I’d live with them for the rest of my life,’ said Beth, with considerable feeling. ‘But if you have to sell them, you certainly can’t risk putting them up for auction. The provenance would be listed in the catalogue for all to see.’

‘So what’s the alternative?’ asked James.

‘You’ll have to sell them privately, and I’m afraid that could take some time.’

‘Would you be willing to visit the house and take a look at the collection for me?’

‘Of course I will. I’ll go tomorrow and start making an inventory of the works and let you know how much I think they’re worth.’

‘I couldn’t ask for more,’ said James. ‘But I fear I must now leave you.’

Beth raised an eyebrow.

‘I have to go and prove to Artemisia that I can read.’