Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(75)

‘Mrs Warwick tells me you’re hoping to get twelve million for the painting,’ she said.

The old man looked slightly embarrassed, but eventually managed, ‘That was the figure my father suggested to me not long before he died.’

‘I don’t want to waste your time, Mr Rosen, but I must tell you that the Fitzmolean does not have twelve million pounds in its acquisition fund.’

The old man looked relieved, and even managed a weak smile.

‘However,’ Christina continued, ‘I do have ten million in cash lodged in a safe-deposit box with my bank in London. Should that be sufficient, I can assure you that the portrait will end up on the walls of the Fitzmolean.’ A sentence she’d rehearsed in the mirror that morning.

The old man took so long to respond that she wondered if he had fallen asleep. Finally he almost whispered, ‘I will have to consult my two sons, as they are the main beneficiaries of my will. I do hope you understand.’

‘Of course,’ said Christina.

‘I will write to you once I know their decision.’

‘Do take your time, Mr Rosen. I’m in no hurry.’

‘Will you stay for lunch, Mrs Faulkner? It would give me the opportunity to show you the rest of my grandfather’s collection.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Rosen, but I have to get back to London in time for the Last Night of the Proms.’

‘What a treat,’ he said. ‘Always such a traditional occasion for you British. I only wish I could join you.’ He paused, brushed a crumb from his waistcoat and asked, ‘Is there anything else you want to know about the portrait before you leave?’

‘I would like to see the handwritten note Holbein wrote to his doctor.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said the old man. He raised himself slowly from his chair, walked unsteadily across to the picture and lifted it gently off the wall as if it were an old friend, before turning it over so Christina could study the letter attached to the back of the panel. After looking at it for some time, she was none the wiser.

‘Allow me to translate it for you,’ he said, ‘though in truth I’ve known it by heart since I was a child.’



‘Holbein died just a year later, at the age of forty-six,’ said the old man, ‘and, to this day, the painting has never left this house. Should you wish to authenticate the letter, there is a copy in the archives of the Kunstmuseum. They were also unable to match the asking price, as the gallery has just undergone an expensive refurbishment, which is why I offered the painting to the Fitzmolean.’

‘Where I assure you it will be given pride of place, should your sons agree to accept my offer,’ said Christina as the old man hung the picture back on the wall. He looked happy to see it returned to its rightful place.

Rosen led his guest slowly out of the room and back to the front door, where he remained standing on the top step until the car was out of sight. He then returned to his study and made a phone call to his elder son.

? ? ?

‘I’ve made what I consider to be a realistic valuation of the late Mrs Buchanan’s Scottish collection,’ said Beth, ‘and I can tell you she had a good eye.’

James didn’t interrupt.

‘And in answer to your question as to how much I expect they could fetch: around ￡1.2 to ￡1.4 million on the open market. However, it might take some time to dispose of all of them, remembering you don’t want any of the sales to become public.’

‘Then I’ll need someone to take them off my hands. So how would you feel if I offered you the collection for a million?’

‘That’s a fair price,’ said Beth. ‘How would you feel if I could only pay in cash?’

‘Fine by me,’ said James, ‘as long as I’m not breaking the law.’

‘I must warn you,’ butted in William, ‘the cash would be coming from a criminal.’

‘Christina is not a criminal,’ said Beth. ‘In fact, she’s my friend and partner, though I admit the money originally came from her husband, who’s currently in jail.’

‘Miles Faulkner?’ said James. ‘No, thank you. That would be jumping out of one fire and into another.’

‘Without an extinguisher,’ offered William.

‘You’re a lot of help,’ said Beth, punching him on the arm.

‘Just remember where trusting that woman has got you in the past.’

Beth remained silent for some time before she said, ‘I may have a solution that would solve both our problems.’

James looked hopeful.

‘I have a client in Edinburgh who for tax reasons might be willing to exchange a Warhol of Marilyn Monroe for your Scottish collection.’

‘But I don’t even like Warhol,’ protested James.

‘In which case you can put Marilyn up for auction in New York, where I’m confident she will fetch more than a million, and, even better, it could never be traced back to your grandfather.’

‘Then how will you make a profit?’ asked James.

‘I’m confident enough to take ten per cent of everything you make at auction over a million.’

‘Make it twenty per cent,’ said James.

‘That’s very generous of you,’ said William.