Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(81)

‘As you can see, Mr Faulkner, my father hasn’t signed this agreement.’

Miles noted that Warwick had addressed him as ‘Mr’ for the first time since he’d been in prison.

‘Yes, he has. That’s only a copy. BW has shown me the original and, I assure you, your father’s signature was on the last page.’

William said nothing, but one look at Miles made him realize he just might be telling the truth. ‘I’ll make some enquiries and come back to you,’ he eventually managed.

‘Meanwhile,’ continued Faulkner, ‘I’ve got a maniac living on my wing, who must have his suspicions as to who made it possible for “Rule Britannia” to reach the second verse.’

‘Mansour Khalifah was placed in solitary confinement earlier this morning,’ William reassured him, ‘and his small clique of followers have all been moved to different prisons. You’re in no immediate danger.’

‘And that’s all the reward I get,’ Faulkner paused, ‘for saving how many lives?’

Fair point, William wanted to say, but satisfied himself with, ‘I’ll come back tomorrow, Mr Faulkner, by which time I’ll have spoken to my father and Commander Hawksby.’

‘What about BW? Don’t forget he’s got the original document signed by your father.’

‘That’s assuming you’re telling the truth.’

‘Was I telling you the truth about what Khalifah had planned for the Last Night of the Proms? Because if I wasn’t, why was Tareq Omar found hanging from the railing outside my cell this morning?’

? ? ?

The front doorbell rang, and Beth wondered who it could possibly be at that time in the morning. The children were at school, it was Sarah’s day off, and she wasn’t expecting anyone.

She closed her Cheffins catalogue, walked out into the hall and opened the front door to find Christina standing on the doorstep, head bowed.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Beth. She knew only too well what the matter was, and had been wondering when Christina would finally turn up and admit it. Without another word, she took her through to the study. She didn’t offer her a coffee.

Christina stood silently for a few moments, looking up at the portrait above Beth’s desk, before bursting into tears. ‘How did you get hold of that?’ she managed between sobs.

‘Johnny van Haeften sold it for five thousand pounds to one of his regular customers who asked for it to be delivered to me. No prizes for guessing who that customer was.’

‘I’d always intended to split the profit with you,’ said Christina, with a Girl Guide look on her face.

‘That’s the last thing you intended to do,’ said Beth, no longer able to hide her anger.

‘I’ve lost every penny because of my stupidity,’ Christina admitted as she collapsed into the nearest chair. ‘But then I should have realized Miles would use his knowledge of the art world to get the better of me.’

‘And his knowledge of your ravenous appetite for money.’

Christina didn’t attempt to defend herself.

‘However, you haven’t quite lost every penny,’ said Beth, ‘because van Haeften asked me to give you the five thousand pounds. Just a pity you couldn’t read Dutch, something I expect Miles considered a risk worth taking.’

Christina looked as if she were trying to summon up the courage to say something, before finally blurting out, ‘I’m so sorry, Beth, but five thousand won’t be enough. I need the hundred thousand back that I invested in your company,’ she eventually managed, unable to look Beth in the face.

Beth sat down at her desk and wrote out a cheque for ￡127,000.

‘Why so much?’ asked Christina after Beth had handed it over.

‘It includes the profit we made on the recent sale of a Warhol in New York, when we were still partners.’

‘But that would mean you won’t be able to carry on with your business?’

‘I’ll get by,’ said Beth, ‘although there are one or two opportunities I’ll be sorry to miss out on. By the way, Christina,’ she added, taking the portrait of Henry VIII off the wall. ‘Don’t leave without your latest boyfriend.’

‘I never want to see the damn man again,’ replied Christina, spitting out the words. ‘I deserve the same fate as Anne Boleyn.’

‘I think that’s what Miles had in mind. But if you don’t want Henry, I’ll leave him on the wall to remind me in future only to take advice from friends I can trust.’

‘Will you ever forgive me?’

Beth didn’t reply as she put Henry back on the wall.

‘Who can blame you?’ Christina eventually managed.

‘I’ll never forget your generosity and support when I most needed it,’ said Beth. ‘But that doesn’t mean I could ever trust you again.’

Beth turned to face Christina and was once again taken by surprise when she tore the cheque in half and handed it back to her.

‘If I can’t be your friend, at least I can be your partner.’

? ? ?

‘It wouldn’t stand up in court,’ said Sir Julian, after he’d read the pleading in judgment a second time.

‘Why not?’ asked William.

‘The document hasn’t been signed, so all Booth Watson would have to say is that it was the initial proposal his client had insisted on, although he’d made it clear to him at the time it had little or no chance of succeeding, with which any judge would concur. BW would go on to claim that Faulkner later accepted his advice and signed the most recent agreement in the presence of a senior prison officer, which stated that if he pleaded guilty his sentence would be reduced by two years, which is in line with the CPS’s recommended policy in such cases. I can hear Booth Watson saying that he finally convinced his client that a sentence reduction of two years was the best he could hope for given the circumstances.’