Nothing Ventured(33)

“I’ll kill him,” said William, rising from his place.

“Not after what I have to tell you, you won’t. Once I told him you were my brother, he couldn’t resist making a move.”

“Peter?”

“No, Peter Paul. Our mother named you after Rubens and me after Hepworth, which I felt was appropriate.”

“You’re a wicked woman.”

“Cunning, I admit.”

“So what did you find out?”

“All in good time,” said Beth as a waiter appeared by their side.

“A cappuccino, please.”

“Me too,” said William.

“When I asked Zac who’d painted A Dance to the Music of Time he was cagey at first. Told me the gallery was careful not to reveal the identity of its artists, otherwise customers might try to deal with the artist direct, and cut them out.”

“So how did you get over that hurdle?”

“I told him I was an impoverished secretary, and couldn’t afford any of his wonderful paintings even if they were half the price. He then let slip that the artist wasn’t available at the moment. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, has he left you for another gallery?’ I asked, looking sympathetic. He told me it was a little more complicated than that.”

“You’re enjoying yourself, you hussy.”

“Any more remarks like that, Detective Constable Warwick, and I might just forget what else my new friend Zac told me. Now, where was I before you interrupted me?”

“It’s more complicated than that…”

“Ah yes. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean,’ I said. ‘But if you can’t tell me, I quite understand.’ He then admitted, ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he’s in jail.’”

“I adore you.”

“Shh.”

“What’s he in jail for?”

“It seems he tried to sell a West End art dealer a long-lost Vermeer and got caught red-handed. ‘How?’ I asked. Apparently he didn’t ask for enough money, which made the dealer suspicious, so he reported it to the police.”

“What’s his name?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Why not?”

“Zac was beginning to sound suspicious, so I moved on to the Renoir, which is why it took so long to escape. In any case, it shouldn’t be too difficult for one of the nation’s leading detectives to track down someone who’s in jail for faking a Vermeer.”

“True, but Zac still thinks you’re going to his opening on Wednesday?”

“Sadly Barbara won’t be able to make it, or take up his kind offer to join him for the after-dinner party at the Mirabelle.”

“But you gave him your number.”

“01 730 1234.”

“What’s that?”

“Harrods Food Hall.”

“I adore you.”





13


They didn’t sit down for breakfast on Sunday morning until just after ten.

Beth wanted to go for a run in Hyde Park, claiming she needed to lose a couple of pounds. William couldn’t work out from where, but he agreed to join her.

“We won’t need lunch,” he said as he buttered another slice of toast. “This counts as brunch. But I’ll have to call my mother and let her know I won’t be joining them.”

“You could still make it if you left now,” teased Beth.

William ignored her as he helped himself to a dollop of marmalade.

“Jez and I usually go to the cinema on a Sunday evening,” said Beth. “So we can be tucked up in bed at a sensible hour.”

“Suits me. I’ve got a commander’s meeting first thing in the morning.”

“Sounds impressive.”

“He is impressive, and responsible for four departments. A and A is his favorite, although it’s the least important.” William took a bite of toast before adding, “The team meet on the first Monday of every month to bring him up to date on the cases we’ve been investigating.”

“Then you’ll have rather a lot to tell him, won’t you, Detective Constable Warwick?”

“You can be sure that if our artist is banged up, the Hawk will know his name, which prison he’s in, and how long his sentence is.”

“You’d like his job one day, wouldn’t you?” said Beth, pouring herself another cup of coffee.

“Yes, but I’m not in any hurry. How about you? Do you want Tim Knox’s job?”

“I love what I’m doing, and am quite happy to stay put until I get a better offer.”

“My bet is you’ll be director of the Tate before I sit in the commander’s chair.”

“I can’t imagine the Tate will ever appoint a woman as its director.”

“Even if she’d been captain of the school and captain of hockey?”

“Who told you that?”

“A policeman never reveals his sources.”

“I’ll kill Jez.”

“Pity. I rather like him.”

“He’s the ideal flatmate,” said Beth. “Clean, tidy, and considerate, and his rent helps to supplement the derisory salary the Fitzmolean pay me.”