Over My Dead Body (Detective William Warwick #4)(7)

William raised an eyebrow.

‘Lady Catherine Whittaker on the operas of Puccini.’

‘I just might give it a miss. Mind you, if she’s the wife of Mr Justice Whittaker,’ said William, looking around the room, ‘it would be fascinating to have a chat with him.’

‘And there’s a different show in the theatre every evening,’ continued Beth. ‘Tonight it’s Lazaro, a magician, who will apparently shock and surprise as he makes objects and even passengers disappear before our eyes. We can go to either the seven o’clock or the nine o’clock performance.’

‘Which sitting would you prefer for dinner?’ asked Franco, when he returned to their table and began to pour them a second coffee.

‘What time do the chairman and his family come down in the evening?’ asked William.

‘Around eight thirty, sir, when they have cocktails before dining.’

‘Then we’ll take the second sitting.’

‘What are you up to?’ asked Beth, looking closely at her husband.

‘I have a feeling that if we attend the second sitting, we’ll have more shocks and surprises, and possibly see more people disappearing before our eyes, than Lazaro will manage in the theatre.’





CHAPTER 3


BOOTH WATSON ROSE FROM BEHIND his desk when his reluctant client entered the room. Mrs Christina Faulkner sat down opposite him, without bothering to shake hands with her husband’s lawyer.

Booth Watson looked across at the elegantly dressed lady who had been married to his client for eleven years, before they both decided to go their separate ways.

Both of them had had countless affairs, long before she’d issued divorce proceedings. However, after Miles was convicted of the theft of a Caravaggio and sent to jail, Christina felt on stronger ground until he died, when she assumed she had lost everything. That was before she turned up at the funeral to discover that her late husband was very much alive, and would have to cut a deal with her if he was going to be allowed to stay that way. Christina didn’t need to be told it was a game changer.

But the merry widow had also worked out that Miles Faulkner – or Captain Ralph Neville as he was now – was better alive than dead, because that way she could lay her hands on at least half of Miles’s fabled art collection, which she had signed away in their original divorce settlement.

Booth Watson was well aware of the shifting sands he was tiptoeing over, but still had one ace up his sleeve. Christina’s love of money.

‘I thought we ought to have a word about what will happen after the wedding has taken place, Mrs Faulkner,’ said Booth Watson.

‘Am I allowed to ask what you and Miles have decided on my behalf?’ asked Christina.

‘There shouldn’t be a great deal of difference from the present situation,’ parried Booth Watson, ignoring the jibe. ‘You will retain your home in the country, along with the Belgravia apartment. However, in future Monte Carlo will be out of bounds.’

‘Found someone else, has he?’

Somewhere else, Booth Watson could have told her, but that was not part of his brief. ‘You will continue to receive two thousand pounds a week for expenses, while retaining your housekeeper, maid and chauffeur.’

‘And have you two decided where you’ll be spending my honeymoon?’ asked Christina, making no attempt to hide any sarcasm.

‘Miles will not be spending a great deal of time in England during the next few months, so it will in effect be a marriage of convenience. To that end I have drawn up a binding agreement, which is ready for you to sign. Just remember, you get far more than you could have hoped for in return for your silence. You needn’t bother to read it as there won’t be any amendments.’

‘So we won’t be living together?’ said Christina, pretending to sound shocked.

‘That was never the plan, as you well know. Miles has no objection to you continuing your present lifestyle, but he would ask you to be a little more discreet in future, and to be available to accompany him as Mrs Ralph Neville on what we might describe as formal occasions.’

‘And if I’m not willing to sign?’ said Christina, sitting back, despite the fact that Booth Watson had already taken the top off his pen, turned to the last page and planted a forefinger on the dotted line.

‘You will be destitute, and end up living in sheltered accommodation.’

‘While Miles will be back in jail for a very long time, unless …’

‘Unless?’ repeated Booth Watson.

‘Unless he gives me the additional million I was promised in the original divorce settlement. I don’t have to remind you, Mr Booth Watson, that Miles is dead. Like you, I attended his funeral in Geneva, where I was touched by your moving address. If the police were to discover those were not his ashes I was presented with by the compliant priest, it might be a lot more than a million he ends up having to sacrifice. However, if Miles feels unable to keep his word, you can send back the wedding cake and cancel the caterers.’

A long silence followed, during which both sides waited for the other to blink.

‘And do remind him I’ve still got his ashes, which is no more than my insurance policy should he fail to deliver.’

‘Life insurance policies usually only pay out when you die.’