‘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.
‘Not really. Because if I don’t make a million for the Warhol that Beth’s so confident about, twenty per cent of nothing is nothing. If she’s willing to take the risk, then so am I.’
Chapter 27
‘I thought the Gold Commander usually remained back at base while Silver ran the operation on the ground with Bronze to assist him?’ said William.
‘Then you thought wrong,’ said Holbrooke, looking around to take in everything that was happening. He could see over a hundred highly trained officers surrounding the concert hall, all of them wearing high-vis jackets over their uniforms, to warn anyone who hadn’t come to join in the chorus of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ to stay away. Holbrooke clearly believed prevention was better than cure. ‘Did your search officers come up with anything half interesting when they combed the building earlier this morning?’
‘They went over every inch of the hall from the roof to the basement, sir,’ said William, ‘but all they found was an empty box of Swan Vesta matches that the overnight cleaners must have missed. I went up on the roof myself and walked around the glass dome, and didn’t spot anything suspicious. But the dogs have just moved in and are checking the auditorium row by row, from the stalls to the gods.’
‘Then he can’t have entered the building yet. Several possible suspects were seen heading towards London this morning, coming from Manchester, Birmingham and Bradford, not all of them by direct routes. They could of course be decoys, but if any of them come within a mile of the hall, they’ll be apprehended, taken in for questioning, and not released until later — much later. What time do the doors open to the public?’
‘Six o’clock,’ said William, glancing up at the roof of the Royal College of Art, where he could see half a dozen snipers sweeping the crowd with binoculars. ‘The conductor, Sir John Pritchard, will walk onto the stage at seven thirty, by which time four of my team will be mingling with the promenaders.’
‘Along with ten of my operatives,’ said Holbrooke as he checked the traffic lights on the corner of Exhibition Road, which he had control over. William’s gaze settled on the Albert Memorial, a hundred yards away in Kensington Gardens. On its steps a young couple were embracing, but he knew they weren’t lovers, as one was keeping a watchful eye on the park, while the other focused on the road in front of the main entrance to the Albert Hall. William had to admire how calm Holbrooke appeared to be, while he himself remained uncomfortably on edge, all too aware that a couple of hundred operatives were out there on his recommendation and, even worse, on information supplied by a man he didn’t trust.
By the time the sun began to dip behind the French Ambassador’s residence, a steady stream of excited concert-goers were making their way towards the hall in anticipation of the evening’s entertainment ahead.
‘I’ll leave you now, sir, and join my team inside,’ said William.
‘Make sure you’re the last person to leave the building,’ said the Gold Commander.
William liked the way Holbrooke ran things, leaving nothing to chance. He crossed the road and entered the hall as if he were an ordinary concert-goer, watching carefully as the punter’s tickets were checked and then double-checked, creating a long line of disgruntled promenaders. Even after they’d escaped and made their way into the auditorium, they were then checked for a third time. One ticket holder protested when his backpack was emptied onto a table manned by a vigilant plainclothes police officer, and became even more heated when told he could pick it up from the cloakroom after the performance was over.
‘Bloody police state,’ he proclaimed at the top of his voice, before heading off to join his mates in the arena.
William made his way slowly around the wide corridor that circled the auditorium, before going inside to join the boisterous revellers. Some of them had already been there for over an hour, and would be the last to depart, long after the musicians had finally left the stage. He prayed they would depart singing.
He quickly spotted Paul and Jackie, then finally Rebecca, but they didn’t acknowledge him. He nearly missed Ross, who was dressed in a scruffy T-shirt and torn jeans, blending in with the promenaders as if he were one of them. In theory it was his night off, but William knew nothing would have stopped him being there, even if he hadn’t been invited.