‘He’s spending most of the time preparing for a major corruption trial at the Old Bailey, when he’ll have to be at his best, because he’s up against Booth Watson again.’
‘Not a man I’ve ever cared for,’ said Christina. ‘I much prefer your father-in-law.’
‘Sir Julian will be representing the Crown on this occasion, which doesn’t make life any easier for William. But do tell, why did you want to see me?’
‘Ralph has asked me to marry him.’
‘And you said?’
‘Yes! I do so love the man.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Beth, attempting to look suitably delighted, although she couldn’t help recalling that the last time she’d seen Christina was at Elena’s, and it wasn’t Ralph’s leg she had a hand on.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Beth when Christina thrust out her left hand to reveal a simple diamond solitaire, looking a little lost among its more sparkling rivals.
‘Have you fixed a date?’
‘August the twenty-second.’
‘Weren’t you meant to be sailing to New York on the Alden around that time?’
‘I was, but that’s the only Saturday before the end of September when Limpton parish church isn’t already booked for a wedding. So rather than wait until then, we decided to ditch the trip in favour of the more important event. Which was the other reason I wanted to see you. We wondered if you’d like to take our place?’
‘You must be joking,’ said Beth. ‘We couldn’t afford steerage on the Alden!’
Christina burst out laughing. ‘No, you’d simply take over our state room, as we weren’t able to cancel the booking at such short notice, If the truth be known, you’d be doing us a favour.’ She paused to allow Beth to recover. ‘Unless, of course, you think William might object?’
‘If he does,’ said Beth, ‘I’ll go without him.’
‘Good. Then that’s settled. But there’s something even more important I need to discuss with you.’
Beth wondered what could possibly be more important than getting married.
‘To celebrate our betrothal, Ralph and I would like to present the Fitzmolean with an appropriate gift to mark the occasion.’
‘How generous of you,’ said Beth, although she couldn’t help wondering what the word ‘appropriate’ meant.
‘As I’m sure you know, my darling, a Raphael is coming up for auction in the autumn sales, and we both felt the Fitzmolean is where that particular lady should spend the rest of her days.’
‘You’re not referring to the Madonna di Cesare, by any chance?’ asked Beth, not attempting to hide her excitement.
‘The very same.’
‘But wasn’t that painting originally part of Miles’s collection?’
‘Yes, but he gave it to a friend just before he died. However, I know he’d originally intended to leave it to the Fitzmolean in his will.’
‘What an incredibly generous gesture,’ said Beth, almost lost for words.
‘There is one small condition attached to the gift.’
Of course there is, thought Beth, but remained silent.
‘I’ll be in Monte Carlo with Ralph when the auction takes place, and will need someone to bid for the painting on my behalf. I couldn’t think of anyone better than you to do my bidding.’
‘I’m flattered. But wouldn’t it be more appropriate for Tim Knox to represent you? He is, after all, the gallery’s director,’ said Beth as she began to rummage around in the bottom drawer of her desk in search of the latest sales catalogues so she could check the picture’s high and low estimates.
‘Eight hundred thousand to one million,’ said Christina, before Beth had turned to Lot 25, Raphael’s Madonna di Cesare, the property of a lady.
‘And how high would you allow me to bid?’
‘A million should see off any rivals.’
‘That’s way beyond the gallery’s limit, so I’d need some form of security.’
‘I thought you might say that,’ said Christina. She opened her handbag, took out a cheque and handed it to Beth.
Beth’s hand started trembling when she saw the figure of £1,000,000.
‘Of course, if someone outbids you, you won’t need to cash the cheque, but that seems unlikely.’
‘What I don’t know,’ said Beth, ‘is how to begin to thank you.’
‘Wait until the Madonna is hanging on the wall of the Fitzmolean before you do that,’ said Christina, ‘and don’t forget, it has to remain our little secret.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Beth, although she knew there was one person she would have to tell. So did Christina.
‘Don’t forget the Summers trial opens on Monday,’ the Hawk reminded them. ‘However, there are still a couple of jobs that need to be covered before the jury is selected.’
William and Jackie opened their notebooks.
‘DS Roycroft, I want you to arrange another meeting with Lamont. Tell him something has arisen that he needs to know about immediately.’
‘What has arisen?’ asked Jackie.
‘I want you to warn him that while the trial is taking place a team of surveillance officers will be tailing him twenty-four/seven.’
‘What will I say if he asks why they’re tailing him?’
‘He’ll know why,’ said the Hawk.
Jackie closed her notebook.
‘I haven’t got enough officers available for a full surveillance operation,’ admitted William.
‘You won’t need them. It will be enough for Lamont to believe he’s being watched to ensure he doesn’t take any risks. Which brings me on to someone who doesn’t give a damn about taking risks. “Bones” Turner.’
William frowned at the mention of Jimmy Turner’s youngest son, whose sole purpose in life seemed to be ensuring that members of his family were found not guilty whenever the odds were stacked against them. He didn’t bother with bribes or blackmail. He’d discovered the threat of broken bones or a car crash was so much more persuasive.
‘He’s currently out on probation having served two years of a four-year sentence for GBH,’ said Paul.
‘Then find any excuse to put him back inside for a couple of months until the trial is over.’
‘He’s notorious for turning up late for his weekly meetings with the probation officer. I’ll have two officers waiting for him next time, who can ship him straight back to Pentonville, and leave him there until the trial’s over.’
‘Good. While we’re on the subject of the trial, William, I hope you’re well prepared to be cross-examined by Booth Watson this time?’
‘I can’t wait,’ admitted William, ‘and intend to mention the superb, magnificent expensive diamond ring again and again, given the slightest opportunity.’
28
‘Will the prisoner please stand up?’
Summers rose from his place in the dock. He was wearing a brand-new suit, a white shirt, and a blue silk tie.
‘Jeremy Richard Summers, you have been charged with handling stolen goods, and by so doing, misconduct in public office. How do you plead?’
‘Not guilty,’ said Summers, looking directly at the clerk of the court.
‘You may be seated.’
Mr Justice Ramsden looked down from the bench to see Sir Julian quivering, like a greyhound in the slips, waiting to deliver his opening statement. Unlike Mr Booth Watson, who was slouched at the other end of counsels’ bench giving the appearance of a dormouse, half asleep. But then, Booth Watson knew it would be some time before he would need to open his eyes.
‘Sir Julian,’ said the judge, turning his attention to the eminent QC. ‘If you would care to open proceedings.’
Sir Julian rose from his place, tugged at his long black gown and adjusted his greying wig as he always did before turning to face a jury. He greeted the eight men and four women with a benevolent smile, aware that they were the most important twelve people in the court.