Page 136 of A Death in Cornwall

Gabriel glanced at the Scandinavian-looking woman. “My associate and I.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Not one that’s relevant to these proceedings.”

Samantha pointed toward the man with bright blue eyes. “What about him?”

“Marlowe is his name.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He’s a business consultant. His wife runs an art gallery in St. James’s.”

“Is that so?” Samantha cast her eyes over the documents arrayed before her. “Let me see if I understand this correctly. Lord Michael Radcliff, treasurer of the Conservative Party, accepts a one-million-pound contribution from a pro-Kremlin Russian businessman that leads to his own resignation and the resignation of Prime Minister Hillary Edwards. And then Lord Radcliff receives a ten-million-pound payment from the selfsame Russian businessman?”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“For helping Hugh Graves become prime minister.” Gabriel managed to smile. “Why else?”

“I was manipulated into publishing that story? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Of course.”

“For what reason?”

Another document came gliding across the countertop. It was a memorandum from the directors of the Secret Intelligence Service and MI5, addressed to Prime Minister Edwards.

“I heard rumors of this,” said Samantha. “But I was never able to prove its existence.”

“I suggest you ring the foreign secretary. Evidently, he was quite keen on the proposal. So was the chancellor.”

“And Graves?”

“What do you think?”

“I think Hugh and his lovely wife, Lucinda, probably thought it was a dreadful idea.”

“Graves was definitely opposed to the new regulations. As for his lovely wife...”

“Is she involved in this somehow?”

“You should probably put that question to the person who told you about the Federov contribution.”

“I don’t know who the source was.”

“Of course you do, Samantha. The answer is staring you right in the face.”

She looked down at the documents. “Where?”

Gabriel pointed toward the second paragraph of her original story.

“You bastard.”

***

Samantha immediately rang Clive Randolph, the Telegraph’s political editor, and in a remarkable display of journalistic skill dictated eight paragraphs of pristine if alarming copy. Randolph, having played a supporting role in bringing down a British prime minister, was in no mood to destroy her chosen successor even before he had settled into Number Ten.

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