Page 139 of A Death in Cornwall

“We shall see,” said Frasier, and started for the door.

“Stephen?”

He paused.

“Not that it matters now, but I had nothing at all to do with approving that contribution from Valentin Federov.”

“You were always very clear about that.”

“But you believe me, don’t you, Stephen?”

“Of course, Hillary. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because no one else does. I might have been a failure as prime minister, but I am not corrupt. And I did not approve that contribution.”

“May I quote you on that?”

Hillary Edwards settled into her chair for the last time. “Please do.”

***

The clerical-looking driver of the neon-blue Mini Cooper covered the two and half miles from Queen’s Gate Terrace to Warwick Square in just under ten minutes. Lord Michael Radcliff lived in one of the grand Regency houses on the square’s northern flank. The bell push summoned a maid clad in a traditional uniform. Samantha said that Lord Radcliff was expecting her, and the maid, after a moment’s indecision, invited her inside.

His lordship was standing in the stately center hall, one hand on his ample hip, the other holding a mobile phone to his ear. He lowered the device and regarded Samantha with apprehension.

“I didn’t realize we had an appointment, Ms. Cooke.”

“We don’t. But this will only take a moment.”

Radcliff told the person at the other end of the call that a minor crisis had arisen and rang off. Then he looked at Samantha and asked, “Haven’t you done enough damage?”

“You’re the one who did the damage, Lord Radcliff. Not me.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You were the source of the leaked documents regarding the Federov contribution. You’re the reason that Hillary Edwards is about to make a farewell speech on the doorstep of Number Ten.”

“You seem to be forgetting, Ms. Cooke, that I was forced to resign as a result of the Federov scandal as well.”

“But you were well compensated in return, weren’t you? Ten million pounds, as a matter of fact. Not bad for a few minutes’ work.”

Radcliff treated her to a contemptuous smile. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

She handed him the statement from BVI Bank. He thrust on a pair of half-moon reading glasses before reviewing it.

“This proves nothing, Ms. Cooke. It is merely a coincidence that this offshore company has the same initials as I do.”

“But that’s not true, Your Lordship.” Samantha handed over the documents from Harris Weber. “These prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are the beneficial owner of LMR Overseas.”

He flipped through the documents in silence for a moment, then asked, “Where did you get these?”

“They were given to me by a trusted source. Unlike you, he had the decency to deliver them in person.”

“These are confidential documents that were undoubtedly stolen from my attorneys. If you publish anything about them, I shall haul you into court and sue you into oblivion.”

She snatched the documents from his grasp. “Perhaps you should phone your libel lawyer. Because I intend to reveal the ten-million-pound payment that you received from Federov later this morning. My story will also suggest that it was part of a plot by Harris Weber and its wealthy clients to ensure that the so-called London Laundromat remain open for business.”

“The ten million pounds was related to my work as an international business consultant and investor, not my work for the Party. It was a fee for services rendered, nothing more.”

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