Page 17 of Traitors Gate

‘Which I assume has to be Buckingham Palace?’ said Miles, but no reply was forthcoming. ‘In common with several other museums, the Imperial is virtually empty first thing on a Monday morning.’

‘First thing?’

‘Their doors open at ten, so we could meet in the café on the ground floor. We’re unlikely to be disturbed other than by the occasional school party or a Japanese tourist, and I’m confident they wouldn’t recognize either of us.’

‘You mean ten o’clock this morning?’

‘I do,’ came back the immediate reply.

There was a long silence before the voice said, ‘I’ll be there at ten.’

‘But I won’t be,’ said Miles, ‘unless you tell me your name.’

Another long silence followed, and Miles might have thought the anonymous man had hung up, if he hadn’t still been able to hear him breathing.

‘Phil Harris,’ said the voice quietly.

• • •

Beth took the seat at the other end of the boardroom table and wondered if they could hear her heart thumping. Finally, she realized just how much she wanted the job.

She tried to settle as twelve faces stared back at her, andbegan to relax only when she saw Christina giving her a warm smile. Unconsciously she straightened her skirt, trying not to reveal just how nervous she was.

‘May I begin, Dr Warwick,’ said the chairman of the board, ‘by thanking you for your application to be the new director of the Fitzmolean. Perhaps you could start by telling us why you want the job.’

‘I’ve never made any secret, chairman, of wanting to be part of the future of this great institution,’ said Beth, ‘having had the privilege of following Mark Cranston as the keeper of pictures, and then later becoming the museum’s deputy director.’

‘But you’ve been out of the public sector for over five years,’ continued the chairman, ‘and by all accounts, you’ve been having considerable success as a private dealer. So why would you want to return to the Fitz?’

‘It’s kind of you to say so, Sir Nicholas. But not a day passes when I don’t miss the camaraderie of the museum world. I’m not a commercial animal by nature. I’m one of life’s volunteers, so what more could one ask for than to be director of one of the nation’s most prestigious galleries.’

Beth could hear William saying, ‘Over the top, you’re sounding desperate.’

‘But you would have to accept, Dr Warwick,’ the finance director chipped in, ‘that we could not hope to match the amount you’ve been earning as a dealer.’

Beth wasn’t in any doubt which member of the board had supplied them with that piece of information. ‘Perhaps this shows just how much I want the job,’ Beth responded as she looked across the table at Christina to see her head was bowed. Something else William had been right about. When would she ever learn?

‘Is there anything else you would like to share with us, Dr Warwick,’ asked the chairman after Beth had answered several more questions, none of which William hadn’t anticipated, ‘before we come to our decision?’

• • •

Miles was standing on the top step of the Imperial War Museum at one minute to ten, not surprised to find the doors opening on time. He marched straight in but couldn’t resist pausing to admire the First World War field artillery and a Churchill tank before making his way to the café on the ground floor – a venue he often used when he didn’t want to be recognised. The café was, as he’d predicted, empty. Even the kitchen staff hadn’t yet made an appearance. He took a seat at a table in the far corner of the room, from where he had a clear view of the battlefield.

He didn’t have long to wait before a stray infantryman appeared on the horizon. He looked around the empty room, revealing that he was on unfamiliar ground. Miles raised a hand.

The stranger walked across to join him but didn’t sit down. He couldn’t hide the fact he was nervous, his eyes continually darting around like a trapped animal’s. Miles wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d retreated without a shot being fired.

Miles studied his prey more carefully. Harris didn’t look like a master criminal. He was about five foot nine, late fifties, wore a smart, if well-worn, suit and what he suspected was a regimental tie. His laced leather shoes shone as if he were on parade, which in effect he was. When he finally sat down, Miles broke the silence.

‘As you seem to know so much about me,’ was his opening salvo, ‘while I know almost nothing about you, perhaps I can begin by asking a few questions?’

Harris nodded.

‘I’m puzzled as to how you were able to lay your hands on a sheet of Buckingham Palace notepaper, which I confess certainly caught my attention.’

‘I work at the palace,’ Harris replied. ‘Have done since I left the army just over eleven years ago.’

‘In what capacity?’

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