Page 27 of Traitors Gate

‘Then why didn’t you tell me?’ demanded Beth, sounding exasperated.

‘I didn’t have any proof other than that Miles Faulkner was involved.’

‘But there must have been something else that caused you to have doubts.’

‘Yes, there was,’ William confessed. ‘On the evening Princess Anne unveiled the painting, Faulkner crept upbehind me and said, “If you’re ever in New York, do come and visit my apartment, and then you’ll be able to see the original.”’

‘And you didn’t tell me!’ said Beth, spitting out the words.

‘I assumed it was nothing more than a bluff.’

‘Well, now we know it wasn’t, and it’s too late to do anything about it.’

‘Is it?’ said William calmly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I agree with James. You’re now the one person whocando something about it and if you don’t, you certainly can’t consider taking up the post as director.’

‘But you’re talking about breaking the law?’

‘Am I? The Fitzmolean is in possession of a legal document signed by Miles Faulkner and witnessed by Booth Watson, confirming that he gifted the original Rubens to the museum. So he’s the one who’s broken the law.’

‘It would be one hell of a risk—’

‘James seems willing to take that risk, and I’ll bet Ross would also be only too happy to play along, so perhaps I—’

‘But it’s against every principle you’ve spent your whole life upholding,’ Beth reminded him.

‘While allowing Faulkner to get away with blue murder again and again.’ He paused before adding, ‘Perhaps just this once, I ought to—’ but the door burst open, and Artemisia came hurtling in with Peter not far behind.

‘You’ll never believe what we’ve found out about Colonel Blood,’ she announced.

‘Brilliant timing,’ said Beth.

• • •

James Buchanan flew into Heathrow on Friday evening and turned up an hour later at William’s home. Three men and one woman sat down for supper in the kitchen soon after the children had gone to bed. Although the meeting was unofficial, there wasn’t any doubt who was in charge.

Several different cheeses, biscuits and pickles had been laid out on a board in the centre of the table along with a bottle of Fleurie and half a dozen cans of lager, all chilled. This was clearly going to be a working supper.

Beth opened the meeting by thanking all three of them for attending. She seemed to have forgotten that one of them was her husband and lived there. ‘And my particular thanks go to James for coming all the way from Washington at such short notice.’

‘Simply returning the compliment,’ said James. ‘And in any case, one can never find a decent cheddar in DC.’

The laughter that followed helped ease the tension that permeated the atmosphere.

‘It’s somewhat ironic,’ said Beth, ‘that my first meeting as director of the Fitzmolean should be without the board’s knowledge or approval.’

‘But undoubtedly in their best interests,’ suggested William.

‘However, should I make the wrong decision,’ continued Beth, ‘I could be resigning before the doors open next Tuesday, having been director for the shortest period of time in the museum’s history.’

‘And if you make the right decision?’ said Ross.

‘The board must never find out what we did in their name. So, let’s begin with what we know,’ said Beth as William poured her a glass of wine. ‘Let’s start by admitting we’ve been living under the illusion for the past decade that our picture ofChrist’s Descent from the Crosswas painted by themaster, whereas in fact it’s a copy executed by an extremely gifted forger who fooled us all, including the leading art critics.’

No one demurred, so Beth continued. ‘We also know, thanks to James’s initiative, the original of that masterpiece is presently hanging in an apartment on East 61st Street that just happens to be owned by Miles Faulkner.’

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