Page 29 of Traitors Gate

‘When does the painting have to be back in Newark for us to have any chance of keeping to such a tight timetable?’ asked James.

‘The last flight out of Newark on a Monday evening is at seven fifty,’ said Beth, checking her schedule, ‘and lands at Heathrow at six the following morning. Which means Art Logistics would have to pick up the painting from East 61st Street before four o’clock at the latest if we hope to get the Rubens back on display before the museum opens to the public at ten on Tuesday morning.’

‘And don’t forget customs,’ William reminded his fellow conspirators. ‘Because on the way back they’ll be carrying a masterpiece worth several million.’

‘Ironically,’ said Beth, ‘because it will be returning in the same packing case with the same paperwork, the painting willstill be listed as valued at less than ten thousand. And as long as they don’t open the crate, they’ll be none the wiser.’

‘We’ve been none the wiser for the past ten years,’ William reminded them. ‘So frankly it will be timing at the New York end that remains our biggest problem.’

‘That will be my responsibility,’ said James as he emptied his glass of wine but didn’t refill it. ‘I’ve already made an appointment to view Faulkner’s apartment again at eleven o’clock on Monday morning, by which time the painting should have arrived. I’ve warned the realtor I’ll be bringing my lawyer and a mortgage broker with me, before I can make a final decision. That should give William and Ross more than enough time to switch the paintings while I check carefully over every clause of the contract.’

‘Worst-case scenario,’ said Ross, ‘we fail to retrieve the painting, and James ends up with a luxury apartment in Manhattan.’

Laughter once again helped settle their nerves.

‘I’m still hoping it will be the other way around,’ said James. ‘But even if I’m able to keep the realtor fully occupied while you switch the paintings, we still have to get the crate back downstairs and out of the building.’ He took a sip of water before adding, ‘And I can’t see a vigilant concierge simply opening the front door and saying, “Your carriage awaits.”’

Another long silence followed before Beth said, ‘Decision time.’

CHAPTER 12

CHRISTINA THOUGHT CAREFULLY ABOUT WHATshe would wear for the encounter: a simple dress, sensible shoes and no jewellery. For once she must appear as if she were going to church, not a nightclub. She checked her outfit in the hall mirror before she left the flat. The perfect look for the task in hand.

She picked up her car keys and took the lift to the basement but sat in her car for some time going over a few well-prepared lines before setting off for Fulham.

When it came to the vote, I abstained so no one could suggest I was simply supporting a close friend.

I convinced one or two members of the board who were wavering to back you just before the final vote.

I found out something about your rivals that they wouldn’t have wanted the board to know. But I made sure they did by the time the chairman called for the vote. By the way, he wasn’t on your side.

If she caught Beth at home, she might still be able toconvince the new director she’d done everything in her best interests. She just had to hope the chairman had sent a copy of the damning letter to the museum and Beth hadn’t yet read the minutes.

Christina parked on a double-yellow line outside the house, assuming any parking restrictions wouldn’t apply on a Sunday afternoon. Not that she cared, as a fine would be the least of her problems. She got out of the car and nervously rehearsed her opening line as she walked slowly up the path, hesitating for a moment before she knocked on the front door. She dreaded it being opened by William, who would automatically assume the worst.

It seemed an age before it was finally opened, when she was greeted with a warm smile. ‘Hello, Mrs Faulkner,’ said Artemisia. ‘If you were hoping to catch Mum, she’s not at home.’

‘Do you know where she is by any chance?’ asked Christina, returning her smile.

‘They all went off to the museum just after lunch.’

‘They?’ repeated Christina casually.

‘Mum, Dad, Ross and a G-man from Washington who’s been staying with us. He’s a swell guy,’ said Artemisia, trying out her American accent.

Christina turned and left without another word. It wasn’t that she forgot to thank Artemisia, it just hadn’t crossed her mind. After all, you don’t thank children. She got back in her car and drove slowly off to the museum, fearing that Beth must surely have read the letter by now, and therefore any hope of a reconciliation was doomed. She abandoned her old script while attempting to prepare a new one.

Her thoughts turned to why William, Ross and an FBI agent from Washington had accompanied Beth to the museumon a Sunday afternoon. But by the time she turned into Kensington Gardens, she was none the wiser, and her script was far from polished.

She found a parking spot a hundred yards from the Fitzmolean and was about to get out of her car when the museum door swung open. She didn’t move as three men dressed in brown overalls emerged. Two of them were carrying a large crate while the third went ahead of them to open the rear door of an Art Logistics van. He then jumped inside and helped his colleagues lift the crate into the van before strapping it firmly in place. After double-checking it was secure, he climbed back out and locked the door. He then returned to his place behind the steering wheel and she continued to watch as the van drove slowly off.

Christina didn’t give a second thought as to why the museum was moving a large crate on a Sunday afternoon, as it wasn’t part of her script. She finally got out and walked slowly up the steps to the main entrance, not sure if Beth would even agree to see her. She was greeted with the wordCLOSED, so pressed the bell on the wall. It was some time before the door swung open to reveal a scruffily dressed security guard who looked as if he’d been interrupted.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Faulkner,’ he said, touching his forehead with a finger. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I was hoping to see Mrs Warwick.’

‘Of course, come on in and I’ll let the director know you’re here.’

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