Page 58 of Traitors Gate

‘And finally, Bruce, are you any nearer to finding the right person to be sitting next to Harris when he drives the Lord Chamberlain’s Jaguar across the middle bridge and into the Tower?’

‘Yes, sir, but he still has one more test to pass before I’m willing to sign him up.’

‘Time isn’t exactly on our side,’ said Miles.

There was only one way Lamont ever knew a call had ended, and that was when there was no longer a voice on the other end of the line.

Miles added three more ticks to his growing list before closing a file that was becoming thicker by the day. He put it back in the safe and twiddled the dial back and forth, content that no one else knew the combination.

• • •

Christina was sitting at her usual table in the museum’s café when Percy appeared in the doorway. He was carrying a large Tesco shopping bag, which brought a smile to her face as she suspected it wasn’t full of groceries. He strolled across to join her.

Once Percy had sat down and ordered a coffee, Christina handed him a thick brown envelope containing twenty-eight packets stuffed with £50 notes, which included £998 she’d been paid by Spink for the first error coin he’d given her.

Percy tore open one of the packets and began to count the notes slowly, while Christina pulled out each of the twelve trays containing a dozen silver two-pence coins, to find all a hundred and forty-three were in place. Both satisfied, they sat in companionable silence enjoying a cup of coffee. If anyone was in a hurry to leave, it appeared to be Christina.

‘Are we still on for dinner tonight?’ Percy asked as he dropped the cash into his Tesco bag.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Christina. ‘The Ritz?’

‘No,’ replied Percy. ‘Harry’s Bar.’

‘Are you a member?’ asked Christina.

‘Something else my father left me,’ said Percy. ‘Eight o’clock suit you?’

‘See you there,’ said Christina, getting up to leave. ‘But it’s my treat.’

‘No way,’ said Percy. ‘I would never allow a woman to pay the bill.’

Christina picked up the wooden box, surprised by how heavy it was. She made her way slowly out of the café and up the staircase to the front entrance, not looking back. Once out on the pavement, she hailed a taxi and climbed into the back, still clutching onto the box.

‘Where to, miss?’ asked the cabbie.

‘Spink’s, Southampton Row,’ she replied.

The cabbie began to weave his way through the afternoon traffic before finally circling Russell Square and driving into Southampton Row where he dropped his fare outside Spink & Son.

When Christina entered the shop for a second time – the same old reliable bell tinkling above her – she placed the wooden box on the counter in front of the same old reliable man, without saying a word. He couldn’t take his eyes off the treasure trove, as if it were the Holy Grail.

Christina settled down in the shop’s only chair, accepting that the numismatist would want to take his time examining such a rare find. He pulled open the top tray and, with his loupe, studied each of the eleven coins one by one. A look of respect, almost awe, on his face.

That changed when he pulled open the second tray to be introduced to a dozen coins of a different parentage, when the look of respect was replaced with one of disappointment, and by the time he’d reached the bottom tray had turned to silent despair.

Christina was sitting on the edge of her seat when the old man let out a long sigh of resignation. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked anxiously.

Like a doctor having to impart bad news to a terminal patient, the old man appeared to be searching for the right words before he delivered his prognosis. He slowly removed his half-moon spectacles, ran a hand over his bald head and, looking directly at his customer, pronounced in an authoritative voice, ‘The top tray, madam, contains eleven error coins, each worth a thousand pounds. However, despite the other eleven trays containing a dozen two-pence coins, they have all been dipped in a silver liquid that might well deceive a casual observer, but not, I fear, an X-ray fluorescent spectrometer. You are welcome to join me in my lab should you doubt my word.’

‘So what are they worth?’ asked Christina, beginning to sound desperate.

‘We would be happy to offer you eleven thousand pounds for the eleven remaining error coins on the top shelf. The other one hundred and thirty-two are worth no more than the figure engraved on their surface, making a total of two pounds and sixty-four pence, while not forgetting the two pounds we owe you from our last transaction,’ said the manager, before checking his calculator. ‘So all I can offer you in the circumstances, madam, is eleven thousand and four pounds, sixty-four pence.’

The old man suddenly felt sorry for the lady, who had sunk back into the chair and visibly aged in front of him.

‘May I be permitted to ask you a question?’

He only just heard her murmur, ‘Yes.’

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