Page 108 of An Eye for an Eye

‘Faulkner and Booth Watson are on their way back from the States,’ continued Buchanan, ‘and they have irrefutableproof that will leave Hartley with no choice but to confirm Jefferson’s letter is a fake.’

‘Proof?’ asked Ross.

‘Your man read page 171 ofMonticello, but not page 172. Where he would have found out the difference between a “y” and an “i”, a mistake Jefferson didn’t make twice.’

‘Mumford is a moron,’ said Ross.

‘Agreed, but it doesn’t help. So you’ll have to get to Hartley before Faulkner does, and try to convince him of the consequences. Because if he doesn’t …’

‘You call Trevelyan,’ said Ross. ‘And I’ll call William.’

CHAPTER 31

MILES WOKE WHENCONCORDE DRIFTEDthrough a block of dense black clouds that seemed to have taken permanent residence above Heathrow. He leant across the aisle and said to his lawyer, ‘We don’t have a moment to waste, BW. As soon as we land, I’ll ask Collins to drive us to Bucklebury in the hope we can get to Hartley before Warwick does.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said Booth Watson, but didn’t add that he wished Miles had kept his mouth shut.

‘Hartley won’t be able to deny the letter is a fake,’ said Miles, ‘and once he does the FBI will have no choice but to settle.’ He paused, looked across at his lawyer and said, ‘For at least forty million.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Booth Watson, ‘although it’s possible Hartley may not fall in with your plans quite so conveniently.’

‘Until I remind him that his mother sold me a fake Constable for half a million, because he won’t want that to become public.’

‘When he’ll undoubtedly remind you that his mother gaveyou six letters and not five,’ said Booth Watson, which silenced Miles for a moment.

Booth Watson looked out of the cabin window when Miles asked him the one question he’d been dreading. ‘Who do you think forged the Jefferson letter in the first place?’

‘The FBI’s dirty tricks department,’ said Booth Watson, delivering a well-prepared response, now painfully aware why Billy Mumford had woken him in the middle of the night. ‘With the whole exercise orchestrated by Special Agent Buchanan,’ he added for good measure.

‘I suppose that’s right,’ said Miles, as the wheels of the aircraft touched the ground and the plane’s engines were thrust violently into reverse, before Concorde proceeded slowly towards its specially allocated gate on the far side of the airport.

Miles had unfastened his seat belt long before the warning sign had been switched off. He liked to be the last person to board a plane, and the first to disembark. He had left his seat and was already standing at the front of the line when the cabin door was pulled open.

‘Not a moment to waste,’ said Faulkner, before he’d even stepped onto the aircraft steps. Booth Watson tried to keep up with his client as he headed for customs at a speed he wasn’t accustomed to. By the time Booth Watson reached the car, out of breath, Miles was sitting in the back impatiently waiting for him.

‘Let’s get moving,’ Faulkner barked at Collins, even before his lawyer had closed the door.

‘Home, sir?’ asked Collins.

‘No,’ said Faulkner. ‘Old Vicarage, Bucklebury.’

•••

William and Trevelyan were speeding along the motorway just as Concorde touched down at Heathrow. They had spent the last couple of hours going over their script word for word, aware they might be facing one insurmountable problem, which Trevelyan had expressed with Foreign Office clarity. ‘If Hartley is as honest as his father …’

When Danny drew up outside the Old Vicarage, it only took one knock on the front door before Mrs Hartley appeared. Once they had introduced themselves, Hannah led her two guests through to the library where Simon was seated at his desk. The recent removal of his beard made him appear pale and wan, though Trevelyan was pleased to see he’d put on a few pounds since he’d last seen him at the airport. Simon pushed himself up from his chair unsteadily, and welcomed them both before inviting them to join him around the fire.

Moments later, Mrs Hartley reappeared carrying a tray of coffee and biscuits, which she placed on the table between them.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see us at such short notice,’ said William as he sat down. ‘We wouldn’t have given you so little warning if it hadn’t been urgent.’

Hartley’s sharp eyes remained fixed on William, but he didn’t express an opinion.

‘Let me begin by asking you,’ continued William, ‘if you have come across someone called Miles Faulkner, or a lawyer by the name of Booth Watson.’

‘Only what my dear mother has told me about them and what I’ve read inThe Guardian. Their arts correspondent reported in detail what took place at the auction in New York a couple of days ago, which rather suggested neither of them could be trusted. Of course, I was delighted to discover the letter sent to my ancestor in 1787 was authenticated by noless a figure than Professor Rosenberg. I assume that means the Fair Copy of the Declaration will end up in the Library of Congress, as my late father always intended.’

William and Trevelyan exchanged glances.

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