Page 8 of Next in Line

‘My ex-husband is back in jail, Sir Julian, as I feel sure you already know.’

‘I had heard as much.’

‘What you may not know is that his yacht is heading for England with Mr Booth Watson aboard, as well as one hundred and ninety-one oil paintings of not unknown provenance.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’

‘Because Miles’s butler rang me last night to tell me the yacht set sail from Barcelona over a week ago and asked me if I knew how to get in touch with Miles.’

‘What else did he tell you?’ asked Sir Julian as he picked up a pen and began to make notes.

‘BW has not only removed all of Miles’s paintings, but also ordered the butler to put his home in Spain on the market.’

‘And has he?’

‘No way. In fact, once he realized that Miles was still alive, and back in prison in England, he’s been desperate to get in touch with him, which is why he ended up calling me.’ She paused. ‘And then who do you think called me in the middle of the night?’

Sir Julian didn’t respond, well aware that Mrs Faulkner couldn’t wait to tell him.

‘None other than the yacht’s captain.’ Christina didn’t give a reason, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist asking …

‘And what did he have to say for himself?’ enquired Sir Julian, finally giving up.

‘They are on their way back to England, Christchurch to be precise, and anticipate docking imminently.’

‘Once again I’m curious to know why he would call you, of all people?’

‘I’m the lesser of two evils,’ declared Christina. ‘In fact, Captain Redmayne distrusts Booth Watson so much I think that, if he was given half a chance, he’d throw him overboard.’

That would solve all our problems, thought Sir Julian, but kept his counsel.

‘So if you were able to contact the harbourmaster at Christchurch and find out when the yacht’s due to dock,’ suggested Christina, ‘we could be standing on the quayside waiting to greet the eminent QC, leaving him little choice but to return my half of the paintings, as agreed in my divorce settlement – which you drafted.’

It always fascinated Sir Julian that Miles and Christina were two of the same kind, and he wasn’t even sure which one of them was the more devious. However, he had to admit that sinking Booth Watson and Miles Faulkner at the same time was tempting to say the least.

‘I think that might be possible, Mrs Faulkner,’ said Sir Julian, still keeping her at arm’s length.

‘If you could let me know when the yacht has entered territorial waters, the captain assured me that would give us at least a couple of hours to make sure we can get there in time to give him a right royal welcome.’

It always amused Sir Julian that Mrs Faulkner assumed he would be available at the drop of a hat (her hat), but he had to admit she was far more interesting than the tax avoidance case he was currently prosecuting in the high court, which his daughter Grace was more than capable of handling. Although he would never admit it, he couldn’t wait to find out how Booth Watson intended to explain to Faulkner – who had probably been trying to get in touch with him for the past ten days – why he had brought his pictures back to England and put his house in Spain on the market without consulting him.

However, Sir Julian was well aware he would have to be prepared for another surprise, as his old rival Booth Watson was every bit as cunning as Christina, and would happily play one against the other if it suited his cause.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said, before putting down the phone.

CHAPTER 4

WILLIAM PICKED UP THE PHONEbut didn’t turn on the light as the digital clock on his bedside table turned from 5:17 to 5:18. He knew it could only be one person on the other end of the line.

‘The harbourmaster has just called,’ said a wide-awake voice. ‘The yacht has been sighted, and he’s predicting an ETA of around nine o’clock.’

William leapt out of bed, hit a chair, fell on the floor and woke Beth. Not a good start to the day.

•••

The second call the harbourmaster made that morning was to Sir Julian Warwick, who turned on the bedside light before picking up the phone. He was already awake. He thanked the harbourmaster, put the phone down, threw on a dressing gown, and retreated to his study. He looked up a number, and it gave him considerable pleasure to dial it. The phone rang for some time before it was eventually answered.

‘Who the hell is this?’ a voice demanded.

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