‘Is Mike Harrison going with you?’ asked the commander, sounding a little calmer.
‘No, sir. She has an appointment with him in his office at four o’clock this afternoon.’
‘That woman’s up to something,’ said Lamont. ‘We should assume she’s every bit as devious as her husband, and quite capable of dangling the bait of a Rembrandt in front of us, especially if she knows William’s girlfriend works at the Fitzmolean.’
‘How could she possibly know that?’ said William.
‘Try to think like a criminal, for a change,’ barked Lamont.
‘I agree,’ said Hawksby. ‘And if it turns out that she’s taking you for a ride too, it won’t only be DS Roycroft who’s on traffic duty. Now, let’s all get back to work, and I don’t want to see any of you unless you’ve got something positive to report.’
Back in the office the atmosphere felt like a prison cell, while the condemned woman waited for the priest to come and read her the Last Rites.
William was relieved to escape just after 12.30 for his lunch with Mrs Faulkner.
He walked briskly across the park and into St James’s, arriving well in time for his lunch date. As he entered the Ritz, a liveried doorman saluted as if he were a regular. William had to stop at the reception desk and ask where the dining room was.
‘Far end of the corridor, sir. You can’t miss it.’
He strolled down the thick carpeted corridor, past little alcoves filled with people chattering away while ordering exotic cocktails. He had to agree with F. Scott Fitzgerald, the rich are different.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said the maître d’ when he reached the entrance to the restaurant. ‘Do you have a reservation?’
‘I’m a guest of Mrs Faulkner.’
The maître d’ checked his list. ‘Madam hasn’t arrived yet, but allow me to take you to her table.’
William followed him across the large, ornately decorated dining room to a window table overlooking Green Park. While he waited, he took a discreet look at the other diners. The first thing that struck him was that it could have been a gathering of the United Nations.
He rose the moment he saw Mrs Faulkner enter the room. She was wearing an elegant green dress that fell just below the knee with a matching scarf and carrying a tan leather handbag Beth would have coveted. She sailed across the room, leaving William in no doubt that, unlike his, this wasn’t her first visit to the Ritz. Despite the Hawk’s warning, even he couldn’t have denied her style and class.
While one waiter held back her chair, another one approached.
‘Can I get you a drink, madam?’
‘Just a glass of champagne, while I decide what I’m going to eat.’
‘Of course, madam,’ he said before melting away.
‘I’m so glad you were able to join me for lunch, William,’ she said as the waiter reappeared and poured her a glass of champagne. ‘I was afraid you might cancel at the last minute.’
‘Why would I do that, Mrs Faulkner?’
‘Christina, please. Because Commander Hawksby might have felt it was inappropriate, considering how much is at stake.’
‘You know the commander?’ asked a surprised William.
‘I only know my husband’s opinion of him, which is why I want him in my corner,’ she said as the head waiter handed them both a menu.
‘I’ll just have the smoked salmon, Charles,’ she said, not even bothering to open the menu. ‘And perhaps another glass of champagne.’
‘Yes, of course, madam.’
William studied the rows of dishes that gave no hint of their price.
‘And for you, sir?’
‘I’ll just have fish and chips, Charles.’ He couldn’t resist adding, ‘And a half pint of bitter.’