“You can send it to me at the Dorchester tomorrow morning, room 120.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Stephen started to leave.
“Excuse me, sir,?
?? said Robin, “can I take the spelling of your name?”
“D.R.O.S.S.E.R.”
“And may I have permission to quote you in my article?”
“You may. I am with my purchase very pleased. Good day, gentlemen.”
Stephen bowed his head smartly, and departed. He stepped out into Bond Street and to the horror of Jean-Pierre, Robin and James, Harvey, without a moment’s hesitation also walked out.
Jean-Pierre collapsed heavily on his Georgian mahogany desk and looked despairingly at Robin and James.
“God Almighty, the whole thing’s a fiasco. Six weeks of preparation, three days of agony, and then he walks out on us.” Jean-Pierre looked at La Moisson angrily.
“I thought Stephen assured us that Harvey would stay and bargain with Jean-Pierre. It’s in his character,” mimicked James plaintively. “He’d never let the picture out of his sight.”
“Who the hell thought up this bloody silly enterprise?” muttered Robin.
“Stephen,” they all cried together, and rushed to the window.
“What an interesting maquette by Henry Moore,” said an impeccably corseted middle-aged lady, her hand firmly placed on the bronze loin of a naked acrobat. She had slipped unnoticed into the gallery while the three had been grumbling. “How much are you asking for it?”
“I will be with you in a minute, madam,” said Jean-Pierre. “Oh hell, I think Metcalfe’s following Stephen. Get him on the pocket radio, Robin.”
“Stephen, can you hear me? Whatever you do, don’t look back. We think Harvey’s only a few yards behind you.”
“What the hell do you mean he’s only a few yards behind me? He’s meant to be in the gallery with you buying the Van Gogh. What are you all playing at?”
“Harvey didn’t give us a chance. He walked straight out after you before any of us could continue as planned.”
“Very clever. Now what am I meant to do?”
Jean-Pierre took over:
“You’d better go to the Dorchester just in case he is actually following you.”
“I don’t even know where the Dorchester is,” yelped Stephen.
Robin came to his rescue:
“Take the first right, Stephen, and that’ll bring you into Bruton Street; keep walking as straight as you can until you reach Berkeley Square. Stay on the line, but don’t look back or you may turn into a pillar of salt.”
“James,” said Jean-Pierre, thinking on his feet not for the first time in his life. “You take a taxi immediately to the Dorchester and book room 120 in the name of Drosser. Have the key ready for Stephen the moment he walks through the door, then make yourself scarce. Stephen, are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear all that?”
“Yes. Tell James to book 119 or 121 if 120 is not available.”
“Roger,” replied Jean-Pierre. “Get going, James.”