Nothing Ventured

The head waiter whisked away their plates while the wine waiter poured Mrs Faulkner another glass of champagne.

‘But what about Makins? He won’t just sit back and watch while you pack up all your husband’s paintings.’

‘Makins is spending Christmas with his daughter and son-in-law in the Lake District, and won’t be returning until January 2nd, by which time I’ll be in New York, removing the paintings from our apartment on Fifth Avenue. A couple of Rothkos, a Warhol and a magnificent Rauschenberg among them.’

‘But he’ll come after you.’

‘I don’t think so, because my final destination will be a country where he is persona non grata, and would be arrested even before he reached passport control. I must admit, I had several to choose from.’

‘You do realize that everything you’ve just told me will be repeated word for word to Commander Hawksby?’

‘I was rather hoping you’d say that.’ She touched William’s hand gently, before adding, ‘I don’t know about you, darling, but I’m ready to look at the dessert menu.’

‘Do you think there’s any chance that she might be on the level?’ asked Lamont after William had delivered a blow-by-blow account of his lunch with Mrs Faulkner.

‘Possibly,’ said Hawksby, ‘although I wouldn’t bet on it. But as long as Mike Harrison’s down under keeping an eye on Faulkner, there’s not a lot we can do about it until she invites William to join her in Monte Carlo.’

‘What makes you think she’ll do that?’ asked William.

‘Because the Rembrandt’s too hot for her to handle, and she also realizes it’s her one chance of keeping us on side. My bet is she won’t be in touch with you again for at least a couple of weeks, by which time Carter should have been arrested and the memory of that disastrous night in Surrey might just have faded a little.’

The phone on the commander’s desk rang. ‘Commander Hawksby.’

‘Good afternoon, sir. It’s Lieutenant Monti. I thought I’d give you a call and bring you up to date on what’s been happening at our end.’

‘I appreciate that, lieutenant,’ said Hawksby, switching on the intercom so William could hear the conversation.

‘As you know, Carter has submitted a claim to the Italian Naval Office for fifty per cent of the value of the cob coins, which he’s telling the press are worth around seven hundred thousand pounds.’

‘Which would be a fair price if they had originated from Madrid around 1649, rather than Barnstaple in 1985.’

‘A specimen coin has been sent to the Museum of Ancient Artefacts in Florence to be examined by their professor of numismatics. I expect to have his report on my desk in a few days’ time.’

‘He’s certain to dismiss the coin as bogus,’ said Hawksby.

‘Bogus?’

‘Not the real thing.’

‘I agree, sir,’ said Monti. ‘And the moment he does, all I will need is an extradition order so you can arrest Carter and Grant when they set foot back in England.’

‘What are those two up to at the moment?’

‘They’re staying at the Albergo Del Senato hotel, waiting to hear the expert’s opinion.’

‘That’ll cost them an arm and a leg,’ said Hawksby.

‘How appropriate,’ added William.

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Monti.

‘In the sixteenth century, Italian portrait painters would paint your head and shoulders for an agreed set sum, but if you wanted a full-length portrait, it would cost you an arm and a leg.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Monti.

Hawksby didn’t look fascinated. ‘Call me the moment the professor’s report lands on your desk.’

‘Will do, sir.’