Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

O N THE MORNING OF THE unveiling the chairman, board of directors and senior staff stood in a semicircle admiring the drawing for some time before anyone spoke.

‘How lucky we are,' said Beth, ‘to be able to add such a magnificent example of Rembrandt's work to our collection.'

‘Only made possible,' said a recently appointed board member, ‘because of the remarkable generosity of an anonymous benefactor.'

‘We should raise a glass to them on the night of the unveiling,' suggested Sir Nicholas.

‘Perhaps they'll turn up, unable to resist a peep,' volunteered the keeper of pictures.

‘Only if they are a patron or a friend,' Beth reminded them, ‘otherwise they wouldn't be on the guest list.'

Christina stared at Rembrandt's familiar signature and smiled. How lucky they were to have acquired the drawing as part of the gallery's collection. The provenance of coming from the Duke of Hamilton's estate would leave no one in any doubt it was the original.

‘It surely would have amused Rembrandt to know,' suggested Beth, ‘that we had to raise a million to buy one of his drawings.'

‘Especially when you remember,' said the keeper of pictures, ‘that Rembrandt died a bankrupt.'

‘Any last-minute news from the palace?' asked Beth.

‘Yes,' said Sir Nicholas. ‘I had a call from them this morning. HRH's secretary has confirmed she will be attending the opening at 7 p.m., which means of course 6.59.'

‘A Dutch master to be unveiled by an English royal,' commented the keeper.

‘Right,' said Beth. ‘As there's nothing more we can do, I'm off home to change, but we must all be back on parade before seven.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' they all said in unison.

···

Alan Roberts was standing on the top step of the Fitzmolean patiently waiting. He had received a call earlier that morning, so was expecting them. A van drew up outside the museum and parked a few minutes before five.

Roberts watched as the back door opened and five men dressed in police uniforms jumped out, accompanied by two sniffer dogs, both spaniels.

Alan stepped forward and introduced himself to the sergeant in charge, before leading his little group up the wide staircase to the Rembrandt room on the first floor, where the stage was set for the unveiling later that evening.

On the far wall hung a red velvet curtain with a gold cord attached, waiting to be pulled by Her Royal Highness the Countess of Wessex.

‘If you and your team could wait outside and make sure no one enters the gallery while we do our job,' the sergeant said to Alan, ‘this shouldn't take too long.'

Alan left them to allow the sniffer dogs to go about their task.

Twelve minutes later, the sergeant reappeared and said, ‘All clear, Alan. However, one small problem has arisen, that I feel sure you can help me with.'

‘Of course,' said Alan, as he followed him back into the main gallery.

‘Where does that corridor lead?' asked the sergeant, pointing to the far side of the room.

‘To a fire escape, which is only used in an emergency.'

‘And the three lavatories?'

‘Are for the use of the general public.'

‘Would it be possible, Alan, to lock the ladies' toilet and keep it locked in case HRH needs to use it? It's most unlikely, but just to be on the safe side.'

‘Consider it done,' said Alan, who took out his keyring, selected the master key and locked the door. ‘And I won't unlock it until the principal guest has left,' he said, with an air of authority.

‘Thank you for your cooperation, Alan,' said the sergeant, ‘and as our job is done, we'll be on our way.'

Alan led the search party back down the stairs and out onto the street.

‘I hope the evening will be a great success,' said the sergeant, as his team climbed into the back of the van with the dogs still wagging their tails.

‘How did it go?' asked the driver, when the sergeant joined him in the front.

‘Couldn't have gone better – but then, as you predicted, if you look the part, no one questions you.'

‘Is the ladies' toilet locked?' asked the former Superintendent, as he switched on the ignition and moved off to join the early evening traffic.

‘The head of security will personally make sure it isn't opened again until the Countess has left,' replied the sergeant, as the van came to a halt at the lights. ‘He couldn't have been more cooperative.'

‘Time to call the boss,' said Lamont. He picked up the phone, and the next voice he heard was Miles Faulkner's.

‘Is the ladies' loo locked?' was his only question.

‘Yes, it is,' he replied, as the lights turned green. Lamont switched off the phone, turned left and disappeared out of sight.

···

‘Is everything in place?' asked Booth Watson after Miles had put down the phone.

‘Exactly as we planned,' said Miles.

Booth Watson poured himself a drink. ‘And no one was suspicious?'

‘When five uniformed policemen with sniffer dogs turn up on your doorstep, even the most vigilant security guards fall in line. Lamont even called Roberts in advance to warn him they were on their way.'

‘So, when HRH pulls the cord this evening …'

···

‘I can't make up my mind what to wear for the unveiling,' said Beth as William stepped out of the shower.

‘What's the choice?' he asked as he pulled open his shirt drawer.

‘I'm down to the Gucci blue dress with a white collar that I bought in Milan when we were on holiday, or the Armani classic grey suit that Christina gave me.'

‘I've always liked the blue dress,' said William, as he buttoned up his shirt.

‘But is it the right look for the director of a national gallery when accompanying a member of the royal family?'

‘Then it has to be the grey suit,' he said as he pulled on his trousers.

‘But don't you think it's a bit dull for such a special occasion?'

‘If you say so,' said William as he selected a dark blue suit from the closet, while Beth stood in front of the mirror in her underwear, holding up both outfits.

‘How about the red cashmere suit Christina gave you for your birthday?' suggested William.

‘I wore it for the board meeting last month.'

‘Of course you did,' said William. ‘But then there's the yellow jumpsuit I've always liked.'

‘Not suitable for royalty,' she announced.

William selected a red silk tie from the rack.

‘I think I'll settle for the blue dress.'

‘Good idea,' said William as he tied his tie.

‘But on the other hand …'

‘Well, I'm off,' said William, ‘but I'll let you know how it went, as soon as I get back.'

‘Very funny,' said Beth, as she checked her watch. ‘Hell, is it already six o'clock?'

‘The grey suit,' said William firmly. ‘Not that it matters, because whatever you wear, you'll be the most beautiful woman in the room.'

Beth hung up her grey suit and put on the blue dress. ‘Yes, I think you're right,' she said as she looked at herself in the mirror.

‘My first choice,' William reminded her as he put on his jacket.

Beth turned around, straightened her husband's tie and said, ‘Nice suit, Chief Superintendent.'

‘Got it in an M the museum's director, Dr Beth Warwick; and the chair of the fundraising committee, Mrs Christina Hackensack. They would meet the Countess of Wessex on the steps of the gallery when she arrived at 7 p.m.

Once they'd accompanied Her Royal Highness into the gallery, Beth would introduce the Countess to the greeting party, sometimes known as the line, which would be made up of board members, senior staff and leading benefactors.

After the Countess had been introduced to the line, she would spend a few minutes mingling with the guests before the time came for her to deliver her speech and unveil the Rembrandt drawing. Among the palace's ‘dos and don'ts' were clear instructions that she wouldn't eat or drink anything at any time.

Two outriders followed by a shining limousine appeared outside the Fitzmolean at 6.59 p.m. and Her Royal Highness stepped out as the hour chimed. After she'd had a short chat with the welcoming party, Sir Nicholas led his royal guest into the gallery.

All went to plan, until she reached the end of the line, when Jojo stepped forward and curtsied (she had been practising for several days), before presenting the guest of honour with a bouquet of Countess of Wessex roses.

So far, everything was running smoothly. That was until the Countess asked Jojo, ‘Is Beth your mother?'

‘No, my mummy died,' Jojo said with an honesty only a child can display. ‘But my dad is over there,' she added, pointing to the other side of the room. ‘Would you like to meet him?'

‘Of course, I would,' replied the Countess, as if it was all part of the master plan.

Jojo took her by her hand and guided the principal guest across the room with the chairman and director following a few yards behind in her wake. Ross and Alice, who had been admiring a Jan Steen, worked out what was happening just in time.

‘This is my dad,' said Jojo. ‘He's a Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police.'

‘How nice to meet you, Detective Inspector,' said the Countess.

‘It's nice to meet you, ma'am,' said Ross, who bowed.

But before Beth could move her royal guest on, Jojo said, ‘And this is Alice. She used to be my schoolteacher and now she lives with us.'

Ross, who was rarely embarrassed, was lost for words.

‘I saw you admiring the Jan Steen,' said the Countess, getting them off the hook. ‘He's always been a favourite of mine.'

‘The storyteller of Dutch artists, ma'am,' replied Alice, trying to recover, as Ross grabbed his daughter's hand and didn't let go.

The Hawk couldn't stop laughing as Beth led the Countess away and began introducing her to other guests.

‘What do you find so amusing, Jack?' asked William's father, as he joined the Commander.

‘I never thought I'd live to see the day when Inspector Hogan would be rendered speechless.'

Sir Julian couldn't resist, ‘Then perhaps it's time for you to retire, old fellow.'

‘Perish the thought,' said the Hawk. ‘What would I do all day? I don't have green fingers or play golf, and can't abide those police dramas on afternoon TV, and there are only a certain number of Test matches each year to while away my time. Nevertheless, I have to admit tempus fugit . How about you?'

‘Lawyers never officially retire,' replied Julian. ‘We go on kidding ourselves someone will require our considered opinions on some matter of vital importance, unaware the phone has stopped ringing. Why don't you join me at Lord's for the opening day of the second Test? We can watch Darren Gough try and level the series.'

‘Something to look forward to,' said the Hawk, raising his glass. He looked across at Ross, who was chatting to William, while still keeping a firm grip on Jojo's hand.

‘How did they get invited to the opening?' demanded Ross, glancing across at Faulkner and Booth Watson, who were standing in one corner sipping champagne.

‘Try not to forget,' said William, ‘Faulkner is considered by some to be a patron of the arts, having donated a Rubens to the Fitz some years ago.'

‘In exchange for a lesser sentence,' Ross reminded him with some feeling.

‘Something else you two haven't told me about?' asked Alice.

‘Christina's looking particularly radiant this evening,' said William, quickly changing the subject.

Alice looked across to see Christina and Wilbur chatting to the Countess. ‘She clearly adores her new husband,' she said.

‘And he's a marked improvement on the old one,' commented Ross, without looking in Faulkner's direction.

···

‘Come across anyone who might assist my latest cause?' Miles asked Booth Watson, as they stood apart from the rest of the crowd.

‘Possibly,' said Booth Watson. ‘I think you'll find Ms Eleanor Bates might just prove ideal for what you have in mind.'

‘What are her particular qualifications for the job?' asked Miles.

‘None that I can think of,' admitted Booth Watson, ‘except for the fact she detests your ex-wife as much as you do, and certainly doesn't want her to be the next chair of the Fitzmolean when Sir Nicholas retires.'

‘In which case, she sounds like the ideal candidate.'

‘Then I'd better introduce the two of you before we leave this evening,' said Booth Watson.

Miles glanced around the room. ‘Which one is she?'

‘The lady hovering near the Countess, hoping to be introduced,' said Booth Watson, ‘but I don't think Dr Warwick will oblige her.'

‘An added bonus,' said Miles, as Beth led the Countess up onto the stage, while ignoring Ms Bates.

‘Don't forget to look surprised when you first see the drawing,' said Booth Watson.

···

‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen,' Sir Nicholas began, ‘it's my pleasure, as chairman of the Fitzmolean, to invite the Countess of Wessex to unveil the gallery's latest acquisition, Jacob Wrestling with the Angel , by Rembrandt.'

Warm applause greeted the Countess as she approached the microphone. She glanced down at her notes.

‘What a real pleasure it is to be with you all this evening.' She paused, looked up and said, ‘That's the opening line of almost every speech I make, the only change being morning for afternoon or evening,' she confessed, which brought laughter and a ripple of applause. ‘But I will let you into a little secret,' she continued, abandoning her script. ‘I first visited the Fitzmolean as a child with my mother, and fell in love with the Dutch school. An affair that has lasted for the past twenty years. So it's wonderful that, thanks to the generosity of so many people, not least one particular donor who wishes to remain anonymous, that the museum has been able to obtain this important masterpiece, which has the rare distinction of being signed by the master.'

The Countess had to pause as loud applause followed.

‘I would also like to thank the gallery's director, Dr Beth Warwick, whose reputation has grown over the years and rightly goes far beyond these walls, ensuring that the Fitzmolean is now justly considered to be among the leading museums in the capital.'

‘Not for much longer,' whispered Miles, who was standing at the back of the gathering; but only Booth Watson heard the comment.

‘So, it gives me considerable pleasure to unveil …' Her hand edged towards a gold cord, but at the last minute she paused once again before saying, ‘I do hope there's a Rembrandt behind there, because quite recently I was invited to Plymouth to unveil a statue of Sir Francis Drake only to find, when I pulled the cord, it was Sir Walter Raleigh staring down at me.'

Laughter broke out as she pulled the cord, followed by a tumultuous burst of applause when the guests saw the Angel for the first time.

Beth happily joined in the applause, but when she turned to take a closer look at the unique drawing, she immediately sensed something was missing. She took a second look and stopped applauding, but it wasn't until her gaze reached the bottom of the picture that she realized what that something was.

How could it be possible, was her first reaction, when only hours before she'd seen the original being hung by the keeper of pictures before she went home to change. She looked down at the keeper, who'd also stopped applauding and turned ashen grey. He was staring at Beth in disbelief, a puzzled look on his face.

The enthusiastic reception continued unabated until first one and then another of the guests began whispering among themselves, until finally the whispers became louder and louder as they all realized it was Rembrandt's signature that was missing and they were looking at a fake.

Beth became painfully aware that the guests were no longer staring at the drawing, but at her, as they waited for an explanation. She didn't have one. She glanced across at the Countess who had somehow managed to retain an air of professional dignity, even if she wasn't sure what she was expected to do next. A freelance photographer began snapping away, aware this might be one of those rare occasions when he would see his work on the front page of every national newspaper.

William's first reaction was to look across at Miles Faulkner, who greeted him with a warm smile followed by a mock salute. William couldn't hide his anger and began thumping the side of his leg with a clenched fist. He wanted to march across the room and arrest the damn man. Even though they both knew who the guilty party was, what offence could he charge him with? Suspicion wasn't proof.

The Countess remained rooted to the spot, while attempting to look composed.

Sir Nicholas made an instant decision. ‘Perhaps I should accompany you back to your car, ma'am,' he said to the royal visitor as the freelance cameraman kept on flashing to capture the not-so-triumphant moment.

The guest of honour seemed quite willing to take the chairman's advice, and quickly followed Sir Nicholas across the crowded room and down the grand staircase, pursued by the pack of journalists who no longer had a cosy ‘royal unveiling' piece to file, but a lead story that would remove any other headlines planned earlier that day.

William's eyes never left Miles. He was chatting to a board member, whose name he couldn't remember. Booth Watson looked on, the only three people in the room who were smiling.

When the Countess left the room, William quickly pursued the royal party as they made their way down the wide staircase.

Once they were out on the street, the Countess climbed into the back of her waiting car and was whisked away. The cameras didn't stop flashing until the car had turned the corner and they were out of sight.

William turned around and headed back inside to find the entrance hall full of puzzled chattering guests, who were making their way out of the museum. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Miles Faulkner standing at the foot of the staircase.

William clenched a fist, but didn't raise it.

‘If I might be allowed to give you a word of advice, Chief Superintendent,' said Miles, ‘I'd tell your wife to go and spend a penny.'

William turned around, ran back up the stairs and into the gallery to find Beth standing alone on the stage, her eyes still fixed on the Angel . She was loath to admit it was an outstanding copy, which would have fooled most onlookers.

‘I think I know where the original is,' whispered William, as he joined his wife on the stage.

‘On the other side of the world by now,' suggested his wife, barely audible.

‘Or perhaps it's closer than we think.' William looked across the room to see Alan Roberts standing in the corridor, about to unlock the door to the ladies' toilet.

William jumped off the stage, ran across the gallery and reached the open door just as an elderly lady was about to go in. He barged in front of her and quickly went inside.

‘What a rude man,' said the lady, as the door was slammed in her face.

The first thing William saw, sitting proudly atop the toilet, was Rembrandt's Angel , the master's signature clearly visible for all to see. He lifted the Angel carefully from her place, opened the door and stepped back out into the corridor. He was relieved to see that almost all the guests had departed, except for Christina, who was on the stage trying to comfort Beth.

Beth stared in disbelief as William walked up onto the stage clutching the drawing. ‘Where was it?' she asked.

‘In the ladies' loo,' he replied.

Without another word William and Christina replaced the copy with the original, while Beth watched in disbelief.

‘How did you know where it was?' she asked quietly.

‘The person who put it there told me,' said William, ‘and if I can identify the forger, I'll have them both behind bars before the end of the week.'

‘Why bother?' said Beth. ‘He's achieved what he set out to do.'

‘But the Angel 's now back in place,' said Christina, ‘and as she never left the building, what harm has been done?'

‘No more and no less than he intended,' said Beth quietly. ‘A missing masterpiece that ended up in the loo. A member of the royal family unveiling a copy in front of the museum's most important guests – what more could he want? Faulkner was well aware the story would end up on the front page of every national paper in the morning, leaving me with no choice but to resign.'