Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

B ETH WAS WEARING THE SAME suit, the same shoes and carrying the same handbag as she had on the day of her interview three years before as director of the Fitzmolean.

The chairman of the board, Sir Nicholas Fenwick, had made it clear before he asked Beth to attend the meeting and answer a few questions, that she had his whole-hearted support and considered the interview to be no more than a formality before she returned to her desk and got on with the job. The last thing he wanted, he confided in her, was to be looking for a new director just before he retired.

‘However,' he warned her, ‘a couple of members of the board' – Beth knew exactly who they were – ‘have called for a full inquiry as to how it was possible for the Angel to have been removed from the gallery only to end up perched on the lid of a toilet in the ladies' loo during a royal visit.'

Beth had told the chairman she felt he'd been left with no choice but to instigate a full inquiry and was happy to answer any questions the board might throw at her.

Sir Nicholas asked her to remain outside in the corridor until she was called. ‘We shouldn't keep you for more than a few minutes,' he'd assured her before he disappeared back into the boardroom.

Beth was surprised by how long they kept her waiting, and began to speculate on what they could possibly be discussing behind closed doors. She and William had endlessly gone over the questions she was likely to be asked and the answers she should give, and although the Rembrandt drawing had been safely back in place for over a week, the press interest had not diminished, only confirmed by the dozen journalists who were waiting downstairs in the lobby like jackals to hear the outcome of the meeting. The chairman had already told them to expect a short statement and hinted they should anticipate the board's unanimous support for their outstanding director. Not what they wanted to hear.

While she waited, Beth thought about her last three years in office when, as the arts correspondent of The Times had suggested, the gallery's reputation had gone from strength to strength under her leadership. But she recalled Dr Henry Kissinger's words, reputations can take years to build, only to be shattered in a moment. Was she facing that moment?

Beth knew she was by nature a glass half-empty person, while her husband was a glass half-full individual. William could not have been more supportive, although she gathered that his efforts to bring Faulkner to justice weren't exactly going smoothly, bearing in mind he was facing his own problems which he continually downplayed. But Beth knew it wasn't quite that simple, and his chances of succeeding the Hawk as Commander in a year's time had suffered a setback from which it wouldn't be easy to recover. ‘No smoke without fire' was an easy flag to hoist up the flagpole of ambition by those colleagues who had their own agendas. His team's loyalty was never in any doubt, and Ross – a one hundred per cent glass-full person – let anyone know who cared to listen that this was nothing more than a vendetta against a first-class director who was simply doing her job. A points victory for Faulkner, but not a knockout.

But Beth accepted her fate was still in the balance, however much William had tried to persuade her otherwise.

Beth had already withdrawn her name from the shortlist to be the next director of Tate. As her father continually reminded her, loyalty is a two-way street.

The boardroom door opened.

‘Would you be kind enough to join us, Dr Warwick?' asked the company secretary, not displaying his usual relaxed demeanour. She couldn't help thinking he hadn't called her Dr Warwick for years.

Beth followed him into the boardroom to find the members sitting in a semicircle around a single upright chair. She took her place, feeling a little like the young prince in Yeames's iconic painting, And When Did You Last See Your Father? Christina greeted her with a warm smile.

‘Thank you for joining us, Dr Warwick,' said the chairman. ‘We would like to ask you a few questions concerning the removal of Rembrandt's Angel , and its most fortuitous recovery so quickly afterwards. One or two members of the board felt it was nothing less than our statutory duty to try and establish what exactly happened that evening, so that we can prevent a similar incident taking place in the future. As you will know,' continued the chairman, ‘we've already interviewed Alan Roberts, the museum's head of security. The board have concluded that he carried out the correct procedure in the circumstances and had no way of knowing that the people carrying out the inspection earlier in the day were not police officers.'

‘As director, I fully endorse that judgement,' said Beth, feeling on safe ground, ‘and also consider it right that the board are taking this matter seriously, as there are questions that still need to be answered.'

‘That's most helpful, Dr Warwick,' said Sir Nicholas. ‘So I'll start by asking you where you were when the switch took place.'

‘I had gone home to change in preparation for the unveiling.'

‘So you weren't even in the building when the switch occurred?'

‘That's correct, Chairman. When I returned, Alan Roberts told me about the police inspection that had taken place during my absence, which I assumed was standard practice whenever a member of the royal family makes an official visit.'

‘So, like me, when the drawing was unveiled you had no reason to believe anything unusual was about to take place,' said the chairman, lobbing up another slow ball.

‘No,' said Beth. ‘The preparations for the unveiling had gone smoothly. In fact, I even checked the cord was working before I went home.'

‘And I presume,' said the chairman, ‘at that time the Angel with Rembrandt's signature was still in place.'

‘She most certainly was,' said Beth. ‘In fact, I spent a few moments admiring the drawing before closing the curtain.'

‘Thank you, Dr Warwick. Now I will hand over to my colleagues, who I know have some questions.'

A board member seated at one end of the semicircle immediately raised a hand.

‘Ms Bates,' said the chairman.

Beth wasn't surprised that Ms Bates wanted to ask the first question. They had crossed swords several times in the past, and she had made no secret of wanting to succeed Sir Nicholas as chairman of the board when he retired in the autumn, which was one of the reasons Beth had allowed her name to go forward for director of Tate. And she hadn't been surprised when William told her he'd seen Miles Faulkner deep in conversation with Ms Bates only moments after the unveiling had taken place.

‘Do you, by any chance, know who was responsible for the switch, Dr Warwick?' was her opening salvo.

‘No, I do not, Ms Bates,' replied Beth firmly.

‘It's just that it all conveniently took place while you were at home.'

‘What are you implying, Ms Bates?' demanded the chairman.

‘I wasn't implying anything, Sir Nicholas. However, I will reword my question, if you think it would help. Do you have your suspicions as to who it might have been?'

‘No,' repeated Beth, not sounding quite so convincing.

‘Despite the fact that your husband, Chief Superintendent Warwick, has been put in charge of the inquiry?'

‘We avoid discussing work at home.'

‘Perhaps, on this occasion, it might have been wise for you to do so, to quote one of your favourite expressions, given the circumstances.'

‘I did what I thought was best at the time, Ms Bates. Unlike some, I have not been blessed with hindsight.' Beth immediately regretted her words. She could hear William saying, if you're provoked, remain calm, and whatever you do, don't rise. She had risen like a soufflé.

‘Would you like to ask a question, Mr Davis?' said the chairman, wanting to move on, aware that Davis was a great admirer of Beth's.

‘Thank you, chairman,' said Davis. ‘Remembering that the drawing was back in place within an hour, and the gallery has been experiencing record numbers for the past week, can I ask if there have been any other repercussions since?'

‘I do hope, Chairman,' interjected Ms Bates before Beth could reply, ‘that Mr Davis isn't condoning theft, as long as it increases our footfall.'

‘I didn't say that,' snapped Davis.

‘Perhaps we should allow the director to answer the question,' suggested the chairman.

‘I would be the first to admit,' responded Beth, ‘that the unfortunate experience the Fitzmolean suffered on the night of the unveiling has not enhanced the gallery's reputation, even if it has increased its visitor numbers.'

‘I couldn't agree more,' said Ms Bates, a little too loudly.

‘However,' continued Beth, ignoring the comment, ‘among the hundreds of messages I have received during the past few days, the vast majority have been supportive, and I feel sure the board will be interested to learn that among them was a charming letter from the Countess of Wessex, asking if I would be kind enough to show her children around the gallery in the near future.'

Ms Bates remained silent, while the chairman couldn't resist the suggestion of a smile.

Another hand rose.

‘Lady Morland,' said the chairman, unsure which side of the argument the eccentric old lady would support.

‘Allow me to ask you a question, if I may,' said Lady Morland sweetly, ‘do you think the switch of our latest acquisition might have been prevented if you had not been the director?'

This even took the chairman by surprise. Beth considered the question for some time before she said, ‘I'm not sure what you're getting at, Lady Morland.'

‘I think you know exactly what I'm getting at, Dr Warwick, but allow me to put it another way: some journalists have been hinting that the whole incident was personal and would not have happened if you hadn't been the director.'

‘The gutter press,' said Christina, coming to Beth's aid.

‘Nevertheless,' continued Lady Morland, ‘if you were to remain as director, do you consider there's a possibility that an incident like this might occur again?'

Beth could hear William saying, if you're in a hole, stop digging.

‘I think it most unlikely,' said Beth, ‘but I suppose it's just possible.' She could sense that the mood in the room was changing.

‘Are there any more questions?' asked the chairman, hoping not.

‘One last question, if I may, Sir Nicholas,' said the company secretary. ‘I read in The Guardian that you've been shortlisted for the post of director of Tate. Is that correct?'

‘It was at the time,' admitted Beth, ‘but I have since withdrawn my name.'

‘Voluntarily?'

‘That was uncalled for, Ms Bates,' said the chairman – a sentiment that was accompanied by muffled hear, hears, which Christina took advantage of.

‘Dr Warwick,' she said, ‘can you remind the board how many more people have visited the gallery since you became director three years ago?'

‘We've had around two hundred thousand extra visitors,' reported Beth, ‘over half of whom were children.'

‘Am I also right in thinking,' continued Christina before she could be interrupted, ‘that those increased numbers have helped us make a small profit for the first time?'

‘Greatly assisted by our conscientious finance director.'

‘Who you appointed, if I remember correctly,' said Christina. ‘And it was also on your watch that we raised enough money to secure Rembrandt's Angel and save it for the nation.'

‘Made possible by a single generous donation of a quarter of a million pounds from an anonymous donor,' interrupted Ms Bates.

Beth wondered for the first time if Ms Bates knew who the anonymous donor was. She had always assumed it must be Wilbur Hackensack. She looked directly at Christina, whose head was bowed.

‘If there are no more questions,' said the chairman, fearing the exchange between the two women was becoming a little too acrimonious, ‘perhaps I can ask our director to step outside for a moment, as I feel confident we can deal with this matter expeditiously.'

‘Thank you, Chairman,' said Beth before she rose, left the room and returned to her seat in the dock.

In truth, Beth would have preferred to be a fly on the boardroom wall so she could listen to the exchanges taking place – exchanges that took another forty minutes before the door finally opened and the chairman reappeared with a large smile on his face.

‘I know you'll be pleased to hear, Beth, that the board have given you a vote of confidence and wish you to continue as our director.'

‘Was it unanimous?' asked Beth.

The chairman hesitated for a moment before he said, ‘I have to admit there were a couple of abstentions.'

‘Only two?' pressed Beth.

‘Well …'

‘So, what was the final vote?' asked Beth.

The chairman didn't reply immediately, as if he were searching for the appropriate words.

‘It will be recorded in the minutes for all to see, Chairman,' Beth reminded him, ‘so I'm bound to find out eventually.'

‘The board voted four to three in your favour with three abstentions.'

‘But there were only nine board members present at the meeting,' Beth reminded him.

‘True,' said the chairman a little uneasily, ‘but when the tally was three all, and I couldn't budge any of the three abstainers, I used my casting vote in your favour.'

‘For which I will be eternally grateful, Nicholas, but four–three with you delivering the casting vote can hardly be described as overwhelming.'

‘But this will all blow over in a few days, Beth. Meanwhile, you can get on with what you do best – running the Fitz.'

‘It's kind of you to say so, Nicholas, but we both know that's not realistic in the long term. The gallery has to be managed by someone whose authority is never in doubt. You don't need a wounded director whose decisions the board could question and, therefore, might have to resign at a moment's notice.' Beth tried not to show any emotion as she said, ‘No, the wisest course of action for me to take as director – and you know it – is to resign so that you can move on with someone fresh at the helm.'