Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

B OOTH W ATSON ROSE EARLIER THAN usual that morning, as he needed to be in Cadogan Square by eight o'clock. He felt sure Miles would have had breakfast long before then, read the papers, opened his mail and be waiting for him … impatiently.

Although he'd left his flat in Middle Temple in good time, and the taxi dropped him off in Cadogan Square with nine minutes to spare, he could see Miles sitting in the back of his car reading the Financial Times . He paid the fare and asked the cabbie for a receipt.

‘I've been doing some research,' Miles said, not bothering with a ‘good morning' as Booth Watson joined him in the back of the car. ‘The acknowledged authority on Jefferson is a Professor Saul Rosenberg, whose book Monticello confirms that the third president did write a Fair Copy of the Declaration of Independence including two extra clauses – one concerning the emancipation of slaves, while the other spelt out the details of America's relationship with King George III once it became an independent nation.'

‘And if the Hartleys are in possession of the original handwritten Fair Copy …'

‘It is, to quote Rosenberg, priceless.'

‘I wonder if Lady Hartley knows that,' said Booth Watson.

‘If she does, it will have been a wasted trip,' replied Miles, as Collins drove out onto the M4. ‘Still, I'm bound to admit, if it is the missing Fair Copy, and we can get our hands on it, it will be a double bonus for you.'

‘A double bonus,' repeated Booth Watson suspiciously.

‘Yes. Thanks to your "no comeback" clause in my divorce settlement, I've finally got Christina off my back.'

‘Eleven B, little c,' said Booth Watson, sounding rather pleased with himself, ‘which states that should Christina marry again, you will automatically be released from all your present financial obligations, which have happily been passed on to one Wilbur T. Hackensack III.'

‘Let's hope he got her to sign a prenup,' said Miles.

‘Not according to the Mail he didn't,' said Booth Watson.

‘Then he's about to find out that Christina will come up with expenses that would make a politician blush.'

‘Perhaps she's keeping him happy,' mused Booth Watson, ‘and he doesn't care. And I can tell you someone else who doesn't care, because she's also got in on the act.'

‘Who?' demanded Miles, turning to face his legal adviser.

‘None other than Mrs Beth Warwick, who I'm told will be returning as director of the Fitzmolean if Christina becomes chair, making your little coup with Rembrandt's A ngel somewhat short-lived. However, you'll be pleased to hear I've come up with a strategy that should kill two birds with one stone.'

Miles listened carefully as Booth Watson outlined his plan.

‘I think you're going to have to pay another visit to Ms Bates,' was Miles's immediate response. ‘It's already in my diary,' said Booth Watson as they passed Bucklebury parish church, before turning left and proceeding down a long drive to see Hartley Hall looming up in front of them. Collins brought the car to a halt outside the handsome Elizabethan mansion.

Miles was the first to get out of the car, and the front door was opened even before he'd reached it. Lady Hartley's first mistake.

She greeted both her guests with a warm smile, before saying, ‘How kind of you to take the trouble to come all this way, Mr Faulkner.'

‘It's not a trouble, Lady Hartley, but a pleasure,' declared Miles with the sincerity of a canvassing politician.

‘Please come in,' she said. ‘I've made you both a cup of tea.'

‘How kind of you,' said Miles as he followed her into the house. ‘Of course, I've been following your son's disgraceful treatment at the hands of the Saudis with considerable interest. Not least because I was educated at the same alma mater as your late husband.'

Lady Hartley seemed to relax when she heard this news and led her guests into the drawing room.

‘Mr Booth Watson, my distinguished advocate,' continued Miles, ‘has briefed me on your present situation, and I wanted you to know that if there is anything I can do to help, I am at your service.'

‘How considerate of you,' said Lady Hartley. ‘And if only Simon were here …'

‘But sadly, he is not, so we must try to do what he would have considered to be in your best interests,' said Booth Watson, as Miles's eyes settled on Constable's The Old Mill at Bucklebury that was hanging above the mantelpiece. He had to admit it appeared to be a fine example of the master's work.

‘Of course, I will be sad to have to part with the Hartley Constable,' said her ladyship as she sat down, ‘as it's been in our family for seven generations, but as my dear mother used to say, needs must when the devil is driving, and I think that particular devil is about to enter our gates.'

‘And should you decide you would reluctantly have to part with the painting,' said Miles, ‘I wondered if you had a price in mind?'

‘The vicar told me that a Constable had recently changed hands at auction for five hundred thousand pounds,' she replied, ‘so he felt that would be a reasonable price.'

‘If you were to sell the picture on the open market, Lady Hartley, I think you will find the auction houses add twenty-five per cent to the hammer price, while a dealer would expect an even larger share, so I suspect four hundred thousand is in fact a more realistic price.'

‘And the rest of the collection?' asked Lady Hartley, looking hopeful.

Miles's trained eye swept slowly around the room. A decent enough William Russell Flint of two ladies sitting by a swimming pool, a Brabazon Brabazon of Marrakesh, and a Bernard Dunstan of Hartley Hall. But nothing that would cause an auctioneer to delay proceedings for any length of time.

‘I have to admit, Lady Hartley, it's a fine collection, but I am not an art dealer, just an enthusiastic collector whose walls are already full, so my only interest would be in the Constable.'

‘Then I fear, Mr Faulkner, you've had a wasted journey, because I couldn't let the Constable go for less than five hundred thousand pounds.'

Booth Watson came in bang on cue, ‘When I last visited you, Lady Hartley, I spotted a copy' – he emphasized the word ‘copy' – ‘of the Declaration of Independence hanging in your husband's study.'

‘That's correct,' said Lady Hartley, after a moment's consideration. ‘Something else that has been passed down from generation to generation, but I confess it's nothing more than a family heirloom of little value.'

Words that sang in Miles's ear.

‘But … if you'd like to see it?'

‘May as well while we're here,' said Miles, trying to look less than enthusiastic.

Lady Hartley rose from her chair, led them back out of the room and along the corridor to her husband's study.

While Booth Watson continued to chat to Lady Hartley about her husband's distinguished career, Miles took a closer look at the framed Declaration that was hanging on the wall in the late Lord Hartley's study. One glance and he was fairly certain it wasn't a printed copy, but handwritten, but written by whom? A scribe, a secretary, or might it possibly be Jefferson himself? He stared at the signature and wondered if it could be genuine. There was only going to be one way of finding out, and that would mean taking a punt.

‘How interesting,' said Miles, ‘and although I have no idea of its value, I would be happy to take it off your hands. In fact, if you felt able to part with both the Constable and the Declaration, I would be willing to pay the five hundred thousand you need, to solve your financial difficulties. I hope your husband would approve.'

‘He would have been overwhelmed by your generosity, Mr Faulkner,' said Lady Hartley. She hesitated, before adding, ‘Please allow me to return that generosity in kind.' She walked across to her husband's desk, pulled open the bottom drawer and extracted a number of handwritten letters, which she handed over to Miles. ‘These letters were written by Thomas Jefferson to his friend David Hartley MP over two hundred years ago and I should like you to have them.'

‘How kind of you.' Miles passed the letters over to Booth Watson, as if he were a lady-in-waiting receiving a bunch of flowers from a member of the Royal Family. Booth Watson checked Thomas Jefferson's signature on the bottom of each of the letters, while Miles stood by Lord Hartley's desk and said, ‘May I?' He then took out his cheque book.

‘Of course,' said Lady Hartley, who glanced at a framed photograph of her late husband being knighted by the Queen. Miles took a seat at Lord Hartley's desk, before he wrote out a cheque for ￡500,000, signed it and handed it over to a willing seller.

‘You are a knight in shining armour,' Lady Hartley said as she studied the cheque, her hand trembling. Not an image Booth Watson had ever considered. Without another word, she led her two guests back into the drawing room and poured them a second cup of tea.

‘I'll draw up a contract as soon as I return to my chambers,' said Booth Watson.

‘Thank you,' said Lady Hartley.

‘May I ask my driver to put both works in the back of the car?' Miles enquired as Lady Hartley handed him the cup.

‘Of course,' said Lady Hartley, while offering Booth Watson a digestive biscuit.

After Collins had lifted the Constable off the wall, Lady Hartley looked up at the blank space in front of her, sighed and said, ‘I shall miss it.'

‘Of course you will, dear lady,' said Miles, ‘and if you want to change your mind …'

‘No, no,' she replied, while quickly placing the cheque in her handbag.

Miles glanced at his watch. ‘I do hope you'll forgive me, Lady Hartley, but I ought to be getting back to London, before I change my mind.'

Lady Hartley laughed nervously as she got up and led her guests out of the room and along the corridor to the front door.

‘Mr Booth Watson, you could not have done more,' she said as she opened the front door. ‘You must be sure to send me your account.'

‘Certainly not,' protested Booth Watson. ‘I have only played a minor part in assisting your cause, which is no more than a repayment for my debt to your late husband for all the good advice he gave me over so many years.'

‘How kind of you to say so,' said Lady Hartley as Collins placed the Declaration and the Constable in the boot of the car before returning to his place behind the wheel.

Lady Hartley remained standing by the front door, waving farewell, and didn't move until the Rolls was out of sight. She then went back into the house, closed the door, and returned to her husband's study.

She paused for a moment to look at the faded square on the wall where the Declaration had hung for the past two hundred years. She finally turned around to be greeted with her husband receiving his knighthood from the Queen.

‘Do you think, John,' she said, staring down at the framed photo of her husband, ‘I should have told the kind gentlemen why our version of the Declaration of Independence wasn't mine to sell?'

‘And while you're at it, Sybil,' came back a voice ringing in her ears, ‘perhaps you should also have told him the truth about the Constable.'

Lady Hartley felt ashamed, but the feeling didn't last for long.

···

‘I think we should be making a move,' said Alice, glancing towards Ross. ‘We promised the babysitter we'd be back before eleven.'

‘And we'd better check that the twins haven't burnt down the house in our absence,' said Beth. ‘Or worse, had a rave party.'

Christina laughed. ‘When did they become so grown up?'

‘Overnight! But, thank you for another fantastic evening,' said Beth, giving her friend and her new husband both a warm hug. ‘You're such generous hosts.'

‘I'm an American,' replied Wilbur. ‘It's the way we've always treated the English – except during the War of Independence.'

Wilbur went to fetch their coats while Ross, Alice and William followed him. Beth hung back.

‘Well?' she asked conspiratorially. ‘Are you really going to stand for chair of the Fitzmolean?'

Christina left her friend in suspense for a few moments before saying, ‘I submitted my name yesterday – and if I do become chair, my first executive decision will be to reappoint you as the director of the Fitz – that is, if you'd be willing to come back?'

‘Of course I would,' said Beth without hesitation.

‘Thank heavens for that,' said Christina. ‘As I couldn't hope to do the job without you.'

‘And so say all of us,' said Wilbur as they joined them in the hall.

‘Another executive decision made in my absence,' said William, as he helped his wife on with her coat.

···

Artemisia and Peter sat at home on the bedroom floor studying several leaflets.

‘The protest march will take place in Whitehall on the day the Saudi Minister of Defence visits London for talks with the Prime Minister,' said Artemisia.

Peter only had to read a couple of pages of the Rallying Call before he proclaimed, ‘You're right, we shouldn't be making deals with countries that don't even give women the vote.'

‘And Mum certainly wouldn't have been allowed to run a national gallery,' said Artemisia.

‘They don't have a national gallery to manage,' said Peter, after turning the page of another leaflet. ‘Just offices where women are expected to be secretaries and cleaners, and they can't even drive to work on their eight-lane highways as they're not permitted to have a driving licence.'

‘And more important, Simon Hartley is still in prison for a murder he didn't commit, and worse,' continued Artemisia, turning a page of one of the leaflets, ‘Prince Ahmed, a member of the Royal Family, is the one who should be locked up.'

‘I'm not sure Dad will be happy if we …' said Peter, ‘and Mum's got enough problems of her own at the moment.'

‘There's no reason for them to find out,' said Artemisia, placing a finger over her lips as the front door opened.

‘Quick,' said Artemisia. ‘We have to be in bed, before one of them comes upstairs.'

Peter bolted.

···

Faulkner was on time for a change, and after the briefest of greetings, took the seat on the other side of Booth Watson's desk.

‘Given the circumstances,' said Booth Watson, ‘I considered it prescient to draw up a contract of ownership, so there could be no misunderstanding at a later date.'

Miles had to agree with his lawyer's judgement, when he realized just how much Jefferson's Fair Copy of the Declaration might be worth.

‘Once the document had been notarized,' continued Booth Watson, ‘I paid a second visit to Lady Hartley at her home in Bucklebury. She happily signed all three copies of the agreement – one of which she retained. Incidentally, she couldn't stop singing your praises, even though it might well turn out to be her Nunc Dimittis when she discovers what she's let go of for a mere bagatelle, which is precisely why I wanted to make sure everything was legal and above board. The last thing we need is a vexatious litigant pursuing you at some time in the future.'

‘What's there to dispute?' asked Miles. ‘It was a deal agreed by both parties and signed in good faith with a QC present.'

‘It was indeed,' said Booth Watson, ‘but unfortunately a complication has arisen.'

‘What kind of complication?' demanded Miles.

‘It concerns the letters Jefferson wrote to Hartley over the years, and one in particular.'

‘But she gave them to me as a gift,' said Miles, not wanting to admit he hadn't read them.

‘Five of them are of little interest, other than to historians of that period.'

‘But clearly that doesn't apply to the sixth.'

‘I'm afraid not,' said Booth Watson, ‘because should you decide to sell the Declaration, that particular letter will cause you an insurmountable problem to which I can find no obvious solution.' Booth Watson opened the file on his desk, extracted the uncompromising letter and handed it across to his client. It didn't take more than one reading for Miles to work out what the insurmountable problem was.

He read the letter a second time.

H?tel de Langeac

Paris

August 11th, 1787

Dear Mr Hartley,

I hope you will grant me your permission to impose upon your time by allowing me to send you my Fair Copy of the Declaration of Independence, which I earlier delivered to Congress for their consideration. You will see that it includes the two clauses you and I discussed in London, namely the abolition of slavery and our future relationship with King George III once we become an independent nation. Copies were made by my friend and colleague Benjamin Franklin and distributed among interested parties. Much to my dismay, when members of Congress divided, both clauses were rejected. However, I would not want you to think I had not taken to heart your wise and sound counsel and tried to convince my fellow congressmen of the merit of your judgement.

Once you have had a proper chance to peruse the Fair Copy at your leisure, perhaps you would be kind enough, in the fullness of time, to return it to me. I thought you would want to know that it is my intention to bequeath this memento to the Nation in order that future generations of Americans might fully appreciate what the founding fathers were trying to achieve, and not least the role you played. I look forward to hearing from you at some time in the future, and be assured of my sincere esteem and respect.

I remain, your most obedient and humble servant,

Thomas Jefferson

‘Then why didn't he return the Declaration to his "old friend"?' asked Miles.

‘Your guess is as good as anybody's,' replied Booth Watson. ‘Although I suspect the answer to that question has been lost in the mists of time. Once Congress had approved the wording of a final document that didn't include the two added clauses in the Fair Copy, it might no longer have been considered of any importance … who knows? Certainly Lady Hartley can't have read this letter – if she had, she would have known she didn't have the authority to part with the Declaration. I presume her understanding is based solely on stories told to her by her late husband.'

Miles nodded but didn't interrupt while Booth Watson was still in full flow.

‘However, one thing's for certain,' continued the QC, ‘any half-decent contracts lawyer, after reading Jefferson's letter to Hartley, would rightly claim ownership on behalf of the Jefferson estate, possibly even the US government, and I for one wouldn't be willing to defend such a weak case, knowing I'd be laughed out of court.'

‘So what do you advise?'

‘I believe you have no choice but to return Jefferson's Fair Copy of the Declaration to the American Embassy in London, for which I feel sure you will receive the grateful thanks of their Ambassador on behalf of the American government.'

‘But don't forget I parted with five hundred thousand for something it now turns out didn't even belong to her.'

‘All is not lost,' said Booth Watson, ‘as I suspect the other five letters Jefferson wrote would fetch a substantial sum were they to come under the hammer in New York, and don't forget you still have the Constable, so you shouldn't be out of pocket.'

‘But it will be nothing compared to the price a Fair Copy of the Declaration would fetch – handwritten by Thomas Jefferson. Can you imagine how much that would make if it came on the open market?'

‘That's anyone's guess,' responded Booth Watson. ‘Although, as the US government would be certain to be among the bidders, along with a dozen or more of the world's leading collectors who'd like to get their hands on such a unique piece of history, I would have to suggest several million. However, the question is now academic, as Jefferson's letter to Hartley has left you with no alternative but to return the Declaration to its rightful owner.'

‘I can think of one alternative,' said Miles.

‘Namely,' said Booth Watson, an eyebrow raising.

Miles took a lighter out of his pocket, flicked it open, and watched as the flame flickered. He then held up Jefferson's compromising letter and paused for a moment, before setting it alight.

Booth Watson sat on the other side of his desk, his mouth open, though no words came out. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Over the years, he'd known his client to be involved in some outrageous behaviour, but nothing on this scale. Not for the first time he wondered if this was a step too far, and he would finally have to sever their relationship.

When the flame was just about to burn Miles's thumb and forefinger, he finally let go, allowing a tiny corner of the damning letter to join the rest of the ashes in its unworthy grave.