Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

‘I SHOULD HAVE WORN MY pink dress,' said Christina.

‘No way,' said Wilbur as they drew up outside the Fitzmolean. ‘Your dark blue Armani suit is just perfect for the occasion. Makes you look every bit a board chair.'

‘What do I say if they ask me if I will be happy to remain on the board and serve under Ms Bates, should I fail to be elected?'

‘You must be magnanimous and tell the board you'll be happy to remain on the committee, as you consider the Fitzmolean bigger than any individual, but it's not relevant,' said Wilbur, ‘as I've no doubt you're going to win.'

‘I'm not so sure,' said Christina. ‘Only one thing's certain, it's going to be a close-run thing. Three of the board, including the chair, have already told me I can count on their votes, but I know at least three others who still haven't made up their minds, and I'm sure Ms Bates is being briefed by Booth Watson.'

‘I'd rather have Sir Nicholas on my side than Miles Faulkner,' said Wilbur. ‘All you'll need is a couple of the undecideds to back you and you'll be home and dry.'

‘Do I show them the letter?' she asked.

‘Only if the question arises,' said Wilbur. ‘And even then, you'll have to gauge the feeling of the meeting before you make that decision.'

‘It should be you, not me, who's standing for chair,' said Christina.

‘Certainly not, my darling. They couldn't get anyone better for the job.' Wilbur leant across and gave his wife a gentle kiss. ‘Better get going. Can't afford to be late.'

When Christina got out of the car, her legs felt so weak she wondered if she'd make it up the steps to the front door, let alone to the boardroom. She somehow managed to push her way through the revolving door and get as far as the lift.

She stepped out onto the first floor and headed for the boardroom, to see the chairman walking towards her. The selection committee were clearly waiting for her.

‘I'll do everything I can to assist,' whispered Nicholas.

Christina followed him into the boardroom and took her place in the only empty chair at the top of the table. Several board members smiled, but just as many didn't.

‘Welcome, Christina,' said the chair once he'd taken his seat at the other end of the table. ‘I'll begin by running through the procedure I intend to adopt while conducting this interview. I will start by asking the first couple of questions, and my colleagues will then follow up with any supplementaries.' Sir Nicholas checked his notes before he began. ‘Having played a leading role in the Fitzmolean's success over so many years, I wonder if there are changes you would make as chair that you feel might benefit the museum in the future?'

‘Let me begin by thanking you, Chairman, for your un-wavering support during those years, and say how difficult it will be for anyone to fill your shoes.'

No one could have missed Ms Bates's eyes rolling like a toy dog in the back of a moving car.

‘But to answer your question, Sir Nicholas,' said Christina, ‘as you know, I have always been a passionate advocate of free entry to the main gallery. However, I do feel that when we mount a special exhibition at some considerable cost, we should perhaps consider charging a one-off entry fee. Our current Rembrandt exhibition, for example, has attracted over three hundred thousand visitors, and if we had levied a five-pound ticket charge, we could have raised well in excess of a million pounds, which would not only have covered our costs but shown us a modest profit.'

‘Would students and old-age pensioners also be expected to contribute?' asked the chair.

‘Absolutely not,' said Christina. ‘They, along with any children accompanying their parents, would be exempt.'

‘Certainly worthy of serious consideration,' said the chair, ‘and while we're on that subject, what is your view on the government's new tax incentive scheme?'

‘I welcome it,' said Christina without hesitation. ‘It's another opportunity for us to raise some extra, much-needed revenue, which we should take advantage of. I would also suggest that we replicate what the Americans call "see-through guilt boxes", where visitors who can afford to pay are encouraged to contribute a fiver, possibly more. The Victoria and Albert are raising an extra million a year this way, and I feel we should be following their example.'

‘Thank you, Christina. I shall now—'

Ms Bates immediately raised her hand, leaving the chair with little choice but to select her. ‘How can the board be confident of your loyalty to the Fitzmolean while you remain a close friend of Beth Warwick, our former director, who left in – to say the least – unfortunate circumstances?'

‘Beth is one of my closest friends, and always will be, but both of us are first and foremost loyal supporters of the Fitzmolean. As chair, I would always put the museum first, as Beth did when she resigned. However, I can tell the board that she deeply regrets no longer being our director.'

‘How convenient,' said Ms Bates. ‘Does that mean if you became chair, you would ask her to return as director?'

‘Most certainly I would,' said Christina without hesitation. ‘I don't always agree with Beth, but I've never doubted that she always had the best interests of the museum at heart.'

‘Have you discussed the possibility with her?'

‘Yes, I have,' admitted Christina. Another question she was well prepared for.

‘And what was her response?'

‘She could not have been more positive about the whole idea, and even wrote me a letter to confirm her position.' One sentence too many, she could hear Wilbur saying.

‘Do you have that letter with you, by any chance?' asked Ms Bates.

Christina hesitated for a moment before she said, ‘Yes, I do.'

‘And would you allow the committee to see it?'

Christina opened her bag and took out an envelope, which she sent on a relay down one side of the table to the chair.

Sir Nicholas opened the envelope, extracted the letter and read it. A few moments later, all he said was, ‘I am able to confirm that should Christina become our next chair, Dr Warwick would be willing to return as director, but only if that was met with the approval of the board.'

‘How considerate of her,' said Ms Bates, ‘but may I ask, Sir Nicholas, as you are the only member of the board who has read the letter, if Dr Warwick would be willing to make the same commitment should someone else be appointed as chair?'

Sir Nicholas looked embarrassed, and before he could respond, Christina said, ‘It's a very personal letter, Ms Bates, and I think the chair has answered your specific question.'

‘But not the one you seem unwilling to answer?' came back Ms Bates. ‘So I am bound to ask—'

‘Don't you think, Ms Bates,' interjected the chair, ‘that it might be time for someone else to ask a question?'

‘I didn't realize you were putting a limit on how many questions one could ask, Sir Nicholas, before we consider the only important decision the board will make, possibly for the next ten years – namely who should be our next chair?'

‘I will allow you one more question, Ms Bates,' said Sir Nicholas, sounding exasperated, ‘but then we must move on.'

‘Mrs Hackensack,' said Ms Bates. ‘As chair of the fundraising committee, do you know the name of the extremely generous benefactor who donated the two hundred and fifty thousand that made it possible for the Fitzmolean to acquire Rembrandt's Jacob Wrestling with the Angel ?'

This was the one question Christina had been dreading, even though she'd given it some considerable thought. But Wilbur had warned her, that if she was asked, there was no way she could do anything other than tell the truth.

‘Yes, I think I do,' she said truthfully.

‘Then allow me to ask which of your husbands it was who so generously made that donation.'

Christina knew she'd been trapped, but she had no choice but to say, ‘The donation did not come from my husband.'

‘Your ex-husband, perhaps?'

‘Possibly,' admitted Christina.

‘Do you think Mr Faulkner would have been quite so generous had he thought you might be our next chair?'

‘You do not have to answer that question, Christina,' said Sir Nicholas.

‘Why not?' demanded Ms Bates.

‘Lady Morland,' said the chair, ignoring the interruption.

‘Can I ask you, Mrs Hackensack, if your present husband supports your ambition to succeed Sir Nicholas as chair?'

‘One hundred per cent,' said Christina. ‘Not only did he drive me here this evening, but he's now sitting in the car outside, waiting to find out how I've got on. "Could have done better", I shall tell him!'

A little laughter broke out, which helped Christina to relax, but not for long.

‘I think there's time for a couple more questions,' said the chair, looking around the table.

One of the waverers raised a hand, and the chair nodded.

‘You were on the premises when Rembrandt's Angel was switched right in front of our eyes, so I wondered if you had any theories as to how that happened, or who was responsible for such an inexplicable and very embarrassing sequence of events?'

Christina could once again hear Wilbur whispering in her ear: whatever you do, don't even hint that you know only too well who orchestrated the whole performance, because if you do, and you're not willing to name him, the waverers will no longer be wavering.

‘Like you, Mrs Amhurst, it remains a mystery to me.'

‘Despite the fact your close friend, Dr Warwick, warned us that if she were to continue as director, it might well happen again, rather indicating she did know who it was?'

‘Let me assure you, Mrs Amhurst, that if I am fortunate enough to be appointed chair of this great institution, I will not make decisions based on speculation, but on advice from experts I respect, backed up with facts. Otherwise, we will all end up as victims, continually looking over our shoulders, frightened of making any serious decisions in case some malevolent outside force disapproves.'

Hear, hear! erupted from one side of the table.

‘Thank you, Christina,' said the chair, ‘for handling such a plethora of demanding questions so graciously, while at the same time displaying the resolution required to be a good chair.'

Smiles and blank looks greeted the chair's closing remarks in equal measure.

‘Thank you, Sir Nicholas,' said Christina. ‘Allow me to say before I leave, whatever the board decides, serving the Fitzmolean has been a privilege I will always treasure.'

One of the waverers managed a smile as Christina got up and left the room.

‘The board will now go into closed session,' said Sir Nicholas, ‘but first I would suggest we take a short break before returning to decide who will be the next chair of the Fitzmolean.'

···

When the phone rang later that evening, Christina continued to read her magazine as if it wasn't ringing.

‘That's the third time you haven't answered it,' said Wilbur, looking up from his copy of the New York Times . ‘But you'll have to eventually, as Sir Nicholas is a persistent sort of guy at the best of times.'

‘But this could be the worst of times,' said Christina as she put down her magazine, got up, and walked slowly across the room in the hope it would stop ringing before she reached it.

But as Wilbur had predicted, the caller was persistent.

She reluctantly picked the phone up but didn't speak.

‘Are you there, Christina?' said a voice she recognized.

‘Yes, I am, Chairman,' Christina replied.

‘No longer,' said Sir Nicholas.

‘Why not?'

‘I'm no longer the chairman and, according to the minutes, at 6.34 this evening, you were elected to take my place. I was calling to congratulate you.'

Christina dropped the phone, but quickly picked it back up again. ‘By how many votes?'

‘One,' said Sir Nicholas.

‘Your casting vote?' asked Christina.

This time it was Nicholas's turn to hesitate. ‘Yes,' he admitted, ‘but I have some good news. Ms Bates and Mrs Amhurst have both resigned from the board, so that's two of your problems in the out-tray. So I do hope you're not, like Beth, going to change your mind at the last minute.'

‘No way,' said Christina. ‘I agree with Sir Winston Churchill – one vote is more than enough.'

‘That's a relief,' said Sir Nicholas, accompanied by a long sigh. ‘We ought to get together, as soon as it's convenient, so I can arrange an orderly changeover. But for now, I'll leave you and Wilbur to celebrate, and I'll call you again in the morning. Many congratulations. I couldn't be more pleased,' he added, before putting down the phone.

‘I'm the new chair,' announced Christina, jumping up and down as if she'd just been appointed head girl.

‘I'm well aware of that,' said Wilbur, putting down his paper before giving his wife a round of applause.

‘You knew all the time?' said Christina, staring at her husband in disbelief.

‘Yes,' admitted Wilbur, ‘but I confess I enjoyed watching you suffer.'

Christina picked the phone back up and began dialling. ‘Don't you want to know who I'm calling?' she asked.

‘I know exactly who you're calling,' said Wilbur, ‘and I can tell you, she's standing by the phone waiting.'

Christina turned back to face him. ‘Don't tell me she already knows, as well.'

‘No, she doesn't,' said Wilbur, ‘but then I thought, if you were going to have to suffer, so should she.'

‘Are you the new chair?' asked a voice on the other end of the line.

‘Sure am,' said Christina, ‘and the first thing I want to know, Dr Warwick is, are you willing to come back as the museum's director?'

‘Of course I am,' said Beth, ‘and while I've got you on the phone I have several ideas I need to discuss with you before the next board meeting, not least …'