‘Caveman,’ she said.
‘Some cave,’ he replied.
‘She wants what?’ said Faulkner.
‘Limpton Hall, with all the fixtures and fittings. That includes the seventy-three oil paintings, although she says you can keep the statue of yourself.’
‘Anything else, dare I ask?’
‘Twenty thousand a year to pay for her staff,’ said Booth Watson, ‘as well as a final settlement of one million pounds.’
‘I presume that’s it?’
‘Not quite. She keeps all her personal belongings. Jewellery, clothes, etc., plus the Mercedes and Eddie, your chauffeur, who’ll remain on your payroll.’
‘Tell her to get lost.’
‘I already have, if not in precisely those words.’
‘Don’t forget she slept with Warwick in Monte Carlo, and they’re still lovers.’
‘I don’t think so, Miles. As you found out first-hand when you turned up at a wedding I advised you not to attend.’
‘You wrote my script, in case you’ve forgotten,’ Faulkner reminded him.
‘Reluctantly,’ said Booth Watson.
‘But I wasn’t to know Christina would be there.’
‘Because unlike you, she’d received an invitation, which would rather suggest they’re not lovers.’
‘In any case, it’s still her word against mine.’
‘If a jury had to choose between a tearful, wronged wife and a man serving a suspended sentence for fraud, which side do you imagine they’d come down on?’
‘It wouldn’t matter, because as you’ve so often told me, a jury can’t be informed about any previous convictions I’ve received.’
‘A ridiculous rule, but one that I admit works in your favour. Unless of course any of them have read a national newspaper during the past year.’
‘You think it might end up in court?’
‘Bound to, if you’re not willing to settle.’
‘I’m not going to let go of any of my pictures without putting up a fight,’ said Faulkner. ‘It’s taken me a lifetime to build the collection.’
‘If you want to hold onto them, Miles, she’s going to expect something in return. And unfortunately the collection’s worth more than all three houses, the yacht and the plane put together, none of which she has shown any interest in.’
‘Delay the settlement for as long as you can, BW. I might just have another card up my sleeve.’
Breakfast was served in their suite at ten o’clock the following morning, with copies of the The Times and Telegraph on a side table.
‘Their first mistake,’ said Beth with a grin. ‘But I don’t suppose they have many guests who take the Guardian.’
‘Or the Sun for that matter,’ said William, as he began to tuck into a full English breakfast, while Beth sipped her freshly squeezed orange juice and read about Prince Andrew’s and Fergie’s wedding plans.
At 10.20 there was a gentle tap on the door and, like the fairy godmother, Mr Morris reappeared.
‘I hope you both enjoyed a good night’s sleep,’ he ventured.
‘Couldn’t have been better,’ said William, after he’d drained his coffee.
Not much chance of that when you’re married to a caveman, Beth wanted to tell him, but kept her thoughts to herself.
‘I only ask because you didn’t order dinner last night.’
‘We were both full of crisps and peanuts,’ Beth blurted out.
‘Unfortunately you missed the early morning plane for Rome. However, we managed to book you onto the twelve thirty-five flight, and the airline has upgraded you to business class. A limousine will be waiting outside to take you back to the airport.’
‘Of course it will,’ said Beth.
‘I beg your pardon, madam?’
‘My wife simply meant that this has been a truly unforgettable experience, and you couldn’t have done more to make our stay memorable.’
‘How kind of you to say so, sir. I’ll leave you now and send a porter to pick up your bags in a few minutes’ time,’ said Mr Morris, who once again bowed before leaving the room.
‘Detective Sergeant Warwick,’ said Beth, taking her husband in her arms, ‘you’re going to have to get promoted fairly regularly.’
‘Why?’ asked William innocently.
‘Because I could get used to this.’ William was about to protest when she added, ‘But for now, I’ll settle for spending our wedding anniversary in this room once a year for the rest of our lives.’
‘They’ve just left, sir,’ said the manager, looking out of the window in his office as the limousine disappeared down the drive. ‘I think you’ll find we carried out your instructions to the letter.’
‘You did indeed, Mr Morris. My daughter phoned a few minutes ago to tell me that they’d been grounded because of an engine problem, but the airline went out of its way to make up for it.’
‘That’s most gratifying to hear, sir. Where shall I send the bill?’
‘To my office in Marylebone. Mark it personal, for the attention of Arthur Rainsford.’
Detective Superintendent Lamont picked up the phone on his desk to be greeted by a public-school accent that grated on his Scottish ear.
‘Reporting in, sir.’
‘Are you enjoying being in charge, DC Adaja, even if it’s only while DS Warwick is away on his honeymoon?’
‘Every minute. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of delaying his return, sir, as I was rather hoping to solve the case before he gets back?’
‘No chance,’ said Lamont. ‘Not least because Warwick’s just called from Rome and all he wanted to know was if we’d found out where Rashidi lives.’
‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘Any developments on that front?’ asked Lamont, ignoring the comment.
‘You were right about having all three airport terminals covered, sir. Rashidi was dropped off at terminal three this time, but ended up back at terminal one.’
‘And where did he go from there?’
‘A dark blue BMW picked him up and drove him to Little Charlbury, a village in Oxfordshire.’
‘Have you located his house, just in case DS Warwick phones back?’
Paul laughed. ‘It’s not so much a house, sir, more like a castle. It even has its own moat and drawbridge. The grounds must be over a thousand acres, and the nearest neighbour is at least a mile away.’
‘Then you’d better be wary of briefing the local police about what we’re up to. With that much money washing around, he might have
