‘That’s going to cost you more than you’ve earned as my junior on this case,’ said Julian, handing her a glass of champagne.
‘Won’t the DPP cover the cost?’ said Clare. ‘After all, we did win the case, despite their learned advice.’
‘Not a hope. But the good news is that Faulkner will have to stump up the Crown’s costs, as the judge ruled that all the legal expenses were to be paid by him.’
Glasses were immediately raised in an unlikely toast to ‘Miles Faulkner’.
‘And a toast to Grace, who secured the verdict,’ said Sir Julian, raising his glass a second time.
‘To Grace!’ they all cried, following suit.
‘Coupled with the name of Adrian Heath,’ said William, ‘who supplied us with the vital clue that brought the bastard down.’
‘Adrian Heath,’ they all repeated, as they raised their glasses a third time.
‘Good news,’ said Barry Nealon. ‘We’ve had an offer of five million for Limpton Hall.’
‘Five million?’ repeated Christina in disbelief. ‘But that’s way above the asking price.’
‘It most certainly is,’ said Nealon, ‘and the buyer’s solicitors have offered to pay a deposit of half a million if you’d be willing to take the property off the market immediately.’
‘What do you recommend?’
‘I would advise you to accept the offer. Not least because the buyer has agreed that if he doesn’t complete the purchase within thirty days, he will forfeit his deposit, so I can’t see a downside.’
‘Who’s the “he”?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Nealon. ‘The transaction has been conducted by his solicitor.’
Within a week of his arrival at Pentonville, prisoner number 4307 had been moved into a single cell. After a fortnight, he had his own table in the canteen, and no one else was allowed to join him unless they were invited. After three weeks, he was taken off latrine-cleaning duties and appointed an orderly in the library, where he wasn’t troubled too much by the other inmates. By the end of the month, he had his own time slot in the gym, with a personal trainer who charged by the hour. By the time another month had passed, he’d read War and Peace, A Tale of Two Cities, The Count of Monte Cristo, and lost a stone. He’d never been fitter, or better read.
During the third month, the Financial Times was delivered to his cell just after eight every morning, along with a cup of tea, not a mug. But his biggest coup took a little longer to achieve: access to his own phone for fifteen minutes a day, thirty on Sundays.
His weekend visitors – he was only allowed two, like every other inmate – were not friends or relatives but business associates, as he had no time to waste on frivolous matters. Once a fortnight he was entitled to spend an hour with his legal adviser. He was the only one who could afford such a luxury on a regular basis. He instructed Booth Watson to put in an appeal for a retrial on the grounds that the original trial should have been thrown out as Adrian Heath was unable to give further evidence. Appeal rejected. His second appeal was against the length of his sentence, on the grounds that it was excessive for such a minor offence. He hadn’t yet heard back from the CPS. He then applied to be moved to an open prison, on the grounds that he had no history of violence. This too was rejected. He finally wrote to the Home Secretary, demanding that his sentence be halved for good behaviour. He didn’t even receive an acknowledgement of his letter.
He had surprised Booth Watson at their first meeting, a rare feat, when he instructed him to put in an offer for Limpton Hall, with a solicitor he’d never used before.
‘I didn’t realize it was on the market,’ admitted Booth Watson.
‘It isn’t,’ Faulkner had replied. ‘And it will be off the market by next week. I also want you to get in touch with Mr Davage at Christie’s, and make it clear you will be bidding for any of my pictures should they come up for auction.’
‘What makes you think she’ll put them up for sale?’
‘Christina won’t have any choice in the matter,’ said Faulkner. ‘If she carries out her plan to buy the dream property in Florida, she’s bound to put her account in the red.’
‘And the pictures?’
‘The walls of Limpton Hall will be empty long before then, along with her bank account.’
Booth Watson was a man who knew when to stop asking questions he didn’t want to know the answer to. He was relieved when SO Rose returned to tell him their hour was up.
If the prison authorities had been more diligent, they would have taken a greater interest in 4307’s reading matter, and in one particular prisoner who regularly walked around the yard with him – and the offence he’d been convicted for.
‘Sign here, here and here,’ said Sir Julian, as he handed Mrs Faulkner his pen.
‘So, it’s finally all over,’ said Christina once the ink had dried. ‘Frankly I’m surprised Miles agreed to part with his precious paintings, considering he’s always loved them more than me. Still, he’ll be able to buy them all back when they come up for auction, although I’ll make sure they don’t come cheap.’
Sir Julian raised an eyebrow.
‘I’ll have a bidder in the room making sure they all go way above the auctioneer’s estimate,’ explained Christina.
‘In which case you will be breaking the law, Mrs Faulkner, which I would strongly advise against.’
‘How come?’
‘You would have formed a cartel with no other purpose than to force up the price for your own advantage, and, be assured, your husband will have already worked that one out.’
‘Ex-husband,’ she said, looking at the recently signed papers.
‘Not until he’s also signed the annulment,’ said Sir Julian.
‘What choice has he been left with, now he’s locked up in prison?’
‘With hours to think about little else except what you’re up to.
