Page 37 of An Eye for an Eye

‘GOOD AFTERNOON, LADYHARTLEY. WHATa privilege to see you again,’ gushed Booth Watson. ‘If you have come to consult me regarding your son’s case, I fear there may be little I can do – although I have no doubt of his innocence.’

‘How kind of you to say so,’ responded Lady Hartley, as Booth Watson ushered his potential client into a comfortable chair by the fire, before taking the seat opposite her. ‘But that isn’t the reason I needed to seek your advice,’ she volunteered.

Booth Watson remained silent.

‘I confess, Mr Booth Watson,’ said Lady Hartley, ‘I had no idea how much the funeral would cost and I fear I’ve run up a small overdraft, which my husband would not have approved of.’

‘But your husband must have left you a small fortune, dear lady,’ suggested Booth Watson, hoping he hadn’t.

‘Small is the correct word,’ said Lady Hartley. ‘A familyfortune that has been dwindling over the years, not least because my husband considered public service more important than earning a living. MPs, as you will know, Mr Booth Watson, are paid a pittance, and ministers not a lot better, and while my son is away …’

Booth Watson took his time pretending to consider the problem before he offered, ‘Is it possible you are in possession of something you might be willing to part with to help alleviate the immediate problem?’ he asked, knowing exactly what he wanted her to part with.

Lady Hartley hesitated for a moment, before she said in a hushed tone, ‘There is a Constable painting that was left to me by my late husband, of the old mill in Bucklebury, but I have no idea what it’s worth.’

‘I have a client who justmightbe interested in the Constable,’ said Booth Watson. ‘And if you’d like me to enquire …’ he added, not sounding too enthusiastic.

‘That would be most kind of you, Mr Booth Watson.’

‘It’s the least I can do, remembering how supportive your husband was over so many years.’

‘I need a little time to consider your offer,’ she said. ‘May I let you know once I decide?’

‘But of course, dear lady, there’s no hurry,’ replied Booth Watson, confident that her son wasn’t going to be released for some time. He rose from his place and accompanied his unwitting client to the door.

Lady Hartley left the QC’s chambers with a smile on her face.

Once she’d departed, Booth Watson returned to his desk, and began to make detailed notes, which in the fullness of time he would share with Miles, but not before he’d confirmed the value of the Constable, and, equally important, the estimatefor a Declaration of Independence, handwritten by Jefferson, were it to come up for auction.

•••

Miles left Wormwood Scrubs at nine twenty-three the following morning, having signed all the release forms. The only thing in his possession was a copy of Monet’sWater Lilies,painted and signed by Billy Mumford – with a sketch of Rembrandt’sJacob Wrestling with the Angeldiscreetly hidden beneath the Monet.

‘Home, sir?’ asked Collins, once he’d placed the painting in the back of the Rolls and returned to the driving seat.

‘No,’ replied Miles. ‘I’ll be joining Mr Booth Watson for breakfast at the Savoy.’

‘Of course, sir,’ said Collins.

As the car moved off, Faulkner didn’t once look back. Not one of his habits.

It took Collins forty minutes to drive the boss from the Scrubs to the Savoy. When he drew up outside the hotel, a doorman quickly stepped forward, opened the back door, saluted and said, ‘Good morning, Mr Faulkner,’ as if he’d never been away.

Miles made his way into the hotel, delighted to find Mario on duty, standing behind his upright desk in the Grill Room. Some things never change, he thought. The maître d’ accompanied him to his usual table, where he found Booth Watson was already waiting for him.

‘So much to discuss,’ said Booth Watson, as he shook hands with his client. ‘So where would you like to start?’

‘Have you briefed Lamont?’ asked Miles, as he sat down.

‘Yes,’ said Booth Watson, ‘and I’ve arranged for theex-Superintendent to come to my chambers this afternoon so you can brief him.’

‘Did he seem interested? After all, it’s been three years.’

‘All I can tell you,’ said Booth Watson, ‘is that his financial predicament hasn’t altered since you last saw him. Don’t forget, he had to forfeit part of his pension after Warwick was responsible for his unscheduled departure from the force.’

‘How can you be so sure he’s short of money?’ asked Miles, as a waiter poured him a cup of black coffee.

‘Same shiny suit, same creased tie, same well-polished shoes, but down at heel, and his first question was “how much?”’