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I frown. ‘There’s a problem with the O’Keeffe painting.’
Becker swings me an alarmed look. ‘A problem?’
I scan the email, searching for more information. ‘They don’t say. They’ve asked me to call them.’ I dial Sotheby’s as Becker takes a corner. ‘Oh, wait,’ I hang up before it connects and point my phone at the sign for New Bond Street. ‘We may as well stop in.’
‘Good idea.’ Becker takes the turn and slows in search of a parking space, and I scan the street too, looking down the side streets for any available spaces as he crawls along.
‘Nothing,’ I say, pointing to the entrance of Sotheby’s. ‘Just drop me outside and wait. It shouldn’t take long.’
Becker pulls up and idles at the kerb. ‘They better not have discovered it’s a fake,’ he says, giving me high eyebrows. ‘That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?’
I laugh and jump out. ‘Back in a minute.’ When I enter, it’s busy, people criss-crossing the foyer. ‘Is Frank Gardener available?’ I ask when I arrive at reception. ‘My name’s Eleanor Cole. The Hunt Corporation.’
The man on reception dials an extension and talks briefly before hanging up. ‘He won’t be a minute. Please, take a seat.’
‘Actually, can you tell me where the ladies are?’ I’m suddenly desperate for the loo.
‘Yes, just over there on the right.’
‘Thanks. Will you let Frank know if I’m not back?’
‘Of course.’
I hotfoot it to the ladies, taking a right as instructed, but I skid to an alarmed stop when I see someone at the end of the corridor, pushing his way through a staff door. ‘Shit,’ I breathe, diving back around the corner before Brent sees me, plastering my back to a wall. What the hell is he doing here? I look left and right, weighing up my options. I have only one. Hold my bladder. I can’t see him. Don’t want to see him.
I hurry back to reception and find a chair, my eyes watchful as I perch on the edge, my mind racing. What’s he doing here? My stomach rolling, I pull up my emails, checking the transfer details with Becker’s bank. ‘Oh no,’ I nearly die, and all thoughts of Brent Wilson disappear when I see I’ve entered a digit wrong. ‘Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ I break out in a sweat, scrambling through my contacts for the number of Becker’s personal banker.
‘Miss Cole?’
I look up, finding a man before me. ‘I’m sorry, can you just give me a minute?’ I ask as the phone rings. ‘I’ve just realised I entered the bank account details wrong for the transfer. I’m assuming that’s what the problem is with the O’Keeffe?’ Someone picks up, and I hold a finger up for Frank to wait. ‘Hi, yes, it’s Eleanor Cole, the Hunt Corporation. I believe there’s an issue with a payment to Sotheby’s.’
‘Yes, we’ve been trying to call Mr Hunt.’
‘You can speak to me.’ Please speak to me. ‘I have clearance from Mr Hunt. My name’s Eleanor Cole.’
‘Okay, we’ll need to go through a few security questions. Can you type into your keypad the third digit of the account password?’
‘Absolutely.’ I stand and pace up and down as I follow his instructions and then answer all the questions fired at me, my eyes batting back and forth to the huge clock hanging on the foyer wall.
‘Thank you for clearing security,’ he eventually says. ‘The account number provided doesn’t exist.’
‘That’s my fault. I entered a digit incorrectly.’ Bloody hell. Becker will kill me. ‘Can we rectify that now? I’m at Sotheby’s.’
‘Of course. Do you have access to online banking?’
‘I have the app.’
‘Excellent. If you enter the details again, I’ll make sure it goes through without delay.’
I put him on loudspeaker and click the app, but the damn thing won’t load. I could kick myself. I put my hand over the phone. ‘I don’t suppose you have a spare computer I could use?’ I ask Frank, who’s waiting patiently nearby.
He smiles kindly. ‘This way, Miss Cole.’
I go back to my phone. ‘I’ll call you back in five minutes once I’m at a computer.’
‘Okay, Miss Cole.’
I hang up and follow Frank as he leads me into a private office. ‘I’m so sorry about this,’ I say, a little embarrassed. It’s the first payment I’ve made for Becker and I’ve fucked it all up. Idiot!
‘Don’t worry. The painting is all packaged and loaded onto the van ready for delivery. I knew there would be a simple explanation. We’ve dealt with the Hunts for many years.’ Frank motions to a chair, and I take a seat as he backs out of the room. ‘Just call me if you require any assistance.’
‘Thank you, Frank.’ I go straight to the computer and pull up Becker’s private bank as I call them back. ‘Hi, yes, I’m—’ I’m cut dead in my tracks when he door swings open and Becker appears.
