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“BUT WHY WOULD he want to sell his art collection?” asked Cedric.
“He must need the money.”
“That much is obvious, Seb, but what I can’t work out is why he needs the money.” Cedric continued to flick through the pages of the catalog, but was none the wiser by the time he’d reached A Fair at l’Hermitage near Pontoise by Camille Pissarro, illustrated on the back page. “Perhaps the time has come to call in a favor.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Who, not what,” said Cedric. “A Mr. Stephen Ledbury, the manager of the Midland Bank, St. James’s.”
“What’s so special about him?” asked Sebastian.
“He’s Martinez’s bank manager.”
“How do you know that?”
“When you’ve sat next to Major Fisher at board meetings for over five years, it’s amazing what you pick up if you’re patient and willing to listen to a lonely man.” Cedric buzzed through to his secretary. “Can you get me Stephen Ledbury at the Midland?” He turned back to Sebastian. “Ever since I discovered he was Martinez’s bank manager I’ve been tossing Ledbury the odd bone. Perhaps the time has come for him to fetch one back.”
The phone on Cedric’s desk rang. “Mr. Ledbury on line one.”
“Thank you,” said Cedric, then waited for the click before pressing the loudspeaker button. “Good afternoon, Stephen.”
“Good afternoon, Cedric. What can I do for you?”
“I think it’s more what I can do for you, old chap.”
“Another good tip?” said Ledbury, sounding hopeful.
“This is more in the helping-to-cover-your-backside category. I hear that one of your less salubrious clients is putting his entire art collection up for sale at Agnew’s in Bond Street. As the catalog describes the collection as ‘the property of a gentleman,’ which is a misnomer by any standards, I assume that for some reason he doesn’t want you to find out about it.”
“What makes you think this particular gentleman has an account at West End central?”
“I sit next to his representative on the board of Barrington’s Shipping.”
There was a long pause before Ledbury said, “Ah, and you say he’s put his entire collection up for sale at Agnew’s?”
“From Manet to Rodin. I’m looking at the catalog now, and I find it hard to believe that there can be anything left on his walls at Eaton Square. Would you like me to send the catalog around to you?”
“No, don’t bother, Cedric. Agnew’s is only a couple of hundred yards up the road, so I’ll pop over and pick one up myself. It was very good of you to let me know, and it leaves me in your debt once again. If there’s anything I can ever do to repay you…”
“Well, now you mention it, Stephen, there is one small favor I might ask while I’ve got you on the line.”
“Just name it.”
“Should your ‘gentleman’ ever decide to dispose of his shares in Barrington’s Shipping, I have a customer who just might be interested.”
There followed a long silence before Ledbury asked, “Might that customer possibly be a member of the Barrington or Clifton families?”
“No, I don’t represent either of them. I think you’ll find they bank with Barclays in Bristol, whereas my client comes from the north of England.”
Another long silence. “Where will you be at nine o’clock on Monday the seventeenth of August?”
“At my desk,” said Cedric.
“Good. I might just call you at one minute past nine that morning, and I may be able to repay several of your favors.”
“That’s good of you, Stephen, but on to more important matters—how’s your golf handicap?”
