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Twenty minutes, and although the platform was now crowded with latecomers, porters by their sides wheeling heavy bags, there was still no sign of Señor Diego Martinez. Sebastian began to despair when he saw the guard step out of the rear carriage, green flag in one hand, whistle in the other. Seb looked up at the vast black minute hand on the clock that bounced forward every sixty seconds: 10:22. Was all the work Cedric had put in going to be for nothing? He’d once told Sebastian that when you set out on a project, always be willing to accept that a one-in-five success rate is par for the course. Was this going to fall into the “four out of five” category? His thoughts turned to Ross Buchanan; was he waiting at Glenleven Lodge for someone who wasn’t going to turn up? He then thought about his mother, who had more to lose than any of them.
And then a man appeared on the platform
who caught his eye. He was carrying a suitcase, but Sebastian couldn’t be sure if it was Diego, because the stylish brown trilby and upturned velvet collar of his long black coat hid his face. The man walked straight past third class and toward the front of the train, which gave Sebastian a little more hope.
A porter was walking down the platform toward him, slamming the first-class carriage doors shut one by one: bang, bang, bang. When he spotted the approaching man, he stopped and held a door open for him. Sebastian stepped out of the shadow of the clock and tried to get a better look at his quarry. The man with the suitcase was just about to step on to the train when he turned and looked up at the clock. He hesitated. Sebastian froze, and then the man stepped on board. The porter slammed the door closed.
Diego had been among the last passengers to board the train, and Sebastian didn’t move as he watched The Night Scotsman make its way out of the station, slowly gathering speed as it set out on the long journey to Edinburgh.
He shivered as he experienced a moment of apprehension. Of course Diego couldn’t have seen him at that distance, and, in any case, Sebastian was looking for him, not the other way round. He walked slowly across to the phone booths on the far side of the concourse, coins ready. He dialed a number that went straight through to the chairman’s desk. After only one ring, a familiar gruff voice came on the line.
“He almost missed the train, turned up at the very last moment. But he’s now on his way to Edinburgh.” Sebastian heard a pent-up sigh being released.
“Have a good weekend, my boy,” said Cedric. “You’ve earned it. But make sure you’re in the office by eight on Monday morning, because I have a particular job for you. And do try to steer clear of any art galleries over the weekend.”
Sebastian laughed, put the phone down and allowed his thoughts to return to Sam.
As soon as he had hung up on Sebastian, Cedric dialed the number Ross Buchanan had given him. A voice on the other end of the line said, “Cohen.”
“The sale is on. What was the closing price in London?”
“Two pounds and eight shillings,” said Cohen. “Up a shilling on the day.”
“Good, then I’ll be placing all three hundred and eighty thousand shares on the market, and I want you to sell them at the best possible price, remembering that I need to be rid of them by the time the London Stock Exchange opens on Monday morning.”
“Understood, Mr. Hardcastle. How often would you like me to report to you over the weekend?”
“Eight o’clock on Saturday morning and at the same time on Monday morning.”
“It’s lucky I’m not an Orthodox Jew,” said Cohen.
34
Saturday
IT WAS TO be a night of firsts.
Sebastian took Sam to a Chinese restaurant in Soho, and paid the bill. After dinner they walked down to Leicester Square and joined a queue for the cinema. Samantha loved the film Sebastian had chosen, and as they left the Odeon, she confessed that until she came to England, she’d never heard of Ian Fleming, Sean Connery or even James Bond.
“Where have you been all your life?” mocked Sebastian.
“In America, with Katharine Hepburn, Jimmy Stewart and a young actor who’s taking Hollywood by storm, called Steve McQueen.”
“Never heard of him,” said Sebastian as he took her hand. “Do we have anything in common?”
“Jessica,” she said gently.
Sebastian smiled as they walked back to her Pimlico flat, hand in hand, chatting.
“Have you heard of The Beatles?”
“Yes, of course. John, Paul, George and Ringo.”
“The Goons?”
“No.”
“So you’ve never come across Bluebottle or Moriarty?”
