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“Why don’t you come around to my place for supper, then you can meet Beth.”
“Another time perhaps, William. I’ve got a date tonight, and I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I think she rather fancies me.”
“Must be a first date,” said William.
* * *
William was fast asleep when the phone by the bed rang. No one from the gallery would be calling Beth in the middle of the night, so it had to be for him. He grabbed the receiver, hoping the shrill noise hadn’t woken her.
“I need to see you urgently,” said a familiar voice.
Me too, thought William, but satisfied himself with, “Where? When?”
“The Tate at eleven o’clock tomorrow.”
“Why the Tate?”
“There are unlikely to be many dealers hanging about in an art gallery on the off chance of finding a customer. As I recall, art was your favorite subject at school, so you can decide where.”
“There’s a large Henry Moore in gallery three.”
“Who’s Henry Moore?”
“You won’t be able to miss her.”
“Then I’ll see you there at eleven tomorrow.”
“Today,” William said, but Adrian had already put down the phone.
“Who was that?” said Beth.
* * *
“Josephine Hawksby.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hawksby. My name’s Beth Rainsford. I’m sorry to bother you, but—”
“You’ve invited Jack and me to your wedding next month, and we’re both looking forward to it.”
“That’s kind of you to say so,” said Beth. “William and I are delighted you’ll be able to make it. But that wasn’t why I was calling. I was hoping you’d be able to advise me on a personal matter, but preferably not over the phone.”
“Of course. Why don’t we have tea next Friday, say five o’clock at Fortnum’s? That’s one place I can be fairly confident we won’t be overheard by any nosy policemen.”
* * *
After briefing Lamont on his early morning phone call, William left Scotland Yard and set off for the Tate to catch up with his OSC. He was anxious to discover why Adrian wanted to see him so urgently, and had several questions prepared long before he climbed the steep flight of steps that led up to the gallery entrance.
Although he was early, William headed straight for gallery three, where he found a small group of visitors admiring Moore’s Reclining Figure. While he waited for Heath to appear, he tried to relax by walking around the room, familiarizing himself with some old friends, while making new ones. He occasionally glanced back at the Moore, but once again Heath was late, so he circled the room a second time, even more slowly.
Heath strolled into gallery three at twenty past eleven, possibly imagining that being late gave him the upper hand. William had drifted across to Eric Gill’s Crucifix, where Heath joined him a few moments later.
“Let’s talk on the move,” said William, “then we won’t be overheard.”
Heath nodded as William walked on to stand in front of Millais’s Ophelia floating in a river surrounded by flowers. He tried to concentrate on the man and not the woman. “Why did you want to see me so urgently?”
“Do you remember Tulip?”
“Your dealer.”
