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“Yes. I have a gift for your daughter-in-law, or to be more accurate, the Fitzmolean. It’s my way of saying thank you for all your family has done for me.”
She picked up a Sainsbury’s carrier bag by her side, took out a small painting, and held it up for Sir Julian to admire. He stared in awe at The White Lace Collar by Vermeer, the masterpiece Beth had raved about after having tea with Christina at Limpton Hall.
“That’s extremely generous of you,” he said. “But are you sure you’re willing to part with such a valuable painting?”
“Quite sure,” said Christina. “After all, there are seventy-two more where that came from.”
* * *
The phone was ringing on his side of the bed, but he didn’t manage to grab it before a heavily pregnant Beth had turned over and groaned.
“Sorry,” he whispered, as he picked it up. “Who’s this?”
“Hawksby.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Get yourself to Battersea heliport as quickly as possible, DS Warwick. A car will be with you in a few minutes’ time. Don’t keep me waiting.”
“Anything I ought to know, sir?”
“It’s snowing,” said the Hawk before the line went dead.
William put the phone down and quickly threw on yesterday’s clothes, before kissing Beth, which elicited a second groan, as he headed for the door.
“Where are you off to at this time in the morning, Caveman?”
“I wish I knew,” he said, and had closed the bedroom door before she could ask any more questions he couldn’t answer. As he opened the front door a squad car was pulling up outside.
“Morning, sarge,” said a familiar voice as the car drove off through the falling snow.
“Morning, Danny. Any idea what’s going on?”
“Above my pay grade. All I know is that I’ve got to get you to Battersea heliport sharpish, where you’ll meet up with Commander Hawksby.”
Danny sped off down Royal Hospital Road, blue light flashing, but no siren. “Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors, would we?”
“Or Beth,” said William, as he thought about his pregnant wife. Not long now.
There wasn’t much traffic on the road at that time in the morning, so Danny didn’t need to perform his usual box of tricks, though William still had to cling on to the dashboard whenever he took a corner, as if they were on a vast skid pad.
“I bet the Hawk’s already standing there waiting for us,” said William, as they shot across Battersea Bridge and took a sharp left.
“Sitting, actually, sarge, in the back of the helicopter.”
“Of course he is,” said William, as they passed through the front gate of the heliport. He jumped out of the car as it skidded to a halt, nearly losing his balance as he sloshed through the snow to the waiting helicopter. He dived into the back.
“Good morning, sir,” William said, as he strapped himself in.
“A perfect morning for what I have in mind, DS Warwick,” responded the commander as the rotor blades began to spin. “As you’re about to find out.”
“Where are we going?”
“Wrong question. It’s not where we’re going that’s important, but what we’re looking for. So keep your eyes peeled.”
“Any clues?” asked William, as the helicopter rose into the sky, and he looked back over his shoulder to see the House of Commons covered in snow, looking like a Christmas card.
“Not if you’re hoping for your next promotion.”
