A Prisoner of Birth (48 page)

There was another knock on the door, this time a little louder. Danny disappeared into the bathroom with all the papers, while Munro went across to open the door.

"Good morning, Mr. Hunsacker, how nice to see you again. We met in Washington," he added, offering his hand, but the Texan barged past him, clearly looking for Danny. The bathroom door opened a moment later, and Danny reappeared wearing a hotel dressing gown. He yawned and stretched his arms.

"What a surprise, Mr. Hunsacker," he said. "To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Surprise be damned, said Hunsacker. You saw me at breakfast yesterday. I'm pretty hard to miss." "And you can cut out the yawning act, I know you've already had breakfast," he said, glancing at a half-eaten piece of toast.

"At a cost of ten Swiss francs, no doubt," said Danny with a grin. "But
do tell me what brings you to Geneva," he added as he sank back in the only comfortable chair in the room.

"You know damn well why I'm in Geneva," said Hunsacker, lighting his cigar.

"This is a non-smoking floor," Danny reminded him.

"Crap," said Hunsacker, flicking ash onto the carpet. "So how much do you want?"

"For what, Mr. Hunsacker?"

"Don't play games with me, Nick. How much do you want?"

"I confess I was discussing that very subject with my legal adviser only moments before you knocked on the door, and he wisely recommended that I should wait a little longer before I commit myself."

"Why wait? You don't have any interest in stamps."

"True," said Danny, "but perhaps there are others who do."

"Like who?"

"Mr. Watanabe, for example," suggested Danny.

"You're bluffing."

"That's what he said about you."

"You've already been in touch with Watanabe?"

"Not yet," admitted Danny, "but I'm expecting him to call any minute."

"Name your price."

"Sixty-five million dollars," said Danny.

"You're crazy. That's double what it's worth. And you do realize that I'm the only person on earth who can afford to buy the collection. It would only take you one phone call to discover that Watanabe's not in my league."

"Then I shall have to split the collection up," said Danny. "After all, Mr. Blundell assured me that Sotheby's could guarantee me a large income for the rest of my life, without ever having to flood the market. That would give both you and Mr. Watanabe the chance to cherry-pick any particular items you are keen to add to your collection."

"While at the same time you paid a ten percent seller's premium on everything in the collection," Hunsacker said, jabbing his cigar at him.

"And don't let's forget your twenty percent buyer's premium," Danny countered. "And let's face it, Gene, I'm thirty years younger than you, so I'm not the one who's in a hurry."

"I'd be willing to pay fifty million," said Hunsacker.

Danny was taken by surprise as he had expected Hunsacker to open
the bidding at around forty million, but he didn't blink. "I'd be willing to drop to sixty."

"You'd be willing to drop to fifty-five," said Hunsacker.

"Not for a man who flew halfway round the world in his private jet simply to find out who would end up owning the Moncrieff collection."

"Fifty-five," Hunsacker repeated.

"Sixty," insisted Danny.

"No, fifty-five is my limit. And I'll wire the full amount to any bank in the world, which means it would be in your account within the next couple of hours."

"Why don't we toss for the last five million?"

"Because that way you can't lose. Fifty-five is what I said. You can take it or leave it."

"I think I'll leave it," said Danny, rising from his chair. "Have a good flight back to Texas, Gene, and do give me a call if there is a particular stamp you'd like to make an offer for before I phone Mr. Watanabe."

"OK, OK. I'll toss you for the last five million."

Danny turned back to his lawyer. "Would you be kind enough to act as referee, Mr. Munro?"

"Umpire," said Hunsacker.

"Yes, of course," Munro replied. Danny handed him a pound coin, and was surprised to see that Munro's hand was shaking as he balanced it on the end of his thumb. He tossed it high in the air.

"Heads," called Hunsacker. The coin landed in the thick rug by the fireplace. It was standing upright on its edge.

"Let's settle on $57,500,000," said Danny.

"It's a deal," said Hunsacker, who bent down, picked up the coin and put it in his pocket.

"I think you'll find that's mine," said Danny, holding out his hand.

Hunsacker handed over the coin and grinned. "Now give me the key, Nick, so I can inspect the goods."

"There's no need for that," said Danny. "After all, you saw the whole collection when it was on display in Washington. However, I will allow you to have my grandfather's ledger," he said, picking up the thick leather book from a side table and handing it to him. "As for the key," he added with a smile, "Mr. Munro will deliver it to you the moment the money is lodged in my account. I think you said it would take a couple of hours."

Hunsacker started walking toward the door.

"And, Gene." Hunsacker turned back. "Try to make it before the sun sets in Tokyo."

Desmond Galbraith picked up the private line on his desk.

"I'm reliably informed by one of the hotel staff," said Hugo Moncrieff, "that they are both booked on BA flight 737 which leaves here at 8:55
P.M
. and touches down at Heathrow at 9:45
P.M
."

"That's all I need to know," said Galbraith.

"We'll be flying back to Edinburgh first thing in the morning."

"Which should give de Coubertin more than enough time to reflect on which branch of the Moncrieff family he'd prefer to do business with."

"Would you care for a glass of champagne?" asked the stewardess.

"No thank you," said Munro, "just a scotch and soda."

"And for you, sir?"

"I'll have a glass of champagne, thank you," said Danny. After the stewardess had gone he turned to ask Munro, "Why do you think the bank didn't take my uncle's claim seriously? After all, he must have shown de Coubertin the new will."

"They must have spotted something I missed," said Munro.

"Why don't you call de Coubertin and ask him what it was?"

"That man wouldn't admit he'd ever met your uncle, let alone seen your grandfather's will. Still, now that you have almost sixty million dollars in the bank, I presume you'll want me to defend all the writs?"

"I wonder what Nick would have done," mumbled Danny as he fell into a deep sleep.

Munro raised an eyebrow, but didn't press his client further when he remembered that Sir Nicholas hadn't been to bed the previous night.

Danny woke with a start when the wheels touched down at Heathrow. He and Munro were among the first to disembark from the aircraft. As they walked down the steps they were surprised to see three policemen standing on the tarmac. Munro noticed that they were not carrying machine guns, so they couldn't be security. As Danny's foot touched the bottom step two of the policemen grabbed him, while the third pinned his arms behind his back and handcuffed him.

"You're under arrest, Moncrieff," said one of them as they marched him off.

"On what charge?" demanded Munro, but he didn't get a response because the police car, siren blaring, was already speeding away.

Danny had spent most days since his release wondering when they'd finally catch up with him. The only surprise was that they'd called him Moncrieff.

Beth could no longer bear to look at her father, whom she hadn't spoken to for days. Despite being forewarned by the doctor, she couldn't believe how emaciated he'd become in such a short time.

Father Michael had visited his parishioner every day since he had been bedridden, and that morning he had asked Beth's mother to gather the family and close friends around the bedside that evening, as he could no longer delay conducting the last rites.

"Beth."

Beth was taken by surprise when her father spoke. "Yes, Dad," she said, taking his hand.

"Who's running the garage?" he asked in a piping voice that was almost inaudible.

"Trevor Sutton," she replied softly.

"He's not up to it. You'll have to appoint someone else, and soon."

"I will, Dad," Beth replied dutifully. She didn't tell him that no one else wanted the job.

"Are we alone?" he asked after a long pause.

"Yes, Dad. Mum's in the front room talking to Mrs. . . ."

"Mrs. Cartwright?"

"Yes," admitted Beth.

"Thank God for her common sense." Her father paused to take another breath before adding, "Which you've inherited."

Beth smiled. Even the effort of talking was now almost beyond him. "Tell Harry," he suddenly said, his voice even weaker, "I'd like to see them both before I die."

Beth had stopped saying "You're not going to die" some time ago, and simply whispered in his ear, "Of course I will, Dad."

Another long pause, another struggle for breath, before he whispered, "Promise me one thing."

"Anything."

He gripped his daughter's hand. "You'll fight on to clear his name." The grip suddenly weakened, and his hand went limp.

"I will," said Beth, although she knew he couldn't hear her.

M
R.
M
UNRO'S OFFICE
had left several messages on his mobile asking him to call urgently. He had other things on his mind.

Sir Nicholas had been whisked off in a police car to spend the night in a cell at Paddington Green police station. When Mr. Munro left him, he made his way by taxi to the Caledonian Club in Belgravia. He blamed himself for not remembering that Sir Nicholas was still on probation and was not allowed to leave the country. Perhaps it was simply that he could never think of him as a criminal.