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  A long silence followed, while the other three waited for Sir Julian to pick up his Gladstone bag and disappear, also never to be seen again.

  ‘But I do believe you, Arthur,’ he said quietly. ‘I am now in no doubt that you did not murder your partner.’

  Arthur looked up in disbelief to see the distinguished QC smiling at him.

  ‘What finally convinced you, Father?’ asked William, ignoring his sister’s gimlet eye.

  ‘Three things, completely unconnected, which, had the jury been made aware of at the time, might well have caused them to reach a different verdict.’ Sir Julian couldn’t resist pacing up and down before he delivered his closing statement. ‘In all my years at the Bar, I have never known a murderer who wouldn’t have settled for a plea of guilty to manslaughter and a reduced sentence.’

  ‘And the second reason?’ asked Grace.

  ‘The length of time before Arthur is eligible for parole.’

  ‘Twelve years,’ said William.

  ‘Precisely. Because Mr Justice Melrose is known in the trade as “Life Means Life” Melrose. I checked his record last night, and he’s presided over twenty-four murder trials during his time on the Crown Court bench when the defendant was found guilty. Arthur is the only one he gave a minimum term of twelve years. Why would “Life Means Life” Melrose break the habit of a lifetime? Could it be that he also wasn’t convinced Arthur was guilty?’

  ‘And the third thing?’ asked Grace.

  ‘We have William to thank for that.’

  Once again, Sir Julian couldn’t resist a brief perambulation around the room before sharing his thoughts. He pulled at the lapels of a gown he wasn’t wearing before he spoke.

  ‘You told me, William, that when you first mentioned Arthur’s name to SO Rose, his immediate response was, “If he’s a murderer, I’m Jack the Ripper.” In my experience, a senior prison officer would never admit, even in private, that any prisoner just might be innocent.’

  ‘So does that mean you’ll take the case, Father?’ asked Grace.

  ‘We already have, my dear. And with it, we take on the considerable task of uncovering fresh evidence to convince the DPP that they should order a retrial. Because if they don’t, our personal opinions are irrelevant.’

  ‘Not quite, Sir Julian,’ said Arthur, ‘because I’m delighted that my future son-in-law knows I’m innocent.’

  26

  THE PHONE BEGAN to ring.

  ‘Who would even consider calling us on Christmas Day?’ demanded Sir Julian. ‘And just as I’m about to carve the turkey.’

  ‘Mea culpa,’ said William, ‘I’m afraid I might have told the office where I’d be.’

  ‘Then you’d better go and answer it while the rest of us enjoy our Christmas lunch. Beth, would you prefer a leg or breast?’

  William quickly left for his father’s study and picked up the ringing phone. ‘William Warwick.’

  ‘Christina Faulkner. Happy Christmas, William.’

  ‘Happy Christmas, Christina. Where are you calling from?’

  ‘Monte Carlo.’

  ‘Unwrapping presents, no doubt.’

  ‘No, wrapping them up, actually, which is why I called. I need you to come and join me as soon as possible so I can give you your present, which I’m looking at now.’

  ‘I’ll have to call my boss,’ said William, who would have happily left immediately. ‘And as long as he gives his blessing, I could fly over tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘No later than that,’ said Christina, ‘because once I’ve finished packing, all sixty-nine crates will be loaded onto Miles’ yacht.’

  ‘Will you also be on board?’

  ‘No, that’s not part of my plan. Once the Christina – named in happier times – has set sail for Southampton, I’ll be flying back to Heathrow. I’ll then be driven to Limpton Hall to wrap up some more of my presents, which have to be ready in time for the removers who will be turning up the following morning and taking them to Southampton, where they’ll also be placed on board the Christina. It’s all in the timing.’

  ‘Dare I ask what happens after that?’

  ‘All will be revealed when I see you in Monte Carlo tomorrow. Give me a call when you know which flight you’re on, and I’ll send a car to pick you up.’

  ‘I’ll phone you back once I’ve spoken to the commander. Goodbye, Christina, and happy Christmas.’ William put the phone down and returned to the dining room. How much he wanted to tell them, and Beth in particular, that by this time tomorrow he might be in possession of the Rembrandt. He sat down next to his fiancée, to find an empty plate in front of him.

  ‘You missed the main course, my boy. But not to worry, I’m sure there’ll be some pudding left over.’

  ‘Ignore him,’ said his mother. ‘We haven’t even started yet. Joanna’s been telling us what she’s been up to in Arthur’s absence.’

  William smiled at Beth’s mother, as he helped himself to some brussel sprouts.

  ‘When Arthur first went to prison,’ said Joanna, ‘we all assumed that the company would be wound up. But we quickly discovered that Hamish was made of sterner stuff when he continued to run the office as if Arthur was still out on the road.

  ‘Meanwhile Arthur set up office in his cell at Pentonville, while I sat at his desk in Marylebone. I wrote to him every day, keeping him up to date.’

  ‘But what happened when someone made an appointment to see the chairman, only to find that he was in prison?’ asked Grace.

  ‘After a while I took his place and even began to travel around the country visiting the company’s clients. I was pleasantly surprised by how few of them deserted us.’

  ‘Reputation is the shield of the righteous in difficult times,’ said Sir Julian.

  ‘Who said that?’ asked William.

  ‘I did, you insolent child. But please continue, Joanna. You’d lost your accountant, and your bank must also have been apprehensive.’

  ‘Barclays did everything they could to help,’ said Joanna, ‘but it was Kleinwort Benson who came to our rescue and gave the investors the confidence to stick with us. And then, when we least expected it, we had a stroke of luck.’

  Everyone at the table stopped eating.

  ‘Gary Kirkland hadn’t written a will, and his son Hugh inherited everything, including his father’s gift for figures, so he now sits in Gary’s old office and accounts for every penny the company spends. And before you ask, unlike his father, he’s happily married.’

  ‘So does that mean the company’s back on track?’ asked Grace.

  ‘No, we’re just about breaking even, but once Arthur returns, we should soon be showing a profit.’

  ‘No pressure then,’ said Sir Julian as the phone rang again. ‘Are we having our Christmas lunch in the BT Tower?’ he asked, letting out an exaggerated sigh. ‘As it’s bound to be for you, William, why don’t you invite whoever it is to join us in the hope that we won’t be interrupted again.’

  William scurried out of the room and returned to his father’s study. He grabbed the phone, assuming it would be the commander. ‘William Warwick.’

  ‘Sorry to bother you on Christmas Day,’ said a voice that could only have hailed from New York, ‘but I need to speak to Ms Grace Warwick on a personal matter.’

  ‘May I ask who’s calling?’

  ‘Leonard Abrahams.’

  ‘Please hold on, Mr Abrahams, and I’ll let her know you’re on the phone.’

  William quickly returned to the dining room. ‘It’s for you, Sis. Leonard Abrahams?’

  ‘Would you tell whoever it is, Grace, that we were rather hoping to have one course at which the whole family are present.’

  ‘I think it might be the professor,’ said Grace.

  ‘Then you’d better speak to him immediately,’ said Sir Julian, his tone suddenly changing.

  Grace nodded and quickly left the room.

  ‘Professor Abrahams, it’s Grace Warwick. I’m sorry to have kept you w