A Prisoner of Birth Read online

  ‘Two black coffees,’ he said to a passing waiter, without giving Danny any choice. ‘Now, Sir Nicholas. I’m puzzled.’

  ‘Puzzled?’ said Danny, speaking for the first time.

  ‘I can’t work out why you let the de Coubertin come up for auction, and then allowed your uncle to outbid me for it. Unless you and he were working together, and hoped you could force me to go even higher.’

  ‘My uncle and I are not on speaking terms,’ said Danny, selecting his words carefully.

  ‘That’s something you have in common with your late grand-daddy,’ said Hunsacker.

  ‘You were a friend of my grandfather’s?’ asked Danny.

  ‘Friend would be presumptuous,’ said the Texan. ‘Pupil and follower would be nearer the mark. He once outfoxed me for a rare two penny blue way back in 1977 when I was still a rookie collector, but I learnt quickly from him and, to be fair, he was a generous teacher. I keep reading in the press that I have the finest stamp collection on earth, but it just ain’t true. That honour goes to your late grand-daddy.’ Hunsacker sipped his coffee before adding, ‘Many years ago he tipped me off that he’d be leaving the collection to his grandson, and not to either of his sons.’

  ‘My father is dead,’ Danny said.

  Hunsacker looked surprised. ‘I know – I was at his funeral. I thought you saw me.’

  ‘I did,’ said Danny, recalling Nick’s description of the vast American in his diary. ‘But they would only allow me to speak to my solicitor,’ he added quickly.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Hunsacker. ‘But I managed to have a word with your uncle and let him know that I was in the market should you ever want to dispose of the collection. He promised to keep in touch. That’s when I realized that he hadn’t inherited it, and that your grand-daddy must have kept his word and left the collection to you. So when Mr Blundell phoned to tell me that you’d put the de Coubertin up for sale, I flew back across the pond in the hope that we might meet.’

  ‘I don’t even know where the collection is,’ admitted Danny.

  ‘Maybe that explains why Hugo was willing to pay so much for your envelope,’ said the Texan, ‘because he has absolutely no interest in stamps. There he is now.’ Hunsacker pointed his cigar at a man standing at the reception desk. So that’s Uncle Hugo, Danny thought, taking a closer look at him. He could only wonder why he wanted the envelope so badly that he’d been willing to pay three times its estimated value. Danny watched as Hugo passed a cheque to Mr Blundell, who in return handed over the envelope.

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ muttered Danny, rising from his place.

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Hunsacker, the cigar falling out of his mouth.

  ‘Me, not you,’ said Danny quickly. ‘It’s been staring me in the face for the past two months. It’s the address he’s after, not the envelope, because that’s where Sir Alexander’s collection has to be.’

  Gene looked even more puzzled. Why would Nick describe his grandfather as Sir Alexander?

  ‘I have to go, Mr Hunsacker, I apologize. I should never have sold the envelope in the first place.’

  ‘I wish I knew what in hell’s name you were talking about,’ said Hunsacker, taking a wallet from an inside pocket. He passed a card across to Danny. ‘If you ever decide to sell the collection, at least give me first option. I’d offer you a fair price with no ten per cent deduction.’

  ‘And no twenty per cent premium either,’ said Danny with a grin.

  ‘A chip off the older block,’ said Gene. ‘Your grand-daddy was a brilliant and resourceful gentleman, unlike your uncle Hugo, as I’m sure you realize.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Hunsacker,’ said Danny as he tucked the card into Nick’s wallet. His eyes never left Hugo Moncrieff, who had just put the envelope into a briefcase. He walked across the lobby to join a woman Danny hadn’t noticed until that moment. She linked her arm in his and the two of them left the building quickly.

  Danny waited for a few seconds before following them. Once he was back on Bond Street, he looked left and then right, and when he spotted them he was surprised by how much ground they’d already covered. It was clear they were in a hurry. They turned right as they passed the statue of Churchill and Roosevelt sitting on a bench, and then left when they reached Albemarle Street, where they crossed the road and walked for a few more yards before disappearing into Brown’s Hotel.

  Danny hung around outside the hotel for a few moments while he considered his options. He knew that if they spotted him they would think it was Nick. He entered the building cautiously, but there was no sign of either of them in the lobby. Danny took a seat that was half concealed by a pillar, but still allowed him a clear view of the lifts as well as reception. He didn’t pay any attention to a man who had just sat down on the other side of the lobby.

  Danny waited for another thirty minutes, and began to wonder if he’d missed them. He was about to get up and check with reception when the lift doors opened, and out stepped Hugo and the woman pulling two suitcases. They walked across to the reception desk, where the woman settled the bill before they quickly left the hotel by a different door. Danny rushed out on to the pavement to see them climbing into the back of a black cab. He hailed the next one on the rank, and even before he had closed the door shouted, ‘Follow that cab.’

  ‘I’ve waited all my life to hear someone say that,’ the cabbie responded as he pulled away from the kerb.

  The taxi in front turned right at the end of the road and made its way towards Hyde Park Corner, through the underpass, along Brompton Road and on to the Westway.

  ‘Looks like they’re heading for the airport,’ said the cabbie. Twenty minutes later he was proved right.

  When the two cabs emerged from the Heathrow underpass, Danny’s driver said, ‘Terminal two. So they must be flying to somewhere in Europe.’ They both came to a halt outside the entrance. The meter read £34.50, and Danny handed over forty pounds but remained in the cab until Hugo and the woman had disappeared inside the terminal.

  He followed them in, and watched as they joined a queue of business-class passengers. The screen above the check-in desk read BA0732, Geneva, 13.55.

  ‘Idiot,’ Danny muttered again, recalling the address on the envelope. But where exactly in Geneva had it been? He looked at his watch. He still had enough time to buy a ticket and catch the plane. He ran across to the British Airways sales counter, and had to wait some time before he reached the front of the queue.

  ‘Can you get me on the 13.55 to Geneva?’ he asked, trying not to sound desperate.

  ‘Do you have any luggage, sir?’ asked the assistant behind the sales counter.

  ‘None,’ said Danny.

  She checked her computer. ‘They haven’t closed the gate yet, so you should still be able to make it. Business or economy?’

  ‘Economy,’ said Danny, wanting to avoid the section where Hugo and the woman would be seated.

  ‘Window or aisle?’

  ‘Window.’

  ‘That will be £217, sir.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Danny as he passed over his credit card.

  ‘May I see your passport, please?’

  Danny had never had a passport in his life. ‘My passport?’

  ‘Yes, sir, your passport.’

  ‘Oh no, I must have left it at home.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid you won’t be in time to catch the plane, sir.’

  ‘Idiot, idiot,’ said Danny.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Danny. ‘Me, not you,’ he repeated. She smiled.

  Danny turned round and walked slowly back across the concourse, feeling helpless. He didn’t notice Hugo and the woman leave through the gate marked Departures, Passengers only, but someone else did, who had been watching both them and Danny closely.

  Hugo pressed the green button on his mobile just as the tannoy announced, ‘Final call for all passengers travelling to Geneva on flight BA0732. Please make your way to gate nin