Be Careful What You Wish For Read online

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Think about it, detective inspector. If, as you suggest, my client, with Miss Sullivan’s assistance, stole the Raphael from Agnew’s, would you expect to find it in the boot of his employer’s car several hours later? Or are you suggesting that the chairman’s chauffeur was also in on it, or perhaps even the chairman himself?”

  “Mr. Clifton,” said Rossindale, checking his notebook, “did admit that he intended to take the pictures back to his flat later this evening.”

  “Isn’t it just possible that a Raphael might look a little out of place in a bachelor flat in Fulham?”

  “This is not a laughing matter, sir. Mr. Agnew, who reported the theft, is a highly respected West End art dealer, and—”

  “It’s not a theft, detective inspector, unless you can prove that it was taken with intent to deprive. And as you haven’t even asked my client for his side of the story, I can’t see how you can possibly come to that conclusion.”

  The officer turned to Sebastian, who was counting the pictures.

  “I’m guilty,” said Sebastian. The detective smiled. “Not of theft, but infatuation.”

  “Perhaps you’d care to explain yourself.”

  “There were nine pictures by my sister, Jessica Clifton, at the Slade’s graduation exhibition, and there are only eight of them here. So if the other one is still at the gallery, then, mea culpa, I picked up the wrong one, and I apologize for what is no more than a simple mistake.”

  “A one hundred thousand pound mistake,” said Rossindale.

  “May I suggest, detective inspector,” said Arnold, “without wishing to be accused of levity, that it is not usual for a master criminal to leave evidence at the scene of the crime that points directly to him.”

  “We don’t know that to be the case, Mr. Hardcastle.”

  “Then I recommend we all go to the gallery and see if the missing Jessica Clifton, the property of my client, is still there.”

  “I’ll need more than that to convince me of his innocence,” said Rossindale. He took Sebastian firmly by the arm, led him out of the room and didn’t let go until he was in the back of the police car with a burly constable seated on either side of him.

  Sebastian’s only thought was of what Samantha must be going through. On the way to the gallery he asked the detective inspector if she would be there.

  “Miss Sullivan is presently at Savile Row police station being interviewed by one of my officers.”

  “But she’s innocent,” said Sebastian. “If anyone’s to blame, it has to be me.”

  “I must remind you, sir, that a one hundred thousand pound painting went missing from the gallery at which she was an assistant, and has now been recovered from the boot of the car in which you placed it.”

  Sebastian recalled Arnold’s advice, and said nothing more. Twenty minutes later the police car drew up outside Agnew’s. The chairman’s car was not too far behind, with Cedric and Arnold seated in the back.

  The detective inspector climbed out of the car, clinging on to the Raphael, while another officer rang the doorbell. Mr. Agnew quickly appeared, unlocked the door and stared lovingly at the masterpiece as if he was being reunited with a lost child.

  When Sebastian explained what must have happened, Agnew said, “That shouldn’t be too difficult to prove one way or the other.” Without another word, he led them all downstairs to the basement and unlocked the door to the stock room, where there were several wrapped pictures waiting to be delivered.

  Sebastian held his breath as Mr. Agnew studied each label carefully until he came across one marked Jessica Clifton.

  “Would you be kind enough to unwrap it,” said Rossindale.

  “Certainly,” said Mr. Agnew. He painstakingly removed the wrapping paper, to reveal a drawing of Sebastian.

  Arnold couldn’t stop laughing. “Entitled Portrait of a Master Criminal, no doubt.”

  Even the detective inspector allowed himself a wry smile, but he reminded Arnold, “We mustn’t forget that Mr. Agnew has filed charges.”

  “And of course I shall withdraw them, as I can now see that there was no intention to steal. Indeed,” he said, turning to Sebastian, “I owe you and Sam an apology.”

  “Does that mean she’ll get her job back?”

  “Certainly not,” said Agnew firmly. “I accept that she was not involved in a criminal act, but she was still guilty of either gross negligence or stupidity, and we both know, Mr. Clifton, that she isn’t stupid.”

  “But it was me who picked up the wrong picture.”

  “And it was she who allowed you to take it off the premises.”

  Sebastian frowned. “Mr. Rossindale, can I come back to the police station with you? I’m meant to be taking Samantha out to dinner this evening.”

  “I can’t see any reason why you shouldn’t.”

  “Thank you for your help, Arnold,” said Sebastian, shaking the QC by the hand. Turning to Cedric, he added, “I’m sorry to have caused you so much trouble, sir.”

  “Just be sure that you’re back in the office by seven tomorrow morning, as you’ll remember it’s a rather important day for all of us. And I must say, Seb, you could have picked a better week to steal a Raphael.”

  Everyone laughed except Mr. Agnew, who was still clutching the masterpiece. He placed it back in the stock room, double-locked the door and led them all upstairs. “My thanks, detective inspector,” he said as Rossindale was leaving the gallery.

  “My pleasure, sir. I’m glad this one worked out for the best.”

  When Sebastian climbed into the back of the police car, Detective Inspector Rossindale said, “I’ll tell you why I was so convinced you’d stolen the painting, young man. Your girlfriend took the blame, which usually means they’re protecting someone.”

  “I’m not sure she’ll be my girlfriend any longer after what I’ve put her through.”

  “I’ll get her released as quickly as possible,” said Rossindale. “Just the usual paperwork,” he added with a sigh as the car drew up outside Savile Row station. Sebastian followed the policemen into the building.

  “Take Mr. Clifton down to the cells while I deal with the paperwork.”

  The young sergeant led Sebastian down a flight of steps, unlocked a cell door and stood aside to allow him to go in. Samantha was hunched up on the end of a thin mattress, her knees tucked under her chin.

  “Seb! Have they arrested you as well?”

  “No,” he said, taking her in his arms for the first time. “I don’t think they’d allow us to be in the same cell if they thought we were London’s answer to Bonnie and Clyde. Once Mr. Agnew found Jessica’s painting in the stock room, he accepted that I’d just picked up the wrong package and dropped all the charges. But I’m afraid you’ve lost your job, and it was my fault.”

  “I can’t blame him,” said Samantha. “I should have been concentrating, not flirting. But I’m beginning to wonder just how far you’ll go to avoid taking me to dinner.” Sebastian released her, looked into her eyes and then gently kissed her.

  “They say a girl always remembers the first kiss with a man she’s fallen in love with, and I must admit it’s going to be quite difficult to forget this one,” she said as the cell door swung open.

  “You’re free to go now, miss,” said the young sergeant. “Sorry about the misunderstanding.”

  “Not your fault,” said Samantha. The sergeant led them upstairs and held the front door of the station open.

  Sebastian walked out on to the street and took Samantha’s hand, just as a dark blue Cadillac came to a halt in front of the building.

  “Oh, hell,” said Samantha. “I forgot. The police allowed me to make one call and I phoned the embassy. They told me my parents were at the opera, but that they’d get them out in the interval. Oh, hell,” she repeated as Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan stepped out of the car.

  “So what’s all this about, Samantha?” said Mr. Sullivan after he’d kissed her on the cheek. “Your mothe