it meant they avoided ending up in jail for several years?”
“Does that mean you know who stole it?”
William didn’t reply, and was relieved when Gino reappeared with their main courses.
“I’m sorry,” said Beth. “I shouldn’t have asked. But if there’s ever anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
“There is something you might be able to advise me on. We’ve recently come across an outstanding copy of The Syndics, and I wondered if you knew anyone who specializes in that kind of work?”
“Not my field,” admitted Beth. “I deal with dead artists, and then only if they’re Dutch or Flemish. But I assume you’ve already visited the Fake Gallery in Notting Hill?”
“Never heard of it,” said William, as he touched his jacket pocket, searching for a notebook, quite forgetting that he wasn’t on duty.
“They have a number of artists working for them who can knock up a fake of any master you require, living or dead.”
“Is that legal?”
“I’ve no idea. That’s your department,” Beth said with a grin. “But if you’re not spending every waking hour trying to find my Rembrandt, you must be attempting to solve some even bigger crimes.”
“The theft of a small phial of moon dust, and several signed copies of Winston Churchill’s The Second World War.”
“Are you allowed to tell me more?”
Beth couldn’t stop laughing when William told her about Dr. Talbot and the American undersecretary. She even came up with a suggestion when he mentioned the fake Winston Churchill signed editions.
“Perhaps you should be looking for an unsigned set, so you’ll be one step ahead of your forger.”
“Good idea,” said William, deciding not to tell her that was exactly what he’d been doing all day. “Perhaps we should meet regularly, as you should have been a detective.”
“And you should clearly be giving lectures at the Fitzmolean.”
They both laughed.
“How awkward first dates are,” said William.
“Is this a first date?” asked Beth, giving him a warm smile.
“I hope so.”
“Coffee?” asked Gino.
William didn’t notice the time slip by until Beth whispered, “I think the staff want to go home.”
He looked around to see that they were the last two customers in the restaurant, and quickly called for the bill.
“Do you live nearby?” he asked.
“In Fulham. I share a flat with a friend. But don’t worry, I can catch a bus from here.”
“I can’t afford the bus fare,” said William after looking at the bill. “So can I walk you home?”
“I hope we’ll see you again soon, signorina,” said Gino as he opened the door for them.
“I haven’t decided yet,” said Beth, returning his grin.
William took her hand as they crossed the road, and they didn’t stop chatting about nothing, about everything, until they reached Beth’s front door, when he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. As she put her key in the lock he asked, “Would you like to come to the Fake Gallery with me?”
“Are you ever off duty, Detective Constable Warwick?” she asked.
“Not while there’s an outside chance I’ll find your Rembrandt, Miss Rainsford.”
9
The rule was simple. If the phone rang, you took the call, like the next cab on the rank. You wrote down the details before briefing DCI Lamont, who would decide which one of them would take on the case, assuming there was a case to take on.
Quite often the call came from a member of the public who’d had a family keepsake stolen and wanted to know what the police intended to do about it. You had to explain that most burglaries were a matter for their local constabulary, as the Art and Antiques unit only had four officers, so it couldn’t follow up every inquiry. However, Commander Hawksby never stopped reminding them that to an old lady who’d lost her Victorian brooch it was the Crown Jewels, and for many callers, this was their only direct contact with the police.
“When you put the phone down,” he told William, “be sure you have a happy, satisfied customer, rather than someone who believes the police aren’t on their side.”
William picked up the phone.
“Sorry to bother you,” said a well-spoken voice. “I just hope I’m not wasting your time.”
“You won’t be wasting my time,” said William, “if you believe a crime has been committed.”
“That’s the problem. I’m not altogether sure a crime’s been committed, but it looks a bit fishy.”
William smiled at the quaint expression. “Can I start by taking your name, sir?” he asked, picking up a pen, aware that half the time the caller put the phone down