what had taken place that night in Monte Carlo.
“I might even bump into her on Saturday,” continued Beth, “if she visits Belmarsh to console her husband.”
“I don’t think so,” said William. “But my father and Grace are going to the prison this morning to give your father some important news.”
“Good or bad?” asked Beth, sounding anxious.
“I’ve no idea. He wouldn’t even tell my mother.”
“I wish I could be there to hear the news,” said Beth, “but we’d better get moving if we’re not going to be late for the ‘opening of the crates ceremony.’ This is one of those days when I wish I could be in two places at once.”
* * *
“Good morning, Sir Julian. The prisoner is waiting for you in the interview room.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rose.” The leading silk and his junior followed the prison officer along a corridor that was becoming all too familiar.
When they reached the interview room Sir Julian shook hands with his client. “Good morning, Arthur.”
“Good morning, Sir Julian,” Arthur replied, before kissing Grace on both cheeks.
“Let me begin with some good news,” said Sir Julian, sitting down and placing his Gladstone bag by his side. Arthur looked apprehensive. “Thanks to the expertise of Professor Leonard Abrahams, a forensic document analyst at Columbia University in New York, the DPP has agreed to support our application for leave to appeal against sentence, which is virtually a retrial.”
“That’s wonderful news,” said Arthur.
“And even better,” said Grace, “we’ve been given an early slot in the court calendar, so your appeal should be heard in a few weeks’ time.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Sometimes you get lucky,” said Sir Julian.
“Especially if you and the DPP were at Oxf—”
“Behave yourself, Grace,” said her father. “Although I must confess I’ve used up all my markers.”
“I’m most grateful,” said Arthur.
“It was worth playing the long game,” said Sir Julian, without explanation. “However, as we only have an hour, Arthur, we must use the time constructively. First, I should tell you that I intend to call only three witnesses.”
“Will I be one of them?” asked Arthur.
“No point,” said Sir Julian. “Appeal hearings are held in front of three judges, not a jury, and you have nothing new to tell then. They will only be interested in any fresh evidence.”
“So who will you be calling?”
“The two police officers who gave evidence at the original trial.”
“But they’re hardly likely to change their stories.”
“You’re probably right. However, William has received some information from an unimpeachable source that might make their original testimony look a little less credible. However, our principal witness will still be Professor Abrahams. Grace has been dealing directly with him, so she’ll take you through the evidence he has compiled, and, more importantly, his conclusions.”
Grace took a thick file out of her briefcase and placed it on the table.
“Let me begin…”
* * *
“Let me begin,” said Tim Knox, the director of the Fitzmolean Museum, as he faced a small gathering of friends and staff, “by welcoming you all to what my colleague Beth Rainsford has described as the ‘opening of the crates ceremony.’ Once the Rembrandt has been removed from its crate and returned to its rightful place, we will then open the second crate and discover what hidden treasure is inside.”
Get on with it, William wanted to say.
Beth contented herself with, “I can’t wait.”
“When you’re ready, Mark,” said the director.
Mark Cranston, the keeper of paintings, stepped forward and slowly lifted the lid of the first crate as if he were a conjuror, to reveal a mass of small polystyrene chips that his team took some time clearing, only to discover that the painting was wrapped in several layers of muslin. Cranston delicately peeled each layer away until the long-lost masterpiece appeared.
The rapt audience gasped, and a moment later burst into spontaneous applause. The works manager and his crew carefully lifted up the canvas and gently lowered the painting into its frame, securing it with tiny clamps. A second round of applause broke out when the picture was hung on its waiting hooks to once again fill a space that had been unoccupied for seven years.
“Welcome home,” said the director.
The assembled gathering gazed in awe at the six Syndics of the Clothmakers’ Guild, who returned their admiration with disdain. It was some time before the keeper suggested that they should now open the other crate, although it was clear that some of the patrons were reluctant to be dragged away from their long-lost companions.
Eventually they all joined the director around the second