‘That doesn’t sound too bad.’
‘Until you discover you can’t get off until you reach Rio, some two thousand five hundred miles away, and the waves regularly reach thirty feet during the voyage. Still, the good news is you can eat anything you catch.’
‘And what do I get for my thousand pounds?’
‘You’ll be dropped off in the Falklands, and have to hope that the Governor’s feeling sympathetic about the fact that you haven’t got a passport or any money. Unfortunately, he’s also a former SBS officer, so you’ll probably finish your holiday locked up in a cell with half a dozen Argentinian bandits who haven’t forgotten the Falklands invasion.’
‘I’m only surprised that after handing over your cash, they don’t make you walk the plank.’
‘The mad major did consider that as an option, but in the end even he thought it was going a little too far.’
‘And people pay to go on these holidays?’ said Jo, in disbelief.
‘There’s a long waiting list of customers who’d be happy to take the place of any wimps who fall out at the last minute.’
‘And dare I ask what role they have in mind for you?’
‘I’d be in charge of selecting the ex-servicemen who will accompany the clients on each of the adventures. I’d only consider applications from the SAS, the Royal Marines and the SBS.’
‘Now I understand why they chose you,’ said Jo. ‘Are you going to take the job?’
‘I start in six weeks’ time. The major has offered me almost double the salary I’m getting at the Met.’
‘We’re going to need every penny,’ said Jo.
‘Yes, because they’re not going to pay you a thousand pounds a week to hear the private views of a mad major rather than a mad commander. Then it will be my turn to earn a thousand pounds a week, so the two of us can start a new life together.’
‘The three of us,’ said Jo, touching her stomach.
After a moment of realization, Ross leapt in the air, fell back down to earth, and said, ‘We’ll have to get married as quickly as possible.’
‘Why?’
‘My mother’s an old-fashioned Irish Roman Catholic who uses words like wedlock, illegitimate and bastard as if they were still in fashion.’
‘What will she say if she finds out I used to be a prostitute?’
‘It would be a far bigger problem if you were a Protestant.’
CHAPTER 17
‘THAT BRINGS US TO THE end of the tour,’ said the guide. ‘I hope you enjoyed it.’ A warm round of applause followed. ‘If you would like some mementoes of your visit, the shop on the ground floor is open, as is the café, should you require any refreshments. Do feel free to roam around the grounds, but please remember the gates will close at one p.m. today. Thank you.’
William and Ross followed the crowd out of the room, ignoring the shop and the café as they headed for the front door.
‘Keep moving,’ said William, as they strolled across a broad stretch of unmowed lawn towards a large clump of trees that overlooked the castle. ‘Observations?’ he asked, once they were safely out of earshot of any other visitors.
‘The Caravaggio’s still hanging above the fireplace in the dining room for all to see.’
‘What else did you notice about that room?’
‘A table had been laid for four. So they are clearly expecting Booth Watson for lunch,’ suggested Ross. ‘With or without his client.’
‘Security?’ said William, moving on.
‘Virtually non-existent. The smaller paintings are all screwed to the wall, and there’s only a rope barrier to prevent anyone getting too close to the pictures.’
‘Alarm system?’
‘Penfold, but years out of date.’
‘And what didn’t you see?’
‘Any security guards, which you’d find in every room if it were a public gallery and not a private house.’
‘Conclusion?’
‘His Lordship can only afford to employ the bare minimum of staff, which you can be sure Faulkner will clock,’ said Ross. ‘That’s assuming he turns up.’
‘That’s assuming he hasn’t already,’ said William. ‘Don’t forget the local police could only spare one constable to keep a lookout, 24/7.’
Ross didn’t comment.
‘However,’ continued William, ‘back to the dining room. What else did you notice?’