Two waitresses were chatting as they added the final touches to the place settings. They stopped talking when somebody else entered the room and a voice boomed, ‘I don’t have to remind you both how important his Lordship considers this meeting. We must all be on our toes. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ piped up two voices in unison.
? ? ?
Ross watched as the gates closed the moment the last tourist had departed. Well, not quite the last. He glanced up at the large window on the first floor and wondered how William was getting on. If a car didn’t appear in the next few minutes, how long would they have to hang about before he accepted it had been another wasted journey? Although he had no idea how William planned to get out of the castle, one thing was certain: the boss would have worked that out.
Ross’s radio crackled into life, and he heard a broad Glaswegian accent on the other end of the line. ‘A chauffeur-driven car is heading towards the castle, two passengers sitting in the back. They should be with you in about three minutes.’
‘Message received.’
William stared out of the window to see the front gate edge slowly open. A moment later a BMW entered the grounds and headed towards the castle. He lost sight of the car long before it reached the front door, but Ross still had a clear view as the BMW came to a halt in the driveway. The chauffeur leapt out and opened the back door. Two figures appeared: a smartly dressed woman who headed straight for the door, followed by a man wearing a long black overcoat and carrying a briefcase.
They were greeted on the steps by his Lordship, who was dressed in a lovat green jacket, a kilt of the McLaren family tartan, heavy brown woollen socks and what his mother would have called sensible shoes. Standing by his side was an older woman who Ross thought he recognized. The front door closed and they all disappeared inside.
William was already stiff and needed to stretch, but he didn’t dare move for fear of making the slightest sound. A few moments later a gong echoed in the distance, and shortly afterwards he heard a small group of people entering the dining room, chatting amicably.
‘This is where Fishers of Men has hung for the past two hundred years,’ said an aristocratic voice that could only have been Lord McLaren’s.
Purrs of ‘Magnificent’， ‘Superb’， ‘A masterpiece’ followed.
‘Why don’t we take our seats for lunch,’ William heard Lord McLaren suggest. ‘I thought you would like to sit facing the painting, so you have a better view of it,’ he said, addressing one of his guests, who didn’t comment.
William heard chairs being pulled back while the waitresses scurried in and out of the room. Two of the diners’ voices were quite clear, but one, who must have had his back to him, was almost indecipherable. Then a woman spoke, and William recognized her voice immediately. It certainly wasn’t Lady McLaren.
? ? ?
Ross remained hidden in the copse, trying to imagine what they might be having for lunch on the other side of the castle’s impenetrable walls. Smoked salmon and grouse from the estate, he guessed, considering the time of year. He licked his lips and resigned himself to a long wait before an unlikely minstrel would appear at the window. If William gave him a thumbs-up sign, he was to radio the waiting officers, who would immediately head for the castle, flashing lights not on, sirens not blaring. By the time they reached the front door William would have arrested Faulkner. A thumbs-down sign would mean Faulkner wasn’t among the guests, and he would attempt to make a discreet exit.
? ? ?
William listened carefully to the conversation around the dining room table. He couldn’t make out every word, and one member of the group hadn’t yet spoken.
‘Shall we get down to business?’ said Lord McLaren once the main course had been cleared away.
‘What figure did you have in mind?’ said a voice, having dispensed with platitudes.
‘I consider thirty million pounds would be a fair price.’
‘Twenty million would be nearer the mark, in my opinion.’
‘It’s worth far more than that,’ said McLaren.
‘I’d agree with you, if it wasn’t a fire sale.’
William would have liked to have seen the expression on his Lordship’s face.
‘While you have an inheritance problem, it’s a buyer’s market.’ The voice paused. ‘However, I would be willing to offer you twenty-two million, with an added incentive,’ said the same voice.
‘And what might that be?’ asked McLaren, sounding flustered.