‘And she’s right to do so,’ said William, ‘but all I can say is you won’t be disappointed.’
Tim Knox tapped his champagne glass with a spoon several times before everyone had stopped talking and turned to face him.
‘In the past,’ he said, ‘we have always considered The Syndics to be the star of our galaxy, but when this second curtain is opened, I wonder if you will consider that a genuine rival has joined the firmament.’
Without another word, he pulled the cord to reveal Rubens’ Christ’s Descent from the Cross, to gasps, followed by thunderous applause.
‘This amazing addition to our collection,’ he continued, once the ovation had subsided, ‘has been made possible by the incredible generosity of the well-known collector and philanthropist Mr Miles Faulkner. As he is with us this evening, I ask you all to raise a glass and drink his health.’
‘Count me out,’ muttered William, despite the cries of ‘Hear, hear!’ and the clinking of glasses.
‘Count me in,’ said Beth, raising her glass, ‘while he’s still got so many more rare gems on his walls that we’d be happy to see hanging in the Fitzmolean.’
‘I’d hang him first,’ said William.
‘I think I’d better go and rescue my father,’ said Beth, ‘and take him home. It’s getting close to his bedtime, and we mustn’t forget that he’s going back to work tomorrow.’
William nodded. ‘I’ll join you in a moment,’ he said, unable to tear himself away from the Rubens.
‘I shall miss my favourite work of art,’ said a voice from behind him.
William swung round to see Faulkner also admiring the Rubens, but he refused to acknowledge him. That didn’t stop Faulkner from saying, ‘Should you ever find yourself in New York, Constable Warwick, do give me a call, because I’d like to invite you round to my apartment on Fifth Avenue for a drink.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’ said William, almost spitting out the words.
Faulkner leant forward and whispered in his ear, ‘Because then I can show you the original.’