‘I think it might be the professor,’ said Grace.
‘Then you’d better speak to him immediately,’ said Sir Julian, his tone suddenly changing.
Grace nodded and quickly left the room.
‘Professor Abrahams, it’s Grace Warwick. I’m sorry to have kept you w
aiting.’
‘No, Ms Warwick, it is I who should apologize. I wouldn’t have considered disturbing you on Christmas Day if it hadn’t been urgent, but I thought you’d want to know that I’ll be in London tomorrow.’
‘That’s wonderful news. Where will you be staying?’
‘Probably in an airport lounge. I only have a four-hour layover before my connecting flight for Warsaw, where I’ll be visiting my dear mother. We Jews are cunning,’ the professor added. ‘We always know when you Gentiles are on holiday, and as long as we’re back at our desks the day after Boxing Day, you don’t even notice we’ve been away.’
Grace laughed. ‘Have you had a chance to read the trial depositions I sent you?’
‘I’ve only glanced through them. But I’ll work on them more thoroughly during my flight, so by the time I reach Heathrow I should be able to give you a preliminary opinion.’
‘I’ll book a room at the Airport Hilton, so we’re not disturbed. What time should I expect you?’
‘I’m on Pan Am flight 716 out of JFK, landing around 10.20 in the morning, your time.’
‘Then I’ll be at the arrivals gate waiting for you.’
‘That’s kind of you. But how will you recognize me?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve read your book.’
‘It’s a few years since that photo was taken,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘But I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Ms Warwick, and once again, I apologize for having disturbed you on Christmas Day.’
‘Don’t give it a thought. I know my father will be delighted to hear your news.’
Grace slipped back into the dining room and took her seat without a word, although William noticed the nod that passed between the two lawyers.
‘Allow me to warn all of you,’ said Sir Julian as Marjorie passed him the brandy butter, ‘that should anyone consider calling while Her Majesty is delivering her Christmas message to the nation at three o’clock, the phone will go unanswered, even if it’s the Archbishop of Canterbury.’
William checked in at Heathrow just after nine the following morning. He didn’t tell Beth where he was going, and she didn’t ask. A ticket for Nice was waiting for him at the BA counter.
Much to his father’s disapproval, he had called Scotland Yard only moments after the Queen’s message had ended. The switchboard put him straight through to the commander’s home.
When Hawksby heard William’s news, he said, ‘Book yourself onto the first available flight to Nice. If Mrs Faulkner is in possession of the Rembrandt, we can’t afford to keep her waiting. Whatever happens, let me know immediately, no matter what time of the day or night, because I won’t be getting much sleep until I find out.’
William fastened his seat belt as the plane taxied out onto the north runway.
Grace was dropped off at Heathrow just after ten, and checked the arrivals board to find that Pan Am flight 716 was running twenty minutes late. She bought a copy of the Guardian and a cappuccino, sat down and waited.
When LANDED flicked up on the board next to flight 716, she took her place behind a barrier heaving with impatient greeters.
Professor Abrahams was among the first passengers to come through the gate, as his luggage was being transferred directly to a connecting flight for Warsaw. He came to a halt and scanned the crowd. When she spotted him, Grace was taken by surprise. The photograph on the back of his book didn’t reveal that he was barely five feet tall. But his massive domed forehead and thick pebble glasses made him instantly recognizable, even if the yellow tracksuit and the latest Nike trainers did come as something of a surprise.
‘I always wear a tracksuit on a long-haul flight,’ he explained as they shook hands. ‘I got the idea from Joan Collins, but unlike her, I don’t change back for the photographers before getting off the plane.’
‘I thought we’d walk across to the Hilton,’ said Grace. ‘It’s not far, and as there’s always a long queue for a taxi, we’ll probably get there quicker.’
‘And save a few dollars,’ said the professor as they walked the short distance to the hotel, chatting about everything except the one subject that was on both of their minds. Grace had booked a suite for two hours, and the receptionist handed her the room key thinking they were an unusual couple to be booking a private room at that time in the morning.
As Grace made the professor a cup of steaming black coffee, he took a file out of his briefcase and placed it on the table between them. He began to turn the pages while giving her a running commentary, as if he were teaching a bright undergraduate attending one of his lectures on how his particular expertise might – he kept repeating the word ‘might’ – be of assistance in the Rainsford case. Once he’d turned the last page, he dealt with all of Grace’s queries with an assurance that didn’t brook contradiction. By the time he’d answered her last question, Grace knew she’d found the right man.