Next In Line

Chapter 7

William quickly turned the key in the lock, hoping he was back in time to read a bedtime story to the children. He was delighted to hear cheerful young voices coming from the front room. He hung up his overcoat on the hallstand and extracted two boxes from the inside pockets before heading towards the boisterous noise.

No sooner had William opened the door than Artemisia charged across and threw her arms around his legs.

‘Is it true,’ she asked even before he could speak, ‘that you had tea with Princess Di?’

‘The Princess of Wales,’ said Beth, correcting her.

‘The answer is yes,’ said William, ‘and she said to say hi, and asked me to give you a present.’

Artemisia held out her hands, while Peter asked, ‘Did she give me a present?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said William, producing the two boxes from behind his back. He handed them over, hoping the twins wouldn’t notice that one of the gifts was far better wrapped than the other. He needn’t have worried, because Peter ripped the wrapping off his present immediately, impatient to discover what was inside, while Artemisia took her time, undoing the silk ribbon and removing the pink paper, both of which would be given pride of place on her bedside table.

‘Wow,’ said Beth as Artemisia held up a small coronet made of shiny beads.

‘Is it real?’ she asked, clutching it tightly.

‘If a Princess gave it to you, it must be,’ said her mother, placing the coronet on her daughter’s head.

Artemisia ran out of the room to take a look at herself in the hall mirror, while Peter began to unbutton his pyjama top.

‘She even knows which team I support and that Kerry Dixon is my favourite player!’ he proclaimed, pulling on a Chelsea shirt with the number nine on the back.

‘And even more impressive,’ whispered Beth, ‘she knows what size he is.’

Artemisia reappeared, her head aloft as she began to stroll regally around the room, smiling and waving at the cat with the back of her hand. As she passed Peter, she said imperiously, ‘You have to bow.’

‘Chelsea supporters don’t bow to anyone,’ said Peter as he began to parade in the opposite direction, showing off his new kit to those seated in the stands.

Both parents somehow managed to keep straight faces.

‘Can I wear it to bed?’ pleaded Peter, after completing several circuits of the room.

‘Yes, of course you can, darling,’ said his mother, followed by a second ‘Yes’ to Artemisia even before she could ask. ‘But you’ll both have to write to the Princess in the morning and thank her.’

‘Mine will be a long and interesting letter, because I have a lot to say since I last saw her,’ said Artemisia as their nanny joined them.

‘Time for bed,’ Sarah said firmly.

‘I’m a Princess,’ Artemisia replied. ‘But you can call me Artemisia.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Sarah, giving her a slight curtsey, ‘but even Princesses need their beauty sleep.’

Artemisia gave her father a hug before she and Peter left the room, both chatting away to Sarah at the same time.

‘You’re a good man, William Warwick,’ said Beth as she bent down and kissed him on the forehead. ‘The coronet I believe, but not the Chelsea shirt.’ William smiled. ‘But now I want to hear all about your visit to Kensington Palace. What was she wearing? What did you have for tea and, most important, which paintings were on display that I’ll never have the chance to see?’

William was already regretting not lingering longer on the staircase while HRH was chatting to Ross.

‘All in good time,’ he said. ‘But first, there’s something more pressing we have to discuss.’ He hesitated for a moment, before asking, ‘How do you feel about having another child?’

Beth didn’t respond immediately, but finally asked, ‘What’s changed? After all, we’ve discussed the subject ad infinitum, and always come to the same conclusion. We simply can’t afford it.’

William settled back to listen to a speech he’d heard several times before.

‘We’re a typical modern couple,’ Beth reminded him. ‘We both have full time jobs, and wouldn’t want it any other way. You’re doing the job you’ve always wanted to do, and I don’t have to remind you how lucky I feel to be working at the Fitzmolean. Not only that, but as a Chief Inspector you can’t even claim overtime, despite the fact that your workload hasn’t diminished. To make things worse, I’m paid a pittance compared to men who do the equivalent job. Such is the lot of women who work in the art world, publishing or the theatre. But that won’t stop me pushing for change in the future,’ she added with considerable feeling. ‘Women will continue to be taken advantage of as long as there’s a surplus of eager candidates vying for every job, especially when they daren’t complain about the pay. And even then, a man far less qualified often ends up being appointed to the same job because he won’t be taking time off to have a baby!’

William didn’t interrupt her. He’d witnessed the same prejudice in the police force, where time and again women were passed over for promotion while less able men were advanced, often with the justification that ‘He’s got a wife and family to support.’ He decided to let Beth continue to erupt, and then settle, before he posed his next question.

‘And don’t forget,’ continued Beth, ‘we have to employ a nanny, who’s paid almost as much as I am. Don’t get me wrong, Sarah’s worth every penny, because she makes it possible for me to do the job I love. But whenever she takes a night off, we have to pay for a babysitter if we want to go to the theatre or eat out.’

The lava was still flowing steadily down the mountain towards him.

‘It was different in our parents’ day when it was assumed that women had been put on earth to raise children, clean the house, cook the meals and support their husbands in their careers. “Love, honour and obey”,’ she emphasized, ‘just in case you’ve forgotten, caveman.’

William was once again reminded why he adored this woman.

‘I swear my father doesn’t know how many minutes it takes to boil an egg, while yours just about manages to carve the Christmas turkey.’

‘He spends some considerable time sharpening the knife beforehand,’ said William, trying to lighten the mood.

‘The truth is,’ continued Beth, ignoring the riposte, ‘that both our mothers would have been well capable of holding down demanding jobs if only they’d been given the chance.’

‘Your mother sat on the board of your father’s company,’ William reminded her.

‘Ask her how much she was paid while she kept the books in apple pie order at the same time as raising me. Be warned, Detective Chief Inspector, a revolution is about to take place, in which homo sapiens will be replaced by “femina sapiens”. I predict it’s going to happen in the not-too-distant future, even if most men can’t see it coming.’

Her voice was now calmer, but no less determined. William didn’t remind her that she’d left out the hunter-gatherer section of her speech.

‘I admit,’ continued Beth, ‘that thanks to the generosity of my parents, we’re fortunate enough to own our own home, but we still find it difficult to make ends meet, even though your father has set up a trust fund for the children’s education. However, the colour of my bank balance has remained red since the day I left university and yours is only in credit on the day after you’re paid. No, William, the simple answer to your question is we can’t afford another child, however much we’d like one.’

‘But if we could afford another one?’

‘I’d have six,’ said Beth. ‘The twins are the joy of my life.’

‘I’d settle for three,’ said William. ‘And I may have found a solution.’

‘Have you won the pools, caveman? Or are we going to rob a bank like Bonnie and Clyde?’ asked Beth, trying to imitate Warren Beatty.

‘Neither will be necessary. We can have a third child at no extra expense, and you won’t even have to take maternity leave.’

‘I can’t wait to hear how we’re going to pull that one off,’ said Beth with an exaggerated sigh.

‘The Princess’s personal protection officer will be retiring in the new year, and she’s offered Ross the job.’

‘So that’s the reason she invited you both to tea?’

‘Yes, but Ross doesn’t feel he can take on the responsibility of trying to bring up Jojo at the same time. Single mothers somehow manage in similar circumstances, but single fathers are far less adaptable.’

‘Especially single fathers who are workaholics,’ said Beth. ‘I can well believe if Ross took on the responsibility, his hours wouldn’t exactly be sociable. Everybody knows Diana isn’t someone who likes to stay quietly at home at night. But much as I’d like to help Ross, I don’t see how it solves the problem of—’

‘Our overdraft,’ said William. ‘Don’t forget, Josephine left Ross enough money to ensure he’d never have to work again, which is somewhat ironic as Ross is happiest when he’s working flat out, and the Princess has offered him a chance to put all the skills and experience he’s acquired over the years to good use. Frankly, I don’t know anyone who’s better qualified for the job.’

‘But being practical for a moment,’ said Beth thoughtfully, ‘how would it work?’

‘Jojo would come and live with us as part of the family. Ross would visit her whenever possible and take her out on his days off. Of course, they’d go on holiday together when he takes his annual leave. In return, he’d pay Sarah’s wages, and give us a hundred pounds a week to cover any other expenses. He’d also contribute one-third of the payments into the educational trust, so that Jojo would enjoy the same advantages as the twins.’

‘On top of paying Sarah’s wages? That’s more than generous.’

‘The downside is we’d have three children to take care of, not two.’

‘That’s the upside,’ said Beth, unable to hide her excitement at the proposal. ‘But how do you think the twins will react when we tell them?’

‘Artemisia will mother Jojo to death, especially when she learns that it means Ross will be able to take care of the Princess. Peter will pretend not to notice, until she’s old enough to play football.’ William sat back and waited for Beth to reply before adding, ‘I’ve already warned Ross that you may need a little time to think about it.’

‘How about a nanosecond?’ Beth replied.

Booth Watson peered across his desk at the former Superintendent — a man he loathed, and he suspected the feeling was mutual. Still, there was no one better qualified to do the job he had in mind. Lamont wore a suit which, although smart, was a little tight, indicating how much weight he’d put on since leaving the Met.

‘I have a particularly sensitive assignment I need you to carry out on my behalf,’ Booth Watson began. Lamont offered a curt nod. ‘As you’ll know, Miles Faulkner is back in prison, and I will be defending him when his case comes up at the Old Bailey. Meanwhile, I have to be sure that my principal witness, Mrs Christina Faulkner, can be relied on should I decide to put her in the witness box.’

A further nod. Lamont knew when not to interrupt his primary source of income.

‘You have had dealings with the lady in the past,’ continued Booth Watson, ‘so you’ll be well aware she can’t be trusted. It won’t come as a surprise that I need someone to keep a close eye on her night and day.’

‘Is there anything in particular I should be looking out for?’

‘I need to know who she’s in regular contact with, especially how often she sees Mrs Beth Warwick. Even more important, if she’s ever in touch with that woman’s husband.’

An expression crossed Lamont’s face which suggested that, for him, DCI Warwick fell into the category of unfinished business. BW was well aware that Warwick had been responsible for Lamont having to leave the force only months before he would have qualified for a full pension. Nothing on the record of course, but no one was in any doubt why he’d had to resign and, perhaps more importantly, who was responsible for his sudden departure.

‘Finally,’ said Booth Watson, ‘I know you have worked for Mrs Faulkner in the past. But from now on you’ll only be working for me. If I were to discover that you’re moonlighting, two things will happen. Firstly, your income will dry up that same day.’

And secondly, Lamont wanted to ask, but didn’t need to.

‘And secondly, I would have to inform my client of your treachery.’ Booth Watson allowed the underlying threat to hang in the air before adding, ‘Do I make myself clear?’

‘Crystal.’

Booth Watson nodded, before opening the top drawer of his desk and withdrawing a thick brown envelope. He pushed it slowly across the table to indicate the meeting was over.

‘And don’t even think about fiddling your expenses,’ were Booth Watson’s parting words, as Lamont stood and turned to leave. ‘Because if you do, you’ll end up with only your meagre pension to survive on. And yes, I do know about your wife’s spending habits.’

The ex-superintendent was glad he had his back to Booth Watson so his paymaster couldn’t see the expression on his face.