To Cut a Long Story Short

The Endgame

Cornelius Barrington hesitated before he made his next move. He continued to study the board with great interest. The game had been going on for over two hours, and Cornelius was confident that he was only seven moves away from checkmate. He suspected that his opponent was also aware of the fact.

Cornelius looked up and smiled across at Frank Vintcent, who was not only his oldest friend but had over the years, as the family solicitor, proved to be his wisest adviser. The two men had many things in common: their age, both over sixty; their background, both middle-class sons of professionals; they had been educated at the same school and at the same university. But there the similarities ended. For Cornelius was by nature an entrepreneur, a risk-taker, who had made his fortune mining in South Africa and Brazil. Frank was a solicitor by profession, cautious, slow to decision, fascinated by detail.

Cornelius and Frank also differed in their physical appearance. Cornelius was tall, heavily built, with a head of silver hair many men half his age would have envied. Frank was slight, of medium stature, and apart from a semicircle of grey tufts, was almost completely bald.

Cornelius had been widowed after four decades of happy married life. Frank was a confirmed bachelor.

Among the things that had kept them close friends was their enduring love of chess. Frank joined Cornelius at The Willows for a game every Thursday evening, and the result usually remained in the balance, often ending in stalemate.

The evening always began with a light supper, but only one glass of wine each would be poured — the two men took their chess seriously — and after the game was over they would return to the drawing room to enjoy a glass of brandy and a cigar; but tonight Cornelius was about to shatter that routine.

‘Congratulations,’ said Frank, looking up from the board. ‘I think you’ve got me beaten this time. I’m fairly sure there’s no escape.’ He smiled, placed the red king flat on the board, rose from his place and shook hands with his closest friend.

‘Let’s go through to the drawing room and have a brandy and a cigar,’ suggested Cornelius, as if it were a novel idea.

‘Thank you,’ said Frank as they left the study and strolled towards the drawing room. As Cornelius passed the portrait of his son Daniel, his heart missed a beat — something that hadn’t changed for the past twenty-three years. If his only child had lived, he would never have sold the company.

As they entered the spacious drawing room the two men were greeted by a cheerful fire blazing in the grate, which had been laid by Cornelius’s housekeeper Pauline only moments after she had finished clearing up their supper. Pauline also believed in the virtues of routine, but her life too was about to be shattered.

‘I should have trapped you several moves earlier,’ said Cornelius, ‘but I was taken by surprise when you captured my queen’s knight. I should have seen that coming,’ he added, as he strolled over to the sideboard. Two large cognacs and two Monte Cristo cigars had been laid out on a silver tray. Cornelius picked up the cigar-clipper and passed it across to his friend, then struck a match, leaned over and watched Frank puff away until he was convinced his cigar was alight. He then completed the same routine himself before sinking into his favourite seat by the fire.

Frank raised his glass. ‘Well played, Cornelius,’ he said, offering a slight bow, although his host would have been the first to acknowledge that over the years his guest was probably just ahead on points.

Cornelius allowed Frank to take a few more puffs before shattering his evening. Why hurry? After all, he had been preparing for this moment for several weeks, and was unwilling to share the secret with his oldest friend until everything was in place.

They both remained silent for some time, relaxed in each other’s company. Finally Cornelius placed his brandy on a side table and said, ‘Frank, we have been friends for over fifty years. Equally importantly, as my legal adviser you have proved to be a shrewd advocate. In fact, since the untimely death of Millicent there has been no one I rely on more.’

Frank continued to puff away at his cigar without interrupting his friend. From the expression on his face, he was aware that the compliment was nothing more than an opening gambit. He suspected he would have to wait some time before Cornelius revealed his next move.

‘When I first set up the company some thirty years ago, it was you who was responsible for executing the original deeds; and I don’t believe I’ve signed a legal document since that day which has not crossed your desk — something that was unquestionably a major factor in my success.’

‘It’s generous of you to say so,’ said Frank, before taking another sip of brandy, ‘but the truth is that it was always your originality and enterprise that made it possible for the company to go from strength to strength — gifts that the gods decided not to bestow on me, leaving me with little choice but to be a mere functionary.’

‘You have always underestimated your contribution to the company’s success, Frank, but I am in no doubt of the role you played over the years.’

‘Where is this all leading?’ asked Frank with a smile.

‘Patience, my friend,’ said Cornelius. ‘I still have a few moves to make before I reveal the stratagem I have in mind.’ He leaned back and took another long puff of his cigar. ‘As you know, when I sold the company some four years ago, it had been my intention to slow down for the first time in years. I had promised to take Millie on an extended holiday to India and the Far East—’ he paused ‘—but that was not to be.’

Frank nodded his head in understanding.

‘Her death served to remind me that I am also mortal, and may myself not have much longer to live.’

‘No, no, my friend,’ protested Frank. ‘You still have a good many years to go yet.’

‘You may be right,’ said Cornelius, ‘although funnily enough it was you who made me start to think seriously about the future...’

‘Me?’ said Frank, looking puzzled.

‘Yes. Don’t you remember some weeks ago, sitting in that chair and advising me that the time had come for me to consider rewriting my will?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Frank, ‘but that was only because in your present will virtually everything is left to Millie.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ said Cornelius, ‘but it nevertheless served to concentrate the mind. You see, I still rise at six o’clock every morning, but as I no longer have an office to go to, I spend many self-indulgent hours considering how to distribute my wealth now that Millie can no longer be the main beneficiary.’

Cornelius took another long puff of his cigar before continuing. ‘For the past month I have been considering those around me — my relatives, friends, acquaintances and employees — and I began to think about the way they have always treated me, which caused me to wonder which of them would show the same amount of devotion, attention and loyalty if I were not worth millions, but was in fact a penniless old man.’

‘I have a feeling I’m in check,’ said Frank, with a laugh.

‘No, no, my dear friend,’ said Cornelius. ‘You are absolved from any such doubts. Otherwise I would not be sharing these confidences with you.’

‘But are such thoughts not a little unfair on your immediate family, not to mention...’

‘You may be right, but I don’t wish to leave that to chance. I have therefore decided to find out the truth for myself, as I consider mere speculation to be unsatisfactory.’ Once again, Cornelius paused to take a puff of his cigar before continuing. ‘So indulge me for a moment while I tell you what I have in mind, for I confess that without your cooperation it will be impossible for me to carry out my little subterfuge. But first allow me to refill your glass.’ Cornelius rose from his chair, picked up his friend’s empty goblet and walked to the sideboard.

‘As I was saying,’ continued Cornelius, passing the refilled glass back to Frank, ‘I have recently been wondering how those around me would behave if I were penniless, and I have come to the conclusion that there is only one way to find out.’

Frank took a long gulp before enquiring, ‘What do you have in mind? A fake suicide perhaps?’

‘Not quite as dramatic as that,’ replied Cornelius. ‘But almost, because—’ he paused again ‘—I intend to declare myself bankrupt.’ He stared through the haze of smoke, hoping to observe his friend’s immediate reaction. But, as so often in the past, the old solicitor remained inscrutable, not least because, although his friend had just made a bold move, he knew the game was far from over.

He pushed a pawn tentatively forward. ‘How do you intend to go about that?’ he asked.

‘Tomorrow morning,’ replied Cornelius, ‘I want you to write to the five people who have the greatest claim on my estate: my brother Hugh, his wife Elizabeth, their son Timothy, my sister Margaret, and finally my housekeeper Pauline.’

‘And what will be the import of this letter?’ asked Frank, trying not to sound too incredulous.

‘You will explain to all of them that, due to an unwise investment I made soon after my wife’s death, I now find myself in debt. In fact, without their help I may well be facing bankruptcy.’

‘But...’ protested Frank.

Cornelius raised a hand. ‘Hear me out,’ he pleaded, ‘because your role in this real-life game could prove crucial. Once you have convinced them that they can no longer expect anything from me, I intend to put the second phase of my plan into operation, which should prove conclusively whether they really care for me, or simply for the prospect of my wealth.’

‘I can’t wait to learn what you have in mind,’ said Frank.

Cornelius swirled the brandy round in his glass while he collected his thoughts.

‘As you are well aware, each of the five people I have named has at some time in the past asked me for a loan. I have never required anything in writing, as I have always considered the repayment of these debts to be a matter of trust. These loans range from £100,000 to my brother Hugh to purchase the lease for his shop — which I understand is doing quite well — to my housekeeper Pauline, who borrowed £500 for a deposit on a secondhand car. Even young Timothy needed £1,000 to pay off his university loan, and as he seems to be progressing well in his chosen profession, it should not be too much to ask him — like all of the others — to repay his debt.’

‘And the second test?’ enquired Frank.

‘Since Millie’s death, each of them has performed some little service for me, which they have always insisted they enjoyed carrying out, rather than it being a chore. I’m about to find out if they are willing to do the same for a penniless old man.’

‘But how will you know...’ began Frank.

‘I think that will become obvious as the weeks go by. And in any case, there is a third test, which I believe will settle the matter.’

Frank stared across at his friend. ‘Is there any point in trying to talk you out of this crazy idea?’ he asked.

‘No, there is not,’ replied Cornelius without hesitation. ‘I am resolved in this matter, although I accept that I cannot make the first move, let alone bring it to a conclusion, without your cooperation.’

‘If it is truly what you want me to do, Cornelius, then I shall carry out your instructions to the letter, as I have always done in the past. But on this occasion there must be one proviso.’

‘And what might that be?’ asked Cornelius.

‘I shall not charge a fee for this commission, so that I will be able to attest to anyone who should ask that I have not benefited from your shenanigans.’

‘But...’

‘No “buts”, old friend. I made a handsome profit from my original shareholding when you sold the company. You must consider this a small attempt to say thank you.’

Cornelius smiled. ‘It is I who should be grateful, and indeed I am, as always, conscious of your valued assistance over the years. You are truly a good friend, and I swear I would leave my entire estate to you if you weren’t a bachelor, and if I didn’t know it wouldn’t change your way of life one iota.’

‘No, thank you,’ said Frank with a chuckle. ‘If you did that, I would only have to carry out exactly the same test with a different set of characters.’ He paused. ‘So, what is your first move?’

Cornelius rose from his chair. ‘Tomorrow you will send out five letters informing those concerned that a bankruptcy notice has been served on me, and that I require any outstanding loans to be repaid in full, and as quickly as possible.’

Frank had already begun making notes on a little pad he always carried with him. Twenty minutes later, when he had written down Cornelius’s final instruction, he placed the pad back in an inside pocket, drained his glass and stubbed out his cigar.

When Cornelius rose to accompany him to the front door, Frank asked, ‘But what is to be the third of your tests, the one you’re convinced will prove so conclusive?’

The old solicitor listened carefully as Cornelius outlined an idea of such ingenuity that he departed feeling all the victims would be left with little choice but to reveal their true colours.

The first person to call Cornelius on Saturday morning was his brother Hugh. It must have been only moments after he had opened Frank’s letter. Cornelius had the distinct feeling that someone else was listening in on the conversation.

‘I’ve just received a letter from your solicitor,’ said Hugh, ‘and I simply can’t believe it. Please tell me there’s been some dreadful mistake.’

‘I’m afraid there has been no mistake,’ Cornelius replied. ‘I only wish I could tell you otherwise.’

‘But how could you, who are normally so shrewd, have allowed such a thing to happen?’

‘Put it down to old age,’ Cornelius replied. ‘A few weeks after Millie died I was talked into investing a large sum of money in a company that specialised in supplying mining equipment to the Russians. All of us have read about the endless supply of oil there, if only one could get at it, so I was confident my investment would show a handsome return. Last Friday I was informed by the company secretary that they had filed a 217 order, as they were no longer solvent.’

‘But surely you didn’t invest everything you had in the one company?’ said Hugh, sounding even more incredulous.

‘Not originally, of course,’ said Cornelius, ‘but I fear I got sucked in whenever they needed a further injection of cash. Towards the end I had to go on investing more, as it seemed to me the only way I would have any chance of getting back my original investment.’

‘But doesn’t the company have any assets you can lay your hands on? What about all the mining equipment?’

‘It’s all rusting away somewhere in central Russia, and so far we haven’t seen a thimbleful of oil.’

‘Why didn’t you get out when your losses were still manageable?’ asked Hugh.

‘Pride, I suppose. Unwilling to admit I’d backed a loser, always believing my money would be safe in the long run.’

‘But they must be offering some recompense,’ said Hugh desperately.

‘Not a penny,’ replied Cornelius. ‘I can’t even afford to fly over and spend a few days in Russia to find out what the true position is.’

‘How much time have they given you?’

‘A bankruptcy notice has already been served on me, so my very survival depends on how much I can raise in the short term.’ Cornelius paused. ‘I’m sorry to remind you of this, Hugh, but you will recall that some time ago I loaned you £100,000. So I was rather hoping...’

‘But you know that every penny of that money has been sunk into the shop, and with High Street sales at an all-time low, I don’t think I could lay my hands on more than a few thousand at the moment.’

Cornelius thought he heard someone whispering the words ‘And no more’ in the background.

‘Yes, I can see the predicament you’re in,’ said Cornelius. ‘But anything you can do to help would be appreciated. When you’ve settled on a sum—’ he paused again ‘—and naturally you’ll have to discuss with Elizabeth just how much you can spare — perhaps you could send a cheque direct to Frank Vintcent’s office. He’s handling the whole messy business.’

‘The lawyers always seem to end up getting their cut, whether you win or lose.’

‘To be fair,’ said Cornelius, ‘Frank has waived his fee on this occasion. And while you’re on the phone, Hugh, the people you’re sending to refit the kitchen were due to start later this week. It’s even more important now that they complete the job as quickly as possible, because I’m putting the house on the market and a new kitchen will help me get a better price. I’m sure you understand.’

‘I’ll see what I can do to help,’ said Hugh, ‘but I may have to move that particular team onto another assignment. We’ve got a bit of a backlog at the moment.’

‘Oh? I thought you said money was a little tight right now,’ Cornelius said, stifling a chuckle.

‘It is,’ said Hugh, a little too quickly. ‘What I meant to say was that we’re all having to work overtime just to keep our heads above water.’

‘I think I understand,’ said Cornelius. ‘Still, I’m sure you’ll do everything you can to help, now you’re fully aware of my situation.’ He put the phone down and smiled.

The next victim to contact him didn’t bother to phone, but arrived at the front door a few minutes later, and wouldn’t take her finger off the buzzer until the door had been opened.

‘Where’s Pauline?’ was Margaret’s first question when her brother opened the door. Cornelius stared down at his sister, who had put on a little too much make-up that morning.

‘I’m afraid she’s had to go,’ said Cornelius as he bent down to kiss his sister on the cheek. ‘The petitioner in bankruptcy takes a rather dim view of people who can’t afford to pay their creditors, but still manage to retain a personal entourage. It was considerate of you to pop round so quickly in my hour of need, Margaret, but if you were hoping for a cup of tea, I’m afraid you’ll have to make it yourself.’

‘I didn’t come round for a cup of tea, as I suspect you know only too well, Cornelius. What I want to know is how you managed to fritter away your entire fortune.’ Before her brother could deliver some well-rehearsed lines from his script, she added, ‘You’ll have to sell the house, of course. I’ve always said that since Millie’s death it’s far too large for you. You can always take a bachelor flat in the village.’

‘Such decisions are no longer in my hands,’ said Cornelius, trying to sound helpless.

‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Margaret, rounding on him.

‘Just that the house and its contents have already been seized by the petitioners in bankruptcy. If I’m to avoid going bankrupt, we must hope that the house sells for a far higher price than the estate agents are predicting.’

‘Are you telling me there’s absolutely nothing left?’

‘Less than nothing would be more accurate,’ said Cornelius, sighing. ‘And once they’ve evicted me from The Willows, I’ll have nowhere to go.’ He tried to sound plaintive. ‘So I was rather hoping that you would allow me to take up the kind offer you made at Millie’s funeral and come and live with you.’

His sister turned away, so that Cornelius was unable to see the expression on her face.

‘That wouldn’t be convenient at the present time,’ she said without explanation. ‘And in any case, Hugh and Elizabeth have far more spare rooms in their house than I do.’

‘Quite so,’ said Cornelius. He coughed. ‘And the small loan I advanced you last year, Margaret — I’m sorry to raise the subject, but...’

‘What little money I have is carefully invested, and my brokers tell me that this is not a time to sell.’

‘But the allowance I’ve provided every month for the past twenty years — surely you have a little salted away?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Margaret replied. ‘You must understand that being your sister has meant I am expected to maintain a certain standard of living, and now that I can no longer rely on my monthly allowance, I shall have to be even more careful with my meagre income.’

‘Of course you will, my dear,’ said Cornelius. ‘But any little contribution would help, if you felt able...’

‘I must be off,’ said Margaret, looking at her watch. ‘You’ve already made me late for the hairdresser.’

‘Just one more little request before you go, my dear,’ said Cornelius. ‘In the past you’ve always been kind enough to give me a lift into town whenever...’

‘I’ve always said, Cornelius, that you should have learned to drive years ago. If you had, you wouldn’t expect everyone to be at your beck and call night and day. I’ll see what I can do,’ she added as he opened the door for her.

‘Funny, I don’t recall you ever saying that. But then, perhaps my memory is going as well,’ he said as he followed his sister out onto the drive. He smiled. ‘New car, Margaret?’ he enquired innocently.

‘Yes,’ his sister replied tartly as he opened the door for her. Cornelius thought he detected a slight colouring in her cheeks. He chuckled to himself as she drove off. He was learning more about his family by the minute.

Cornelius strolled back into the house, and returned to his study. He closed the door, picked up the phone on his desk and dialled Frank’s office.

‘Vintcent, Ellwood and Halfon,’ said a prim voice.

‘I’d like to speak to Mr Vintcent.’

‘Who shall I say is calling?’

‘Cornelius Barrington.’

‘I’ll have to see if he’s free, Mr Barrington.’

Very good, thought Cornelius. Frank must have convinced even his receptionist that the rumours were true, because in the past her response had always been, ‘I’ll put you straight through, sir.’

‘Good morning, Cornelius,’ said Frank. ‘I’ve just put the phone down on your brother Hugh. That’s the second time he’s called this morning.’

‘What did he want?’ asked Cornelius.

‘To have the full implications explained to him, and also his immediate obligations.’

‘Good,’ said Cornelius. ‘So can I hope to receive a cheque for £100,000 in the near future?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Frank. ‘From the tone of his voice I don’t think that’s what he had in mind, but I’ll let you know just as soon as I’ve heard back from him.’

‘I shall look forward to that, Frank.’

‘I do believe you’re enjoying yourself, Cornelius.’

‘You bet I am,’ he replied. ‘I only wish Millie was here to share the fun with me.’

‘You know what she would have said, don’t you?’

‘No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.’

‘You’re a wicked old man.’

‘And, as always, she would have been right,’ Cornelius confessed with a laugh. ‘Goodbye, Frank.’ As he replaced the receiver there was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ said Cornelius, puzzled as to who it could possibly be. The door opened and his housekeeper entered, carrying a tray with a cup of tea and a plate of shortbread biscuits. She was, as always, neat and trim, not a hair out of place, and showed no sign of embarrassment. She can’t have received Frank’s letter yet, was Cornelius’s first thought.

‘Pauline,’ he said as she placed the tray on his desk, ‘did you receive a letter from my solicitor this morning?’

‘Yes, I did, sir,’ Pauline replied, ‘and of course I shall sell the car immediately, and repay your £500.’ She paused before looking straight at him. ‘But I was just wondering, sir...’

‘Yes, Pauline?’

‘Would it be possible for me to work it off in lieu? You see, I need a car to pick up my girls from school.’

For the first time since he had embarked on the enterprise, Cornelius felt guilty. But he knew that if he agreed to Pauline’s request, someone would find out, and the whole enterprise would be endangered.

‘I’m so sorry, Pauline, but I’ve been left with no choice.’

‘That’s exactly what the solicitor explained in his letter,’ Pauline said, fiddling with a piece of paper in the pocket of her pinafore. ‘Mind you, I never did go much on lawyers.’

This statement made Cornelius feel even more guilty, because he didn’t know a more trustworthy person than Frank Vintcent.

‘I’d better leave you now, sir, but I’ll pop back this evening just to make sure things don’t get too untidy. Would it be possible, sir...?’

‘Possible...?’ said Cornelius.

‘Could you give me a reference? I mean, you see, it’s not that easy for someone of my age to find a job.’

‘I’ll give you a reference that would get you a position at Buckingham Palace,’ said Cornelius. He immediately sat down at his desk and wrote a glowing homily on the service Pauline Croft had given for over two decades. He read it through, then handed it across to her. ‘Thank you, Pauline,’ he said, ‘for all you have done in the past for Daniel, Millie and, most of all, myself.’

‘My pleasure, sir,’ said Pauline.

Once she had closed the door behind her, Cornelius could only wonder if water wasn’t sometimes thicker than blood.

He sat back down at his desk and began writing some notes to remind him what had taken place that morning. When he had finished he went through to the kitchen to make himself some lunch, and found a salad had been laid out for him.

After lunch, Cornelius took a bus into town — a novel experience. It was some time before he located a bus stop, and then he discovered that the conductor didn’t have change for a twenty-pound note. His first call after he had been dropped off in the town centre was to the local estate agent, who didn’t seem that surprised to see him. Cornelius was delighted to find how quickly the rumour of his financial demise must be spreading.

‘I’ll have someone call round to The Willows in the morning, Mr Barrington,’ said the young man, rising from behind his desk, ‘so we can measure up and take some photographs. May we also have your permission to place a sign in the garden?’

‘Please do,’ said Cornelius without hesitation, and barely stopped himself from adding, the bigger the better.

After he’d left the estate agent, Cornelius walked a few yards down the street and called into the local removal firm. He asked another young man if he could make an appointment for them to take away the entire contents of the house.

‘Where’s it all to go, sir?’

‘To Botts’ Storeroom in the High Street,’ Cornelius informed him.

‘That will be no problem, sir,’ said the young assistant, picking up a pad from his desk. Once Cornelius had completed the forms in triplicate, the assistant said, ‘Sign there, sir,’ pointing to the bottom of the form. Then, looking a little nervous, he added, ‘We’ll need a deposit of £100.’

‘Of course,’ said Cornelius, taking out his chequebook.

‘I’m afraid it will have to be cash, sir,’ the young man said in a confidential tone.

Cornelius smiled. No one had refused a cheque from him for over thirty years. ‘I’ll call back tomorrow,’ he said.

On the way back to the bus stop Cornelius stared through the window of his brother’s hardware store, and noted that the staff didn’t seem all that busy. On arriving back at The Willows, he returned to his study and made some more notes on what had taken place that afternoon.

As he climbed the stairs to go to bed that night, he reflected that it must have been the first afternoon in years that no one had called him to ask how he was. He slept soundly that night.

When Cornelius came downstairs the following morning, he picked up his post from the mat and made his way to the kitchen. Over a bowl of cornflakes he checked through the letters. He had once been told that if it was known you were likely to go bankrupt, a stream of brown envelopes would begin to drop through the letterbox, as shopkeepers and small businessmen tried to get in before anyone else could be declared a preferred creditor.

There were no brown envelopes in the post that morning, because Cornelius had made certain every bill had been covered before he began his journey down this particular road.

Other than circulars and free offers, there was just one white envelope with a London postmark. It turned out to be a handwritten letter from his nephew Timothy, saying how sorry he was to learn of his uncle’s problems, and that although he didn’t get back to Chudley much nowadays, he would make every effort to travel up to Shropshire at the weekend and call in to see him.

Although the message was brief, Cornelius silently noted that Timothy was the first member of the family to show any sympathy for his predicament.

When he heard the doorbell ring, he placed the letter on the kitchen table and walked out into the hall. He opened the front door to be greeted by Elizabeth, his brother’s wife. Her face was white, lined and drained, and Cornelius doubted if she had slept a great deal the previous night.

The moment Elizabeth had stepped into the house she began to pace around from room to room, almost as though she were checking to see that everything was still in place, as if she couldn’t accept the words she had read in the solicitor’s letter.

Any lingering doubts must have been dispelled when, a few minutes later, the local estate agent appeared on the doorstep, tape measure in hand, with a photographer by his side.

‘If Hugh was able to return even part of the hundred thousand I loaned him, that would be most helpful,’ Cornelius remarked to his sister-in-law as he followed her through the house.

It was some time before she spoke, despite the fact that she had had all night to consider her response.

‘It’s not quite that easy,’ she eventually replied. ‘You see, the loan was made to the company, and the shares are distributed among several people.’

Cornelius knew all three of the several people. ‘Then perhaps the time has come for you and Hugh to sell off some of your shares.’

‘And allow some stranger to take over the company, after all the work we’ve put into it over the years? No, we can’t afford to let that happen. In any case, Hugh asked Mr Vintcent what the legal position was, and he confirmed that there was no obligation on our part to sell any of our shares.’

‘Have you considered that perhaps you have a moral obligation?’ asked Cornelius, turning to face his sister-in-law.

‘Cornelius,’ she said, avoiding his stare, ‘it has been your irresponsibility, not ours, that has been the cause of your downfall. Surely you wouldn’t expect your brother to sacrifice everything he’s worked for over the years, simply to place my family in the same perilous position in which you now find yourself?’

Cornelius realised why Elizabeth hadn’t slept the previous night. She was not only acting as spokeswoman for Hugh, but was obviously making the decisions as well. Cornelius had always considered her to be the stronger-willed of the two, and he doubted if he would come face to face with his brother before an agreement had been reached.

‘But if there’s any other way we might help...’ Elizabeth added in a more gentle tone, as her hand rested on an ornate gold-leafed table in the drawing room.

‘Well, now you mention it,’ replied Cornelius, ‘I’m putting the house on the market in a couple of weeks’ time, and will be looking for...’

‘That soon?’ said Elizabeth. ‘And what’s going to happen to all the furniture?’

‘It will all have to be sold to help cover the debts. But, as I said...’

‘Hugh has always liked this table.’

‘Louis XIV,’ said Cornelius casually.

‘I wonder what it’s worth,’ Elizabeth mused, trying to make it sound as if it were of little consequence.

‘I have no idea,’ said Cornelius. ‘If I remember correctly, I paid around £60,000 for it — but that was over ten years ago.’

‘And the chess set?’ Elizabeth asked, picking up one of the pieces.

‘It’s a worthless copy,’ Cornelius replied. ‘You could pick up a set just like it in any Arab bazaar for a couple of hundred pounds.’

‘Oh, I always thought...’ Elizabeth hesitated before replacing the piece on the wrong square. ‘Well, I must be off,’ she said, sounding as if her task had been completed. ‘We must try not to forget that I still have a business to run.’

Cornelius accompanied her as she began striding back down the long corridor in the direction of the front door. She walked straight by the portrait of her nephew Daniel. In the past she had always stopped to remark on how much she missed him.

‘I was wondering...’ began Cornelius as they walked out into the hall.

‘Yes?’ said Elizabeth.

‘Well, as I have to be out of here in a couple of weeks, I hoped it might be possible to move in with you. That is, until I find somewhere I can afford.’

‘If only you’d asked a week ago,’ said Elizabeth, without missing a beat. ‘But unfortunately we’ve just agreed to take in my mother, and the only other room is Timothy’s, and he comes home most weekends.’

‘Is that so?’ said Cornelius.

‘And the grandfather clock?’ asked Elizabeth, who still appeared to be on a shopping expedition.

‘Victorian — I purchased it from the Earl of Bute’s estate.’

‘No, I meant how much is it worth?’

‘Whatever someone is willing to pay for it,’ Cornelius replied as they reached the front door.

‘Don’t forget to let me know, Cornelius, if there’s anything I can do to help.’

‘How kind of you, Elizabeth,’ he said, opening the door to find the estate agent hammering a stake into the ground with a sign on it declaring FOR SALE. Cornelius smiled, because it was the only thing that morning that had stopped Elizabeth in her tracks.

Frank Vintcent arrived on the Thursday evening, carrying a bottle of cognac and two pizzas.

‘If I’d realised that losing Pauline was to be part of the deal, I would never have agreed to go along with your plan in the first place,’ Frank said as he nibbled at his microwaved pizza. ‘How do you manage without her?’

‘Rather badly,’ Cornelius admitted, ‘although she still drops in for an hour or two every evening. Otherwise this place would look like a pigsty. Come to think of it, how do you cope?’

‘As a bachelor,’ Frank replied, ‘you learn the art of survival from an early age. Now, let’s stop this small-talk and get on with the game.’

‘Which game?’ enquired Cornelius with a chuckle.

‘Chess,’ replied Frank. ‘I’ve had enough of the other game for one week.’

‘Then we’d better go through to the library.’

Frank was surprised by Cornelius’s opening moves, as he had never known his old friend to be so daring. Neither of them spoke again for over an hour, most of which Frank spent trying to defend his queen.

‘This might well be the last game we play with this set,’ said Cornelius wistfully.

‘No, don’t worry yourself about that,’ said Frank. ‘They always allow you to keep a few personal items.’

‘Not when they’re worth a quarter of a million pounds,’ replied Cornelius.

‘I had no idea,’ said Frank, looking up.

‘Because you’re not the sort of man who has ever been interested in worldly goods. It’s a sixteenth-century Persian masterpiece, and it’s bound to cause considerable interest when it comes under the hammer.’

‘But surely you’ve found out all you need to know by now,’ said Frank. ‘Why carry on with the exercise when you could lose so much that’s dear to you?’

‘Because I still have to discover the truth.’

Frank sighed, stared down at the board and moved his queen’s knight. ‘Checkmate,’ he said. ‘It serves you right for not concentrating.’

Cornelius spent most of Friday morning in a private meeting with the managing director of Botts and Company, the local fine art and furniture auctioneers.

Mr Botts had already agreed that the sale could take place in a fortnight’s time. He had often repeated that he would have preferred a longer period to prepare the catalogue and send out an extensive mailing for such a fine collection, but at least he showed some sympathy for the position Mr Barrington found himself in. Over the years, Lloyd’s of London, death duties and impending bankruptcy had proved the auctioneer’s best friends.

‘We will need to have everything in our storeroom as soon as possible,’ said Mr Botts, ‘so there’s enough time to prepare a catalogue, while still allowing the customers to view on three consecutive days before the sale takes place.’

Cornelius nodded his agreement.

The auctioneer also recommended that a full page be taken in the Chudley Advertiser the following Wednesday, giving details of what was coming under the hammer, so they could reach those people they failed to contact by post.

Cornelius left Mr Botts a few minutes before midday, and on his way back to the bus stop dropped into the removal company. He handed over £100 in fives and tens, leaving the impression that it had taken him a few days to raise the cash.

While waiting for the bus, he couldn’t help noticing how few people bothered to say good morning, or even acknowledge him. Certainly no one crossed the road to pass the time of day.

Twenty men in three vans spent the next day loading and unloading as they travelled back and forth between The Willows and the auctioneers’ storeroom in the High Street. It was not until the early evening that the last stick of furniture had been removed from the house.

As he walked through the empty rooms, Cornelius was surprised to find himself thinking that, with one or two exceptions, he wasn’t going to miss many of his worldly possessions. He retired to the bedroom — the only room in the house that was still furnished — and continued to read the novel Elizabeth had recommended before his downfall.

The following morning he only had one call, from his nephew Timothy, to say he was up for the weekend, and wondered if Uncle Cornelius could find time to see him.

‘Time is the one thing I still have plenty of’ replied Cornelius.

‘Then why don’t I drop round this afternoon?’ said Timothy. ‘Shall we say four o’clock?’

‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a cup of tea,’ said Cornelius, ‘but I finished the last packet this morning, and as I’m probably leaving the house next week...’

‘It’s not important,’ said Timothy, who was unable to mask his distress at finding the house stripped of his uncle’s possessions.

‘Let’s go up to the bedroom. It’s the only room that still has any furniture in it — and most of that will be gone by next week.’

‘I had no idea they’d taken everything away. Even the picture of Daniel,’ Timothy said as he passed an oblong patch of a lighter shade of cream than the rest of the wall.

‘And my chess set,’ sighed Cornelius. ‘But I can’t complain. I’ve had a good life.’ He began to climb the stairs to the bedroom.

Cornelius sat in the only chair while Timothy perched on the end of the bed. The old man studied his nephew more closely. He had grown into a fine young man. An open face, with clear brown eyes that served to reveal, to anyone who didn’t already know, that he had been adopted. He must have been twenty-seven or twenty-eight — about the same age Daniel would have been if he were still alive. Cornelius had always had a soft spot for his nephew, and had imagined that his affection was reciprocated. He wondered if he was about to be disillusioned once again.

Timothy appeared nervous, shuffling uneasily from foot to foot as he perched on the end of the bed. ‘Uncle Cornelius,’ he began, his head slighdy bowed, ‘as you know, I have received a letter from Mr Vintcent, so I thought I ought to come to see you and explain that I simply don’t have £1,000 to my name, and therefore I’m unable to repay my debt at present.’

Cornelius was disappointed. He had hoped that just one of the family...

‘However,’ the young man continued, removing a long, thin envelope from an inside pocket of his jacket, ‘on my twenty-first birthday my father presented me with shares of 1 per cent of the company, which I think must be worth at least £1,000, so I wondered if you would consider taking them in exchange for my debt — that is, until I can afford to buy them back.’

Cornelius felt guilty for having doubted his nephew even for a moment. He wanted to apologise, but knew he couldn’t if the house of cards was to remain in place for a few more days. He took the widow’s mite and thanked Timothy.

‘I am aware just how much of a sacrifice this must be for you,’ said Cornelius, ‘remembering how many times you have told me in the past of your ambition to take over the company when your father eventually retires, and your dreams of expanding into areas he has refused even to contemplate.’

‘I don’t think he’ll ever retire,’ said Timothy, with a sigh. ‘But I was hoping that after all the experience I’ve gained working in London he might take me seriously as a candidate for manager when Mr Leonard retires at the end of the year.’

‘I fear your chances won’t be advanced when he learns that you’ve handed over 1 per cent of the company to your bankrupt uncle.’

‘My problems can hardly be compared with the ones you are facing, Uncle. I’m only sorry I can’t hand over the cash right now. Before I leave, is there anything else I can do for you?’

‘Yes, there is, Timothy,’ said Cornelius, returning to the script. ‘Your mother recommended a novel, which I’ve been enjoying, but my old eyes seem to tire earlier and earlier, and I wondered if you’d be kind enough to read a few pages to me. I’ve marked the place I’ve reached.’

‘I can remember you reading to me when I was a child,’ said Timothy. ‘Just William and Swallows and Amazons,’ he added as he took the proffered book.

Timothy must have read about twenty pages when he suddenly stopped and looked up.

‘There’s a bus ticket at page 450. Shall I leave it there, Uncle?’

‘Yes, please do,’ said Cornelius. ‘I put it there to remind me of something.’ He paused. ‘Forgive me, but I’m feeling a little tired.’

Timothy rose and said, ‘I’ll come back soon and finish off the last few pages.’

‘No need to bother yourself, I’ll be able to manage that.’

‘Oh, I think I’d better, Uncle, otherwise I’ll never find out which one of them becomes Prime Minister.’

The second batch of letters, which Frank Vintcent sent out on the following Friday, caused another flurry of phone calls.

‘I’m not sure I fully understand what it means,’ said Margaret, in her first communication with her brother since calling round to see him a fortnight before.

‘It means exactly what it says, my dear,’ said Cornelius calmly. ‘All my worldly goods are to come under the hammer, but I am allowing those I consider near and dear to me to select one item that, for sentimental or personal reasons, they would like to see remain in the family. They will then be able to bid for them at the auction next Friday.’

‘But we could all be outbid and end up with nothing,’ said Margaret.

‘No, my dear,’ said Cornelius, trying not to sound exasperated. ‘The public auction will be held in the afternoon. The selected pieces will be auctioned separately in the morning, with only the family and close friends present. The instructions couldn’t be clearer.’

‘And are we able to see the pieces before the auction takes place?’

‘Yes, Margaret,’ said her brother, as if addressing a backward child. ‘As Mr Vintcent stated clearly in his letter, “Viewing Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., before the sale on Friday at eleven o’clock”.’

‘But we can only select one piece?’

‘Yes,’ repeated Cornelius, ‘that is all the petitioner in bankruptcy would allow. But you’ll be pleased to know that the portrait of Daniel, which you have commented on so many times in the past, will be among the lots available for your consideration.’

‘Yes, I do like it,’ said Margaret. She hesitated for a moment. ‘But will the Turner also be up for sale?’

‘It certainly will,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’m being forced to sell everything.’

‘Have you any idea what Hugh and Elizabeth are after?’

‘No, I haven’t, but if you want to find out, why don’t you ask them?’ he replied mischievously, aware that they scarcely exchanged a word from one year’s end to the next.

The second call came only moments after he had put the phone down on his sister.

‘At last,’ said a peremptory voice, as if it were somehow Cornelius’s fault that others might also wish to speak to him.

‘Good morning, Elizabeth,’ said Cornelius, immediately recognising the voice. ‘How nice to hear from you.’

‘It’s about the letter I received this morning.’

‘Yes, I thought it might be,’ said Cornelius.

‘It’s just, well, I wanted to confirm the value of the table — the Louis XIV piece — and, while I’m on the line, the grandfather clock that used to belong to the Earl of Bute.’

‘If you go to the auction house, Elizabeth, they will give you a catalogue, which tells you the high and low estimate for every item in the sale.’

‘I see,’ said Elizabeth. She remained silent for some time. ‘I don’t suppose you know if Margaret will be bidding for either of those pieces?’

‘I have no idea,’ replied Cornelius. ‘But it was Margaret who was blocking the line when you were trying to get through, and she asked me a similar question, so I suggest you give her a call’ Another long silence. ‘By the way, Elizabeth, you do realise that you can only bid for one item?’

‘Yes, it says as much in the letter,’ replied his sister-in-law tartly.

‘I only ask because I always thought Hugh was interested in the chess set.’

‘Oh no, I don’t think so,’ said Elizabeth. Cornelius wasn’t in any doubt who would be doing the bidding on behalf of that family on Friday morning.

‘Well, good luck,’ said Cornelius. ‘And don’t forget the 15 per cent commission,’ he added as he put the phone down.

Timothy wrote the following day to say he was hoping to attend the auction, as he wanted to pick up a little memento of The Willows and his uncle and aunt.

Pauline, however, told Cornelius as she tidied up the bedroom that she had no intention of going to the auction.

Why not?’ he asked.

‘Because I’d be sure to make a fool of myself and bid for something I couldn’t afford.’

‘Very wise,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ve fallen into that trap once or twice myself. But did you have your eye on anything in particular?’

‘Yes, I did, but my savings would never stretch to it.’

‘Oh, you can never be sure with auctions,’ said Cornelius. ‘If no one else joins in the bidding, sometimes you can make a killing.’

Well, I’ll think about it, now I’ve got a new job.’

‘I’m so pleased to hear that,’ said Cornelius, who was genuinely disappointed to learn her news.

Neither Cornelius nor Frank was able to concentrate on their weekly chess match that Thursday evening, and after half an hour they abandoned the game and settled on a draw.

‘I must confess that I can’t wait for things to return to normal,’ said Frank as his host poured him a glass of cooking sherry.

‘Oh, I don’t know. I find the situation has its compensations.’

‘Like what for example?’ said Frank, who frowned after his first sip.

‘Well, for a start, I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s auction.’

‘But that could still go badly wrong,’ said Frank.

‘What can possibly go wrong?’ asked Cornelius.

Well, for a start, have you considered...?’ But he didn’t bother to complete the sentence, because his friend wasn’t listening.

Cornelius was the first to arrive at the auction house the following morning. The room was laid out with 120 chairs in neat rows of twelve, ready for the anticipated packed house that afternoon, but Cornelius thought the real drama would unfold in the morning, when only six people would be in attendance.

The next person to appear, fifteen minutes before the auction was due to begin, was Cornelius’s solicitor Frank Vintcent. Observing his client deep in conversation with Mr Botts, who would be conducting the auction, he took a seat towards the back of the room on the right-hand side.

Cornelius’s sister Margaret was the next to make an appearance, and she was not as considerate. She charged straight up to Mr Botts and asked in a shrill voice, ‘Can I sit anywhere I like?’

‘Yes, madam, you most certainly can,’ said Mr Botts. Margaret immediately commandeered the centre seat in the front row, directly below the auctioneer’s podium.

Cornelius gave his sister a nod before walking down the aisle and taking a chair three rows in front of Frank.

Hugh and Elizabeth were the next to arrive. They stood at the back for some time while they considered the layout of the room. Eventually they strolled up the aisle and occupied two seats in the eighth row, which afforded them a perfect sightline to the podium, while at the same time being able to keep an eye on Margaret. Opening move to Elizabeth, thought Cornelius, who was quietly enjoying himself.

As the hour hand of the clock on the wall behind the auctioneer’s rostrum ticked inexorably towards eleven, Cornelius was disappointed that neither Pauline nor Timothy made an appearance.

Just as the auctioneer began to climb the steps to the podium, the door at the back of the room eased open and Pauline’s head peered round. The rest of her body remained hidden behind the door until her eyes settled on Cornelius, who smiled encouragingly. She stepped inside and closed the door, but showed no interest in taking a seat, retreating into a corner instead.

The auctioneer beamed down at the handpicked invitees as the clock struck eleven.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘I’ve been in the business for over thirty years, but this is the first time I’ve conducted a private sale, so this is a most unusual auction even for me. I’d better go over the ground rules, so that no one can be in any doubt should a dispute arise later.

‘All of you present have some special association, whether as family or friends, with Mr Cornelius Barrington, whose personal effects are coming under the hammer. Each of you has been invited to select one item from the inventory, for which you will be allowed to bid. Should you be successful you may not bid for any other lot, but if you fail on the item of your first choice, you may join in the bidding for any other lot. I hope that is clear,’ he said, as the door was flung open and Timothy rushed in.

‘So sorry,’ he said a little breathlessly, ‘but my train was held up.’ He quickly took a seat in the back row. Cornelius smiled — every one of his pawns was now in place.

‘As there are only five of you eligible to bid,’ continued Mr Botts as if there had been no interruption, ‘only five items will come under the hammer. But the law states that if anyone has previously left a written bid, that bid must be recognised as part of the auction. I shall make things as easy to follow as possible by saying if I have a bid at the table, from which you should assume it is a bid left at our office by a member of the public. I think it would be only fair to point out,’ he added, ‘that I have outside bids on four of the five items.

‘Having explained the ground rules, I will with your permission begin the auction.’ He glanced towards the back of the room at Cornelius, who nodded his assent.

‘The first lot I am able to offer is a long-case clock, dated 1892, which was purchased by Mr Barrington from the estate of the late Earl of Bute.

‘I shall open the bidding for this lot at £3,000. Do I see £3,500?’ Mr Botts asked, raising an eyebrow. Elizabeth looked a little shocked, as three thousand was just below the low estimate and the figure she and Hugh had agreed on that morning.

‘Is anyone interested in this lot?’ asked Mr Botts, looking directly at Elizabeth, but she remained apparently mesmerised. ‘I shall ask once again if anyone wishes to bid £3,500 for this magnificent long-case clock. Fair warning. I see no bids, so I shall have to withdraw this item and place it in the afternoon sale.’

Elizabeth still seemed to be in a state of shock. She immediately turned to her husband and began a whispered conversation with him. Mr Botts looked a little disappointed, but moved quickly on to the second lot.

‘The next lot is a charming watercolour of the Thames by William Turner of Oxford. Can I open the bidding at £2,000?’

Margaret waved her catalogue furiously.

‘Thank you, madam,’ said the auctioneer, beaming down at her. ‘I have an outside bid of £3,000. Will anyone offer me £4,000?’

‘Yes!’ shouted Margaret, as if the room were so crowded that she needed to make herself heard above the din.

‘I have a bid of five thousand at the table — will you bid six, madam?’ he asked, returning his attention to the lady in the front row.

‘I will,’ said Margaret equally firmly.

‘Are there any other bids?’ demanded the auctioneer, glancing around the room — a sure sign that the bids at the table had dried up. ‘Then I’m going to let this picture go for £6,000 to the lady in the front row.’

‘Seven,’ said a voice behind her. Margaret looked round to see that her sister-in-law had joined in the bidding.

‘Eight thousand!’ shouted Margaret.

‘Nine,’ said Elizabeth without hesitation.

‘Ten thousand!’ bellowed Margaret.

Suddenly there was silence. Cornelius glanced across the room to see a smile of satisfaction cross Elizabeth’s face, having left her sister-in-law with a bill for £10,000.

Cornelius wanted to burst out laughing. The auction was turning out to be even more entertaining than he could have hoped.

‘There being no more bids, this delightful water-colour is sold to Miss Barrington for £10,000,’ said Mr Botts as he brought the hammer down with a thump. He smiled down at Margaret, as if she had made a wise investment.

‘The next lot,’ he continued, ‘is a portrait simply entitled Daniel, by an unknown artist. It is a well-executed work, and I was hoping to open the bidding at £100. Do I see a bid of one hundred?’

To Cornelius’s disappointment, no one in the room seemed to be showing any interest in this lot.

‘I am willing to consider a bid of £50 to get things started,’ said Mr Botts, ‘but I am unable to go any lower. Will anyone bid me £50?’

Cornelius glanced around the room, trying to work out from the expressions on their faces who had selected this item, and why they no longer wished to bid when the price was so reasonable.

‘Then I fear I will have to withdraw this lot as well.’

‘Does that mean I’ve got it?’ asked a voice from the back. Everyone looked round.

‘If you are willing to bid £50, madam,’ said Mr Botts, adjusting his spectacles, ‘the picture is yours.’

‘Yes please,’ said Pauline. Mr Botts smiled in her direction as he brought down the hammer. ‘Sold to the lady at the back of the room,’ he declared, ‘for £50.’

‘Now I move on to lot number four, a chess set of unknown provenance. What shall I say for this item? Can I start someone off with £100? Thank you, sir.’

Cornelius looked round to see who was bidding. ‘I have two hundred at the table. Can I say three hundred?’

Timothy nodded.

‘I have a bid at the table of three fifty. Can I say four hundred?’

This time Timothy looked crestfallen, and Cornelius assumed the sum was beyond his limit. ‘Then I am going to have to withdraw this piece also and place it in this afternoon’s sale.’ The auctioneer stared at Timothy, but he didn’t even blink. ‘The item is withdrawn.’

‘And finally I turn to lot number five. A magnificent Louis XIV table, circa 1712, in almost mint condition. Its provenance can be traced back to its original owner, and it has been in the possession of Mr Barrington for the past eleven years. The full details are in your catalogue. I must warn you that there has been a lot of interest in this item, and I shall open the bidding at £50,000.’

Elizabeth immediately raised her catalogue above her head.

‘Thank you, madam. I have a bid at the table of sixty thousand. Do I see seventy?’ he asked, his eyes fixed on Elizabeth.

Her catalogue shot up again.

‘Thank you, madam. I have a bid at the table of eighty thousand. Do I see ninety?’ This time Elizabeth seemed to hesitate before raising her catalogue slowly.

‘I have a bid at the table of one hundred thousand. Do I see a hundred and ten?’

Everyone in the room was now looking towards Elizabeth, except Hugh, who, head down, was staring at the floor. He obviously wasn’t going to have any influence on the bidding. ‘If there are no further bids, I shall have to withdraw this lot and place it in the afternoon sale. Fair warning,’ declared Mr Botts. As he raised his hammer, Elizabeth’s catalogue suddenly shot up.

‘One hundred and ten thousand. Thank you, madam. Are there any more bids? Then I shall let this fine piece go for £110,000.’ He brought down his hammer and smiled at Elizabeth. ‘Congratulations, madam, it is indeed a magnificent example of the period.’ She smiled weakly back, a look of uncertainty on her face.

Cornelius turned round and winked at Frank, who remained impassively in his seat. He then rose from his place and made his way to the podium to thank Mr Botts for a job well done. As he turned to leave, he smiled at Margaret and Elizabeth, but neither acknowledged him, as they both seemed to be preoccupied. Hugh, head in hands, continued to stare down at the floor.

As Cornelius walked towards the back of the hall, he could see no sign of Timothy, and assumed that his nephew must have had to return to London. Cornelius was disappointed, as he had hoped the lad might join him for a pub lunch. After such a successful morning he felt a little celebrating was in order.

He had already decided that he wasn’t going to attend the afternoon sale, as he had no desire to witness his worldly goods coming under the hammer, even though he wouldn’t have room for most of them once he moved into a smaller house. Mr Botts had promised to call him the moment the sale was over and report how much the auction had raised.

Having enjoyed the best meal since Pauline had left him, Cornelius began his journey back from the pub to The Willows. He knew exactly what time the bus would appear to take him home, and arrived at the bus stop with a couple of minutes to spare. He now took it for granted that people would avoid his company.

Cornelius unlocked the front door as the clock on the nearby church struck three. He was looking forward to the inevitable fall-out when it sank in to Margaret and Elizabeth how much they had really bid. He grinned as he headed towards his study and glanced at his watch, wondering when he might expect a call from Mr Botts. The phone began to ring just as he entered the room. He chuckled to himself. It was too early for Mr Botts, so it had to be Elizabeth or Margaret, who would need to see him urgently. He picked up the phone to hear Frank’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘Did you remember to withdraw the chess set from the afternoon sale?’ Frank asked, without bothering with any formalities.

‘What are you talking about?’ said Cornelius.

‘Your beloved chess set. Have you forgotten that as it failed to sell this morning, it will automatically come up in the afternoon sale? Unless of course you’ve already given orders to withdraw it, or tipped off Mr Botts about its true value.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Cornelius. He dropped the phone and ran back out of the door, so he didn’t hear Frank say, ‘I’m sure a telephone call to Mr Botts’s assistant is all that will be needed.’

Cornelius checked his watch as he ran down the path. It was ten past three, so the auction would have only just begun. Running towards the bus stop, he tried to recall what lot number the chess set was. All he could remember was that there were 153 lots in the sale.

Standing at the bus stop, hopping impatiently from foot to foot, he scanned the road in the hope of hailing a passing taxi, when to his relief he saw a bus heading towards him. Although his eyes never left the driver, that didn’t make him go any faster.

When it eventually drew up beside him and the doors opened, Cornelius leapt on and took his place on the front seat. He wanted to tell the driver to take him straight to Botts and Co. in the High Street, and to hell with the fare, but he doubted if the other passengers would have fallen in with his plan.

He stared at his watch — 3.17 p.m. — and tried to remember how long it had taken Mr Botts that morning to dispose of each lot. About a minute, a minute and a half perhaps, he concluded. The bus came to a halt at every stop on its short journey into town, and Cornelius spent as much time following the progress of the minute hand on his watch as he did the journey. The driver finally reached the High Street at 3.31 p.m.

Even the door seemed to open slowly. Cornelius leapt out onto the pavement, and despite not having run for years, sprinted for the second time that day. He covered the two hundred yards to the auction house in less than record pace, but still arrived exhausted. He charged into the auction room as Mr Botts declared, ‘Lot number 32, a long-case clock originally purchased from the estate of...’

Cornelius’s eyes swept the room, coming to rest on an auctioneer’s clerk who was standing in the corner with her catalogue open, entering the hammer price after each lot had been sold. He walked over to her just as a woman he thought he recognised slipped quickly past him and out of the door.

‘Has the chess set come up yet?’ asked a still-out-of-breath Cornelius.

‘Let me just check, sir,’ the clerk replied, flicking back through her catalogue. ‘Yes, here it is, lot 27.’

‘How much did it fetch?’ asked Cornelius.

‘£450, sir,’ she replied.

Mr Botts called Cornelius later that evening to inform him that the afternoon sale had raised £902,800 — far more than he had estimated.

‘Do you by any chance know who bought the chess set?’ was Cornelius’s only question.

‘No,’ replied Mr Botts. ‘All I can tell you is that it was purchased on behalf of a client. The buyer paid in cash and took the item away.’

As he climbed the stairs to go to bed, Cornelius had to admit that everything had gone to plan except for the disastrous loss of the chess set, for which he realised he had only himself to blame. What made it worse was that he knew Frank would never refer to the incident again.

Cornelius was in the bathroom when the phone rang at 7.30 the following morning. Obviously someone had been lying awake wondering what was the earliest moment they could possibly disturb him.

‘Is that you, Cornelius?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, yawning noisily. ‘Who’s this?’ he added, knowing only too well.

‘It’s Elizabeth. I’m sorry to call you so early, but I need to see you urgently.’

‘Of course, my dear,’ Cornelius replied, ‘why don’t you join me for tea this afternoon?’

‘Oh no, it can’t wait until then. I have to see you this morning. Could I come round at nine?’

‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but I already have an appointment at nine.’ He paused. ‘But I could fit you in at ten for half an hour, then I won’t be late for my meeting with Mr Botts at eleven.’

‘I could give you a lift into town if that would help,’ suggested Elizabeth.

‘That’s extremely kind of you, my dear,’ said Cornelius, ‘but I’ve got used to taking the bus, and in any case I wouldn’t want to impose on you. Look forward to seeing you at ten.’ He put the phone down.

Cornelius was still in the bath when the phone rang a second time. He wallowed in the warm water until the ringing had ceased. He knew it was Margaret, and he was sure she would call back within minutes.

He hadn’t finished drying himself before the phone rang again. He walked slowly to the bedroom, picked up the receiver by his bed and said, ‘Good morning Margaret.’

‘Good morning, Cornelius,’ she said, sounding surprised. Recovering quickly, she added, ‘I need to see you urgently.’

‘Oh? What’s the problem?’ asked Cornelius, well aware exactly what the problem was.

‘I can’t possibly discuss such a delicate matter over the phone, but I could be with you by ten.’

‘I’m afraid I’ve already agreed to see Elizabeth at ten. It seems that she also has an urgent matter she needs to discuss with me. Why don’t you come round at eleven?’

‘Perhaps it would be better if I came over immediately,’ said Margaret, sounding flustered.

‘No, I’m afraid eleven is the earliest I can fit you in, my dear. So it’s eleven or afternoon tea. Which would suit you best?’

‘Eleven,’ said Margaret without hesitation.

‘I thought it might,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you then,’ he added before replacing the receiver.

When Cornelius had finished dressing, he went down to the kitchen for breakfast. A bowl of cornflakes, a copy of the local paper and an unstamped envelope were awaiting him, although there was no sign of Pauline.

He poured himself a cup of tea, tore open the envelope and extracted a cheque made out to him for £500. He sighed. Pauline must have sold her car.

He began to turn the pages of the Saturday supplement, stopping when he reached ‘Houses for Sale’. When the phone rang for the third time that morning, he had no idea who it might be.

‘Good morning, Mr Barrington,’ said a cheerful voice. ‘It’s Bruce from the estate agents. I thought I’d give you a call to let you know we’ve had an offer for The Willows that is in excess of the asking price.’

‘Well done,’ said Cornelius.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said the agent, with more respect in his voice than Cornelius had heard from anyone for weeks, ‘but I think we should hold on for a little longer. I’m confident I can squeeze some more out of them. If I do, my advice would be to accept the offer and ask for a 10 per cent deposit.’

‘That sounds like good advice to me,’ said Cornelius. ‘And once they’ve signed the contract, I’ll need you to find me a new house.’

‘What sort of thing are you looking for, Mr Barrington?’

‘I want something about half the size of The Willows, with perhaps a couple of acres, and I’d like to remain in the immediate area.’

‘That shouldn’t be too hard, sir. We have one or two excellent houses on our books at the moment, so I’m sure we’ll be able to accommodate you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Cornelius, delighted to have spoken to someone who had begun the day well.

He was chuckling over an item on the front page of the local paper when the doorbell rang. He checked his watch. It was still a few minutes to ten, so it couldn’t be Elizabeth. When he opened the front door he was greeted by a man in a green uniform, holding a clipboard in one hand and a parcel in the other.

‘Sign here,’ was all the courier said, handing over a biro.

Cornelius scrawled his signature across the bottom of the form. He would have asked who had sent the parcel if he had not been distracted by a car coming up the drive.

‘Thank you,’ he said. He left the package in the hall and walked down the steps to welcome Elizabeth.

When the car drew up outside the front door, Cornelius was surprised to find Hugh seated in the passenger seat.

‘It was kind of you to see us at such short notice,’ said Elizabeth, who looked as if she had spent another sleepless night.

‘Good morning, Hugh,’ said Cornelius, who suspected his brother had been kept awake all night. ‘Please come through to the kitchen — I’m afraid it’s the only room in the house that’s warm.’

As he led them down the long corridor, Elizabeth stopped in front of the portrait of Daniel. ‘I’m so glad to see it back in its rightful place,’ she said. Hugh nodded his agreement.

Cornelius stared at the portrait, which he hadn’t seen since the auction. ‘Yes, back in its rightful place,’ he said, before taking them through to the kitchen. ‘Now, what brings you both to The Willows on a Saturday morning?’ he asked as he filled the kettle.

‘It’s about the Louis XIV table,’ said Elizabeth diffidently.

‘Yes, I shall miss it,’ said Cornelius. ‘But it was a fine gesture on your part, Hugh,’ he added.

‘A fine gesture...’ repeated Hugh.

‘Yes. I assumed it was your way of returning my hundred thousand,’ said Cornelius. Turning to Elizabeth, he said, ‘How I misjudged you, Elizabeth. I suspect it was your idea all along.’

Elizabeth and Hugh just stared at each other, then both began speaking at once.

‘But we didn’t...’ said Hugh.

‘We were rather hoping...’ said Elizabeth. Then they both fell silent.

‘Tell him the truth,’ said Hugh firmly.

‘Oh?’ said Cornelius. ‘Have I misunderstood what took place at the auction yesterday morning?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid you have,’ said Elizabeth, any remaining colour draining from her cheeks. ‘You see, the truth of the matter is that the whole thing got out of control, and I carried on bidding for longer than I should have done.’ She paused. ‘I’d never been to an auction before, and when I failed to get the grandfather clock, and then saw Margaret pick up the Turner so cheaply, I’m afraid I made a bit of a fool of myself.’

‘Well, you can always put it back up for sale,’ said Cornelius with mock sadness. ‘It’s a fine piece, and sure to retain its value.’

‘We’ve already looked into that,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But Mr Botts says there won’t be another furniture auction for at least three months, and the terms of the sale were clearly printed in the catalogue: settlement within seven days.’

‘But I’m sure that if you were to leave the piece with him...’

‘Yes, he suggested that,’ said Hugh. ‘But we didn’t realise that the auctioneers add 15 per cent to the sale price, so the real bill is for £126,500. And what’s worse, if we put it up for sale again they also retain 15 per cent of the price that’s bid, so we would end up losing over thirty thousand.’

‘Yes, that’s the way auctioneers make their money,’ said Cornelius with a sigh.

‘But we don’t have thirty thousand, let alone 126,500,’ cried Elizabeth.

Cornelius slowly poured himself another cup of tea, pretending to be deep in thought. ‘Umm,’ he finally offered. ‘What puzzles me is how you think I could help, bearing in mind my current financial predicament.’

‘We thought that as the auction had raised nearly a million pounds...’ began Elizabeth.

‘Far higher than was estimated,’ chipped in Hugh.

‘We hoped you might tell Mr Botts you’d decided to keep the piece; and of course we would confirm that that was acceptable to us.’

‘I’m sure you would,’ said Cornelius, ‘but that still doesn’t solve the problem of owing the auctioneer £16,500, and a possible further loss if it fails to reach £110,000 in three months’ time.’

Neither Elizabeth nor Hugh spoke.

‘Do you have anything you could sell to help raise the money?’ Cornelius eventually asked.

‘Only our house, and that already has a large mortgage on it,’ said Elizabeth.

‘But what about your shares in the company? If you sold them, I’m sure they would more than cover the cost.’

‘But who would want to buy them,’ asked Hugh, ‘when we’re only just breaking even?’

‘I would,’ said Cornelius.

Both of them looked surprised. ‘And in exchange for your shares,’ Cornelius continued, ‘I would release you from your debt to me, and also settle any embarrassment with Mr Botts.’

Elizabeth began to protest, but Hugh asked, ‘Is there any alternative?’

‘Not that I can think of,’ said Cornelius.

‘Then I don’t see that we’re left with much choice,’ said Hugh, turning to his wife.

‘But what about all those years we’ve put into the company?’ wailed Elizabeth.

‘The shop hasn’t been showing a worthwhile profit for some time, Elizabeth, and you know it. If we don’t accept Cornelius’s offer, we could be paying off the debt for the rest of our lives.’

Elizabeth remained unusually silent.

‘Well, that seems to be settled,’ said Cornelius. ‘Why don’t you just pop round and have a word with my solicitor? He’ll see that everything is in order.’

‘And will you sort out Mr Botts?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘The moment you’ve signed over the shares, I’ll deal with the problem of Mr Botts. I’m confident we can have everything settled by the end of the week.’

Hugh bowed his head.

‘And I think it might be wise,’ continued Cornelius — they both looked up and stared apprehensively at him — ‘if Hugh were to remain on the board of the company as Chairman, with the appropriate remuneration.’

‘Thank you,’ said Hugh, shaking hands with his brother. ‘That’s generous of you in the circumstances.’ As they returned down the corridor Cornelius stared at the portrait of his son once again.

‘Have you managed to find somewhere to live?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘It looks as if that won’t be a problem after all, thank you, Elizabeth. I’ve had an offer for The Willows far in excess of the price I’d anticipated, and what with the windfall from the auction, I’ll be able to pay off all my creditors, leaving me with a comfortable sum over.’

‘Then why do you need our shares?’ asked Elizabeth, swinging back to face him.

‘For the same reason you wanted my Louis XIV table, my dear,’ said Cornelius as he opened the front door to show them out. ‘Goodbye Hugh,’ he added as Elizabeth got into the car.

Cornelius would have returned to the house, but he spotted Margaret coming up the drive in her new car, so he stood and waited for her. When she brought the little Audi to a halt, Cornelius opened the car door to allow her to step out.

‘Good morning, Margaret,’ he said as he accompanied her up the steps and into the house. ‘How nice to see you back at The Willows. I can’t remember when you were last here.’

‘I’ve made a dreadful mistake,’ his sister admitted, long before they had reached the kitchen.

Cornelius refilled the kettle and waited for her to tell him something he already knew.

‘I won’t beat about the bush, Cornelius. You see, I had no idea there were two Turners.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Cornelius matter-of-factly. ‘Joseph Mallord William Turner, arguably the finest painter ever to hail from these shores, and William Turner of Oxford, no relation, and although painting at roughly the same period, certainly not in the same league as the master.’

‘But I didn’t realise that...’ Margaret repeated. ‘So I ended up paying far too much for the wrong Turner — not helped by my sister-in-law’s antics,’ she added.

‘Yes, I was fascinated to read in the morning paper that you’ve got yourself into the Guinness Book of Records for having paid a record price for the artist.’

‘A record I could have done without,’ said Margaret. ‘I was rather hoping you might feel able to have a word with Mr Botts, and...’

‘And what...?’ asked Cornelius innocently, as he poured his sister a cup of tea.

‘Explain to him that it was all a terrible mistake.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, my dear. You see, once the hammer has come down, the sale is completed. That’s the law of the land.’

‘Perhaps you could help me out by paying for the picture,’ Margaret suggested. ‘After all, the papers are saying you made nearly a million pounds from the auction alone.’

‘But I have so many other commitments to consider,’ said Cornelius with a sigh. ‘Don’t forget that once The Willows is sold, I will have to find somewhere else to live.’

‘But you could always come and stay with me...’

‘That’s the second such offer I’ve had this morning,’ said Cornelius, ‘and as I explained to Elizabeth, after being turned down by both of you earlier, I have had to make alternative arrangements.’

‘Then I’m ruined,’ said Margaret dramatically, ‘because I don’t have £10,000, not to mention the 15 per cent. Something else I didn’t know about. You see, I’d hoped to make a small profit by putting the painting back up for sale at Christie’s.’

The truth at last, thought Cornelius. Or perhaps half the truth.

‘Cornelius, you’ve always been the clever one in the family,’ Margaret said, with tears welling up in her eyes. ‘Surely you can think of a way out of this dilemma.’

Cornelius paced around the kitchen as if in deep thought, his sister watching his every step. Eventually he came to a halt in front of her. ‘I do believe I may have a solution.’

‘What is it?’ cried Margaret. ‘I’ll agree to anything.’

‘Anything?’

‘Anything,’ she repeated.

‘Good, then I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ll pay for the picture in exchange for your new car.’

Margaret remained speechless for some time. ‘But the car cost me £12,000,’ she said finally.

‘Possibly, but you wouldn’t get more than eight thousand for it second-hand.’

‘But then how would I get around?’

‘Try the bus,’ said Cornelius. ‘I can recommend it. Once you’ve mastered the timetable it changes your whole life.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘In fact, you could start right now; there’s one due in about ten minutes.’

‘But...’ said Margaret as Cornelius stretched out his open hand. Then, letting out a long sigh, she opened her handbag and passed the car keys over to her brother.

‘Thank you,’ said Cornelius. ‘Now I mustn’t hold you up any longer, or you’ll miss the bus, and there won’t be another one along for thirty minutes.’ He led his sister out of the kitchen and down the corridor. He smiled as he opened the door for her.

‘And don’t forget to pick up the picture from Mr Botts, my dear,’ he said. ‘It will look wonderful over the fireplace in your drawing room, and will bring back so many happy memories of our times together.’

Margaret didn’t comment as she turned to walk off down the long drive.

Cornelius closed the door and was about to go to his study and call Frank to brief him on what had taken place that morning when he thought he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. He changed direction and headed back down the corridor. He walked into the kitchen, went over to the sink, bent down and kissed Pauline on the cheek.

‘Good morning, Pauline,’ he said.

‘What’s that for?’ she asked, her hands immersed in soapy water.

‘For bringing my son back home.’

‘It’s only on loan. If you don’t behave yourself, it goes straight back to my place.’

Cornelius smiled. ‘That reminds me — I’d like to take you up on your original offer.’

‘What are you talking about, Mr Barrington?’

‘You told me that you’d rather work off the debt than have to sell your car.’ He removed her cheque from an inside pocket. ‘I know just how many hours you’ve worked here over the past month,’ he said, tearing the cheque in half, ‘so let’s call it quits.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Barrington, but I only wish you’d told me that before I sold the car.’

‘That’s not a problem, Pauline, because I find myself the proud owner of a new car.’

‘But how?’ asked Pauline as she began to dry her hands.

‘It was an unexpected gift from my sister,’ Cornelius said, without further explanation.

‘But you don’t drive, Mr Barrington.’

‘I know. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ll swap it for the picture of Daniel.’

‘But that’s not a fair exchange, Mr Barrington. I only paid £50 for the picture, and the car must be worth far more.’

‘Then you’ll also have to agree to drive me into town from time to time.’

‘Does that mean I’ve got my old job back?’

‘Yes — if you’re willing to give up your new one.’

‘I don’t have a new one,’ said Pauline with a sigh. ‘They found someone a lot younger than me the day before I was due to begin.’

Cornelius threw his arms around her.

‘And we’ll have less of that for a start, Mr Barrington.’

Cornelius took a pace back. ‘Of course you can have your old job back, and with a rise in salary.’

‘Whatever you consider is appropriate, Mr Barrington. After all, the labourer is worthy of his hire.’

Cornelius somehow stopped himself from laughing.

‘Does this mean all the furniture will be coming back to The Willows?’

‘No, Pauline. This house has been far too large for me since Millie’s death. I should have realised that some time ago. I’m going to move out and look for something smaller.’

‘I could have told you to do that years ago,’ Pauline said. She hesitated. ‘But will that nice Mr Vintcent still be coming to supper on Thursday evenings?’

‘Until one of us dies, that’s for sure,’ said Cornelius with a chuckle.

‘Well, I can’t stand around all day chattering, Mr Barring-ton. After all, a woman’s work is never done.’

‘Quite so,’ said Cornelius, and quickly left the kitchen. He walked back through the hall, picked up the package, and took it through to his study.

He had removed only the outer layer of wrapping paper when the phone rang. He put the package to one side and picked up the receiver to hear Timothy’s voice.

‘It was good of you to come to the auction, Timothy. I appreciated that.’

‘I’m only sorry that my funds didn’t stretch to buying you the chess set, Uncle Cornelius.’

‘If only your mother and aunt had shown the same restraint...’

‘I’m not sure I understand, Uncle.’

‘It’s not important,’ said Cornelius. ‘So, what can I do for you, young man?’

‘You’ve obviously forgotten that I said I’d come over and read the rest of that story to you — unless of course you’ve already finished it.’

‘No, I’d quite forgotten about it, what with the drama of the last few days. Why don’t you come round tomorrow evening, then we can have supper as well. And before you groan, the good news is that Pauline is back.’

‘That’s excellent news, Uncle Cornelius. I’ll see you around eight tomorrow.’

‘I look forward to it,’ said Cornelius. He replaced the receiver and returned to the half-opened package. Even before he had removed the final layer of paper, he knew exactly what was inside. His heart began beating faster. He finally raised the lid of the heavy wooden box and stared down at the thirty-two exquisite ivory pieces. There was a note inside: ‘A small appreciation for all your kindness over the years. Hugh.’

Then he recalled the face of the woman who had slipped past him at the auction house. Of course, it had been his brother’s secretary. The second time he had misjudged someone.

‘What an irony,’ he said out loud. ‘If Hugh had put the set up for sale at Sotheby’s, he could have held on to the Louis XIV table and had the same amount left over. Still, as Pauline would have said, it’s the thought that counts.’

He was writing a thank-you note to his brother when the phone rang again. It was Frank, reliable as ever, reporting in on his meeting with Hugh.

‘Your brother has signed all the necessary documents, and the shares have been transferred as requested.’

‘That was quick work,’ said Cornelius.

‘The moment you gave me instructions last week, I had all the legal papers drawn up. You’re still the most impatient client I have. Shall I bring the share certificates round on Thursday evening?’

‘No,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ll drop in this afternoon and pick them up. That is, assuming Pauline is free to drive me into town.’

‘Am I missing something?’ asked Frank, sounding a little bewildered.

‘Don’t worry, Frank. I’ll bring you up to date when I see you on Thursday evening.’

Timothy arrived at The Willows a few minutes after eight the following evening. Pauline immediately put him to work peeling potatoes.

‘How are your mother and father?’ asked Cornelius, probing to discover how much the boy knew.

‘They seem fine, thank you Uncle. By the way, my father’s offered me the job of shop manager. I begin on the first of next month.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’m delighted. When did he make the offer?’

‘Some time last week,’ replied Timothy.

‘Which day?’

‘Is it important?’ asked Timothy.

‘I think it might be,’ replied Cornelius, without explanation.

The young man remained silent for some time, before he finally said, ‘Yes, it was Saturday evening, after I’d seen you.’ He paused. ‘I’m not sure Mum’s all that happy about it. I meant to write and let you know, but as I was coming back for the auction, I thought I’d tell you in person. But then I didn’t get a chance to speak to you.’

‘So he offered you the job before the auction took place?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Timothy. ‘Nearly a week before.’ Once again, the young man looked quizzically at his uncle, but still no explanation was forthcoming.

Pauline placed a plate of roast beef in front of each of them as Timothy began to reveal his plans for the company’s future.

‘Mind you, although Dad will remain as Chairman,’ he said, ‘he’s promised not to interfere too much. I was wondering, Uncle Cornelius, now that you own 1 per cent of the company, whether you would be willing to join the board?’

Cornelius looked first surprised, then delighted, then doubtful.

‘I could do with your experience,’ added Timothy, ‘if I’m to go ahead with my expansion plans.’

‘I’m not sure your father would consider it a good idea to have me on the board,’ said Cornelius, with a wry smile.

‘I can’t think why not,’ said Timothy. ‘After all, it was his idea in the first place.’

Cornelius remained silent for some time. He hadn’t expected to go on learning more about the players after the game was officially over.

‘I think the time has come for us to go upstairs and find out if it’s Simon Kerslake or Raymond Gould who becomes Prime Minister,’ he eventually said.

Timothy waited until his uncle had poured himself a large brandy and lit a cigar — his first for a month — before he started to read.

He became so engrossed in the story that he didn’t look up again until he had turned the last page, where he found an envelope sellotaped to the inside of the book’s cover. It was addressed to ‘Mr Timothy Barrington’.

‘What’s this?’ he asked.

Cornelius would have told him, but he had fallen asleep.

The doorbell rang at eight, as it did every Thursday evening. When Pauline opened the door, Frank handed her a large bunch of flowers.

‘Oh, Mr Barrington will appreciate those,’ she said. ‘I’ll put them in the library.’

‘They’re not for Mr Barrington,’ said Frank, with a wink.

‘I’m sure I don’t know what’s come over you two gentlemen,’ Pauline said, scurrying away to the kitchen.

As Frank dug into a second bowl of Irish stew, Cornelius warned him that it could be their last meal together at The Willows.

‘Does that mean you’ve sold the house?’ Frank asked, looking up.

‘Yes. We exchanged contracts this afternoon, but on the condition that I move out immediately. After such a generous offer, I’m in no position to argue.’

‘And how’s the search for a new place coming along?’

‘I think I’ve found the ideal house, and once the surveyors have given the all clear, I’ll be putting an offer in. I’ll need you to push the paperwork through as quickly as possible so that I’m not homeless for too long.’

‘I certainly will,’ said Frank, ‘but in the meantime, you’d better come and camp out with me. I’m all too aware what the alternatives are.’

‘The local pub, Elizabeth or Margaret,’ said Cornelius, with a grin. He raised his glass. ‘Thank you for the offer. I accept.’

‘But there’s one condition,’ said Frank.

‘And what might that be?’ asked Cornelius.

‘That Pauline comes as part of the package, because I have no intention of spending all my spare time tidying up after you.’

‘What do you think about that, Pauline?’ asked Cornelius as she began to clear away the plates.

‘I’m willing to keep house for both of you gentlemen, but only for one month. Otherwise you’d never move out, Mr Barrington.’

‘I’ll make sure there are no hold-ups with the legal work, I promise,’ said Frank.

Cornelius leant across to him conspiratorially. ‘She hates lawyers, you know, but I do think she’s got a soft spot for you.’

‘That may well be the case, Mr Barrington, but it won’t stop me leaving after a month, if you haven’t moved into your new house.’

‘I think you’d better put down that deposit fairly quickly,’ said Frank. ‘Good houses come on the market all the time, good housekeepers rarely.’

‘Isn’t it time you two gentlemen got on with your game?’

‘Agreed,’ said Cornelius. ‘But first, a toast.’

‘Who to?’ asked Frank.

‘Young Timothy,’ said Cornelius, raising his glass, ‘who will start as Managing Director of Barrington’s, Chudley, on the first of the month.’

‘To Timothy,’ said Frank, raising his glass.

‘You know he’s asked me to join the board,’ said Cornelius.

‘You’ll enjoy that, and he’ll benefit from your experience. But it still doesn’t explain why you gave him all your shares in the company, despite him failing to secure the chess set for you.’

‘That’s precisely why I was willing to let him take control of the company. Timothy, unlike his mother and father, didn’t allow his heart to rule his head.’

Frank nodded his approval as Cornelius drained the last drop of wine from the one glass they allowed themselves before a game.

‘Now, I feel I ought to warn you,’ said Cornelius as he rose from his place, ‘that the only reason you have won the last three encounters in a row is simply because I have had other things on my mind. Now that those matters have been resolved, your run of luck is about to come to an end.’

‘We shall see,’ said Frank, as they marched down the long corridor together. The two men stopped for a moment to admire the portrait of Daniel.

‘How did you get that back?’ asked Frank.

‘I had to strike a mean bargain with Pauline, but we both ended up with what we wanted.’

‘But how...?’ began Frank.

‘It’s a long story,’ Cornelius replied, ‘and I’ll tell you the details over a brandy after I’ve won the game.’

Cornelius opened the library door and allowed his friend to enter ahead of him, so that he could observe his reaction. When the inscrutable lawyer saw the chess set laid out before him, he made no comment, but simply walked across to the far side of the table, took his usual place and said, ‘Your move first, if I remember correctly.’

‘You’re right,’ said Cornelius, trying to hide his irritation. He pushed his queen’s pawn to Q4.

‘Back to an orthodox opening gambit. I see I shall have to concentrate tonight.’

They had been playing for about an hour, no word having passed between them, when Cornelius could bear it no longer. ‘Are you not in the least bit curious to discover how I came back into possession of the chess set?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Frank, his eyes remaining fixed on the board. ‘Not in the least bit.’

‘But why not, you old dullard?’

‘Because I already know,’ Frank said as he moved his queen’s bishop across the board.

‘How can you possibly know?’ demanded Cornelius, who responded by moving a knight back to defend his king.

Frank smiled. ‘You forget that Hugh is also my client,’ he said, moving his king’s rook two squares to the right.

Cornelius smiled. ‘And to think he need never have sacrificed his shares, if he had only known the true value of the chess set.’ He returned his queen to its home square.

‘But he did know its true value,’ said Frank, as he considered his opponent’s last move.

‘How could he possibly have found out, when you and I were the only people who knew?’

‘Because I told him,’ said Frank matter-of-factly.

‘But why would you do that?’ asked Cornelius, staring across at his oldest friend.

‘Because it was the only way I could find out if Hugh and Elizabeth were working together.’

‘So why didn’t he bid for the set in the morning auction?’

‘Precisely because he didn’t want Elizabeth to know what he was up to. Once he discovered that Timothy was also hoping to purchase the set in order to give it back to you, he remained silent.’

‘But he could have kept bidding once Timothy had fallen out.’

‘No, he couldn’t. He had agreed to bid for the Louis XIV table, if you recall, and that was the last item to come under the hammer.’

‘But Elizabeth failed to get the long-case clock, so she could have bid for it.’

‘Elizabeth is not my client,’ said Frank, as he moved his queen across the board. ‘So she never discovered the chess set’s true value. She believed what you had told her — that at best it was worth a few hundred pounds — which is why Hugh instructed his secretary to bid for the set in the afternoon.’

‘Sometimes you can miss the most obvious things, even when they are staring you right in the face,’ said Cornelius, pushing his rook five squares forward.

‘I concur with that judgement,’ said Frank, moving his queen across to take Cornelius’s rook. He looked up at his opponent and said, ‘I think you’ll find that’s checkmate.’