Страница 69 из 117
"Fifty-five," Hunsacker repeated.
"Sixty," insisted Da
"No, fifty-five is my limit. And I'll wire the full amount to any bank in the world, which means it would be in your account within the next couple of hours."
"Why don't we toss for the last five million?"
"Because that way you can't lose. Fifty-five is what I said. You can take it or leave it."
"I think I'll leave it," said Da
"OK, OK. I'll toss you for the last five million."
Da
"Umpire," said Hunsacker.
"Yes, of course," Munro replied. Da
"Heads," called Hunsacker. The coin landed in the thick rug by the fireplace. It was standing upright on its edge.
"Let's settle on $57,500,000," said Da
"It's a deal," said Hunsacker, who bent down, picked up the coin and put it in his pocket.
"I think you'll find that's mine," said Da
Hunsacker handed over the coin and gri
"There's no need for that," said Da
Hunsacker started walking toward the door.
"And, Gene." Hunsacker turned back. "Try to make it before the sun sets in Tokyo."
Desmond Galbraith picked up the private line on his desk.
"I'm reliably informed by one of the hotel staff," said Hugo Moncrieff, "that they are both booked on BA flight 737 which leaves here at 8:55 P.M. and touches down at Heathrow at 9:45 P.M."
"That's all I need to know," said Galbraith.
"We'll be flying back to Edinburgh first thing in the morning."
"Which should give de Coubertin more than enough time to reflect on which branch of the Moncrieff family he'd prefer to do business with."
"Would you care for a glass of champagne?" asked the stewardess.
"No thank you," said Munro, "just a scotch and soda."
"And for you, sir?"
"I'll have a glass of champagne, thank you," said Da
"They must have spotted something I missed," said Munro.
"Why don't you call de Coubertin and ask him what it was?"
"That man wouldn't admit he'd ever met your uncle, let alone seen your grandfather's will. Still, now that you have almost sixty million dollars in the bank, I presume you'll want me to defend all the writs?"
"I wonder what Nick would have done," mumbled Da
Munro raised an eyebrow, but didn't press his client further when he remembered that Sir Nicholas hadn't been to bed the previous night.
Da
"You're under arrest, Moncrieff," said one of them as they marched him off.
"On what charge?" demanded Munro, but he didn't get a response because the police car, siren blaring, was already speeding away.
Da
Beth could no longer bear to look at her father, whom she hadn't spoken to for days. Despite being forewarned by the doctor, she couldn't believe how emaciated he'd become in such a short time.
Father Michael had visited his parishioner every day since he had been bedridden, and that morning he had asked Beth's mother to gather the family and close friends around the bedside that evening, as he could no longer delay conducting the last rites.
"Beth."
Beth was taken by surprise when her father spoke. "Yes, Dad," she said, taking his hand.
"Who's ru
"Trevor Sutton," she replied softly.
"He's not up to it. You'll have to appoint someone else, and soon."
"I will, Dad," Beth replied dutifully. She didn't tell him that no one else wanted the job.
"Are we alone?" he asked after a long pause.
"Yes, Dad. Mum's in the front room talking to Mrs…"
"Mrs. Cartwright?"
"Yes," admitted Beth.
"Thank God for her common sense." Her father paused to take another breath before adding, "Which you've inherited."
Beth smiled. Even the effort of talking was now almost beyond him. "Tell Harry," he suddenly said, his voice even weaker, "I'd like to see them both before I die."
Beth had stopped saying "You're not going to die" some time ago, and simply whispered in his ear, "Of course I will, Dad."
Another long pause, another struggle for breath, before he whispered, "Promise me one thing."
"Anything."
He gripped his daughter's hand. "You'll fight on to clear his name." The grip suddenly weakened, and his hand went limp.
"I will," said Beth, although she knew he couldn't hear her.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
MR. MUNRO'S OFFICE had left several messages on his mobile asking him to call urgently. He had other things on his mind.
Sir Nicholas had been whisked off in a police car to spend the night in a cell at Paddington Green police station. When Mr. Munro left him, he made his way by taxi to the Caledonian Club in Belgravia. He blamed himself for not remembering that Sir Nicholas was still on probation and was not allowed to leave the country. Perhaps it was simply that he could never think of him as a criminal.
When Munro arrived at his club just after eleven-thirty, he found Miss Davenport waiting for him in the guest lounge. The first thing he needed to ascertain, and very quickly, was whether she was up to the job. That took him about five minutes. He had rarely come across anyone who grasped the salient points of a case so quickly. She asked all the right questions and he could only hope that Sir Nicholas had all the right answers. By the time they parted, just after midnight, Munro was in no doubt that his client was in good hands.
Sarah Davenport hadn't needed to remind Munro of the court's attitude to prisoners who broke their parole conditions, and how rarely exceptions were made, especially when it came to traveling abroad without seeking approval from their probation officer. Both she and Munro were fully aware that a judge would probably send Nick back to prison to complete the remaining four years of his sentence. Miss Davenport would of course plead "mitigating circumstances," but she wasn't at all optimistic about the outcome. Munro had never cared for lawyers who were optimistic. She promised to call him in Dunbroath the moment the judge had delivered his verdict.