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Davenport leaped up as Da
"Sorry to barge in on you like this," said Davenport. "I wouldn't have done so if it wasn't a bit of an emergency."
"Please don't concern yourself," said Da
Molly placed a tray on the side table and poured Davenport a cup of coffee.
"Cream or milk, Mr. Davenport?" she asked.
"Neither, thank you."
"Sugar, Mr. Davenport?"
"No, thank you."
"Would you like a chocolate biscuit?" asked Molly.
"No, thank you," Davenport said, patting his stomach.
Da
"Well, just let me know if you want anything else, Mr. Davenport," said Molly before backing out of the room, having quite forgotten to offer Da
"Don't worry, old chap," said Davenport. "One gets used to it."
Not for much longer, thought Da
"I want to invest a rather large sum of money in a business venture. Only temporary, you understand. Not only will I repay you within a few weeks at the outside, but," he said, looking up at the McTaggart above the fireplace, "I'll also be able to reclaim my paintings at the same time."
Da
"That could turn out to be a lot sooner than I had originally anticipated," said Davenport. "Especially if you were able to help me out with this little enterprise."
"What sort of sum did you have in mind?" asked Da
"A million," said Davenport tentatively. "The problem is that I've only got a week to come up with the money."
"And what would your collateral be this time?" asked Da
"My house in Redcliffe Square."
Da
"Within a month, it's guaranteed-a racing certainty."
"And if you fail to pay back the million in that time?"
"Then, just like my pictures, the house is yours."
"We have a deal," said Da
When they left the drawing room and walked out into the hallway, they found Molly standing by the front door clutching Davenport 's overcoat.
"Thank you," said Davenport after she had helped him on with his coat and opened the door.
"I'll be in touch," said Da
Da
"Is he expecting you?" asked Molly.
"No, he isn't," replied Ms. Be
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
THE ALARM WENT off at 2 A.M. but Da
He checked his watch: six minutes past two. He closed the bedroom door and walked slowly downstairs. He opened the front door to see his car parked by the curb. Although he couldn't see him, he knew Big Al would be seated behind the wheel. Da
Neither of them spoke as Big Al turned right and headed for the Embankment. He had done the run five times during the past week; twice during the day, three times at night-what he called "night ops." But the dry runs were over, and tonight the full operation would be carried out. Big Al was treating the whole thing like a military exercise, and his nine years in the army were being put to good use. During the day, the journey averaged around forty-three minutes, but at night he could cover the same distance in twenty-nine, never once exceeding the speed limit.
As they progressed past the House of Commons and along the north side of the Thames, Da
Big Al continued on down Mile End Road before turning left at a signpost indicating Stratford, The home of the 2012 Olympics. Eleven minutes later, he turned off the road and onto a gravel track. He switched the lights off, as he knew each twist and turn, almost every stone between there and the target area.
At the end of the track he drove past a sign that read, Private Land : Keep Off. He kept on going; after all, the land was owned by Da
After a couple of minutes Da
In daylight he could cover the three acres in just over two hours. Last night had taken three hours, seventeen minutes, while tonight would take even longer because of the number of times he would have to drop to his knees.
It was a clear, still night, as promised by the weather forecasters, who were predicting light showers in the morning. Like any good farmer planting his seeds, Da