“Will do, sarge.”
“Target’s moved back into the middle lane and is slowing,” said Danny. “I think you’re right, sarge. It has to be Heathrow.”
“Damn,” said William. “I haven’t got enough back-up to cover all three terminals.”
“It’s terminal one, domestic.”
“Keep your distance,” said William. “Paul, be ready to follow him into the terminal.”
“On the edge of my seat, sarge.”
A short period of silence followed, while William paced around the room, fearing that if this became a weekly exercise, he’d wear out his shoes before they worked out where the subject was going.
“He’s getting out of the taxi and heading for departures,” said Danny. “Paul’s tailing him.”
“Is he carrying anything?”
“Nothing, sarge.”
“Then he’s unlikely to be flying anywhere.”
“Could be meeting someone?” suggested Jackie.
“Not in departures. I suspect it’s just another ploy to lose anyone who might even consider following him.”
“Paul’s entering the terminal,” said Danny.
“What about Rashidi’s taxi?” asked William.
“It’s on the move again. Do you want me to follow him?”
“No. If the driver’s a pro, he’ll have spotted you by now. Wait until Paul tells us where Rashidi ends up.”
“I’ve lost him, sir,” said Paul, sounding embarrassed. “There must be a dozen entrances and exits in departures, while there are a thousand passengers roaming around in every direction.”
“My fault,” said William. “I should have told Danny to follow the taxi.”
“Just make sure you have all three terminals covered next week,” said Hawksby, who had been following every word.
“What makes you think he’ll turn up at his mother’s again next week?” said William, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.
“Mr. Rashidi and I have one thing in common,” said the Hawk. “We’re never late for our mothers.”
9
Beth’s father tapped on the bedroom door. “The car’s arrived.”
“We’re almost ready, Arthur,” said his wife. “Just give us a few more minutes.”
Arthur checked his watch. The chauffeur had done a dry run to the church earlier that morning, and reported that it had taken him eleven minutes. Of course, Arthur understood that everyone would expect the bride to be fashionably late, but not so late that the groom would become anxious, not to mention their two hundred guests.
Beth looked at herself in the mirror once again. Nothing had changed. She couldn’t have imagined a more beautiful dress, and knew she would never be able to thank her father properly for the sacrifices he’d made so that this day would be one she would never forget.
“Does every bride have misgivings on the day of her wedding?” she said, almost to herself.
“I did,” admitted her mother, as she readjusted Beth’s veil. “So I expect the answer is yes.”
Another tap on the door.
“I’m afraid this is one of those rare occasions when they can’t start without you,” Arthur reminded them, before walking back downstairs, opening the front door and pacing up and down the path.
A few moments later his daughter appeared at the top of the stairs and, like every father of the bride, he was the proudest man on earth. He left the house and opened the back door of the Rolls-Royce—even that had been rehearsed—and waited for Beth to climb in before he joined her in the back. The Rolls drifted sedately off and Arthur wondered if he should tell the driver to speed up, but thought better of it.
“You look sensational,” he said, as he turned to admire his daughter once again. “William’s a very lucky man.”
“I’m so nervous,” said Beth. “I hope it doesn’t show.”
“And so you should be, young lady. You’re about to sign a partnership contract for life, with no get-out clause.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Dad. None of this would have been possible without your extraordinary kindness and generosity, not just today, but for so many years. I know there must have been times when I drove you mad.”
“Fairly regularly,” replied Arthur with a chuckle, “but I’m happy to pass on that responsibility to the man who got me out of jail and back to work when no one except you believed that was possible.” He took her hand. “Fathers are always convinced that nobody’s good enough for their daughter, especially an only daughter, but I couldn’t be more delighted to have William as a son-in-law. Of course he’s not good enough for you, but he’ll do!”
Beth laughed. “Mother tells me you went to his stag night at the local pub.”
“Not for long.”
“That’s not what she says.”
“Don’t worry. Half the Met police force were there to keep an eye on him. Apart from a few unrepeatable jokes, and some dreadfully out-of-tune singing, he was still sober when I drove him home. Do you know his nickname?” he asked, as they turned into the High Street, and the ancient parish church of St. Anthony’s came into view.
“Choirboy,” she said, but she didn’t tell her father her private name for William.
She and William had attended a couple of rehearsals during the week, and the parish priest, the Reverend Martin Teasdale, such a venerable old gentleman, had taken them slowly through the service, placing great emphasis on the importance of the marriage vows made in the presence of the Almighty. He ended by warning them that something would go wrong on the day, it always does.
When the Rolls drew up outside the church, Arthur checked his watch once again. They were seven minutes late, and he suspected that William would be getting quite nervous. But he knew his anxieties would be dissipated the moment a peal of joyous bells rang out and he saw his bride coming up the aisle.
Arthur stepped out of the car and held open the back door to allow his daughter to join him. The maid of honor rushed forward to straighten Beth’s train, then nodded to the bridesmaids, who quickly fell in line. Beth linked her arm in her father’s, and they entered the church to the sound of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”
The congregation rose as one, as Beth made her way slowly up the aisle. On her left were friends from her schooldays and Durham University, sitting among a large contingent from the Fitzmolean.
When she glanced to her right, she saw that the pews were filled with what looked like a police convention or a visiting rugby team, interspersed with William’s friends from his schooldays and King’s College London. She smiled when she spotted Gino, reminding her of their first date.
As she continued up the aisle, Beth saw Jack and Josephine Hawksby, Grace and Clare, who were holding hands, Jackie Roycroft, Paul Adaja, and Tim Knox, who gave her a bow. And then she saw William standing on the top altar step, looking so handsome in his long tailcoat, white shirt, and silver tie, with a pink carnation in his buttonhole. He gave her that same nervous smile she’d first noticed when he’d come to the Fitzmolean to hear a lecture that should have been given by the museum’s director. If Tim hadn’t fallen ill, Beth wouldn’t have been asked to step in at the last moment, and they might never have met. Beth hadn’t admitted to anyone, not even William, that it had been hard enough having to deliver a lecture in public for the first time, and it hadn’t helped that an extremely handsome young man wasn’t always looking at the paintings.
When they reached the altar steps, Arthur Rainsford released his unmarried daughter for the last time, took a step back, and joined his wife in the front pew.
Beth climbed the steps to join William, who was staring at her as if he couldn’t believe he’d got so lucky.
“Can’t wait to remove the seventh veil,” he whispered.
“Behave yourself, Caveman,” she replied, glad he couldn’t see her blushing.
When the last chord had been struck, and the organ fell silent, the vicar began by welcoming the bride and groom. He then
looked down at the packed congregation and declared, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation…”
Beth knew the marriage ceremony almost by heart, like a young actress waiting for the curtain to rise so she could give the most important performance of her life. So when the vicar intoned, “Therefore if any man—” Why not any woman, she had thought during the rehearsal—“can show just cause why these two may not be lawfully joined together, let him speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
The vicar had told them during the rehearsal that he would, as tradition demanded, pause for a moment before saying to William, “Will you take this woman to be thy lawful wedded wife.” He paused, and a voice rang out, “I can show just cause!”
The congregation were momentarily stunned, and every head turned to search for the source of the lone voice. A man Beth had only ever met once before stepped out into the aisle and began striding purposefully toward her soon-to-be husband. When he reached the altar steps, he said, “This man,” pointing at William, “is having an affair with my wife, and it has caused the breakdown of our marriage. He has no intention of being faithful to this woman, and I can prove it.”
A shocked babble of voices turned into a chorus as Beth burst into tears. William took a stride toward Faulkner, and it took his best man and two of the ushers to keep them apart.
In over forty years as a minister the Reverend Martin Teasdale had never experienced an intervention during the marriage service. He tried desperately to recall what he was meant to do in the circumstances. He could hardly phone the bishop.
It was Sir Julian who came to his rescue. “Perhaps the two families, along with Mr. Faulkner, should accompany you to the vestry so this can be sorted out,” he whispered from the front pew.
“Would the two families and the gentleman concerned, please join me in the vestry,” the minister said, “in the hope that this matter can be resolved?”
William and Beth reluctantly left the altar steps and followed the vicar into the vestry. Once the parents of the bride and groom had joined them, they waited in silence for William’s accuser to appear. Faulkner took his time before he entered the room.
“What is your name, sir?” asked the vicar.
“Miles Faulkner,” he announced, with the same confident air he’d recently displayed in the witness box.
“A man who is currently serving a four-year suspended sentence for fraud,” said Sir Julian. “My son was the arresting officer. This is clearly nothing more than a vexatious man seeking revenge.”
“Is it true you have been convicted of fraud, Mr. Faulkner?” asked the minister.
“It is,” replied Faulkner. “But I have something to say that was not revealed during the trial, and will prove Sir Julian’s assertion that I am motivated by revenge is nothing more than an attempt to silence me, whereas in fact I am simply carrying out my Christian duty.”
Everyone began talking at once, except the minister who, when the torrent of accusations and counter-accusations had subsided, said simply, “We will hear what you have to say, Mr. Faulkner. This may not be a court of law, but we are in the presence of a far higher authority, who will pass the final judgment.”
Faulkner bowed, to suggest that he had taken in the gravity of the situation.
“In the sight of God,” he said solemnly, “I accuse this man of having an affair with my wife while he was engaged to this woman. An act of infidelity that caused the irretrievable breakdown of my marriage.”
It sounded a little over-rehearsed to Sir Julian, who wasn’t in any doubt who’d penned the script, although he wasn’t sure how William would be able to prove his innocence.
“I have met Mrs. Faulkner on three occasions,” protested William, “and then only in my capacity as a police officer.”
“Can you deny that on one of those occasions, you spent the night with my wife at our home in Monte Carlo, while I was safely out of the way on the other side of the world?”
“We spent the night in the same house,” said William firmly, “but not in the same bed.”
“Are you going to deny in the presence of God my wife joined you in bed that night?”
William didn’t respond, and this time Sir Julian was unable to come to his rescue.
“I’m afraid that’s true,” said a voice from the back of the vestry. Everyone looked around to see who had spoken these words. Christina Faulkner stepped forward. “When William was staying as a guest in my home, after he’d gone to bed, I crept into his room uninvited, and slipped in beside him.”
She couldn’t have had a more attentive audience if she’d been giving an opening-night performance at the Albert Hall.
“No woman likes to be rejected,” she said quietly, “but William did just that, and quite literally showed me the door. I shall not forget his words to my dying day. ‘I’m in love with a remarkable woman,’ he told me, ‘and even the promise of you returning the stolen Rembrandt to the Fitzmolean wouldn’t tempt me to be unfaithful to her.’ If you think that must have been humiliating,” said Christina, “just imagine what I’m going through now in the presence of God and this congregation.” She paused once again before delivering her final riposte. “Two other simple facts may interest you, vicar. I had begun divorce proceedings long before I met Detective Sergeant Warwick, and perhaps more important, we haven’t met since, as I’m sure my husband’s private detective will confirm.”
Beth took William in her arms and kissed him gently on the lips. “It’s nice to know you consider me more valuable than a Rembrandt,” she said. “I can’t think of a better wedding present.”
Everyone except Faulkner burst into warm applause. Arthur, who hadn’t spoken until then, stepped forward, grabbed Faulkner by the arm, and twisted it halfway up his back with all the skill of a former amateur wrestler, and marched him to the back door. He opened it with his free hand and, with the help of a well-polished shoe, kicked him out into the graveyard.
Faulkner stumbled forward, falling on one knee before he recovered his balance. As he walked away he could hear Arthur shouting, “I’ve been arrested for murder once. Don’t give me an excuse to make it twice!” He slammed the door and rejoined the others, to hear the vicar pronouncing, “Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.”
The bride and groom filed back into the body of the church and retook their places on the altar steps to a warm round of applause, revealing the fact that the vicar had forgotten to close the vestry door.
“Where were we before I was so rudely interrupted?” said the vicar, which was greeted with laughter and further applause. “Ah, yes. Will you take this woman to be your wedded wife?”
After William and Beth had exchanged vows, the vicar declared, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” A standing ovation accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Warwick as they proceeded back down the aisle.
The reception gave everyone a chance to air their opinions on Faulkner’s tasteless intervention, while the speeches that followed made no mention of it. When four o’clock struck, Arthur started to grow anxious once again, worried that if Beth took any longer changing into her going-away outfit, Mr. and Mrs. Warwick would miss their flight and would have to spend their first night as husband and wife in the back of a hire car.
He’d told her several times that the journey to Gatwick would take at least an hour, and once again she’d ignored his warnings. But when she reappeared in a navy and red cashmere outfit, complemented by a red silk scarf and small beige handbag, all was forgiven. Arthur tipped the cabbie ten pounds and told him to make sure they didn’t miss their flight.
“Hold on tight, sarge,” said the driver, as they climbed into the backseat. “I may have to break the speed limit.”
“Oh, no, not you, Danny,” said William. “What else can go wrong today?”
They reached the airport forty-six minutes later, and as the newlyweds dashed into the departure lounge, they were gre
eted with an announcement over the tannoy: “This is the final call for flight 019 to Rome. Would all passengers please make their way to gate thirty-one?”
Mr. and Mrs. Warwick were among the last to board the plane, and didn’t relax until it had begun to taxi down the runway. William was squeezing Beth’s hand as they waited to take off, when an announcement came from the flight deck. “This is your captain speaking,” said a friendly voice. “I’m sorry to have to report that our engineer has identified a minor fault in the starboard engine, and we will therefore have to return to the gate where you will be required to disembark and wait until we locate an available aircraft to take you to Rome.”
A loud groan went up in the cabin, followed by a hundred questions, none of which the aircrew were able to answer.
“May I assure you,” continued the captain, “that your safety is our first priority. I hope it won’t be too long before you are able to resume your journey.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said William, as he took Beth’s bag down from the overhead locker, “if Faulkner turned out to be the engineer.” Beth didn’t laugh.
The passengers were escorted off the plane and back into the terminal, where they were offered tea and biscuits in the lounge while they waited for a further announcement. The promise that “It shouldn’t be too long now,” regularly repeated by solicitous staff, became less and less convincing, until finally there was an official announcement from the airline.
“I’m sorry to say that no replacement aircraft is available at this time. All passengers will be offered a seat on the first scheduled flight to Rome in the morning.”
“It looks, Mrs. Warwick, as if we’ll be spending our first night together as man and wife in an airport lounge,” said William, taking Beth in his arms.
“At least it will give us something to tell your son,” she said.
“My son?”
“Or daughter perhaps, Mr. Warwick. I’m pregnant.”
10
Hidden in Plain Sight Page 7
