‘But surely that alone must be enough proof . . . ?’
‘I fear not,’ said Munro. ‘Although we may have every reason to believe that the letter is a fake, the facts are that it was written on your grandfather’s personal stationery, the typewriter used is of the correct vintage, and the writing on the second page is unquestionably in your grandfather’s hand. I doubt if there’s a court in the land that would uphold our claim. And if that weren’t enough,’ continued Munro, ‘your uncle served a trespass order on us yesterday.’
‘A trespass order?’ said Danny.
‘Not satisfied that the new will claims he is now the rightful heir to both the estate in Scotland and the house in The Boltons, he is also demanding that you vacate the latter within thirty days, or he will serve you with a court order demanding rent that is commensurate with that of similar properties in the area, backdated to the day you took over occupation.’
‘So I’ve lost everything,’ said Danny.
‘Not quite,’ said Munro. ‘Although I admit that matters do look a little bleak on the home front, but when it comes to Geneva, you still have the key. I suspect that the bank will be loath to hand over anything that belonged to your grandfather to someone who is unable to produce that key.’ He paused for a moment before he delivered the next sentence. ‘And of one thing I am certain. If your grandfather had been placed in this position, he would not have taken it lying down.’
‘And neither would I,’ said Danny, ‘if I had the finances to take Hugo on. But despite yesterday’s sale of the envelope, it will only be a matter of weeks before my uncle can add a writ for bankruptcy to the long list of actions we are already defending.’
Mr Munro smiled for the first time that morning. ‘I had anticipated this problem, Sir Nicholas, and yesterday afternoon my partners and I discussed what we should do about your current dilemma.’ He coughed. ‘They were of the unanimous opinion that we should break with one of our long-held customs, and not present any further bills until this action has reached a satisfactory conclusion.’
‘But should the case fail when it comes to court – and let me assure you, Mr Munro, that I have some experience in these matters – I would end up being perpetually in your debt.’
‘Should we fail,’ replied Munro, ‘no bills will be presented, because this firm remains perpetually in your grandfather’s debt.’
The chairman returned after a few minutes, and resumed the place opposite his would-be customers. He smiled. ‘Mr Moncrieff,’ he began. ‘I have been able to confirm that Sir Alexander did indeed conduct some business with this bank. We must now attempt to establish your claim to be the sole heir to his estate.’
‘I can supply you with any documentation you require,’ said Hugo with confidence.
‘First, I must ask you if you are in possession of a passport, Mr Moncrieff ?’
‘Yes I am,’ replied Hugo, who opened his briefcase, extracted his passport and handed it across the table.
De Coubertin turned to the back page and studied the photograph for a moment before returning the passport to Hugo. ‘Do you have your father’s death certificate?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Hugo, taking a second document from his briefcase and pushing it across the table.
This time the chairman studied the document a little more carefully before nodding and handing it back. ‘And do you also have your brother’s death certificate?’ he asked. Hugo passed over a third document. Once again de Coubertin took his time before handing it back. ‘I will also need to see your brother’s will, to confirm that he left the bulk of the estate to you.’ Hugo handed over the will and put another tick against the long list Galbraith had prepared for him.
De Coubertin did not speak for some time while he studied Angus Moncrieff ’s will. ‘That all seems to be in order,’ he said eventually. ‘But most important of all, are you in possession of your father’s will?’
‘Not only am I able to supply you with his last Will and Testament,’ said Hugo, ‘signed and dated six weeks before his death, but I am also in possession of a letter he wrote to my brother Angus and myself that was attached to that will.’ Hugo slid both documents across the table, but de Coubertin made no attempt to study either of them.
‘And finally, Mr Moncrieff, I must ask if there was a key among your father’s bequests?’
Hugo hesitated.
‘There most certainly was,’ said Margaret, speaking for the first time, ‘but unfortunately it has been mislaid, although I have seen it many times over the years. It’s quite small, silver, and, if I remember correctly, it has a number stamped on it.’
‘And do you recall that number by any chance, Mrs Moncrieff ?’ asked the chairman.
‘Unfortunately I do not,’ Margaret finally admitted.
‘In that case, I’m sure you will appreciate the bank’s dilemma,’ said de Coubertin. ‘As you can imagine, without the key, we are placed in an invidious position. However,’ he added before Margaret could interrupt, ‘I will ask one of our experts to study the will, which as I’m sure you are aware is common practice in such circumstances. Should they consider it to be authentic, we will hand over any possessions we are holding in Sir Alexander’s name.’
‘But how long will that take?’ asked Hugo, aware that it would not take Nick long to work out where they were, and what they were up to.
‘A day, a day and a half at the most,’ said the chairman.
‘When should we return?’ asked Margaret.
‘To be on the safe side, let us say three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Thank you,’ said Margaret. ‘We look forward to seeing you then.’
De Coubertin accompanied Mr and Mrs Moncrieff to the bank’s front door without discussing anything more significant than the weather.
‘I’ve booked you on a BA business-class flight to Barcelona,’ said Beth. ‘You fly from Heathrow on Sunday evening, and you’ll be staying at the Arts Hotel.’ She handed her boss a folder which contained all the documents he would need for the trip, including the names of several recommended restaurants and a guide to the city. ‘The conference opens at nine o’clock with a speech from the International President, Dick Sherwood. You’ll be sitting on the platform along with the other seven VPs. The organizers have asked you to be in your place by eight forty-five.’
‘How far away from the conference centre is the hotel?’ asked Mr Thomas.
‘It’s just across the road,’ said Beth. ‘Is there anything else you need to know?’
‘Just one thing,’ Thomas replied. ‘How would you like to join me for the trip?’
Beth was taken by surprise, something Thomas didn’t manage that often, and admitted, ‘I’ve always wanted to visit Barcelona.’
‘Well, now’s your chance,’ said Thomas, giving her a warm smile.
‘But would there be enough for me to do while I was there?’ asked Beth.
‘For a start, you could make sure I’m sitting in my place on time next Monday morning.’ Beth didn’t respond. ‘I was rather hoping you might relax for a change,’ Thomas added. ‘We could go to the opera, take in the Thyssen Collection, study Picasso’s early work, see Miró’s birthplace, and they tell me that the food . . .’
You do realize that Mr Thomas fancies you. Danny’s words came flooding back, and caused Beth to smile. ‘It’s very kind of you, Mr Thomas, but I think it might be wiser if I were to stay behind and make sure that everything runs smoothly while you’re away.’
‘Beth,’ said Thomas, sitting back and folding his arms, ‘you’re a bright, beautiful young woman. Don’t you think Danny would have wanted you to enjoy yourself occasionally? God knows you’ve earned it.’
‘It’s very thoughtful of you, Mr Thomas, but I’m not quite ready to consider . . .’
‘I understand,’ said Thomas, ‘of course I do. In any case, I’m quite content to wait until you’re ready. Whatever it was that Danny possessed, I haven’t yet calculated the premium tha
t’s required to insure against it.’
Beth laughed. ‘He’s like the opera, the art galleries and the finest wine all wrapped up in one,’ she replied, ‘and even then you won’t have captured Danny Cartwright.’
‘Well, I don’t intend to give up,’ said Thomas. ‘Maybe I’ll be able to tempt you next year, when the annual conference is in Rome and it will be my turn to be president.’
‘Caravaggio,’ sighed Beth.
‘Caravaggio?’ repeated Thomas, looking puzzled.
‘Danny and I had planned to spend our honeymoon in St Tropez – that was until he was introduced to Caravaggio by his cellmate Nick Moncrieff. In fact, one of the last things Danny promised me before he died’ – Beth could never get herself to utter the words committed suicide – ‘was that he would take me to Rome, so I could also meet Signor Caravaggio.’
‘I don’t have a chance, do I?’ said Thomas.
Beth didn’t reply.
Danny and Mr Munro touched down at Geneva airport later that evening. Once they had cleared customs, Danny went in search of a taxi. The short journey into the city ended when the driver pulled up outside the Hôtel Les Armeurs, situated in the old town near the cathedral – his personal recommendation.
Munro had called de Coubertin before leaving his office. The chairman of the bank had agreed to see them at ten o’clock the following morning. Danny was beginning to think that the old man was rather enjoying himself.
Over dinner, Mr Munro – Danny didn’t consider, even for a moment, calling him Fraser – took Sir Nicholas through the list of documents he anticipated would be required for their meeting in the morning.
‘Are we missing anything?’ asked Danny.
‘Certainly not,’ said Munro. ‘That is, assuming you’ve remembered to bring the key.’
Hugo picked up the phone on his bedside table. ‘Yes?’
‘He took the overnight train to Edinburgh, and then travelled on to Dunbroath,’ said a voice.
‘In order to see Munro, no doubt.’
‘In his office at ten o’clock this morning.’
‘Did he then return to London?’
‘No, he and Munro left the office together, drove to the airport and caught a BA flight. They should have landed an hour ago.’
‘Were you on the same flight?’
‘No,’ said the voice.
‘Why not?’ asked Hugo sharply.
‘I didn’t have my passport with me.’
Hugo put the phone down and looked across at his wife, who was fast asleep. He decided not to wake her.
47
DANNY LAY AWAKE, considering the precarious position he was in. Far from vanquishing his foes, he seemed only to have created new ones who were bent on bringing him to his knees.
He rose early, showered and dressed, and went down to the breakfast room to find Munro seated at a corner table, a pile of documents by his side. They spent the next forty minutes going over any questions Munro thought de Coubertin might ask. Danny stopped listening to his lawyer when a fellow guest entered the room and went straight to a table by the window that overlooked the cathedral. Another seat that he evidently assumed would be reserved for him.
‘Should de Coubertin ask you that question, Sir Nicholas, how will you respond?’ asked Munro.
‘I think the world’s leading stamp collector has decided to join us for breakfast,’ whispered Danny.
‘From that I assume your friend Mr Gene Hunsacker is among us?’
‘No less. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that he’s in Geneva at the same time as we are.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Munro. ‘And he’ll also be aware that your uncle is in Geneva.’
‘What can I do about it?’ asked Danny.
‘Not a lot for the moment,’ said Munro. ‘Hunsacker will circle like a vulture until he discovers which of you has been anointed as the legitimate heir to the collection, and only then will he swoop.’
‘He’s a little overweight for a vulture,’ suggested Danny, ‘but I take your point. What do I tell him if he starts asking me questions?’
‘You say nothing until after we’ve had our meeting with de Coubertin.’
‘But Hunsacker was so helpful and friendly the last time we met, and it was obvious that he doesn’t care for Hugo, and would prefer to deal with me.’
‘Don’t deceive yourself. Hunsacker will be happy to do business with whoever de Coubertin decides is the rightful heir to your grandfather’s collection. He’s probably already made your uncle an offer.’ Munro rose from the table and left the dining room without even glancing in Hunsacker’s direction. Danny followed him into the lobby.
‘How long will it take for us to get to the Banque de Coubertin by taxi?’ Munro asked the concierge.
‘Three, possibly four minutes, depending on the traffic,’ came back the reply.
‘And if we walk?’
‘Three minutes.’
A waiter tapped softly on the door. ‘Room service,’ he announced before entering. He set up a breakfast table in the centre of the room and placed a copy of the Telegraph on a side plate; the only newspaper Margaret Moncrieff would consider reading if the Scotsman wasn’t available. Hugo signed for the breakfast as Margaret took her place and poured them both coffee.
‘Do you think we’ll get away with it, old gal, without the key?’ asked Hugo.
‘If they’re convinced the will is genuine,’ said Margaret, ‘they’ll have no choice, unless they’re prepared to involve themselves in a lengthy court battle. And as anonymity is a Swiss banker’s mantra, they’ll avoid that at all costs.’
‘They’re not going to find anything wrong with the will,’ said Hugo.
‘Then my bet is that we’ll be in possession of your father’s collection by this evening, in which case all you’ll have to do is agree a price with Hunsacker. As he offered you forty million dollars when he came up to Scotland for your father’s funeral, I feel sure he’d be willing to go to fifty,’ said Margaret. ‘In fact, I have already instructed Galbraith to draw up a contract to that effect.’
‘With whichever one of us secures the collection,’ said Hugo, ‘because by now Nick will have worked out why we’re here.’
‘But he can’t do anything about it,’ said Margaret. ‘Not while he’s stranded in England.’
‘There’s nothing to stop him jumping on the next plane. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s here already,’ added Hugo, not wanting to admit that he knew Nick was in Geneva.
‘You’ve obviously forgotten, Hugo, that he’s not allowed to travel abroad while he’s on probation.’
‘If it was me, I’d be willing to take that risk,’ said Hugo, ‘for fifty million dollars.’
‘You might,’ said Margaret, ‘but Nick would never disobey an order. And even if he did, it would only take one phone call to help de Coubertin decide which branch of the Moncrieff family he wants to do business with – the one threatening to take him to court, or the one who will be spending another four years in jail.’
Although Danny and Fraser Munro arrived at the bank a few minutes early, the chairman’s secretary was waiting in reception to accompany them to the boardroom. Once they were seated, she offered them both a cup of English tea.
‘I won’t be having any of your English tea, thank you,’ said Munro, giving her a warm smile. Danny could only wonder if she had understood a word the Scotsman had said, let alone comprehended his particular brand of humour.
‘Two coffees, please,’ said Danny. She smiled and left the room.
Danny was admiring a portrait of the founder of the modern Olympic Games when the door opened and the present holder of the title entered the room.
‘Good morning, Sir Nicholas,’ he said, walking up to Munro, offering his hand.
‘No, no, my name is Fraser Munro, I am Sir Nicholas’s legal representative.’
‘I apologize,’ said the old man, trying to hide his embarrassment. He smiled shyly as he shook hands
with Danny. ‘I apologize,’ he repeated.
‘Not at all, baron,’ said Danny. ‘An understandable mistake.’
De Coubertin gave him a slight bow. ‘Like me, you are the grandson of a great man.’ He invited Sir Nicholas and Mr Munro to join him at the boardroom table. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.
‘I had the great honour of representing the late Sir Alexander Moncrieff,’ began Munro, ‘and I now have the privilege of advising Sir Nicholas.’ De Coubertin nodded. ‘We have come to claim my client’s rightful inheritance,’ said Munro, opening his briefcase and placing on the table one passport, one death certificate and Sir Alexander’s will.
‘Thank you,’ said de Coubertin, not giving any of the documents even a cursory glance. ‘Sir Nicholas, may I ask if you are in possession of the key that your grandfather left you?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Danny replied. He undid the chain that hung round his neck and handed the key across to de Coubertin, who studied it for a moment before returning it to Danny. He then rose from his place and said, ‘Please follow me, gentlemen.’
‘Don’t say a word,’ whispered Munro as they followed the chairman out of the room. ‘It’s clear that he’s carrying out your grandfather’s instructions.’ They walked down a long corridor, passing even more oil paintings of partners of the bank, until they came to a small elevator. When the doors slid open, de Coubertin stood to one side to allow his guests to step in, then joined them and pressed a button marked –2. He didn’t speak until the doors opened again, when he stepped out and repeated, ‘Please follow me, gentlemen.’
The soft Wedgwood blue of the boardroom walls had been replaced by a dull ochre as they walked on down a brick corridor that displayed no pictures of the bank’s past office-holders. At the end of the corridor was a large steel barred gate which brought back unhappy memories for Danny. A guard unlocked the gate the moment he spotted the chairman. He then accompanied the three of them until they came to a halt outside a massive steel door with two locks. De Coubertin took a key from his pocket, placed it in the top lock and turned it slowly. He nodded to Danny, who put his key in the lock below and also turned it. The guard pulled open the heavy steel door.
A Prisoner of Birth Page 29
