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She poured a cup for herself and turned to face the television. Her husband’s Range Rover was at a standstill in the central quadrangle of Buckingham Palace. A protection officer stood next to the rear door, which was closed tight. As yet, there was no sign of the King’s equerry.
“Care to make a prediction?” asked Lucinda.
“I’m more interested in yours.”
“The equerry will appear in a moment and escort Hugh to the 1844 Room, where His Majesty will ask him to form a government. This minor scandal will blow over in a few days, in large part because the Party backbenchers are quite pleased that the hapless Hillary Edwards is gone. Furthermore, they will conclude that yet another leadership contest will do more harm than good.”
“Isn’t it pretty to think so,” replied Gabriel.
“All right, Mr. Allon. Let’s hear your prediction.”
“Your husband’s term as prime minister, if it comes to pass, will be measured in days, if not hours. The Party will select a new leader in short order, and you will face charges of criminal tax evasion and money laundering. In addition, you are likely to be indicted as an accessory in the murder of Charlotte Blake.”
“I had nothing to do with her death.”
“But you definitely warned your partners at Harris Weber about her investigation into the Picasso. You did so because a number of your high-profile clients were using the art strategy to move their wealth offshore. Trevor Robinson, the firm’s head of security, made the problem go away.”
“I’m not familiar with anyone by that name.”
“Trevor is the one who arranged for my friend and me to be kidnapped yesterday. With your help, of course. You invited me here to determine how much I knew. And when it became clear that I knew a great deal, Trevor and his goons snatched us from a car park in Garrick Street. You undoubtedly assumed that I was dead. Which is why you turned as white as a sheet when you saw me a moment ago.”
“You have a vivid imagination, Mr. Allon.”
He drew Trevor Robinson’s mobile phone from his jacket pocket and dialed. Lucinda’s phone vibrated an instant later. “Perhaps you should answer that.”
She looked at the number displayed on the screen and declined the call. Then her gaze settled once again on the television, where the standoff at the Palace continued.
“Terms,” she said quietly.
“Call your husband. Tell him to leave the Palace and resign as Party leader.”
“And if I do?”
“I will make certain that you are never linked to the murder of Professor Blake.”
Lucinda was incredulous. “And just how do you intend to do that, Mr. Allon?”
“I have a number of influential friends here in London.” Gabriel smiled. “At least that’s the rumor.”
Lucinda reluctantly took up her phone and typed, then placed it face down on the coffee table. Together they watched the image on the screen, a gray Range Rover motionless in a maroon-colored courtyard.
“Perhaps you should send him another message,” said Gabriel.
“Give him a minute. It’s not easy to let go of Number Ten. It’s all he ever wanted.”
“He could have had it were it not for you.”
“Were it not for me,” she replied, “handsome Hugh would never have become an MP in the first place. I made him who he is.”
A worldwide embarrassment, thought Gabriel.
Finally, the protection officer moved away from the door, and the gray Range Rover eased forward. Lucinda increased the volume. The BBC’s presenters and political analysts were struggling to make sense of the drama unfolding before their eyes.
“You won’t forget our deal, will you, Mr. Allon?”
“For better or worse, Lucinda, I am a man of my word.”
She rose to her feet, looking suddenly drained. “May I ask you a question before you leave?”
