The Lost Gardens(84)

A minute or so passed as they were left to their own thoughts. Kingston was tempted to test the waters and tell her how much he had come to value and enjoy her companionship, how his feelings had changed towards her over the last weeks, just to see how she would respond, curious as to whether his feelings might be reciprocated. Springing it on her suddenly seemed inappropriate. Perhaps he could segue into it once he’d broached the question of their eventual parting, which he thought about constantly now.

Would she would ask him to stay on after the gardens were opened, to help with the vineyard and the winery? Now he’d had time to think it over, that prospect was both appealing and challenging. He prided himself on knowing a lot about the noble grape but to actually plant a vineyard and work alongside a professional winemaker would be an experience and an education that would never come his way again. While he pondered these questions his ears were alert for any sounds from above. Quickly he abandoned the idea of bringing any of it up. It was foolish of him to have thought of it in the first place. The only thing that mattered now was getting out of the damned tomb that they were in.

Kingston looked at his watch. Twenty-five minutes had passed since Fox had left. By this time he could be miles away. Maybe he hadn’t bothered to look at the canvases after all. Unlikely, but it was possible. He’d undoubtedly seen them lying on the top of the crate, with the Pissarro on top, and would have no idea that a switch had taken place.

‘Hell,’ he muttered under his breath.

Jamie, whose chin was resting on her cupped hands, her eyes fixed on the floor, looked up at him. ‘What?’

‘Nothing. I just hope to God that he’s not driving to London or somewhere bloody miles away before he looks at those paintings.’

‘If he was telling the truth when I met with him, he could be taking them back to France. To the dealer.’

‘Girard,’ Kingston muttered instinctively.

Jamie sat up and lightly massaged her forehead. ‘If he is, that would be catastrophic.’

‘No, don’t you worry, Jamie, he’ll look at them. He has to—thirty million pounds’worth of art? He won’t be able to resist it.’

‘Sounds like you may be right, Lawrence.’

‘What?’As he looked up at her the saffron light from the lamp glinted Vermeer-like on the whites of her eyes. She was looking up unblinking at the trapdoor. He heard it, too, now—a faint shuffle.

There it was again. No doubt about it. Someone was up there.

Kingston looked at Jamie, put his index finger to his lips and quickly moved up against the wall behind the ladder where he would be out of Fox’s line of sight when he looked through the trapdoor opening. Jamie remained sitting on the trunk that they’d positioned about eight feet in front of the ladder. When Fox removed the trapdoor he couldn’t miss seeing her.

A few more seconds of silence—and then the unexpected.

A knocking on the trapdoor.

Jamie, biting her lip, looked across at Kingston. He frowned and motioned for her to be quiet and still.

More knocking, this time harder.

Then the barely audible grind of the brackets being slid aside.

Kingston watched as the trapdoor was lifted and a shadowy head leaned over the opening right above him.

‘Jamie?’

It wasn’t Fox’s voice.

Kingston stepped around to the front of the ladder. It was only one word but the voice sounded familiar. Ferguson? He looked up. Hell’s bells. It was Roger Ferguson.

Jamie was on her feet, clasping her hands to her head. ‘Thank God,’ she said.

‘You’re both damned lucky I found you,’ he replied. ‘Who on earth locked you in this place?’

‘Let’s get the hell out of here first and then we’ll tell you everything,’said Kingston.

Jamie was already at the top of the ladder, Roger helping her up into the room. Carrying his jacket and the lamp, Kingston was right behind her.

‘How in the world did you find us?’ Kingston asked.

‘It was the tool bag.’

‘Of course, no reason for him to take it,’ said Kingston. ‘You got my message?’

‘I did. I called back but your answering machine’s not working. After a message like yours, you didn’t think I was going to sit on my hands and wait for an engraved invitation, did you? So I drove over. Neither you nor Jamie was around and China didn’t know where you were, so I thought—well, it struck me that if your discovery was so “awesome” as you put it, you would be at the chapel, so that’s where I went. When I saw that vertical pew and the stairway … well, I don’t mind telling you, it was one hell of a surprise.’