Best Kept Secret

by Jeffrey Archer

  Giles jumped out of the taxi and charged into the harbourmaster’s office without knocking. Inside, he came face to face with three startled men.

  ‘Who are you?’ demanded a man dressed in a port authority uniform, displaying more gold braid than his fellow officers.

  ‘Sir Giles Barrington. My nephew is on board that ship,’ he said, pointing out of the window. ‘Is there any way of getting him off?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so, sir, unless the captain is willing to stop the ship and allow him to be lowered on to one of our pilot boats, which I’d have thought was most unlikely. But I’ll give it a try. What’s the passenger’s name?’

  ‘Sebastian Clifton. He’s still a minor, and I have his parents’ authority to get him off that ship.’

  The harbourmaster picked up a microphone and began twiddling some knobs on a control panel as he tried to get the captain on the line.

  ‘I don’t want to get your hopes up,’ he said, ‘but the captain and I did serve together in the Royal Navy, so . . .’

  ‘This is the captain of the SS South America,’ said a very English voice.

  ‘It’s Bob Walters, skipper. We’ve got a problem, and I’d be grateful for any assistance you can give,’ the harbourmaster said before passing on Sir Giles’s request.

  ‘In normal circumstances I’d be happy to oblige, Bob,’ said the captain, ‘but the owner’s on the bridge, so I’ll have to ask his permission.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Giles and the harbourmaster in unison, before the line went dead.

  ‘Are there any circumstances in which you have the authority to over-rule a captain?’ asked Giles as they waited.

  ‘Only while his ship’s in the estuary. Once it’s passed the northern lighthouse, it’s deemed to be in the Channel and beyond my jurisdiction.’

  ‘But you can give a captain an order while his ship’s still in the estuary?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but remember, it’s a foreign vessel, and we don’t want a diplomatic incident, so I wouldn’t be willing to over-rule the captain unless I was convinced a criminal act was taking place.’

  ‘What’s taking them so long?’ asked Giles as the minutes passed. Suddenly a voice crackled over the intercom.

  ‘Sorry, Bob. The owner’s unwilling to grant your request as we’re approaching the harbour wall and will soon be in the Channel.’

  Giles grabbed the microphone from the harbourmaster. ‘This is Sir Giles Barrington. Please put the owner on the line. I want to speak to him personally.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir Giles,’ said the captain, ‘but Mr Martinez has left the bridge and gone to his cabin, and he left strict instructions that he’s not to be disturbed.’

  HARRY CLIFTON

  1957

  33

  HARRY HAD ASSUMED that nothing could surpass the pride he felt when he heard Sebastian had been awarded a scholarship to Cambridge. He was wrong. He felt just as proud as he watched his wife climbing the steps and on to the platform to receive her business degree, summa cum laude, from Wallace Sterling, the president of Stanford University.

  Harry knew better than anyone the sacrifices Emma had made to meet the impossibly high standards Professor Feldman set himself and his students, and he had expected even more from Emma, as he had made clear over the years.

  As she left the stage to warm applause, her navy hood in place, like all the students before her, she hurled her mortar board joyfully into the air, the sign that her undergraduate days were behind her. She could only wonder what her dear mother would have made of such behaviour from a 36-year-old English lady, and in public.

  Harry’s gaze moved from his wife to the distinguished professor of business studies, who was seated on the stage only a couple of places away from the university president. Cyrus Feldman made no attempt to hide his feelings when it came to his star pupil. He was the first on his feet to applaud Emma, and the last to sit down. Harry often marvelled at how his wife could subtly make powerful men, from Pulitzer Prize-winners to company chairmen, bend to her will, just as her mother had done before her.

  How proud Elizabeth would have been of her daughter today, but no prouder than his own mother, because Maisie had experienced every bit as painful a journey before she could place the letters BA after her name.

  Harry and Emma had dined with Professor Feldman and his long-suffering wife Ellen the previous evening. Feldman hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Emma, and had even suggested that she should return to Stanford and, under his personal supervision, complete a thesis for a PhD.

  ‘What about my poor husband?’ Emma had said, linking her arm through Harry’s.

  ‘He’ll just have to learn to live without you for a couple of years,’ said Feldman, making no attempt to disguise what he had in mind. Many a red-blooded Englishman hearing such a proposition made to his wife might have punched Feldman on the nose, and a less tolerant wife than Mrs Feldman might well have been forgiven for initiating divorce proceedings as her three predecessors had done. Harry just smiled, while Mrs Feldman pretended not to notice.

  Harry had agreed with Emma’s suggestion that they should fly to England straight after the ceremony, as she wanted to be back at the Manor House before Sebastian returned from Beechcroft. Their son was no longer a schoolboy, she mused, and only three months away from being an undergraduate.

  Once the degree ceremony was over, Emma strolled around the lawn, enjoying the celebratory atmosphere and making the acquaintance of her fellow graduates, who, like her, had spent countless lonely hours of study while residing on distant shores, and were now meeting for the first time. Spouses were introduced, family photographs shown off and addresses exchanged.

  By six o’clock, when the waiters began to fold up the chairs, collect the drained champagne bottles and stack the last of the empty plates, Harry suggested that perhaps they should make their way back to their hotel.

  Emma didn’t stop chatting all the way back to the Fairmont, while she was packing, during the taxi ride to the airport, and as they waited for their flight in the first-class lounge. No sooner had she climbed aboard the aircraft, found her place and fastened her seat belt, than she closed her eyes and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

  ‘You’re sounding positively middle-aged,’ said Emma as they started out on the long drive back from London Airport to the Manor House.

  ‘I am middle-aged,’ said Harry. ‘I’m thirty-seven, and what’s worse, young women have started calling me sir.’

  ‘Well, I don’t feel middle-aged,’ said Emma, looking down at the map. ‘Take a right at the traffic lights and you’ll be on the Great Bath Road.’

  ‘That’s because life has just begun for you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Exactly that. You’ve just been awarded your degree, and appointed to the board of Barrington’s, both of which have opened up a whole new life for you. Let’s face it, twenty years ago neither opportunity would have been possible.’

  ‘They’ve only been possible in my case because Cyrus Feldman and Ross Buchanan are enlightened men when it comes to treating women as equals. And don’t forget that Giles and I own twenty-two per cent of the company between us, and Giles has never shown the slightest interest in sitting on the board.’

  ‘That may well be the case, but if you’re seen to do the job well, it might help convince other chairmen to follow Ross’s example.’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself. It will still be decades before competent women are given the chance to replace incompetent men.’

  ‘Well, let’s at least pray it will be different for Jessica. I’m hoping that by the time she leaves school, her sole purpose in life won’t be to learn how to cook and to find someone suitable to marry.’

  ‘Do you think those were my sole purpose in life?’

  ‘If they were, you failed on both counts,’ said Harry. ‘And don’t forget you chose me when you were eleven.’

  ‘Ten,’ said Emma. ‘But it still took you
another seven years to work it out.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Harry, ‘we shouldn’t assume that just because we both won places at Oxford, and Grace is a don at Cambridge, that’s a path Jessica will want to tread.’

  ‘And why should she, when she’s so gifted? I know she admires what Seb has achieved, but her role models are Barbara Hepworth and someone called Mary Cassatt, which is why I’ve been considering what alternatives are open to her.’ Emma looked back down at the map. ‘Turn right in about half a mile. It should be signposted Reading.’

  ‘What have you two been plotting behind my back?’ asked Harry.

  ‘If Jessica is good enough, and her art teacher assures me she is, the school want her to apply for a place at the Royal College of Art, or the Slade School of Fine Art.’

  ‘Didn’t Miss Fielding go to the Slade?’

  ‘Yes, and she regularly reminds me that Jessica is a far better artist at the age of fifteen than she was in her diploma year.’

  ‘That must be a bit galling.’

  ‘Typical man’s reaction. Actually, Miss Fielding is only interested in seeing Jessica fulfil her potential. She wants her to be the first girl from Red Maids’ to win a place at the Royal College.’

  ‘That would be quite a double,’ said Harry, ‘as Seb’s the first boy from Beechcroft Abbey to win the top scholarship to Cambridge.’

  ‘The first since 1922,’ Emma corrected him. ‘Turn left at the next roundabout.’

  ‘They must love you on the board of Barrington’s,’ said Harry as he carried out her instruction. ‘By the way, just in case you’ve forgotten, my latest book is coming out next week.’

  ‘Are they sending you anywhere interesting to promote it?’

  ‘I’m speaking at a Yorkshire Post literary lunch on Friday, and I’m told they’ve sold so many tickets they’ve had to move it from a local hotel to the York racecourse.’

  Emma leant over to give him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Congratulations, my darling!’

  ‘Nothing to do with me, I’m afraid, because I’m not the only speaker.’

  ‘Tell me the name of your rival so I can have him killed.’

  ‘Her name is Agatha Christie.’

  ‘So is William Warwick at last proving a challenger to Hercule Poirot?’

  ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. But then, Miss Christie has written forty-nine novels, while I’ve only just completed my fifth.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll catch her up by the time you’ve written forty-nine.’

  ‘I should be so lucky. So while I’m gallivanting around the country trying to get on to the bestseller list, what will you be up to?’

  ‘I told Ross I’d drop into the office and see him on Monday. I’m trying to convince him not to go ahead with the building of the Buckingham.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Now is not the time to risk investing that kind of money on a luxury liner while passengers are rapidly switching their allegiance to aeroplanes.’

  ‘I see your point, though I’d much rather sail to New York than fly.’

  ‘That’s because you’re middle-aged,’ said Emma, patting him on the thigh. ‘I also promised Giles I’d pop over to Barrington Hall and make sure Marsden has everything ready for him and Gwyneth when they come down for the weekend.’

  ‘Marsden will be more than ready for them.’

  ‘He’ll be sixty next year, and I know he’s thinking about retiring.’

  ‘He won’t be easy to replace,’ said Harry as they passed the first signpost for Bristol.

  ‘Gwyneth doesn’t want to replace him. She says it’s high time Giles was dragged into the second half of the twentieth century.’

  ‘What does she have in mind?’

  ‘She thinks there might be a Labour government after the next election, and as Giles would almost certainly be a minister, she intends to prepare him for the task, which doesn’t include being mollycoddled by servants. In future the only servants she wants assisting him will be civil.’

  ‘Giles got lucky when he met Gwyneth.’

  ‘Hasn’t the time come for him to propose to the poor girl?’

  ‘Yes it has, but he’s still bruised from his experience with Virginia, and I don’t think he’s quite ready to make another commitment.’

  ‘Then he’d better get on with it, because women as good as Gwyneth don’t come around that often,’ said Emma, turning her attention back to the map.

  Harry accelerated past a lorry. ‘I still can’t get used to the idea of Seb no longer being a schoolboy.’

  ‘Have you got anything planned for his first weekend back home?’

  ‘I thought I’d take him to see Gloucestershire play Black-heath at the County Ground tomorrow.’

  Emma laughed. ‘That will be character building, to be made to watch a team that loses more often than it wins.’

  ‘And perhaps we could all go to the Old Vic one evening next week,’ he added, ignoring her comment.

  ‘What’s on?’

  ‘Hamlet.’

  ‘Who’s playing the prince?’

  ‘A young actor called Peter O’Toole, who Seb says is the in thing, whatever that means.’

  ‘It will be wonderful to have Seb back for the summer. Perhaps we should throw a party for him before he goes to Cambridge. Give him a chance to meet some girls.’

  ‘He’ll have more than enough time for girls. I think it’s a crying shame that the government’s ending National Service. Seb would make a fine officer, and it would be the making of him to take responsibility for other men.’

  ‘You’re not middle-aged,’ said Emma as they turned into the drive, ‘you’re positively prehistoric.’

  Harry laughed as he brought the car to a halt outside the Manor House, and was delighted to see Jessica sitting on the top step, waiting for them.

  ‘Where’s Seb?’ was Emma’s first question as she climbed out of the car and gave Jessica a hug.

  ‘He didn’t come back from school yesterday. Perhaps he went straight to Barrington Hall and spent the night with Uncle Giles.’

  ‘I thought Giles was in London,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll give him a call and find out if they can both join us for dinner.’

  Harry climbed the steps and went into the house. He picked up the phone in the hall and dialled a local number.

  ‘We’re back,’ he announced when he heard Giles’s voice on the line.

  ‘Welcome home, Harry. Did you have a good time in the States?’

  ‘Couldn’t have been better. Emma stole the show, of course. I think Feldman wants her to be his fifth wife.’

  ‘Well, it would have some definite advantages,’ said Giles. ‘It’s never a long-term commitment when that man’s involved, and being California, there’ll be a pretty healthy divorce settlement at the end.’

  Harry laughed. ‘By the way, is Seb with you?’

  ‘No, he’s not. In fact, I haven’t seen him for some time. But I’m sure he can’t be far away. Why don’t you ring the school and find out if he’s still there? Call me back when you find out where he is, because I’ve got some news for you.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Harry. He put the phone down and looked up the headmaster’s number in his telephone book.

  ‘Don’t worry, darling, he’s no longer a schoolboy, as you keep reminding me,’ he said when he saw the anxious look on Emma’s face. ‘I’m sure there’ll be a simple explanation.’ He dialled Beechcroft 117, and while he waited for someone to answer, he took his wife in his arms.

  ‘Dr Banks-Williams speaking.’

  ‘Headmaster, it’s Harry Clifton. I’m sorry to bother you after the school has broken up, but I wondered if you had any idea where my son Sebastian might be.’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Mr Clifton. I haven’t seen him since he was rusticated earlier in the week.’

  ‘Rusticated?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Mr Clifton. I fear I was left with little choice.’

  ‘But what did he do to deserve that?’
<
br />   ‘Several minor offences, including smoking.’

  ‘And any major offences?’

  ‘He was caught drinking in his study with a serving maid.’

  ‘And that was considered worthy of rustication?’

  ‘I might have turned a blind eye, as it was the last week of term, but unfortunately neither of them had any clothes on.’

  Harry stifled a laugh, and was only glad that Emma couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation.

  ‘When he reported to me the following day, I told him that after some deliberation, and having consulted his housemaster, I was left with no choice but to rusticate him. I then gave him a letter which I asked him to pass on to you. It’s clear that he has not done so.’

  ‘But where can he be?’ asked Harry, becoming anxious for the first time.

  ‘I’ve no idea. All I can tell you is that his housemaster supplied him with a third-class single ticket to Temple Meads, and I assumed that would be the last I would see of him. However, I had to travel up to London that afternoon to attend an Old Boys’ reunion dinner, and to my surprise I found him travelling on the same train.’

  ‘Did you ask him why he was going to London?’

  ‘I would have done so,’ said the headmaster dryly, ‘if he hadn’t left the carriage the moment he saw me.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Possibly because he was smoking, and I’d previously warned him that if he broke any more school rules during term time he would be expelled. And he knew only too well that would mean me calling the admissions tutor at Cambridge and recommending that his prize scholarship be withdrawn.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘No, I did not. You have my wife to thank for that. If I’d had my way, he would have been expelled and forfeited his place at Cambridge.’

  ‘For smoking, when he wasn’t even on the school premises?’

  ‘That was not his only offence. He was also occupying a first-class carriage when he didn’t have the money for a first-class ticket, and earlier he’d lied to his housemaster about going straight back to Bristol. That, on top of his other offences, would have been quite enough to convince me that he was unworthy of a place at my old university. I’ve no doubt I will live to regret my leniency.’