Only Time Will Tell

20

I wouldn’t even have remembered her name, if she hadn’t later accused me of killing her husband.

It all began when my father insisted I accompany the workers on their annual outing to Weston-super-Mare. ‘Good for their morale to see the chairman’s son taking an interest,’ he said.

I wasn’t convinced, and quite frankly considered the whole exercise a waste of time, but once my father has made up his mind about anything, there is no point arguing. And it would have been a waste of time if Maisie – such a common name – hadn’t come along for the ride. Even I was surprised to find how eager she was to jump into bed with the boss’s son. I assumed that once we were back in Bristol, I’d never hear from her again. Perhaps I wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t married Arthur Clifton.

I was sitting at my desk going over the tender for the Maple Leaf, checking and rechecking the figures, hoping to find some way the company might save a little money, but however hard I tried, the bottom line didn’t make good reading. It didn’t help that it had been my decision to tender for the contract.

My opposite number at Myson had driven a hard bargain, and after several delays I hadn’t budgeted for, we were running five months behind schedule, with penalty clauses that would be triggered should we fail to complete the build by December 15th. What had originally looked like a dream contract that would show a handsome profit, was turning into a nightmare, where we would wake up on December 15th with heavy losses.

My father had been against Barrington’s taking on the contract in the first place and had made his views clear. ‘We should stick to what we’re good at,’ he repeated from the chair at every board meeting. ‘For the past hundred years, Barrington’s Shipping Line has transported goods to and from the far corners of the earth, leaving our rivals in Belfast, Liverpool and Newcastle to build ships.’

I knew I wouldn’t be able to sway him, so I spent my time trying to persuade the younger members of the board that we had missed out on several opportunities in recent years, while others had snapped up lucrative contracts that could easily have come our way. I finally convinced them, by a slim majority, to dip a toe in the water and sign up with Myson to build them a cargo vessel to add to their fast-growing fleet.

‘If we do a good job and deliver the Maple Leaf on time,’ I told the board, ‘more contracts are sure to follow.’

‘Let’s hope we don’t live to regret it,’ was my father’s only comment after he’d lost the vote at the board meeting.

I was already regretting it. Although the Barrington Line was predicting record profits for 1921, it was beginning to look as if its new subsidiary, Barrington Shipbuilding, would be the only red entry on the annual balance sheet. Some members of the board were already distancing themselves from the decision, while reminding everyone that they had voted with my father.

I had only recently been appointed managing director of the company and I could just imagine what was being said behind my back. ‘Chip off the old block’ clearly wasn’t on anyone’s lips. One director had already resigned and couldn’t have made his views more clear when he departed, warning my father, ‘The boy lacks judgement. Be careful he doesn’t end up bankrupting the company.’

But I hadn’t given up. I remained convinced that as long as we finished the job on time, we could still break even, and possibly make a small profit. So much depended on what happened during the next few weeks. I’d already given the order to work round the clock in three eight-hour shifts, and promised the workforce handsome bonuses if they managed to complete the contract on time. After all, there were enough men hanging around outside the gates, desperate for work.

I was just about to tell my secretary I was going home, when he burst into my office unannounced.

He was a short, squat man, with heavy shoulders and bulging muscles, the build of a stevedore. My first thought was to wonder how he had managed to get past Miss Potts, who followed in his wake looking unusually flustered. ‘I couldn’t stop him,’ she said, stating the obvious. ‘Shall I call the watchman?’

I looked into the man’s eyes and said, ‘No.’

Miss Potts remained by the door while we sized each other up, like a mongoose and a snake, each wondering who would strike first. Then the man reluctantly removed his cap and started jabbering. It was some time before I could understand what he was saying.

‘My best mate’s goin’ to die! Arthur Clifton’s goin’ to die unless you do somethin’ about it.’

I told him to calm down and explain what the problem was, when my works manager came charging into the room.

‘I’m sorry you’ve been troubled by Tancock, sir,’ he said once he’d caught his breath, ‘but I can assure you it’s all under control. Nothin’ for you to worry about.’

‘What is all under control?’ I asked.

‘Tancock here claims that his mate Clifton was workin’ inside the hull when the shift changed, and the new shift somehow managed to seal him inside.’

‘Come and see for yourself!’ shouted Tancock. ‘You can hear him tappin’!’

‘Could that be possible, Haskins?’ I asked.

‘Anything’s possible, sir, but it’s more likely Clifton’s buggered off for the day and is already in the pub.’

‘Then why hasn’t he signed off at the gate?’ demanded Tancock.

‘Nothing unusual in that, sir,’ said Haskins, not looking at him. ‘Signin’ on’s what matters, not signin’ off.’

‘If you don’t come and see for yourself,’ said Tancock, ‘you’ll go to your grave with his blood on your hands.’ This outburst silenced even Haskins.

‘Miss Potts, I’m going down to number one dock,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t be too long.’

The squat little man ran out of my office without another word.

‘Haskins, join me in my car,’ I said. ‘We can discuss what ought to be done on the way.’

‘Nothin’ needs to be done, sir,’ he insisted. ‘It’s all stuff and nonsense.’

It wasn’t until we were alone in the car that I put it bluntly to my ganger. ‘Is there any chance that Clifton really might be sealed up in the hull?’

‘No chance, sir,’ said Haskins firmly. ‘I’m only sorry to be wastin’ your time.’

‘But the man seems pretty certain,’ I said.

‘Like he’s always certain about what’ll win the three thirty at Chepstow.’

I didn’t laugh.

‘Clifton’s shift ended at six,’ Haskins continued, taking on a more serious tone. ‘He must’ve known that the welders would be moving in and would expect to finish the job before the next shift reported for duty at two in the mornin’.’

‘What was Clifton doing down in the hull in the first place?’

‘Making the final checks before the welders got to work.’

‘Is it possible he didn’t realize his shift had ended?’

‘You can hear the end-of-shift horn in the middle of Bristol,’ said Haskins as we drove past Tancock, who was running like a man possessed.

‘Even if you were deep inside the hull?’

‘I suppose it’s just possible he might not have heard it if he was in the double bottom, but I’ve never come across a docker who didn’t know what time his shift ends.’

‘As long as he has a watch,’ I said, looking to see if Haskins was wearing one. He wasn’t. ‘If Clifton really is still down there, do we have the equipment to get him out?’

‘We’ve got enough acetylene torches to burn through the hull and remove a complete section. Problem is, it’d take hours, and if Clifton’s down there, there wouldn’t be much chance of him still bein’ alive by the time we reached him. On top of that, it would take the men another fortnight, perhaps longer, to replace the whole section. And as you keep remindin’ me, guv, you’ve got everyone on bonuses to save time, not waste it.’

The night shift was well into its second hour by the time I brought my car to a halt by the side of the ship. There must have been over a hundred men on board, working flat out, hammering, welding and sealing in the rivets. As I climbed the gangway, I could see Tancock running towards the ship. When he caught up with me a few moments later he had to bend double, his hands on his thighs, while he recovered.

‘So, what do you expect me to do, Tancock?’ I asked once he’d caught his breath.

‘Stop them all workin’, guv, just for a few minutes, then you’ll hear him tappin’.’

I nodded my approval.

Haskins shrugged his shoulders, clearly unable to believe I would even consider giving such an order. It took him several minutes to get everyone to down tools and for the workers to fall silent. Every man on the ship, as well as the dockside, stood still and listened intently, but other than the occasional squawk from a passing gull or a smoker’s cough, I heard nothing.

‘Like I said, sir, it’s been a waste of everyone’s time,’ said Haskins. ‘By now Clifton will be suppin’ his third pint at the Pig and Whistle.’

Someone dropped a hammer, and the sound echoed around the docks. Then for a moment, just a moment, I thought I heard a different sound, regular and soft.

‘That’s him!’ shouted Tancock.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped.

‘Did anyone else hear anything?’ I shouted.

‘I didn’t hear nothin’,’ said Haskins, looking around at the men, almost daring them to defy him.

Some of them stared back at him, while one or two picked up their hammers menacingly, as if they were waiting for someone to lead them over the top.

I felt like a captain who was being given one last chance to quell a mutiny. Either way I couldn’t win. If I told the men to go back to work, the rumours would spread until every man in the dockyard believed I was personally responsible for Clifton’s death. It would be weeks, months, possibly even years before I could recover my authority. But if I gave the order to break open the hull, any hope of making a profit on the contract would be scuppered, and with it my chances of ever becoming chairman of the board. I just stood there, hoping the continued silence would convince the men that Tancock was wrong. As each second of silence passed, my confidence grew.

‘It seems no one heard nothin’, sir,’ Haskins said a few moments later. ‘Can I have your permission to put the men back to work?’

They didn’t move a muscle, just continued to glare defiantly at me. Haskins stared back at them, and one or two eventually lowered their eyes.

I turned to the ganger and gave the order to get back to work. In the moment’s silence that followed, I could have sworn I heard a tap. I glanced at Tancock, but then the sound was drowned out by a thousand other noises as the men went resentfully back to work.

‘Tancock, why don’t you bugger off down the pub and see if your mate’s there,’ said Haskins. ‘And when you find him, give him a tickin’ off for wastin’ everybody’s time.’

‘And if he isn’t,’ I said, ‘call by his house and ask his wife if she’s seen him.’ I realized my mistake the moment I’d spoken, and quickly added, ‘That is, assuming he has a wife.’

‘Yes, guv, he does,’ said Tancock. ‘She’s my sister.’

‘If you still can’t find him, report back to me.’

‘It’ll be too late by then,’ said Tancock as he turned and walked off, his shoulders slumped.

‘I’ll be in my office should you need me, Haskins,’ I said, before walking down the gangway. I drove back to Barrington House, hoping never to see Tancock again.

I returned to my desk, but was unable to concentrate on the letters Miss Potts had left for me to sign. I could still hear that tapping in my head, repeating itself again and again, like a popular melody that plays continually in your mind and even stops you from sleeping. I knew that if Clifton didn’t report for work the next morning, I would never be rid of it.

During the next hour, I began to feel more confident that Tancock must have found his mate and would now be regretting making such a fool of himself.

It was one of the rare occasions when Miss Potts left the office before me, and I was just locking the top drawer of my desk before going home, when I heard footsteps running up the stairs. It could only be one man.

I looked up, and the man I’d hoped never to see again was standing in the doorway, pent-up fury blazing in his eyes.

‘You killed my best mate, you bastard,’ he said, shaking a fist. ‘You may as well have murdered him with your bare hands!’

‘Now, steady on, Tancock, old chap,’ I said. ‘For all we know, Clifton may still be alive.’

‘He’s gone to his grave just so you could finish your bloody job on time. No man will ever sail on that ship once they find out the truth.’

‘Men die in shipbuilding accidents every day,’ I said lamely.

Tancock took a pace towards me. He was so angry that for a moment I thought he was going to hit me, but he just stood there, feet apart, fists clenched, glaring at me. ‘When I’ve told the police what I know, you’ll have to admit you could’ve saved his life with a single word. But because you were only interested in how much money you would make, I’m going to make sure that no man on these docks will ever work for you again.’

I knew if the police did become involved, half of Bristol would think Clifton was still inside that hull and the union would demand it was opened up. If that happened, I wasn’t in any doubt what they’d find.

I rose slowly from my chair and walked across to the safe on the far side of the room. I entered the code, turned the key, pulled open the door and extracted a thick white envelope before returning to my desk. I picked up a silver letter opener, slit open the envelope and took out a five-pound note. I even wondered whether Tancock had ever seen one before. I placed it on the blotting pad in front of him and watched his piggy eyes grow larger by the second.

‘Nothing is going to bring back your friend,’ I said, placing a second note on top of the first. His eyes never left the money. ‘And anyway, who knows, he might just have done a bunk for a few days. That wouldn’t be considered unusual in his line of work.’ I placed a third note on top of the second. ‘And when he comes back, your mates will never let you forget it.’ A fourth note was followed by a fifth. ‘And you wouldn’t want to be charged with wasting the police’s time, would you? That’s a serious offence for which you can go to jail.’ Two more notes. ‘And of course you’d also lose your job.’ He looked up at me, his anger visibly turning to fear. Three more notes. ‘I could hardly be expected to employ a man who was accusing me of murder.’ I placed the last two notes on top of the pile. The envelope was empty.

Tancock turned away. I took out my wallet and added one more five-pound note, three pounds and ten shillings to the pile: £68 10s in all. His eyes returned to the notes. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from,’ I said, hoping I sounded convincing.

Tancock walked slowly towards my desk and, without looking at me, gathered up the notes, stuffed them into his pocket and left without a word.

I went to the window and watched as he walked out of the building and headed slowly for the dock gate.

I left the safe wide open, scattered some of its contents on the floor, dropped the empty envelope on my desk and left my office without locking up. I was the last person to leave the building.

21

‘DETECTIVE INSPECTOR BLAKEMORE, sir,’ said Miss Potts, then stood aside to allow the policeman to enter the managing director’s office.

Hugo Barrington studied the inspector carefully as he entered the room. He couldn’t have been much more than the regulation minimum height of five feet nine inches, and he was a few pounds overweight, but still looked fit. He was carrying a raincoat that had probably been bought when he was still a constable, and wore a brown felt hat of a more recent vintage, indicating that he hadn’t been an inspector all that long.

The two men shook hands, and once he was seated, Blake-more took a notebook and pen out of an inside jacket pocket. ‘As you know, sir, I am following up enquiries concerning an alleged theft that took place on these premises last night.’ Barrington didn’t like the word ‘alleged’. ‘Could I begin by asking when you first discovered that the money was missing?’

‘Yes, of course, inspector,’ said Barrington, trying to sound as helpful as possible. ‘I arrived at the docks around seven o’clock this morning and drove straight to the sheds to check how the night shift had got on.’

‘Is that something you do every morning?’

‘No, only from time to time,’ said Hugo, puzzled by the question.

‘And how long did you spend there?’

‘Twenty, perhaps thirty minutes. Then I came up to my office.’

‘So you would have been in your office at around seven twenty, seven thirty at the latest.’

‘Yes, that sounds about right.’

‘And was your secretary already here by then?’

‘Yes, she was. I rarely manage to get in before her. She’s a formidable lady,’ he added with a smile.

‘Quite,’ said the detective inspector. ‘So it was Miss Potts who told you the safe had been broken into?’

‘Yes. She said that when she came in this morning, she’d found the safe door open and some of its contents scattered on the floor, so she immediately rang the police.’

‘She didn’t ring you first, sir?’

‘No, inspector. I would have been in my car on the way to work at that time.’

‘So, you say your secretary arrived before you this morning. And did you leave before her last night, sir?’

‘I don’t recall,’ said Barrington. ‘But it would be most unusual for me to leave after her.’

‘Yes, Miss Potts has confirmed that,’ said the detective inspector. ‘But she also said – ’ he glanced down at his notebook – ‘“I left before Mr Barrington last night, as a problem had arisen which needed his attention.”’ Blakemore looked up. ‘Are you able to tell me what that problem was, sir?’

‘When you run a company as large as this,’ said Hugo, ‘problems arise all the time.’

‘So you don’t remember what particular problem arose yesterday evening?’

‘No, inspector, I do not.’

‘When you arrived in your office this morning and found the safe door open, what was the first thing you did?’

‘I checked to see what was missing.’

‘And what did you discover?’

‘All my cash had been taken.’

‘How can you be sure it had all been taken?’

‘Because I found this open envelope on my desk,’ Hugo said, handing it over.

‘And how much should there have been in the envelope, sir?’

‘Sixty-eight pounds and ten shillings.’

‘You seem very certain of that.’

‘Yes, I am,’ said Hugo. ‘Why should that surprise you?’

‘It’s simply that Miss Potts told me there was only sixty pounds in the safe, all in five-pound notes. Perhaps you could tell me, sir, where the other eight pounds and ten shillings came from?’

Hugo didn’t answer immediately. ‘I do sometimes keep a little loose change in my desk drawer, inspector,’ he said finally.

‘That’s quite a large sum to describe as “a little loose change”. However, allow me to return to the safe for a moment. When you entered your office this morning, the first thing you noticed was that the safe door was open.’

‘That is correct, inspector.’

‘Do you have a key for the safe?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Are you the only person who knows the code and is in possession of a key, sir?’

‘No, Miss Potts also has access to the safe.’

‘Can you confirm that the safe was locked when you went home last night?’

‘Yes, it always is.’

‘Then we must assume that the burglary was carried out by a professional.’

‘What makes you say that, inspector?’ asked Barrington.

‘But if he was a professional,’ said Blakemore, ignoring the question, ‘what puzzles me is why he left the safe door open.’

‘I’m not sure I’m following you, inspector.’

‘I’ll explain, sir. Professional burglars tend to leave everything just as they found it, so that their crime won’t be found out immediately. It allows them more time to dispose of the stolen goods.’

‘More time,’ repeated Hugo.

‘A professional would have closed the safe door and taken the envelope with him, making it more likely that it would be some time before you discovered anything was missing. In my experience, some people don’t open their safes for days, even weeks. Only an amateur would have left your office in such disarray.’

‘Then perhaps it was an amateur?’

‘Then how did he manage to open the safe, sir?’

‘Maybe he somehow got hold of Miss Potts’s key?’

‘And the code as well? But Miss Potts assures me that she takes her safe key home every night, as I understand you do, sir.’ Hugo said nothing. ‘May I be allowed to look inside the safe?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘What is that?’ asked the inspector, pointing to a tin box on the bottom shelf of the safe.

‘It’s my coin collection, inspector. A hobby of mine.’

‘Would you be kind enough to open it, sir?’

‘Is that really necessary?’ asked Hugo impatiently.

‘Yes, I’m afraid it is, sir.’

Hugo reluctantly opened the box, to reveal a hoard of gold coins he had collected over many years.

‘Now, here’s another mystery,’ said the inspector. ‘Our thief takes sixty pounds from the safe, and eight pounds ten shillings from your desk drawer, but leaves behind a box of gold coins that must be worth considerably more. And then there’s the problem of the envelope.’

‘The envelope?’ said Hugo.

‘Yes, sir, the envelope you say contained the money.’

‘But I found it on my desk this morning.’

‘I don’t doubt that, sir, but you will notice that it has been slit neatly open.’

‘Probably with my letter opener,’ said Hugo, holding it up triumphantly.

‘Quite possibly, sir, but in my experience, burglars have a tendency to rip open envelopes, not slit them neatly with a letter opener as if they already knew what was inside.’

‘But Miss Potts told me that you’d found the thief,’ said Hugo, trying not to sound exasperated.

‘No, sir. We have found the money, but I’m not convinced that we’ve found the guilty party.’

‘But you found some of the money in his possession?’

‘Yes, we did, sir.’

‘Then what more do you want?’

‘To be certain we’ve got the right man.’

‘And who is the man you’ve charged?’

‘I didn’t say I’d charged him, sir,’ said the inspector as he turned a page in his notebook. ‘A Mr Stanley Tancock, who turns out to be one of your stevedores. Name ring a bell, sir?’

‘Can’t say it does,’ said Hugo. ‘But if he works in the yard, he would certainly have known where my office was.’

‘I am in no doubt, sir, that Tancock knew where your office was, because he says he came to see you around seven yesterday evening to tell you that his brother-in-law, a Mr Arthur Clifton, was trapped in the hull of a ship being built in the yard, and if you didn’t give the order to get him out, he would die.’

‘Ah, yes, I remember now. I did go over to the yard yesterday afternoon as my ganger will confirm, but it turned out to be a false alarm and a waste of everyone’s time. Clearly he just wanted to find out where the safe was, so he could come back later and rob me.’

‘He admits that he came back to your office a second time,’ said Blakemore, turning another page of his notes, ‘when he claims you offered him sixty-eight pounds and ten shillings if he would keep his mouth shut about Clifton.’

‘I’ve never heard such an outrageous suggestion.’

‘Then let us consider the alternative for a moment, sir. Let us suppose that Tancock did come back to your office with the intention of robbing you some time between seven o’clock and seven thirty yesterday evening. Having somehow managed to get into the building unobserved he reaches the fifth floor, makes his way to your office, and with either your key or Miss Potts’s unlocks the safe, enters the code, removes the envelope, slits it neatly open and takes out the money, but doesn’t bother with a box of gold coins. He leaves the safe door open, spreads some of its contents on the floor and places the neatly opened envelope on your desk, and then, like the Scarlet Pimpernel, disappears into thin air.’

‘It needn’t have been between seven and seven thirty in the evening,’ said Hugo defiantly. ‘It could have been any time before eight this morning.’

‘I think not, sir,’ said Blakemore. ‘You see, Tancock has an alibi between eight and eleven o’clock last night.’

‘No doubt this so-called “alibi” is some mate of his,’ said Barrington.

‘Thirty-one of them, at the last count,’ said the detective inspector. ‘It seems that having stolen your money, he turned up at the Pig and Whistle public house at around eight o’clock, and not only were the drinks on him, but he also cleared his slate. He paid the landlord with a new five-pound note, which I have in my possession.’

The detective removed his wallet, took out the note and placed it on Barrington’s desk.

‘The landlord also added that Tancock left the pub at around eleven, and was so drunk that two of his friends had to accompany him to his home in Still House Lane, where we found him this morning. I am bound to say, sir, that if it was Tancock who robbed you, we have a master criminal on our hands and I’d be proud to be the man who puts him behind bars. Which I suspect is exactly what you had in mind, sir,’ he added, looking directly at Barrington, ‘when you gave him the money.’

‘And why on earth would I do that?’ said Hugo, trying to keep his voice even.

‘Because if Stanley Tancock was arrested and sent to jail, no one would take his story about Arthur Clifton seriously. Incidentally, Clifton hasn’t been seen since yesterday afternoon. So I shall be recommending to my superiors that the hull be opened up without further delay so that we can discover if it was a false alarm and Tancock was wasting everyone’s time.’

Hugo Barrington checked in the mirror and straightened his bow tie. He hadn’t told his father about the Arthur Clifton incident or the visit from Detective Inspector Blakemore. The less the old man knew the better. All he’d said was that some money had been stolen from his office and one of the stevedores had been arrested.

Once he’d put on his dinner jacket, Hugo sat on the end of the bed and waited for his wife to finish dressing. He hated being late, but he knew that no amount of badgering would make Elizabeth move any faster. He’d checked on Giles and his baby sister Emma, who were both fast asleep.

Hugo had wanted two sons, an heir and a spare. Emma was an inconvenience, which meant he’d have to try again. His father had been a second child and lost his older brother fighting the Boers in South Africa. Hugo’s older brother had been killed at Ypres, along with half his regiment. So, in time, Hugo could expect to succeed his father as chairman of the company and, when his father died, to inherit the title and the family fortune.

So he and Elizabeth would have to try again. Not that making love to his wife was a pleasure any more. In fact, he couldn’t remember if it ever had been. Recently he’d been looking for distractions elsewhere.

‘Yours is a marriage made in heaven,’ his mother used to say. His father was more practical. He had felt that bringing together his elder son and the only daughter of Lord Harvey was more of a merger than a marriage. When Hugo’s brother was killed on the Western Front, his fiancée was passed on to Hugo. No longer a merger, more of a takeover. Hugo wasn’t surprised to discover on his wedding night that Elizabeth was a virgin; his second virgin, in fact.

Elizabeth finally emerged from the dressing room, apologizing, as she always did, for keeping him waiting. The journey from the Manor House to Barrington Hall was only a couple of miles, and all the land in between the two houses belonged to the family. By the time Hugo and Elizabeth entered his parents’ drawing room at a few minutes past eight, Lord Harvey was already on his second sherry. Hugo glanced around the room at the other guests. There was only one couple he didn’t recognize.

His father immediately took him across and introduced him to Colonel Danvers, the recently appointed chief constable of the county. Hugo decided not to mention his meeting that morning with Detective Inspector Blakemore to the colonel, but just before they sat down for dinner, he took his father on one side to bring him up to date on the theft, never once mentioning the name of Arthur Clifton.

Over a dinner of game soup, succulent lamb and green beans, followed by crème brûlée, the conversation ranged from the Prince of Wales’s visit to Cardiff and his less than helpful remarks about sympathizing with the mine workers, to Lloyd George’s latest import tariffs and the effect they would have on the shipping industry, and George Bernard Shaw’s Heartbreak House, which had recently opened to mixed reviews at the Old Vic Theatre, before returning to the Prince of Wales and the vexed question of how to find him a suitable wife.

When the servants had cleared the table after dessert, the ladies retired to the drawing room to enjoy coffee, while the butler offered the gentlemen brandy or port.

‘Shipped by me and imported by you,’ said Sir Walter, raising a glass to Lord Harvey while the butler circled the table offering cigars to the guests. Once Lord Harvey’s Romeo y Julieta had been lit to his satisfaction, he turned to his son-in-law and said, ‘Your father tells me that some blighter broke into your office and stole a large amount of cash.’

‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Hugo replied. ‘But I’m pleased to say they’ve caught the thief. Sadly he turned out to be one of our stevedores.’

‘Is that right, Danvers?’ asked Sir Walter. ‘You’ve caught the man?’

‘I did hear something about it,’ responded the chief constable, ‘but I wasn’t told that anybody had been charged yet.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Lord Harvey.

‘Because the man is saying that I gave him the money,’ Hugo interjected. ‘In fact, when the detective inspector questioned me this morning, I began to wonder which one of us was the criminal, and which the injured party.’

‘I’m sorry to hear you feel that way,’ said Colonel Danvers. ‘May I ask who the officer in charge of the investigation was?’

‘Detective Inspector Blakemore,’ said Hugo, before adding, ‘I got the impression he might have a grudge against our family.’

‘When you employ as many people as we do,’ said Sir Walter, placing his glass back on the table, ‘there’s bound to be the odd person who bears a grudge.’

‘I must admit,’ said Danvers, ‘that Blakemore’s not known for his tact. But I’ll look into the matter, and if I feel he’s overstepped the mark I’ll assign someone else to the case.’

22

SCHOOLDAYS ARE THE happiest days of your life, claimed R.C. Sherriff, but that had not been Hugo Barrington’s experience. Although he had a feeling that Giles would, as his father put it, ‘make a better fist of things’.

Hugo tried to forget what had happened on his first day at school, some twenty-four years ago. He’d been driven to St Bede’s in a hansom carriage, accompanied by his father, mother and elder brother Nicholas, who had just been appointed school captain. Hugo had burst into tears when another new bug had innocently asked, ‘Is it true your grandfather was a docker?’ Sir Walter was proud his father had ‘pulled himself up by his bootstraps’, but with eight-year-olds, first impressions stick. ‘Grandpa was a docker! Grandpa was a docker! Cry baby! Cry baby!’ chanted the rest of the dorm.

Today his son Giles would be driven to St Bede’s in Sir Walter Barrington’s Rolls-Royce. Hugo had wanted to take his son to school in his own car, but his father wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Three generations of Barringtons have been educated at St Bede’s and Eton. My heir must arrive in style.’

Hugo didn’t point out to his father that Giles hadn’t, as yet, been offered a place at Eton, and that it was even possible the boy might have ideas of his own as to where he would like to be educated. ‘Heaven forbid,’ he could hear his father saying. ‘Ideas smack of rebellion and rebellions must be put down.’

Giles hadn’t spoken since they’d left the house, although his mother hadn’t stopped fussing over her only son for the past hour. Emma had started to sob when she was told she couldn’t accompany them, while Grace – another girl; he wouldn’t bother to try again – just clung on to Nanny’s hand and waved from the top step as they drove away.

Hugo had other things than the family’s female line on his mind as the car manoeuvred its way slowly through the country lanes towards the city. Was he about to see Harry Clifton for the first time? Would he recognize him as the other son he’d wanted but would never have, or would he be left in no doubt the moment he saw the boy that he couldn’t be his kinsman?

Hugo would have to be careful to avoid Clifton’s mother. Would he even recognize her? He’d recently discovered that she was working as a waitress in the Palm Court room at the Royal Hotel, which he used to frequent whenever he had business meetings in the city. Now he would have to confine himself to the occasional visit in the evening, and then only if he was certain she’d left for the day.

Maisie’s brother, Stan Tancock, had been released from prison after serving eighteen months of his three-year sentence. Hugo never did find out what had happened to Detective Inspector Blakemore but he never saw the man again following his father’s dinner party. A young detective sergeant gave evidence at Tancock’s trial, and he clearly wasn’t in any doubt who the guilty party was.

Once Tancock was safely behind bars, speculation about what had happened to Arthur Clifton quickly dried up. In a business where death is commonplace, Arthur Clifton became just another statistic. However, when Lady Harvey launched the Maple Leaf six months later, Hugo couldn’t help thinking that Davy Jones’s Locker would have been a more appropriate name for the vessel.

When the final figures were presented to the board, Barrington’s ended up showing a loss of £13,712 on the project. Hugo didn’t suggest that they tender for any more shipbuilding contracts in the future, and Sir Walter never referred to the subject again. In the years that followed, Barrington’s returned to its traditional business as a shipping line, and continued to go from strength to strength.

After Stan had been carted off to the local prison, Hugo had assumed that would be the last he heard of him. But shortly before Tancock was due to be released, the deputy governor of HMP Bristol rang Miss Potts and asked for an appointment. When they met, the deputy governor pleaded with Barrington to give Tancock his old job back, otherwise he would have little hope of ever being employed again. At first, Hugo was delighted to hear this piece of news, but after giving the matter some thought, changed his mind and dispatched Phil Haskins, his chief ganger, to visit Tancock in prison and tell him he could have his job back on one condition: he was never to mention the name of Arthur Clifton again. If he did, he could collect his cards and look for work elsewhere. Tancock had accepted the offer gratefully, and as the years passed it became clear that he had kept his side of the bargain.

The Rolls-Royce drew up outside the front gate of St Bede’s and the chauffeur leapt out to open the back door. Several pairs of eyes turned to look in their direction, some with admiration, others with envy.

Giles clearly didn’t enjoy the attention and quickly walked away, disowning the chauffeur as well as his parents. His mother chased after him, bent down and pulled his socks up, before giving his fingernails one last inspection. Hugo spent his time looking into the faces of countless children, wondering if he would instantly recognize someone he’d never seen before.

And then he saw a boy walking up the hill, unaccompanied by a mother or father. He looked past the boy to see a woman watching him, a woman he could never forget. Both of them must have been wondering if he had one son or two reporting for their first day at St Bede’s.

When Giles caught chicken pox and had to spend a few days in the sanatorium, his father realized this might be his chance to prove that Harry Clifton wasn’t his son. He didn’t tell Elizabeth he was going to visit Giles while he was in the san, as he didn’t want her around when he asked Matron a seemingly innocuous question.

Once he’d dealt with the morning post, Hugo told Miss Potts that he would be popping into St Bede’s to see his son and she shouldn’t expect him back for at least a couple of hours. He drove into the city and parked outside Frobisher House. He remembered only too well where the san was, as he’d had to visit it regularly when he was at St Bede’s.

Giles was sitting up in bed having his temperature taken when his father strode into the room. The boy’s face lit up the moment he saw him.

Matron was standing by the bed, checking her patient’s temperature. ‘Down to ninety-nine. We’ll have you back in time for the first lesson on Monday morning, young man,’ she declared as she shook the thermometer. ‘I’ll leave you now, Mr Barrington, so you can spend a little time with your son.’

‘Thank you, Matron,’ said Hugo. ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you before I leave?’

‘Of course, Mr Barrington. You’ll find me in my office.’

‘You don’t look too bad to me, Giles,’ said Hugo once Matron had left the room.

‘I’m fine, Papa. In fact, I was rather hoping Matron would let me out on Saturday morning so I can play football.’

‘I’ll have a word with her before I go.’

‘Thank you, Papa.’

‘So, how’s the work coming along?’

‘Not bad,’ said Giles. ‘But that’s only because I share a study with the two brightest boys in my class.’

‘And who are they?’ asked his father, dreading the reply.

‘There’s Deakins, he’s the cleverest boy in the school. In fact, the other boys won’t even talk to him because they think he’s a swot. But my best friend is Harry Clifton. He’s very clever too, but not as clever as Deakins. You’ve probably heard him singing in the choir. I know you’ll like him.’

‘But isn’t Clifton the son of a stevedore?’ Hugo said.

‘Yes, and just like Grandpa he doesn’t hide the fact. But how did you know that, Papa?’

‘I think Clifton used to work for the company,’ Hugo said, immediately regretting his words.

‘It must have been before your time, Papa,’ said Giles, ‘because his father was killed in the war.’

‘Who told you that?’ said Hugo.

‘Harry’s mother. She’s a waitress at the Royal Hotel. We went to tea there on his birthday.’

Hugo would have liked to have asked when Clifton’s birthday was, but feared it might be one question too many. Instead, he said, ‘Your mother sends her love. I think she and Emma plan to visit you later this week.’

‘Yuk. That’s all I need,’ said Giles. ‘Chicken pox and a visit from my dreadful sister.’

‘She’s not that bad,’ said his father, laughing.

‘She’s worse,’ said Giles. ‘And Grace doesn’t look as if she’s going to be any better. Do they have to come on holiday with us, Papa?’

‘Yes, of course they do.’

‘I was wondering if Harry Clifton could join us in Tuscany this summer. He’s never been abroad.’

‘No,’ said Hugo a little too firmly. ‘Holidays are strictly for the family, not to be shared with strangers.’

‘But he’s not a stranger,’ said Giles. ‘He’s my best friend.’

‘No,’ Hugo repeated, ‘and that’s an end of the matter.’ Giles looked disappointed. ‘So what would you like for your birthday, my boy?’ Hugo asked, quickly changing the subject.

‘The latest radio,’ said Giles without hesitation. ‘It’s called a Roberts Reliable.’

‘Are you allowed to have radios at school?’

‘Yes,’ said Giles, ‘but you can only play them at weekends. If you’re caught listening after lights out or during the week, they get confiscated.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Will you be coming home on your birthday?’

‘Yes, but only for tea. I have to be back at school in time for prep.’

Then I’ll try and drop in,’ said Hugo. I’ll be off now. I want a word with Matron before I leave.’

‘Don’t forget to ask her if she’ll let me out on Saturday morning,’ Giles reminded him as his father left the room to carry out the real purpose of his visit.

‘I’m so glad you were able to drop by, Mr Barrington. It will perk Giles up no end,’ said Matron as he walked into her office. ‘But as you can see, he’s almost fully recovered.’

‘Yes, and he’s hoping you’ll let him out on Saturday morning so he can play in a football match.’

‘I’m sure that will be possible,’ said Matron. ‘But you said there was something else you wanted to talk about?’

‘Yes, Matron. As you know, Giles is colour-blind. I just wanted to ask if it was causing him any difficulties.’

‘Not that I’m aware of,’ said Matron. ‘If it is, it certainly doesn’t stop him hitting a red ball across a green field until it reaches a white boundary.’

Barrington laughed before he delivered his next well-prepared line. ‘When I was at St Bede’s, I used to be teased because I was the only boy who suffered from colour-blindness.’

‘Let me assure you,’ said Matron, ‘no one teases Giles. And in any case, his best friend is also colour-blind.’

Hugo drove back to his office thinking that something had to be done before the situation got out of control. He decided to have another word with Colonel Danvers.

Once he was back behind his desk, he told Miss Potts he didn’t want to be disturbed. He waited until she’d closed the door before he picked up the telephone. A few moments later the chief constable was on the line.

‘It’s Hugo Barrington, Colonel.’

‘How are you, my boy?’ asked the chief constable.

‘I’m well, sir. I was wondering if you could advise me on a private matter.’

‘Fire away, old fellow.’

‘I’m looking for a new head of security, and I wondered if you might be able to point me in the right direction.’

‘As a matter of fact I do know a man who might fit the bill, but I’m not sure if he’s still available. I’ll find out and give you a call back.’

The chief constable was as good as his word, and phoned back the following morning. ‘The man I had in mind has a part-time job at the moment, but he’s looking for something more permanent.’

‘What can you tell me about him?’ asked Hugo.

‘He was being groomed for higher things in the force, but he had to leave when he was badly injured trying to apprehend a robber during a raid on the Midland Bank. You probably remember the story. It even hit the national press. In my opinion, he’d be the ideal candidate to head your security team, and frankly you’d be lucky to get him. If you’re still interested, I could drop you a line with his details.’

Barrington rang Derek Mitchell from his home, as he didn’t want Miss Potts to find out what he was up to. He agreed to meet the former policeman at the Royal Hotel at six o’clock on Monday evening, after Mrs Clifton would have left for the day and the Palm Court would be empty.

Hugo arrived a few minutes early and headed straight for a table at the far end of the room that he wouldn’t normally have considered. He took a seat behind the pillar, where he knew his meeting with Mitchell would not be seen or overheard. While he waited, he went over a list of questions in his mind that needed answering if he was going to put his trust in a complete stranger.

At three minutes to six, a tall, well-built man of military bearing pushed his way through the revolving doors. His dark navy blazer, grey flannels, short hair and highly polished shoes all suggested a life of discipline.

Hugo stood and raised a hand as if he was summoning a waiter. Mitchell walked slowly across the room, making no attempt to disguise a slight limp, an injury which, according to Danvers, was the reason Mitchell had been invalided out of the police service.

Hugo recalled the last occasion he’d come face to face with a police officer, but this time he would be asking the questions.

‘Good evening, sir.’

‘Good evening, Mitchell,’ said Hugo as they shook hands. Once Mitchell had sat down, Hugo took a closer look at his broken nose and cauliflower ears, and also recalled from Colonel Danvers’s notes that he used to play in the second row for Bristol.

‘Let me say from the outset, Mitchell,’ said Hugo, not wasting any time, ‘that what I want to discuss with you is of a highly confidential nature, and must be kept strictly between the two of us.’ Mitchell nodded. ‘It is so confidential, in fact, that even Colonel Danvers has no idea of the real reason I needed to see you, as I am certainly not looking for someone to head up my security operation.’

Mitchell’s face remained inscrutable as he waited to hear what Hugo had in mind.

‘I am looking for someone to act as a private detective. His sole purpose will be to report to me each month on the activities of a woman who lives in this city, and in fact works in this hotel.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘I want to know everything she gets up to, whether professional or personal, however insignificant it might seem. She must never, I repeat, never, become aware of your interest in her. So before I reveal her name, do you consider yourself capable of carrying out such an assignment?’

‘These things are never easy,’ said Mitchell, ‘but they’re not impossible. As a young detective sergeant, I worked on an undercover operation which resulted in a particularly loathsome individual ending up behind bars for sixteen years. If he were to walk into this hotel now, I’m confident he wouldn’t recognize me.’

Hugo smiled for the first time. ‘Before I go any further,’ he continued, ‘I need to know if you would be willing to take on such an assignment?’

‘That would depend on several things, sir.’

‘Such as?’

‘Would it be a full-time position, because I currently have a night security job, working for a bank.’

‘Hand in your notice tomorrow,’ said Hugo. ‘I don’t want you to be working for anyone else.’

‘And what are the hours?’

‘At your discretion.’

‘And my salary?’

‘I will pay you eight pounds a week, a month in advance, and will also cover any legitimate expenses.’

Mitchell nodded. ‘May I suggest you make any payments in cash, sir, so that nothing can be traced back to you?’

‘That seems sensible,’ said Hugo, who’d already made that decision.

‘And would you want the monthly reports to be in writing, or in person?’

‘In person. I want as little committed to paper as possible.’

‘Then we should always meet at a different location and never on the same day of the week. That way it would be unlikely that anyone would come across us more than once.’

‘I have no problem with that,’ said Hugo.

‘When would you want me to start, sir?’

‘You started half an hour ago,’ said Barrington. He removed a slip of paper and an envelope containing £32 from an inside pocket and handed them to Mitchell.

Mitchell studied the name and address written on the piece of paper for a few moments before handing it back to his new boss. ‘I’ll also need your private number, sir, and details of when and where you can be contacted.’

‘At my office any evening between five and six,’ said Hugo. ‘You must never contact me at home unless it’s an emergency,’ he added as he took out a pen.

‘Just tell me the numbers, sir, don’t write them down.’

23

‘WERE YOU THINKING OF attending Master Giles’s birthday party?’ asked Miss Potts.

Hugo looked at his diary. Giles, 12th birthday, 3 p.m., Manor House was written in bold letters at the top of the page.

‘Do I have time to pick up a present on the way home?’

Miss Potts left the room, and returned a moment later carrying a large parcel wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with a ribbon.

‘What’s inside?’ asked Hugo.

‘The latest Roberts radio; the one he asked for when you visited him in the san last month.’

‘Thank you, Miss Potts,’ said Hugo. He checked his watch. ‘I’d better leave now if I’m going to be in time to see him cut the cake.’

Miss Potts placed a thick file in his briefcase and before he could ask, she said, ‘Your background notes for tomorrow morning’s board meeting. You can go over them after Master Giles has returned to St Bede’s. That way there will be no need for you to come back this evening.’

‘Thank you, Miss Potts,’ said Hugo. ‘You think of everything.’

As he drove through the city on his way home, Hugo couldn’t help noticing how many more cars there seemed to be on the highway than there had been a year ago. Pedestrians were becoming more wary of casually crossing the road since the government had increased the speed limit to 30 miles per hour. A horse reared up as Hugo shot past a hansom cab. He wondered how much longer they could hope to survive now that the city council had authorized its first taxi cab.

Once he had driven out of the city, Hugo sped up, not wanting to be late for his son’s party. How quickly the boy was growing. He was already taller than his mother. Would he end up taller than his father?

When Giles left St Bede’s and took up his place at Eton in a year’s time, Hugo felt confident that his friendship with the Clifton boy would soon be forgotten, although he realized there were other difficulties that needed to be addressed before then.

He slowed down as he passed through the gates of his estate. He always enjoyed the long drive through the avenue of oaks up to the Manor House. Jenkins was standing on the top step as Hugo got out of the car. He held open the front door and said, ‘Mrs Barrington is in the drawing room sir, with Master Giles and two of his school friends.’

As he walked into the hall, Emma came running down the stairs and threw her arms around her father.

‘What’s in the parcel?’ she demanded.

‘A birthday present for your brother.’

‘Yes, but what is it?’

‘You’ll have to wait and see, young lady,’ said her father with a smile before he handed his briefcase to the butler. ‘Would you put that in my study, Jenkins,’ he said as Emma grabbed him by the hand and began to tug him towards the drawing room.

Hugo’s smile evaporated the moment he opened the door and saw who was sitting on the sofa.

Giles leapt up and ran towards his father, who handed him the parcel and said, ‘Happy birthday, my boy.’

‘Thank you, Papa,’ he said, before introducing his friends.

Hugo shook Deakins’s hand, but when Harry offered his, he just said, ‘Good afternoon, Clifton,’ and sat down in his favourite chair.

Hugo watched with interest as Giles undid the ribbon on his parcel and they both saw the present for the first time. Even his son’s unbridled delight with his new radio didn’t bring a smile to Hugo’s lips. He had a question that he needed to ask Clifton, but it mustn’t appear as if the boy’s reply was of any significance.

He remained silent while the three boys took turns tuning into the two stations and listening intently to the strange voices and music that came out of the speaker. This was regularly followed by laughter or applause.

Mrs Barrington chatted to Harry about a recent concert of the Messiah she’d attended, adding how much she’d enjoyed his rendition of I Know That My Redeemer Liveth.

‘Thank you, Mrs Barrington,’ said Harry.

‘Are you hoping to go on to Bristol Grammar School after you leave St Bede’s, Clifton?’ asked Hugo, spotting an opening.

‘Only if I win a scholarship, sir,’ he replied.

‘But why is that important?’ asked Mrs Barrington. ‘Surely you will be offered a place, like any other boy?’

‘Because my mother wouldn’t be able to afford the fees, Mrs Barrington. She’s a waitress at the Royal Hotel.’

‘But wouldn’t your father-’

‘He’s dead,’ said Harry. ‘He was killed in the war.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Mrs Barrington. ‘I didn’t realize.’

At that moment the door opened and the under-butler entered the room carrying a large cake on a silver tray. After Giles had succeeded in blowing out all twelve candles with one puff, everyone applauded.

‘And when’s your birthday, Clifton?’ asked Hugo.

‘It was last month, sir,’ Harry replied.

After Giles had cut the cake, Hugo stood up and left the room without another word.

He went straight to his study, but found he couldn’t concentrate on his papers for the next day’s board meeting. Clifton’s reply meant he would have to seek advice from a lawyer who specialized in the law of heredity.

After an hour or so he heard voices in the hall, then the front door closing and the sound of a car driving away. A few minutes later there was a knock on his study door, and Elizabeth walked in.

‘What made you leave us so abruptly?’ she asked. ‘And why didn’t you come and say goodbye, when you must have known Giles and his guests were leaving?’

‘I have a very tricky board meeting tomorrow morning,’ he said without looking up.

‘That’s no reason not to say goodbye to your son, especially on his birthday.’

‘I’ve got a lot on my mind,’ he said, still looking down at his notes.

‘Surely nothing is so important that you need to be rude to guests. You were more offhand with Harry Clifton than you would be with one of the servants.’

Hugo looked up for the first time. ‘That’s possibly because I consider Clifton inferior to our servants.’ Elizabeth looked shocked. ‘Did you know that his father was a dock labourer and his mother is a waitress? I’m not sure that’s the sort of boy Giles should be mixing with.’

‘Giles clearly thinks otherwise, and whatever his background, Harry’s a charming boy. I can’t understand why you’re so against him. You didn’t treat Deakins that way, and his father’s a newsagent.’

‘He’s also an open scholar.’

And Harry is the school’s prize choral scholar, as every church-going citizen in Bristol knows. Next time you come across him, I hope you’ll be a little more civil.’ Without another word, Elizabeth left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Sir Walter Barrington remained in his place at the head of the boardroom table as his son entered the room.

‘I’m becoming increasingly concerned about the government’s proposed legislation on import tariffs,’ said Hugo as he took a seat on the right of his father, ‘and the effect it might have on our balance sheet.’

‘That’s why we have a lawyer on the board,’ said Sir Walter, ‘so that he can advise us on such matters.’

‘But I’ve calculated that it could cost us twenty thousand pounds a year if it becomes law. Don’t you think we ought to seek a second opinion?’

‘I suppose I could have a word with Sir James Amhurst when I’m next in London.’

‘I’m travelling up to London on Tuesday for the Association of British Ship Owners’ annual dinner,’ said Hugo. ‘As he’s the industry’s legal adviser, perhaps I should have a word with him.’

‘Only if you’re convinced it’s necessary,’ said Sir Walter. ‘And don’t forget that Amhurst charges by the hour, even at dinner.’

The Association of British Ship Owners’ dinner was held at the Grosvenor House, and was attended by over a thousand members and their guests.

Hugo had earlier phoned the association’s secretary and asked if he could be seated next to Sir James Amhurst. The secretary raised an eyebrow, but agreed to rearrange the guests on the top table. After all, old Joshua Barrington had been a founder member of the association.

After the Bishop of Newcastle had said grace, Hugo made no attempt to interrupt the eminent silk while he was deep in conversation with the man on his right. However, when the lawyer finally turned his attention to the stranger they’d put on his left, Hugo didn’t waste any time in getting to the point.

‘My father, Sir Walter Barrington,’ he began, capturing his quarry’s attention, ‘is rather concerned about the import tariff bill that is going through the House of Commons, and the effects it might have on the industry. He wonders if he could consult you on the subject when he’s next in London.’

‘By all means, dear boy,’ said Sir James. ‘Just ask his secretary to give my clerk a call and I’ll make sure I’m free when he’s next in town.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Hugo. ‘On a lighter note, I wondered if you’d ever read anything by Agatha Christie?’

‘Can’t say I have,’ said Sir James. ‘Is she any good?’

‘I’m much enjoying her latest book, Where There’s a Will,’ said Hugo, ‘but I’m not sure if the plot would stand up in a court of law.’

‘What’s the lady suggesting?’ asked Amhurst as a sliver of over-cooked beef served on a cold plate was placed in front of him.

‘According to Miss Christie, the eldest son of an hereditary knight automatically inherits his father’s title, even if the child is illegitimate.’

‘Ah, now that is indeed an interesting legal conundrum,’ said Sir James. ‘In fact, the Law Lords have quite recently reviewed such a case. Benson v. Carstairs, if I remember correctly. It’s often referred to by the press as “the bastard’s amendment”.’

‘And what conclusion did their lordships come to?’ asked Hugo, trying not to sound too interested.

‘If no loophole could be found in the original will, they came out in favour of the first born, even if the young man in question was illegitimate.’ Another answer Hugo hadn’t wanted to hear. ‘However,’ Sir James continued, ‘their lordships decided to cover their backsides, and added a codicil that each case should be treated on its own merits, and then only after it had been reviewed by the Garter King of Arms. Typical of the Law Lords,’ he added before picking up his knife and fork and attacking the beef. ‘Too frightened to set a precedent, but quite happy to pass the buck.’

When Sir James returned his attention to the man on his right, Hugo thought about the implications of Harry Clifton discovering that he might have the right to inherit not only the Barrington shipping line, but also the family estate. Having to admit he had sired an illegitimate son would be bad enough, but the idea of Harry Clifton inheriting the family title after his death and becoming Sir Harry did not bear thinking about. He would be willing to do anything in his power to make sure that wouldn’t be the outcome.

24

HUGO BARRINGTON was having breakfast when he read the letter from the headmaster of St Bede’s, outlining the details of an appeal the school was launching to raise a thousand pounds to build a new cricket pavilion for the First XI. He opened his cheque book and had written the figures ‘100’ when he was distracted by the sound of a car coming to a halt on the gravel outside.

Hugo walked across to the window to see who could possibly be visiting him so early on a Saturday morning. He was puzzled when he saw his son step out of the back of a taxi carrying a suitcase, as he’d been looking forward to watching him open the batting for the school that afternoon in the final match of the season against Avonhurst.

Jenkins appeared just in time to open the front door as Giles reached the top step. ‘Good morning, Master Giles,’ he said, as if he’d been expecting him.

Hugo walked quickly out of the breakfast room to find his son standing in the hall, head bowed, suitcase by his side. ‘What are you doing at home?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t there another week to go before the end of term?’

‘I’ve been rusticated,’ said Giles simply.

‘Rusticated?’ repeated his father. ‘And what have you done to merit that, may I ask?’

Giles looked up at Jenkins, who stood silently by the front door. ‘I’ll take Master Giles’s suitcase up to his bedroom,’ the butler said, before picking up the bag and proceeding slowly up the stairs.

‘Follow me,’ said Hugo once the butler was out of sight.

Neither of them spoke again until Hugo had closed the study door behind him. ‘What have you done to cause the school to take such a drastic measure?’ demanded his father as he sank back into his chair.

‘I was caught stealing from the tuck shop,’ said Giles, who had been left standing in the middle of the room.

‘Is there some simple explanation? A misunderstanding, perhaps?’

‘No, there isn’t, sir,’ said Giles, fighting back tears.

‘Do you have anything to say in your defence?’

‘No, sir.’ Giles hesitated. ‘Except…’

‘Except what?’

‘I always gave the sweets away, Papa. I never kept them for myself.’

‘To Clifton, no doubt.’

‘And to Deakins as well,’ said Giles.

‘Was it Clifton who put you up to it in the first place?’

‘No, it was not,’ responded Giles firmly. ‘In fact, once he found out what I’d been up to, Harry always took the sweets I gave him and Deakins back to the tuck shop. He even took the blame when Mr Frobisher accused him of stealing them.’

A long silence followed before his father said, ‘So you’ve been rusticated, not actually expelled?’

Giles nodded.

‘Do you think they will allow you to go back next term?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Giles.

‘What makes you so sure of that?’

‘Because I’ve never seen the headmaster so angry.’

‘Not half as angry as your mother will be when she finds out.’

‘Please don’t tell her, Papa,’ pleaded Giles, bursting into tears.

‘And how do you expect me to explain to her why you’re home a week early and might not even be returning to St Bede’s next term?’

Giles made no attempt to respond, but continued to sob quietly.

‘And Heaven knows what your grandparents will say,’ his father added, ‘when I have to tell them why you won’t be going to Eton after all.’

Another long silence followed.

‘Go to your room, and don’t even think about coming back down until I say so.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Giles. He turned to leave.

‘And whatever you do, don’t discuss this with anyone, especially not in front of the servants.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ said Giles, who ran out of the room, nearly colliding with Jenkins as he shot past him on the stairs.

Hugo leant forward in his chair, trying to think if there might be some way to turn the situation around before he had to face an inevitable call from the headmaster. He placed his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands, but it was some time before his eyes focused on the cheque.

A smile crossed his lips as he added an extra nought before signing it.

25

MITCHELL WAS SEATED in the far corner of the waiting room, reading the Bristol Evening Post when Hugo walked across and sat down beside him. It was so draughty that Hugo kept his hands in his pockets.

‘The subject,’ said Mitchell, still looking at his newspaper, ‘is trying to raise five hundred pounds for a business venture.’

‘What sort of business venture could she possibly be interested in?’

‘Tilly’s tea shop,’ replied Mitchell. ‘It seems the subject worked there before she moved to the Palm Court room at the Royal. Miss Tilly has recently had an offer of five hundred pounds for the business from a Mr Edward Atkins. Miss Tilly doesn’t care for Atkins and has made it clear to the subject that if she were able to raise the same amount, she would prefer her to take over the business.’

‘Where could she possibly hope to get hold of that much money?’

‘Perhaps from someone who wished to have financial control over her, which might at a later date prove advantageous?’

Hugo remained silent. Mitchell’s eyes never left his paper.

‘Has she approached anyone to try and raise the money?’ Hugo eventually asked.

‘She’s currently taking advice from a Mr Patrick Casey, who represents Dillon and Co., a finance company based in Dublin. They specialize in raising loans for private clients.’

‘How do I get in touch with Casey?’

‘I wouldn’t advise that,’ said Mitchell.

‘Why not?’

‘He visits Bristol about once a month, and always stays at the Royal.’

‘We wouldn’t have to meet at the Royal.’

‘He has struck up a close personal relationship with the subject. Whenever he’s in town he takes her to dinner or the theatre, and recently she’s been seen returning with him to the hotel, where they spend the night together in room 371.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Hugo. ‘Anything else?’

‘It may also interest you to know that the subject banks with the National Provincial, 49 Corn Street. The manager is a Mr Prendergast. Her current account is showing a balance of twelve pounds and nine shillings.’

Hugo would like to have asked how Mitchell had come across that particular piece of information, but satisfied himself with saying, ‘Excellent. The moment you come up with anything else, however insignificant, ring me.’ He took a bulky envelope from his overcoat pocket and slipped it across to Mitchell.

‘The train now arriving at platform nine is the seven twenty-two from Taunton.’

Mitchell pocketed the envelope, folded his newspaper and walked out of the waiting room. He’d never once looked at his employer.

Hugo had been unable to hide his anger when he discovered the real reason Giles had failed to be offered a place at Eton. He’d phoned the headmaster, who refused to take his calls, his prospective housemaster, who sympathized but offered no hope of redemption, and even the provost, who said he’d call back, but didn’t. Although Elizabeth and the girls had no idea what had caused Hugo to so regularly lose his temper of late, and for no apparent reason, they continued to bear the brunt of Giles’s misdemeanours with equanimity.

Hugo reluctantly accompanied Giles to Bristol Grammar School on his first day of term, although he wouldn’t allow either Emma or Grace to join them, despite Emma bursting into tears and sulking.

When Hugo brought the car to a halt in College Street, the first person he saw standing outside the school gates was Harry Clifton. Even before he pulled on the brake, Giles had leapt out and run across to greet his friend.

Hugo avoided mingling with the other parents, whom Elizabeth seemed quite happy to chat to, and when he inadvertently came across Clifton, he made a point of not shaking hands with him.

On the journey back to the Manor House, Elizabeth asked her husband why he treated Giles’s best friend with such disdain. Hugo reminded his wife that their son should have gone to Eton, where he would have mixed with other gentlemen and not with the sons of local tradesmen and, in Clifton’s case, far worse. Elizabeth retreated into the comparative safety of silence, as she had so often done recently.

26

‘LOCAL TEA SHOP burnt to the ground! Arson suspected!’ hollered the paperboy standing on the corner of the Broad.

Hugo threw on the brakes, leapt out of his car and handed the lad a ha’penny. He began reading the front page as he walked back to his car.

Tilly’s Tea Shop, a Bristol landmark, much frequented by local citizens, was razed to the ground in the early hours of the morning. Police have arrested a local man in his early thirties and charged him with arson. Miss Tilly, who now lives in Cornwall…

Hugo smiled when he saw the photograph of Maisie Clifton and her staff standing on the pavement, grimly surveying the burnt-out remains of Tilly’s. The gods were clearly on his side.

He climbed back into his car, placed the newspaper on the passenger seat and continued on his journey to Bristol Zoo. He would need to make an early appointment to see Mr Prendergast.

Mitchell had advised him that if he hoped to keep the fact that he was the subject’s backer confidential, any meetings with Prendergast should be held in Barrington’s offices, and preferably after Miss Potts had gone home for the night. Hugo didn’t attempt to explain to Mitchell that he wasn’t sure if Miss Potts did go home at night. He was looking forward to the meeting with Prendergast, when he would administer the last rites, but there was someone else he needed to see before he could do that.

Mitchell was feeding Rosie when he arrived.

Hugo walked slowly across, leant on the railing and pretended to take an interest in the Indian elephant that Bristol Zoo had recently acquired from Uttar Pradesh, and was already attracting a large number of visitors. Mitchell tossed up a lump of bread, which Rosie caught in her trunk and transferred to her mouth in one fluid movement.

‘The subject has returned to work at the Royal Hotel,’ said Mitchell as if he was addressing the elephant. ‘She’s doing the late shift in the Palm Court from ten at night until six the following morning. She’s paid three pounds a week, plus whatever she can make in tips, which, as there are so few customers at that time of night, doesn’t add up to much.’ He threw another crust at the elephant, and continued, ‘A Bob Burrows has been arrested and charged with arson. Burrows was her patisserie supplier before the subject sacked him. He’s made a full confession, even admitting that he had planned to propose to the subject and had purchased an engagement ring, but she’d spurned him; or at least that’s his story.’

A smile crossed Hugo’s lips. ‘And who’s in charge of the case?’ he asked.

‘A Detective Inspector Blakemore,’ said Mitchell. Hugo’s smile was replaced by a frown. ‘Although Blakemore initially thought the subject might be an accomplice of Burrows,’ continued Mitchell, ‘he has since informed the Bristol and West of England Insurance Company that she is no longer a suspect.’

‘That’s a pity,’ said Hugo, the frown still in place.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Mitchell. ‘The insurance company will be issuing Mrs Clifton with a cheque for six hundred pounds in full and final settlement of her claim.’ Hugo smiled.

‘I wonder if she’s told her son,’ said Hugo, almost to himself.

If Mitchell heard the comment, he ignored it. ‘The only other piece of information that might be of some interest to you,’ he continued, ‘is that Mr Patrick Casey booked into the Royal Hotel on Friday night, and took the subject to the Plimsoll Line for dinner. They returned to the hotel afterwards, when she accompanied him to his room, No. 371, and didn’t leave until just after seven o’clock the following morning.’

A long silence followed, always the sign that Mitchell had come to the end of his monthly report. Hugo removed an envelope from an inside pocket and slipped it to Mitchell, who didn’t acknowledge the transaction as he threw his last piece of bread to a contented Rosie.

‘Mr Prendergast to see you,’ said Miss Potts, standing aside to allow the banker to enter the managing director’s office.

‘It’s good of you to come all this way,’ said Hugo. ‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate why I didn’t want to discuss such a highly confidential matter at the bank.’

‘I quite understand,’ said Prendergast, who had opened his Gladstone bag and extracted a thick file even before he’d sat down. He passed a single sheet of paper across the desk to Mr Barrington.

Hugo checked the bottom line, before settling back in his chair.

‘Just to recap, if I may,’ said Prendergast. ‘You put up a capital sum of five hundred pounds, which allowed Mrs Clifton to purchase the business known as Tilly’s, a tea shop on Broad Street. The agreed contract was for the full amount, plus compound interest at five per cent per annum, to be paid back to the principal within a period of five years.

‘Although Tilly’s managed to declare a small trading profit in Mrs Clifton’s first year and again in her second, there was never a large enough surplus for her either to pay the interest or to return any part of the capital sum, so at the time of the fire, Mrs Clifton owed you £572 16 shillings. To this sum I must add bank charges of £20, making a grand total of £592 16 shillings. This, of course, will be well covered by the insurance payout, which means that while your investment is secure, Mrs Clifton will be left with virtually nothing.’

‘How unfortunate,’ said Hugo. ‘May I ask why the final sum doesn’t appear to include any charge for services rendered by Mr Casey?’ he added after studying the figures more closely.

‘Because Mr Casey has informed the bank that he will not be submitting any bills for his services.’

Hugo frowned. ‘At least that is one piece of good news for the poor woman.’

‘Indeed. None the less, I fear she will no longer be able to cover her son’s fees at Bristol Grammar School for next term.’

‘How sad,’ said Hugo. ‘So will the boy have to be removed?’

‘I’m sorry to say that’s the inevitable conclusion,’ said Mr Prendergast. ‘It is a great shame, because she dotes on the child, and I believe she would sacrifice almost anything to keep him there.’

‘A great shame,’ repeated Hugo as he closed the file and rose from his chair. ‘I won’t keep you any longer, Mr Prender-gast,’ he added. ‘I have an appointment in the city in about half an hour. Perhaps I can give you a lift?’

‘That is most kind of you, Mr Barrington, but it won’t be necessary. I drove myself over here.’

‘What do you drive?’ Hugo asked as he picked up his briefcase and headed towards the door.

‘A Morris Oxford,’ said Prendergast, quickly stuffing some papers back into his Gladstone bag and following Hugo out of the office.

‘The people’s car,’ said Hugo. ‘I’m told that, like you, Mr Prendergast, it’s very reliable.’ Both men laughed as they walked down the stairs together. ‘Sad business, Mrs Clifton,’ said Hugo as they stepped out of the building. ‘But then, I’m not altogether sure I approve of women getting involved in business. It’s not the natural way of things.’

‘I quite agree,’ said Prendergast, as the two men came to a halt by Barrington’s car. ‘Mind you,’ he added, ‘you could not have done more for the poor woman.’

‘It’s kind of you to say so, Prendergast,’ said Hugo. ‘But despite that, I’d be obliged if my involvement could remain strictly between the two of us.’

‘Of course, sir,’ said Prendergast as the two men shook hands, ‘you can rely on me.’

‘Let’s keep in touch, old fellow,’ said Hugo as he climbed into his car. ‘I have no doubt I’ll be calling on the bank’s services again.’ Prendergast smiled.

As Hugo drove towards the city, his thoughts returned to Maisie Clifton. He had dealt her a blow from which she was unlikely to recover, but he now intended to deliver the knockout punch.

He drove into Bristol wondering where she was at that moment. Probably sitting her son down to explain to him why he would have to leave BGS at the end of the summer term. Had she even for one fleeting moment imagined that Harry might be able to continue his studies as if nothing had happened? Hugo decided that he wouldn’t raise the subject with Giles until the boy told him the sad news that his friend Harry would not be returning to BGS to join him in the sixth form.

Even the thought of his own son having to go to Bristol Grammar School still made him pulse with anger, but he had never let Elizabeth or his father know the real reason Giles had failed to get a place at Eton.

Once he’d driven past the cathedral, he continued across College Green before turning into the entrance of the Royal Hotel. He was a few minutes early for his appointment, but he was confident the manager would not keep him waiting. He pushed his way through the revolving doors and strolled across the lobby, not needing to be told where Mr Frampton’s office was.

The manager’s secretary leapt up the moment Hugo entered the room. ‘I’ll let Mr Frampton know you’re here,’ she said, almost running into the adjoining office. The manager appeared a moment later.

‘What a pleasure to see you, Mr Barrington,’ he said, ushering him into his office. ‘I do hope you and Mrs Barrington are both well.’ Hugo nodded and took a seat opposite the hotel manager, but didn’t shake hands.

‘When you asked to see me, I took the liberty of checking over the arrangements for your company’s annual dinner,’ said Frampton. ‘Just over three hundred guests will be attending, I understand?’

‘I have no interest how many guests are attending,’ said Hugo. ‘That isn’t the reason I came to see you, Frampton. I wish to discuss a private matter that I find most distasteful.’

‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ said Frampton, sitting bolt upright.

‘One of our non-executive directors was staying at the hotel on Thursday night, and the following day he made a most serious allegation that I feel it is my duty to bring to your attention.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Frampton, rubbing his sweating palms on his trousers. ‘The last thing we would want to do is annoy one of our most valued customers.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Hugo. ‘The gentleman in question checked into the hotel after the restaurant had closed and went into the Palm Court in the hope of being provided with some light refreshment.’

‘A service I myself instituted,’ said Frampton, allowing himself a strained smile.

‘He gave his order to a young lady who appeared to be in charge,’ continued Hugo, ignoring the comment.

‘Yes, that would be our Mrs Clifton.’

‘I’ve no idea who it was,’ said Hugo. ‘However, as she was serving him with a cup of coffee and some sandwiches, another gentleman entered the Palm Court, made an order and asked if it could be sent up to his room. The only thing my friend recalls about the man was that he had a slight Irish accent. My friend then signed his bill and retired for the night. He rose early the following morning, as he wished to have breakfast and go over his papers before the board meeting. When he came out of his room he observed the same woman, still dressed in her hotel uniform, leaving room 371. She then walked to the end of the corridor, climbed through the window and out on to the fire escape.’

‘I’m absolutely appalled, sir. I…’

‘The board member concerned has requested that whenever he comes to Bristol in the future, he should be booked into another hotel. Now, I don’t wish to appear prudish, Frampton, but the Royal has always been somewhere I’ve been happy to bring my wife and children.’

‘Be assured, Mr Barrington, the person concerned will be dismissed immediately, and not supplied with a reference. May I add how grateful I am that you have brought this matter to my attention.’

Hugo rose from his place. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t want any reference made to me or the company should you feel it necessary to dismiss the lady in question.’

‘You can be assured of my discretion,’ said Frampton.

Hugo smiled for the first time. ‘On a happier note, may I say how much we’re all looking forward to the annual dinner, which no doubt will be up to your usual high standard. Next year we’ll be celebrating the company’s centenary, so I feel sure my father will want to push the boat out.’ Both men laughed a little too loudly.

‘You can rely on us, Mr Barrington,’ said Frampton as he followed his client out of the office.

‘And one more thing, Frampton,’ said Hugo, as they walked across the foyer. ‘I’d rather you didn’t say anything to Sir Walter about this. My father can be a little old-fashioned when it comes to such matters, so I think it’s best kept between ourselves.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, Mr Barrington,’ said Frampton. ‘You can be assured I shall deal with the matter personally.’

As Hugo pushed his way back through the revolving doors, he couldn’t help wondering just how many hours Mitchell must have spent at the Royal before he was able to supply him with such a priceless piece of information.

He jumped back into his car, switched on the engine and continued on his journey home. He was still thinking about Maisie Clifton when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He experienced a moment of blind panic as he turned around and saw who was sitting on the back seat. He even wondered if somehow she’d found out about his meeting with Frampton.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded, not slowing down for fear that someone might see them together.

As he listened to her demands, he could only wonder how she was so well informed. Once she’d finished, he readily agreed to her terms, knowing that it would be the easiest way of getting her out of the car.

Mrs Clifton placed a thin brown envelope on the passenger seat next to him. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you,’ she said.

Hugo put the envelope in an inside pocket. He only slowed down when he came to an unlit alley, but didn’t stop until he was certain no one else could see them. He leapt out of the car and opened the back door. When he saw the look on her face, it was clear she felt she’d more than achieved her purpose.

Hugo allowed her a moment of triumph, before he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her as if he was trying to remove an obstinate apple from a tree. Once he’d left her in no doubt what would happen if she ever bothered him again, he punched her in the face with all his strength. She collapsed to the ground curled up into a ball, and didn’t stop shaking. Hugo thought about kicking her in the stomach but didn’t want to risk being witnessed by a passer-by. He drove away without giving her another thought.