Only Time Will Tell

35

I was thrilled when I saw Harry walk through the school gates on the first day of term. I’d spent the summer hols at our villa in Tuscany, so I wasn’t in Bristol when Tilly’s was burnt to the ground and didn’t find out about it until I returned to England the weekend before term began. I had wanted Harry to join us in Italy, but my father wouldn’t hear of it.

I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like Harry, with the exception of my father, who won’t even allow his name to be mentioned in the house. I once asked Mama if she could explain why he felt so strongly, but she didn’t seem to know any more than I did.

I didn’t press the point with my old man, as I’ve never exactly covered myself in glory in his eyes. I nearly got myself expelled from my prep school for stealing – heaven knows how he managed to fix that – and after that I let him down by failing to get into Eton. I told Papa when I came out of the exam that I couldn’t have tried harder, which was the truth. Well, half the truth. I would have got away with it if my co-conspirator had only kept his mouth shut. At least it taught me a simple lesson: if you make a deal with a fool, don’t be surprised when they act foolishly.

My co-conspirator was the Earl of Bridport’s son, Percy. He was facing an even greater dilemma than I was, because seven generations of Bridports had been educated at Eton, and it was looking as if young Percy was going to ruin that rather fine batting average.

Eton has been known to bend the rules when it comes to members of the aristocracy and will occasionally allow a stupid boy to darken its doors, which is why I selected Percy for my little subterfuge in the first place. It was after I overheard the Frob saying to another beak, ‘If Bridport was any brighter, he’d be a half-wit,’ that I knew I didn’t need to look any further for my accomplice.

Percy was as desperate to be offered a place at Eton as I was to be rejected, so I saw this as no more than an opportunity for both of us to achieve our purpose.

I didn’t discuss my plan with Harry or Deakins. Harry would undoubtedly have disapproved, he’s such a morally upright fellow, and Deakins wouldn’t have been able to understand why anyone would want to fail an exam.

On the day before the examination was due to take place my father drove me to Eton in his swish new Bugatti, which could do a hundred miles an hour, and once we hit the A4 he proved it. We spent the night at the Swann Arms, the same hotel in which he had stayed over twenty years before when he took the entrance exam. Over dinner, Papa didn’t leave me in any doubt how keen he was that I should go to Eton and I nearly had a change of heart at the last moment, but I had given my word to Percy Bridport, and felt I couldn’t let him down.

Percy and I had shaken hands on the deal back at St Bede’s, agreeing that when we entered the examination hall, we would give the recorder the other’s name. I rather enjoyed being addressed as ‘my lord’ by all and sundry, even if it was only for a few hours.

The examination papers were not as demanding as the ones I’d sat a fortnight earlier for Bristol Grammar, and I felt I’d done more than enough to ensure that Percy would be returning to Eton in September. However, they were difficult enough for me to feel confident that his lordship would not let me down.

Once we’d handed in our papers and reverted to our true personas, I went off to tea with my pa, in Windsor. When he asked me how it had gone, I told him I’d done the best I possibly could. He seemed satisfied by this, and even began to relax, which only made me feel more guilty. I didn’t enjoy the journey back to Bristol, and felt even worse when I got home and my mother asked me the same question.

Ten days later, I received an I’m sorry to have to inform you letter from Eton. I had only managed 32 per cent. Percy scored 56 per cent and was offered a place for the Michaelmas term, which delighted his father and was met with incredulity by the Frob.

Everything would have worked out just fine, if Percy hadn’t told a friend how he’d managed to get into Eton. The friend told another friend, who told another friend, who told Percy’s father. The Earl of Bridport MC, being an honourable man, immediately informed the headmaster of Eton. This resulted in Percy being expelled before he’d even set foot in the place. If it hadn’t been for a personal intervention by the Frob, I might have suffered the same fate at Bristol Grammar.

My father tried to convince the headmaster of Eton that it was simply a clerical error, and that, as I’d actually scored 56 per cent in the exam, I should be reinstated in Bridport’s place. This piece of logic was rejected by return of post, as Eton wasn’t in need of a new cricket pavilion. I duly reported to Bristol Grammar School on the first day of term.

During my first year, I restored my reputation somewhat by scoring three centuries for the Colts and ended the season being awarded my colours. Harry played Ursula in Much Ado About Nothing, and Deakins was Deakins, so no one was surprised when he won the First Form prize.

During my second year, I became more aware of the financial constraints Harry’s mother must be experiencing when I noticed that he was wearing his shoes with the laces undone, and he admitted they were pinching because they were so tight.

So when Tilly’s was burnt to the ground only weeks before we were expected to enter the sixth form, I was not altogether surprised to learn that Harry thought he might not be able to stay on at the school. I thought about asking my father if he might be able to help, but Mama told me I would be wasting my time. That’s why I was so delighted when I saw him walking through the school gates on the first day of term.

He told me that his mother had begun a new job at the Royal Hotel, working nights, and it was proving to be far more lucrative than she had originally thought possible.

During the next summer hols I would, once again, have liked to invite Harry to join the family in Tuscany, but I knew my father would not consider the idea. But as the Arts Appreciation Society, of which Harry was now secretary, was planning a trip to Rome, we agreed to meet up there, even if it did mean I would have to visit the Villa Borghese.

Although we were living in a little bubble of our own down in the West Country, it would have been impossible not to be aware of what was taking place on the continent.

The rise of the Nazis in Germany, and the Fascists in Italy, didn’t seem to be affecting the average Englishman, who was still enjoying a pint of cider and a cheese sandwich at his local on a Saturday, before watching, or in my case playing, cricket on the village green in the afternoon. For years this blissful state of affairs had been able to continue because another war with Germany didn’t bear thinking about. Our fathers had fought in the war to end all wars, but now the unmentionable seemed to be on everyone’s lips.

Harry told me in no uncertain terms that if war was declared, he wouldn’t be going to university but would join up immediately, just as his father and uncle had done some twenty years before. My father had ‘missed out’, as he put it, because unfortunately he was colour-blind, and those in authority thought he’d serve the war effort better by remaining at his post, playing an important role in the docks. Though I’ve never been quite sure exactly what that important role was.

In our final year at BGS, both Harry and I decided to enter our names for Oxford; Deakins had already been offered an open scholarship to Balliol College. I wanted to go to the House, but was informed most politely by the entrance tutor that Christ Church rarely took grammar school boys, so I settled for Brasenose, which had once been described by Bertie Wooster as a college ‘where brains are neither here nor there’.

As Brasenose was also the college with the most cricket blues, and I had scored three centuries in my final year as captain of BGS, one of them at Lord’s for a Public Schools XI, I felt I must be in with a chance. In fact, my form master, Dr Paget, told me that when I went for my interview they would probably throw a cricket ball at me as I entered the room. If I caught it, I would be offered a place. If I caught it one-handed, a scholarship. This turned out to be apocryphal. However, I’m bound to admit that during drinks with the college principal, he asked me more questions about Hutton than Horace.

There were other highs and lows during my last two years at school: Jesse Owens winning four gold medals at the Olympic Games in Berlin, right under Hitler’s nose, was a definite high, while the abdication of Edward VIII because he wished to marry an American divorcee was an undoubted low.

The nation seemed to be divided on whether the King should have abdicated, as were Harry and I. I failed to understand how a man born to be King could be willing to sacrifice the throne to marry a divorced woman. Harry was far more sympathetic to the King’s plight, saying that we couldn’t begin to understand what the poor man was going through until we fell in love ourselves. I dismissed this as codswallop, until that trip to Rome that was to change both our lives.

36

IF GILES IMAGINED he’d worked hard during his final days at St Bede’s, in those last two years at Bristol Grammar School both he and Harry became acquainted with hours only Deakins was familiar with.

Dr Paget, their sixth-form master, told them in no uncertain terms that if they hoped to be offered a place at Oxford or Cambridge, they would have to forget any other activities, as they would need to spend every waking moment preparing for the entrance exams.

Giles was hoping to captain the school’s First XI in his final year, while Harry was keen to land the lead in the school play. Dr Paget raised an eyebrow when he heard this, even though Romeo and Juliet was the set text for Oxford that year. ‘Just be sure you don’t sign up for anything else,’ he said firmly.

Harry reluctantly resigned from the choir, which gave him two more free evenings a week to study. However, there was one activity no pupil could exempt himself from: every Tuesday and Thursday, at four o’clock, all the boys had to be standing to attention on the parade ground, fully kitted out and ready for inspection as members of the Combined Cadet Force.

‘Can’t allow the Hitler Youth to imagine that if Germany is foolish enough to declare war on us a second time, we won’t be ready for them,’ bellowed the RSM.

Every time ex-Regimental Sergeant Major Roberts delivered these words, it sent a shiver through the ranks of schoolboys, who realized as each day passed that it was becoming more and more likely they would be serving on the front line as junior officers in some foreign field, rather than going up to university as undergraduates.

Harry took the RSM’s words to heart and was quickly promoted to cadet officer. Giles took them less seriously, knowing that if he was called up, he could, like his father, take the easy way out and remind them of his colour-blindness to avoid coming face to face with the enemy.

Deakins showed little interest in the whole process, declaring with a certainty that brooked no argument, ‘You don’t need to know how to strip a bren gun when you’re in the intelligence corps.’

By the time the long summer nights began to draw to a close, they were all ready for a holiday before they would return for their final year, at the end of which they would have to face the examiners once again. Within a week of term ending, all three of them had left for their summer break: Giles to join his family at their villa in Tuscany, Harry to Rome with the school’s Arts Appreciation Society, while Deakins entombed himself in Bristol Central library, avoiding contact with any other human beings, despite the fact that he’d already been offered a place at Oxford.

Over the years, Giles had come to accept that if he wanted to see Harry during the holidays, he had to make sure his father didn’t find out what he was up to, otherwise the best-laid schemes of mice and… But in order to achieve this, he often had to get his sister Emma to join in the subterfuge, and she never failed to extract her pound of flesh before agreeing to become his accomplice.

‘If you take the lead over dinner tonight, I’ll follow up,’ said Giles once he’d outlined his latest scheme to her.

‘Sounds like the natural order of things,’ said Emma scornfully.

After the first course had been served, Emma innocently asked her mother if she could possibly take her to the Villa Borghese the following day, as it had been recommended as a must by her art mistress. She was well aware that Mama had already made other plans.

‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ she said, ‘but your father and I are going to lunch with the Hendersons in Arezzo tomorrow. You’re most welcome to join us.’

‘There’s nothing to stop Giles taking you into Rome,’ interjected his father from the other end of the table.

‘Do I have to?’ said Giles, who had just been about to make the same suggestion.

‘Yes, you do,’ replied his father firmly.

‘But what’s the point, Pa? By the time we get there, we’ll have to turn round and come back. It’s hardly worth it.’

‘Not if you were to spend the night at the Plaza Hotel. I’ll call them first thing in the morning, and book a couple of rooms.’

‘Are you sure they’re grown up enough for that?’ asked Mrs Barrington, sounding a little anxious.

‘Giles will be eighteen in a few weeks. It’s time he grew up and took some responsibility.’ Giles bowed his head as if he had given in meekly.

The following morning, a taxi drove him and Emma to the local station just in time to catch the early morning train to Rome.

‘Be sure to take care of your sister,’ were his father’s last words before they left the villa.

‘I will,’ promised Giles as the car drove off.

Several men rose to offer Emma their seat as she entered the carriage, while Giles was left standing for the entire journey. On arrival in Rome, they took a taxi to the Via del Corso, and once they’d booked into their hotel they continued on to the Villa Borghese. Giles was struck by how many young men not much older than himself were in uniform, while almost every pillar and lamp-post they passed displayed a poster of Mussolini.

Once the taxi had dropped them off, they made their way up through the gardens, passing more men in uniform and even more posters of ‘Il Duce’ before they finally reached the palatial Villa Borghese.

Harry had written to tell Giles they would be setting out on their official tour at ten o’clock. He checked his watch – a few minutes past eleven, with luck the tour would be nearly over. He bought two tickets, handed one to Emma, bounded up the steps to the galleria and went in search of the school party. Emma took her time admiring the Bernini statues that dominated the first four rooms, but then she wasn’t in a hurry. Giles went from gallery to gallery until he spotted a group of young men dressed in dark claret jackets and black flannel trousers, who were crowded around a small portrait of an elderly man dressed in a cream silk cassock with a white mitre on his head.

‘There they are,’ he said, but Emma was nowhere to be seen. Not giving his sister another thought, he headed over to the attentive group. The moment he saw her, he quite forgot the reason he had come to Rome.

‘Caravaggio was commissioned to paint this portrait of Pope Paul V in 1605,’ she said, with a slight accent. ‘You will notice that it was not finished, and that is because the artist had to flee from Rome.’

‘Why, miss?’ demanded a young boy in the front row, who was clearly determined to take Deakins’s place at some time in the future.

‘Because he became involved in a drunken brawl, during which he ended up killing a man.’

‘Did they arrest him?’ asked the same boy.

‘No,’ said the tour guide, ‘Caravaggio always managed to move on to the next city before the forces of justice could catch up with him, but in the end the Holy Father decided to grant him a pardon.’

‘Why?’ demanded the same boy.

‘Because he wanted Caravaggio to carry out several more commissions for him. Some of them are among the seventeen works that can still be seen in Rome today.’

At that moment, Harry spotted Giles gazing in awe in the direction of the painting. He left the group and walked across to join him. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ he asked.

‘Long enough to fall in love,’ said Giles, his eyes still fixed on the tour guide.

Harry laughed when he realized it wasn’t the painting Giles was staring at, but the elegant, self-assured young woman who was addressing the boys. ‘I think she’s a bit out of your age group,’ said Harry, ‘and I suspect even your price range.’

‘I’m willing to take that risk,’ said Giles as the guide led her little group into the next room. Giles followed obediently and positioned himself so he had a clear view of her, while the rest of the group studied a statue of Paolina Borghese by Canova, ‘arguably the greatest sculptor of all time’, she said. Giles wasn’t going to disagree with her.

‘Well, that brings us to the end of our tour,’ she announced. ‘But if you have any more questions I will be here for a few more minutes, so don’t hesitate to ask.’

Giles didn’t hesitate.

Harry watched in amusement as his friend strode up to the young Italian woman and began chatting to her as if they were old friends. Even the little boy from the front row didn’t dare to interrupt him. Giles rejoined Harry a few minutes later, a large grin plastered across his face.

‘She’s agreed to have dinner with me tonight.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Harry.

‘But a problem has arisen,’ he added, ignoring his friend’s Doubting Thomas look.

‘More than one, I suspect.’

‘… which can be overcome with your assistance.’

‘You need a chaperone to accompany you,’ suggested Harry, ‘just in case things get out of hand.’

‘No, you ass. I want you to take care of my sister while Caterina introduces me to Rome’s night-life.’

‘Not a hope,’ said Harry. ‘I didn’t come all the way to Rome just to act as your babysitter.’

‘But you’re my best friend,’ pleaded Giles. ‘If you won’t help me, who else can I turn to?’

‘Why don’t you try Paolina Borghese? I doubt if she has any plans for tonight.’

‘All you have to do is take her out for dinner, and make sure she’s in bed by ten.’

‘Forgive me for mentioning it, Giles, but I thought you’d come to Rome to have dinner with me?’

‘I’ll give you a thousand lira if you take her off my hands. And we can still have breakfast at my hotel in the morning.’

‘I’m not that easily bribed.’

‘And,’ said Giles, playing his trump card, ‘I’ll also give you my recording of Caruso singing La Boheme.’

Harry turned to find a young girl standing by his side.

‘By the way,’ said Giles, ‘this is my sister, Emma.’

‘Hello,’ said Harry. Turning back to Giles, he said, ‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’

Harry joined Giles for breakfast at the Palace Hotel the following morning, when his friend greeted him with the same immodest smile he always wore just after he’d scored a century.

‘So, how was Caterina?’ Harry asked, not wanting to hear his reply.

‘Beyond my wildest dreams.’

Harry was about to question him more closely when a waiter appeared by his side. ‘Cappuccino, per favore.’ Then he asked, ‘So how far did she let you go?’

‘All the way,’ said Giles.

Harry’s mouth fell open, but no words came out. ‘Did you…’

‘Did I what?’

‘Did you…’ Harry tried again.

‘Yes?’

‘See her naked?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘The whole body?’

‘Naturally,’ said Giles as a cup of coffee was placed in front of Harry.

‘The bottom half as well as the top?’

‘Everything,’ said Giles. ‘And I mean everything.’

‘Did you touch her breasts?’

‘I licked her nipples actually,’ said Giles, taking a sip of coffee.

‘You did what?’

‘You heard me,’ said Giles.

‘But did you, I mean, did you…’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘How many times?’

‘I lost count,’ said Giles. ‘She was insatiable. Seven, perhaps eight. She just wouldn’t let me get to sleep. I’d still be there now if she hadn’t had to be at the Vatican museum at ten this morning to lecture the next bunch of brats.’

‘But what if she gets pregnant?’ said Harry.

‘Don’t be so naive, Harry. Try to remember she’s an Italian.’ After another sip of coffee, he asked, ‘So, how did my sister behave herself?’

‘The food was excellent, and you owe me your Caruso recording.’

‘That bad? Well, we can’t all be winners.’

Neither of them had noticed Emma enter the room until she was standing by their side. Harry leapt up and offered her his seat. ‘Sorry to leave you,’ he said, ‘but I have to be at the Vatican museum by ten.’

‘Give Caterina my love!’ shouted Giles as Harry almost ran out of the breakfast room.

Giles waited until Harry was out of sight before he asked his sister, ‘So, how did last night go?’

‘Could have been worse,’ she said, picking up a croissant. ‘A bit serious, isn’t he?’

‘You should meet Deakins.’

Emma laughed. ‘Well, at least the food was good. But don’t forget, I now own your gramophone.’

37

GILES LATER DESCRIBED IT as the most memorable night of his life – for all the wrong reasons.

The annual play is one of the major events in the Bristol Grammar School calendar, not least because the city boasts a fine theatre tradition, and 1937 was to prove a vintage year.

The school, like so many others in the country, performed one of Shakespeare’s set texts for the year. The choice had been between Romeo and Juliet and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Dr Paget chose the tragedy rather than the comedy, not least because he had a Romeo and he didn’t have a Bottom.

For the first time in the school’s history, the young ladies of Red Maids’ on the other side of the city were invited to audition for the girls’ parts, but not before several discussions had taken place with Miss Webb, the headmistress, who had insisted on a set of ground rules that would have impressed a mother superior.

The play was to be performed on three consecutive evenings in the last week of term. As always, the Saturday night was sold out first, because former pupils and the parents of the cast wished to attend the closing night.

Giles was standing anxiously in the foyer checking his watch every few moments as he waited impatiently for his parents and younger sister to arrive. He hoped that Harry would give another fine performance, and his father would finally come round to accepting him.

The critic from the Bristol Evening World had described Harry’s performance as ‘mature beyond his years’, but he had saved the highest praise for Juliet, reporting that he had not seen the death scene performed more movingly even at Stratford.

Giles shook hands with Mr Frobisher as he walked into the foyer. His old housemaster introduced his guest, a Mr Holcombe, before they went through to the great hall to take their seats.

A murmur rippled around the audience when Captain Tarrant walked down the centre aisle and took his place in the front row. His recent appointment as a governor of the school had been met with universal approval. As he leant across to have a word with the chairman of the governors, he spotted Maisie Clifton sitting just a few rows behind. He gave her a warm smile, but didn’t recognize the man she was sitting with. The next surprise came when he studied the cast list.

The headmaster and Mrs Barton were among the last members of the audience to enter the great hall. They took their places in the front row alongside Sir Walter Barrington and Captain Tarrant.

Giles was becoming more nervous with each passing minute. He was beginning to wonder if his parents would turn up before the curtain rose.

‘I’m so sorry, Giles,’ said his mother when they finally appeared. ‘It’s my fault, I lost track of time,’ she added as she and Grace hurried into the hall. His father followed a yard behind and raised his eyebrows when he saw his son. Giles didn’t hand him a programme as he wanted it to be a surprise, although he had shared the news with his mother who, like him, hoped her husband would finally treat Harry as if he were a friend of the family, and not an outsider.

The curtain rose only moments after the Barringtons had taken their seats, and a hush of anticipation descended on the packed audience.

When Harry made his first entrance, Giles glanced in his father’s direction. As there didn’t appear to be any immediate reaction, he began to relax for the first time that evening. But this happy state of affairs only lasted until the ballroom scene, when Romeo, and Hugo, saw Juliet for the first time.

Some people in the seats near the Barringtons became irritated by a restless man who was spoiling their enjoyment of the play with his loud whispering and demands to see a programme. They became even more annoyed after Romeo said, ‘Is she not Capulet’s daughter?’ at which point Hugo Barrington stood up and barged along the row, not caring whose feet he trod on. He then marched down the centre aisle, pushed his way through the swing doors and disappeared into the night. It was some time before Romeo fully regained his composure.

Sir Walter tried to give the impression he hadn’t noticed what was going on behind him, and although Captain Tarrant frowned, his eyes never left the stage. Had he turned round, he would have seen Mrs Clifton was ignoring Barrington’s unscripted exit as she concentrated on every word the two young lovers had to say.

During the interval, Giles went in search of his father but couldn’t find him. He checked the car park, but there was no sign of the Bugatti. When he returned to the foyer, he saw his grandfather bending down and whispering in his mother’s ear.

‘Has Hugo gone completely mad?’ asked Sir Walter.

‘No, he’s sane enough,’ said Elizabeth, making no attempt to hide her anger.

‘Then what in heaven’s name does he think he’s up to?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Could it possibly have something to do with the Clifton boy?’

She would have replied if Jack Tarrant hadn’t walked across to join them.

‘Your daughter has a remarkable talent, Elizabeth,’ he said after kissing her hand, ‘as well as the advantage of inheriting your beauty.’

‘And you’re an old flatterer, Jack,’ she said, before adding, ‘I don’t think you’ve met my son, Giles.’

‘Good evening, sir,’ said Giles. ‘It’s a great honour to meet you. May I congratulate you on your recent appointment.’

‘Thank you, young man,’ said Tarrant. ‘And how do you feel about your friend’s performance?’

‘Remarkable, but did you know-’

‘Good evening, Mrs Barrington.’

‘Good evening, headmaster.’

‘I must be joining a long queue of those who wish to add their…’

Giles watched as Captain Tarrant slipped away to join Harry’s mother, and wondered how they knew each other.

‘How lovely to see you, Captain Tarrant.’

‘And you, Mrs Clifton, and how glamorous you’re looking tonight. If Cary Grant had known that such beauty existed in Bristol, he would never have deserted us for Hollywood.’ He then lowered his voice. ‘Did you have any idea that Emma Barrington was playing Juliet?’

‘No, Harry didn’t mention it to me,’ said Maisie. ‘But then, why should he?’

‘Let’s hope that the affection they are displaying for one another on stage is nothing more than good acting, because if it’s how they really feel about each other, we may have an even bigger problem on our hands.’ He looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. ‘I presume you still haven’t said anything to Harry?’

‘Not a word,’ said Maisie. ‘And from Barrington’s ill-mannered behaviour it seems he was also taken by surprise.’

‘Good evening, Captain Tarrant,’ said Miss Monday, touching Jack’s arm. Miss Tilly was by her side. ‘How good of you to come all the way down from London to see your protégé.’

‘My dear Miss Monday,’ said Tarrant, ‘Harry’s every bit as much your protégé and he’ll be so pleased that you travelled all the way up from Cornwall to see his performance.’ Miss Monday beamed, as a bell sounded to indicate the audience should return to their seats.

Once everyone had settled back in their places, the curtain rose for the second half, although one seat in the sixth row remained conspicuously empty. The death scene brought tears to the eyes of some who had never shed a tear in public, while Miss Monday hadn’t wept that much since Harry’s voice had broken.

The moment the final curtain fell, the audience rose as one. Harry and Emma were greeted by a storm of applause as they walked to the front of the stage, holding hands, and grown men, who rarely showed their feelings, cheered.

When they turned to bow to each other, Mrs Barrington smiled, and blushed. ‘Good heavens, they weren’t acting,’ she said, loud enough for Giles to hear. The same thought had also crossed the minds of Maisie Clifton and Jack Tarrant long before the actors took their final bow.

Mrs Barrington, Giles and Grace went backstage to find Romeo and Juliet still holding hands as people queued up to lavish praise on them.

‘You were great,’ said Giles, slapping his friend on the back.

‘I was all right,’ said Harry, ‘but Emma was magnificent.’

‘So when did all this happen?’ he whispered.

‘It began in Rome,’ admitted Harry with an impish grin.

‘And to think I sacrificed my Caruso recording, not to mention my gramophone, to bring you two together.’

‘As well as paying for our first dinner date.’

‘Where’s Papa?’ asked Emma, looking around.

Grace was about to tell her sister what had happened when Captain Tarrant appeared.

‘Congratulations, my boy,’ he said. ‘You were quite splendid.’

‘Thank you sir,’ said Harry, ‘but I don’t think you’ve met the real star of the show.’

‘No, but let me assure you, young lady, if I was forty years younger, I’d see off any of my rivals.’

‘You don’t have any rivals for my affection,’ said Emma. ‘Harry never stops telling me how much you’ve done for him.’

‘That’s a two-way street,’ said Jack as Harry spotted his mother and threw his arms around her.

‘I’m so proud of you,’ said Maisie.

‘Thank you, Mum. But let me introduce you to Emma Barrington,’ he said, placing an arm around Emma’s waist.

‘Now I know why your son is so good-looking,’ said Emma as she shook Harry’s mother by the hand. ‘May I introduce my mother,’ she added.

It was a meeting Maisie had thought about for many years, but this was not a scenario that had ever crossed her mind. She was apprehensive as she shook hands with Elizabeth Barring-ton, but was greeted with such a friendly smile that it quickly became clear she was unaware of any possible connection between them.

‘And this is Mr Atkins,’ said Maisie, introducing the man who had been sitting beside her during the performance.

Harry had never come across Mr Atkins before. Looking at his mother’s fur coat, he wondered if Atkins was the reason he now had three pairs of shoes.

He was about to speak to Mr Atkins, when he was interrupted by Dr Paget, who was keen to introduce him to Professor Henry Wyld. Harry recognized the name at once.

‘I hear that you’re hoping to come up to Oxford to read English,’ said Wyld.

‘Only if I can be taught by you, sir.’

‘I see that Romeo’s charm has not been left behind on the stage.’

‘And this is Emma Barrington, sir.’

Oxford’s Merton Professor of English Language and Literature gave a slight bow. ‘You were quite magnificent, young lady.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Emma. ‘I am also hoping to be taught by you,’ she added. ‘I’ve applied to Somerville for next year.’

Jack Tarrant glanced at Mrs Clifton, and couldn’t miss the unmasked horror in her eyes.

‘Grandfather,’ said Giles as the chairman of the governors joined them. ‘I don’t think you know my friend, Harry Clifton.’

Sir Walter shook Harry warmly by the hand, before throwing his arms around his granddaughter. ‘You two made an old man proud,’ he said.

It was becoming painfully clear to Jack and Maisie that the two ‘star-crossed lovers’ had no idea of the problems they had set in motion.

Sir Walter ordered his chauffeur to drive Mrs Barrington and the children back to the Manor House. Despite Emma’s triumph, her mother made no attempt to hide her feelings as the car made its way towards Chew Valley. As they drove through the gates and up to the house, Giles noticed that some lights were still on in the drawing room.

Once the chauffeur had dropped them off, Elizabeth told Giles, Emma and Grace to go to bed, in a tone of voice none of them had heard for many years, while she headed for the drawing room. Giles and Emma reluctantly climbed the wide staircase but sat down on the top step the moment their mother was out of sight, while Grace obediently went to her room. Giles even wondered if his mother had left the door open on purpose.

When Elizabeth entered the room, her husband didn’t bother to stand up. She noticed a half empty bottle of whisky and a tumbler on the table by his side.

‘No doubt you have some explanation for your unforgivable behaviour?’

‘I don’t have to explain anything I do to you.’

‘Emma somehow managed to rise above your appalling behaviour tonight.’

Barrington poured himself another tumbler of whisky and took a gulp. ‘I have arranged for Emma to be removed from Red Maids immediately. Next term she will be enrolled at a school far enough away to ensure she never sees that boy again.’

On the stairs, Emma burst into tears. Giles wrapped an arm around her.

‘What can Harry Clifton possibly have done to make you behave in such a shameful way?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Of course it’s my business,’ said Elizabeth, trying to remain calm. ‘We are discussing our daughter and your son’s closest friend. If Emma has fallen in love with Harry, and I suspect she has, I can’t think of a nicer or more decent young man for her to lose her heart to.’

‘Harry Clifton is the son of a whore. That’s why her husband left her. And I repeat, Emma will never be allowed to come in contact with the little bastard again.’

‘I’m going to bed before I lose my temper,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Don’t even think of joining me in your present state.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of joining you in any state,’ said Barring-ton, pouring himself another whisky. ‘You haven’t given me any pleasure in the bedroom for as long as I can remember.’

Emma leapt up and ran to her room, locking the door behind her. Giles didn’t move.

‘You are obviously drunk,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We’ll discuss this in the morning, when you’re sober.’

‘There will be nothing to discuss in the morning,’ slurred Barrington as his wife left the room. A moment later his head fell back on the cushion and he began to snore.

When Jenkins pulled back the shutters in the drawing room just before eight the following morning he showed no surprise when he found his master slumped in an armchair, sound asleep and still wearing his dinner jacket.

The morning sunlight caused Barrington to stir. He blinked, and peered at the butler before he checked his watch.

‘There will be a car coming to pick up Miss Emma in about an hour’s time, Jenkins, so be sure she’s packed and ready.’

‘Miss Emma is not here, sir.’

‘What? Then where is she?’ demanded Barrington as he tried to stand up, but wobbled unsteadily for a moment before falling back into the chair.

‘I have no idea, sir. She and Mrs Barrington left the house just after midnight.’

38

‘WHERE DO YOU THINK they’ve gone?’ asked Harry, once Giles had described what happened after he had arrived back at the Manor House.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Giles. ‘I was asleep when they left the house. All I could get out of Jenkins was that a taxi had taken them to the station just after midnight.’

‘And you say your father was drunk when you returned home last night?’

‘As a skunk, and he hadn’t sobered up by the time I came down for breakfast this morning. He was shouting and screaming at anyone who crossed his path. He even tried to blame me for everything. That was when I decided to go and stay with my grandparents.’

‘Do you think your grandfather might know where they are?’

‘I don’t think so, although he didn’t seem that surprised when I told him what had happened. Grandma said I could stay with them for as long as I wanted to.’

‘They can’t be in Bristol,’ said Harry, ‘if the taxi took them to the station.’

‘They could be anywhere by now,’ said Giles.

Neither of them spoke again for some time, until Harry suggested, ‘Your villa in Tuscany perhaps?’

‘Unlikely,’ said Giles. ‘That’s the first place Papa would think of, so they wouldn’t be safe there for long.’

‘So it has to be somewhere your father would think twice about before going after them.’ Both boys fell silent again, until Harry said, ‘I can think of someone who might know where they are.’

‘And who’s that?’

‘Old Jack,’ said Harry, who still couldn’t quite bring himself to call him Captain Tarrant. ‘I know he’s become a friend of your mother’s, and she certainly trusts him.’

‘Do you know where he might be at the moment?’

‘Anyone who reads The Times knows that,’ said Harry scornfully.

Giles punched his friend on the arm. ‘So where is he, clever clogs?’

‘He’ll be at his office in London. Soho Square, if I remember correctly.’

‘I’ve always wanted an excuse to spend a day in London,’ said Giles. ‘It’s just a pity I’ve left all my money back at the house.’

‘Not a problem,’ said Harry. ‘I’m flush. That Atkins fellow gave me a fiver, although he did say I was to spend it on books.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Giles, ‘I can think of an alternative plan.’

‘Like what?’ asked Harry, looking hopeful.

‘We can just sit around and wait for Emma to write to you.’

It was Harry’s turn to punch his friend. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘But we’d better get going before anyone finds out what we’re up to.’

‘I’m not in the habit of travelling third class,’ said Giles as the train pulled out of Temple Meads.

‘Well, you’d better get used to it while I’m paying,’ said Harry.

‘So tell me, Harry, what’s your friend Captain Tarrant up to? I know the government has appointed him Director of the Citizens Displacement Unit, which sounds pretty impressive, but I’m not sure what he actually does.’

‘What it says,’ said Harry. ‘He’s responsible for finding accommodation for refugees, in particular those families who are escaping the tyranny of Nazi Germany. He says he’s carrying on his father’s work.’

‘Class act, your friend Captain Tarrant.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ said Harry.

‘Tickets, please.’

The two boys spent most of the journey trying to work out where Emma and Mrs Barrington could possibly be, but by the time the train pulled into Paddington Station, they still hadn’t come to any firm conclusions.

They took the tube to Leicester Square, emerged into the sunlight and went in search of Soho Square. As they made their way through the West End, Giles became so distracted by the bright neon lights and shop windows full of goods he’d never seen before that Harry occasionally had to remind him why they’d actually come to London.

When they reached Soho Square, neither of them could have missed the steady flow of bedraggled men, women and children, heads bowed, shuffling in and out of a vast building on the far side of the square.

The two young men dressed in blazers, grey flannels and ties looked strangely incongruous as they entered the building and followed the arrows directing them to the third floor. Several of the refugees stood to one side to allow them to pass, assuming they must be there on official business.

Giles and Harry joined the long queue outside the director’s office, and might have been there for the rest of the day if a secretary had not come out and spotted them. She walked straight up to Harry and asked if he had come to see Captain Tarrant.

‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘He’s an old friend.’

‘I know,’ said the woman. ‘I recognized you immediately.’

‘How?’ asked Harry.

‘He has a photograph of you on his desk,’ she said. ‘Follow me. Captain Tarrant will be delighted to see you.’

Old Jack’s face lit up when the two boys – he should stop thinking of them as boys, they were now young men – walked into his office. ‘It’s good to see you both,’ he said, jumping up from behind his desk to greet them. ‘So who are you running away from this time?’ he added with a smile.

‘My father,’ said Giles quietly.

Old Jack crossed the room, closed the door and sat the two young men down on an uncomfortable sofa. He drew up a chair and listened carefully as they told him everything that had happened since they’d seen him at the play the previous evening.

‘I saw your father leave the theatre, of course,’ said Old Jack, ‘but it would never have crossed my mind he could treat your mother and sister quite so appallingly.’

‘Do you have any idea where they might be, sir?’ asked Giles.

‘No. But if I had to guess, I’d say they were staying with your grandfather.’

‘No, sir, I spent the morning with Grandpa, and even he doesn’t know where they are.’

‘I didn’t say which grandfather,’ said Jack.

‘Lord Harvey?’ said Harry.

‘That would be my bet,’ said Jack. ‘They’d feel safe with him, and confident that Barrington would think twice before going after them.’

‘But Grandpa has at least three homes that I’m aware of,’ said Giles. ‘So I wouldn’t know where to begin looking.’

‘How stupid of me,’ said Harry. ‘I know exactly where he is.’

‘You do?’ said Giles. ‘Where?’

‘At his country estate in Scotland.’

‘You sound very certain,’ said Jack.

‘Only because last week he dropped Emma a line to explain why he wouldn’t be able to attend the school play. It seems he always spends December and January in Scotland. But I’m damned if I can remember the address.’

‘Mulgelrie Castle, near Mulgelrie, Highlands,’ said Giles.

‘Most impressive,’ said Jack.

‘Not really, sir. It’s just years of Mama making me write thank-you letters to all my relations on Boxing Day. But as I’ve never been to Scotland, I haven’t got a clue where it is.’

Old Jack got up and removed a large atlas from the bookshelf behind his desk. He looked up Mulgelrie in the index, flicked over several pages and then laid it on the desk in front of him. Running a finger from London to Scotland, he said, ‘You’ll have to take the overnight sleeper to Edinburgh, and then change to a local train for Mulgelrie.’

‘I don’t think we’ve got enough money left for that,’ said Harry, checking his wallet.

‘Then I’ll have to issue you both with rail warrants, won’t I?’ said Jack. He opened his desk drawer, pulled out a large buff-coloured pad and tore off two forms. He filled them in, signed and stamped them. ‘After all,’ he added, ‘you are clearly stateless refugees in search of a home.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Giles.

‘One last word of advice,’ said Old Jack as he rose from behind his desk. ‘Hugo Barrington is not a man who likes to be crossed, and while I’m fairly confident he won’t do anything to annoy Lord Harvey, that doesn’t necessarily apply to you, Harry. So be on your guard until you’re safely inside Mulgelrie Castle. Should you at any time come across a man with a limp,’ he added, ‘be wary of him. He works for Giles’s father. He’s clever and resourceful, but more important, he has no allegiance to anyone except his paymaster.’

39

Giles and Harry were directed to another third-class carriage, but they were both so tired that despite the frequent opening and closing of carriage doors during the night, the clattering of the wheels over points and the regular blast of the train’s whistle, they slept soundly.

Giles woke with a start as the train pulled into Newcastle a few minutes before six. He looked out of the window to be greeted by a dull grey day and the sight of lines of soldiers waiting to board the train. A sergeant saluted a second lieutenant who didn’t look much older than Giles and asked, ‘Permission to board the train, sir?’ The young man returned his salute and replied in a softer voice, ‘Carry on, sergeant,’ and the soldiers began to file on to the train.

The ever-present threat of war, and the question of whether he and Harry would be in uniform before they had the chance to go up to Oxford, was never far from Giles’s mind. His uncle Nicholas, whom he’d never met, an officer just like the young man on the platform, had led a platoon of soldiers and been cut down at Ypres. Giles wondered what would be the names of the battlefields that would be commemorated with poppies every year if there was to be another Great War to end all wars.

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed a passing reflection in the carriage window. He swung round, but the figure was no longer there. Had Captain Tarrant’s warning caused him to overreact, or was it just a coincidence?

Giles looked across at Harry, who was still sound asleep, but then he probably hadn’t slept for the past two nights. As the train shunted into Berwick-on-Tweed, Giles noticed the same man walking past their compartment. Just a glance, and he was gone; no longer a coincidence. Was he checking to see which station they got off at?

Harry finally woke, blinked and stretched his arms. ‘I’m starving,’ he said.

Giles leant over and whispered, ‘I think there’s someone on this train who’s following us.’

‘What makes you say that?’ asked Harry, suddenly wide awake.

‘I’ve seen the same man pass our carriage once too often.’

‘Tickets please!’

Giles and Harry handed their warrants to the ticket collector. ‘How long does this train stop at each station?’ he asked once the man had clipped them.

‘Now, that all depends on whether we’re runnin’ on time or not,’ he replied a little wearily, ‘but never less than four minutes is the company regulation.’

‘What is the next station?’ asked Giles.

‘Dunbar. We should be there in about thirty minutes. But you’ve both got warrants for Mulgelrie,’ he added before moving on to the next compartment.

‘What was all that about?’ asked Harry.

‘I’m trying to find out if we’re being followed,’ said Giles, ‘and the next part of my plan will involve you.’

‘What role will I be playing this time?’ said Harry, sitting on the edge of his seat.

‘Certainly not Romeo,’ said Giles. ‘When the train stops at Dunbar, I want you to get off while I watch if anyone follows you. Once you’re on the platform, walk quickly towards the ticket barrier, then turn back, go into the waiting room and buy a cup of tea. Don’t forget you’ve only got four minutes to be back on board before the train sets off again. And whatever you do, don’t look back, or he’ll know we’re on to him.’

‘But if there is someone following us, surely he’ll be more interested in you than me?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Giles, ‘and certainly not if Captain Tarrant is right, because I have a feeling your friend knows more than he’s willing to admit.’

‘That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence,’ said Harry.

Half an hour later, the train shuddered to a halt in Dunbar. Harry opened the carriage door, stepped out on to the platform and headed for the exit.

Giles caught no more than a glimpse of the man as he hurried after Harry.

‘Got you,’ Giles said, then leant back and closed his eyes, confident that once the man realized Harry had only got off to buy a cup of tea, he would look in his direction just to make sure he hadn’t also left the carriage.

Giles opened his eyes again when Harry returned to the compartment holding a bar of chocolate.

‘Well,’ said Harry, ‘did you spot anyone?’

‘Sure did,’ said Giles. ‘In fact, he’s just getting back on the train.’

‘What does he look like?’ asked Harry, trying not to sound anxious.

‘I only caught a glimpse of him,’ said Giles, ‘but I’d say he’s around forty, a little over six foot, smartly dressed, with very short hair. The one thing you can’t miss is his limp.’

‘So now we know what we’re up against, Sherlock, what next?’

‘First, Watson, it’s important to remember that we have several things going for us.’

‘I can’t think of one,’ said Harry.

‘Well, for a start, we know we’re being followed, but he doesn’t know we know. We also know where we’re going, which he clearly doesn’t. We’re also fit, and less than half his age. And with that limp, he won’t be able to move all that quickly.’

‘You’re rather good at this,’ said Harry.

‘I do have a built-in advantage,’ said Giles. ‘I am my father’s son.’

By the time the train pulled into Edinburgh Waverley, Giles had gone over his plan with Harry a dozen times. They stepped out of the carriage and walked slowly down the platform towards the barrier.

‘Don’t even think about looking back,’ said Giles as he produced his rail warrant, then headed towards a line of taxis.

‘The Royal Hotel,’ said Giles to the cabbie. ‘And can you let me know if another taxi follows us?’ he added before joining Harry in the back.

‘Right you are,’ said the cabbie, as he eased off the rank and joined the traffic.

‘How do you know there’s a Royal Hotel in Edinburgh?’ asked Harry.

‘There’s a Royal Hotel in every city,’ said Giles.

A few minutes later the cabbie said, ‘I cannae be sure, but the next cab off the rank isn’t far behind us.’

‘Good,’ said Giles. ‘How much is the fare to the Royal?’

‘Two shillings, sir.’

‘I’ll give you four if you can lose him.’

The driver immediately put his foot down on the accelerator, causing both of his passengers to be thrown back into their seats. Giles recovered quickly and looked through the back window to see the taxi behind them had also speeded up. They had gained sixty or seventy yards, but Giles realized that advantage wouldn’t last for long.

‘Cabbie, take the next turning on the left and then slow down for a moment. After we jump out, I want you to continue on to the Royal and don’t stop until you reach the hotel.’ An outstretched arm appeared. Harry placed two florins into the palm.

‘When I jump out,’ said Giles, ‘just follow me, and then do exactly as I do.’ Harry nodded.

The taxi swung round the corner and slowed down for a moment just as Giles opened the door. He leapt out on to the pavement, toppled over, quickly picked himself up, then dashed into the nearest shop, throwing himself on the floor. Harry followed only seconds later, slammed the door behind him and was lying by his friend’s side just as the second cab shot around the corner.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked a sales assistant, hands on hips, looking down at the two young men lying prostrate on the ground.

‘You already have,’ said Giles, rising to his feet and giving her a warm smile. He brushed himself down, said ‘Thank you,’ and left the shop without another word.

When Harry stood up, he came face to face with a slim-waisted mannequin wearing only a corset. He turned bright red, ran out of the shop and joined Giles on the pavement.

‘I don’t expect the man with the limp will be booking into the Royal for the night,’ said Giles, ‘so we’d better get moving.’

‘Agreed,’ said Harry as Giles flagged down another cab. ‘Waverley station,’ he said before climbing into the back.

‘Where did you learn how to do all that?’ asked Harry in admiration, as they headed back in the direction of the station.

‘You know, Harry, you should read a little less Joseph Conrad and a little more John Buchan if you want to know how to travel in Scotland while being pursued by a fiendish foe.’

The journey to Mulgelrie was considerably slower and far less exciting than the one to Edinburgh had been, and there was certainly no sign of any man with a limp. When the engine finally dragged its four carriages and two passengers into the little station, the sun had already disappeared behind the highest mountain. The station master was standing by the exit waiting to check their tickets when they got off the last train that day.

‘Any hope of getting a taxi?’ Giles asked as they handed over their warrants.

‘No, sir,’ replied the station master. ‘Jock goes home for tea around six o’clock, and he’ll nae be back for another hour.’

Giles thought twice about explaining the logic of Jock’s actions to the station master, before he asked, ‘Then perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell us how we can get to Mulgelrie Castle.’

‘You’ll have to walk,’ said the station master helpfully.

‘And which direction might it be?’ asked Giles, trying not to sound exasperated.

‘It’s about three miles up yonder,’ the man said, pointing up the hill. ‘You cannae miss it.’

‘Up yonder’ turned out to be the only accurate piece of information the station master had offered, because after the two of them had been walking for over an hour, it was pitch black and there was still no sign of any castle.

Giles was beginning to wonder if they were going to have to spend their first night in the Highlands sleeping in a field with only a flock of sheep to keep them company, when Harry shouted, ‘There it is!’

Giles stared through the misty gloom and although he still couldn’t quite make out the outline of a castle, his spirits were lifted by flickering lights coming from several windows. They trudged on until they reached a massive pair of wrought-iron gates which had not been locked. As they made their way up the long driveway Giles could hear barking, but he couldn’t see any dogs. After about another mile they came to a bridge spanning a moat, and on the far side, a heavy oak door that didn’t look as if it welcomed strangers.

‘Leave the talking to me,’ said Giles as they staggered across the bridge and came to a halt outside the door.

Giles banged three times with the side of his fist, and within moments the door was pulled open to reveal a giant of a man dressed in a kilt with a dark lovat jacket, white shirt and white bow tie.

The head steward looked down on the weary, bedraggled objects that stood in front of him. ‘Good evening, Mr Giles,’ he said, although Giles had never set eyes on the man before. ‘His lordship has been expecting you for some time, and wondered if you would care to join him for dinner?’

40

LORD HARVEY handed the telegram to Giles and chuckled. ‘Sent by our mutual friend, Captain Tarrant. He only turned out to be wrong about what time you’d arrive.’

‘We had to walk all the way from the station,’ protested Giles between mouthfuls.

‘Yes, I did consider sending the car to meet you off the last train,’ said Lord Harvey, ‘but there’s nothing like a bracing Highland walk to work up a good appetite.’

Harry smiled. He’d hardly spoken since they’d come down for dinner, and as Emma had been placed at the far end of the table he had to satisfy himself with the occasional wistful gaze, wondering if they’d ever be left alone together.

The first course was a thick Highland broth, which Harry finished a little too quickly, but when Giles was served a second helping, he also allowed his bowl to be refilled. Harry would have asked for a third helping if everyone else hadn’t continued making polite conversation while they waited for him and Giles to finish so that the main course could be served.

‘There’s no need for either of you to be anxious about anyone wondering where you are,’ said Lord Harvey, ‘because I’ve already sent telegrams to Sir Walter and to Mrs Clifton, to assure them you are both safe and well. I didn’t bother to get in touch with your father, Giles,’ he added without further comment. Giles glanced across the table to see his mother purse her lips.

Moments later the dining room doors swung open and several liveried servants entered and whisked away the soup bowls. Three more servants followed, carrying silver salvers on which rested what looked to Harry like six small chickens.

‘I do hope you like grouse, Mr Clifton,’ said Lord Harvey, the first person ever to call him Mr, as a bird was placed in front of him. ‘I shot these myself.’

Harry couldn’t think of an appropriate response. He watched as Giles picked up his knife and fork and began to slice tiny pieces off the bird, bringing back memories of their first meal together at St Bede’s. By the time the plates were cleared, Harry had only managed about three morsels and wondered how old he would have to be before he could say, ‘No, thank you, I’d prefer another bowl of soup.’

Things improved a little when a large plate of different fruits, some of which Harry had never seen before, was placed in the centre of the table. He would have liked to ask his host their names and the countries they originated from, but memories of his first banana came to mind, when he had definitely slipped. He satisfied himself with following Giles’s lead, watching carefully to see which had to be peeled, which had to be cut and which you could simply take a bite out of.

When he’d finished, a servant appeared and placed a bowl of water by the side of his plate. He was just about to pick it up and drink it, when he saw Lady Harvey place her fingers in hers and moments later a servant passed her a linen napkin so she could dry her hands. Harry dipped his fingers in the water and, like magic, a napkin immediately appeared.

After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing room. Harry wanted to join them so he could at last catch up with Emma and tell her everything that had happened since she’d poisoned herself. But no sooner had she left the room than Lord Harvey sat back down, a sign for the under-butler to offer his lordship a cigar while another servant poured him a large glass of Cognac.

Once he’d taken a sip, he nodded and glasses were placed in front of Giles and Harry. The butler closed the humidor, before filling their glasses with brandy.

‘Well,’ said Lord Harvey after two or three luxuriant puffs. ‘Am I to understand that you are both hoping to go up to Oxford?’

‘Harry’s a safe bet,’ said Giles. ‘But I’ll need to score a couple of centuries during the summer, and preferably one at Lord’s if the examiners are going to overlook my more obvious deficiencies.’

‘Giles is being modest, sir,’ said Harry. ‘He has just as good a chance of being offered a place as I do. After all, he’s not only the captain of cricket, he’s also school captain.’

‘Well, if you are successful, I can assure you that you’ll experience three of the happiest years of your life. That’s assuming Herr Hitler isn’t foolish enough to insist on a replay of the last war in the vain hope that he’ll be able to reverse the result.’

The three of them raised their glasses and Harry took his first sip of brandy. He didn’t like the taste and was wondering if it would be thought discourteous if he didn’t finish it, when Lord Harvey came to his rescue.

‘Perhaps it’s time for us to join the ladies,’ he said, draining his glass. He put his cigar in an ashtray, rose from his place and marched out of the dining room, not waiting for a second opinion. The two young men followed him across the hall and into the drawing room.

Lord Harvey took the seat next to Elizabeth, while Giles winked at Harry and went across to join his grandmother. Harry sat next to Emma on the sofa.

‘How gallant of you to come all this way, Harry,’ she said, touching his hand.

‘I’m so sorry about what happened after the play. I only hope I wasn’t responsible for causing the problem in the first place.’

‘How could you possibly be responsible, Harry? You’ve never done anything that could have caused my father to speak to Mama that way.’

‘But it’s no secret that your father doesn’t think we should be together, even on stage.’

‘Let’s talk about it tomorrow morning,’ Emma whispered. ‘We can go for a long walk in the hills and be on our own, with only the Highland cattle to overhear us.’

‘I’ll look forward to that,’ said Harry. He would have liked to hold her hand, but there were too many eyes continually glancing in their direction.

‘You two young men must be very tired after such an exhausting journey,’ said Lady Harvey. ‘Why don’t you both go off to bed, and we’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.’

Harry didn’t want to go to bed; he wanted to stay with Emma and try to find out if she’d discovered why her father was so opposed to them being together. But Giles rose immediately, kissed his grandmother and mother on the cheek and said goodnight, leaving Harry with no choice but to join him. He leaned across and kissed Emma on the cheek, thanked his host for a wonderful evening and followed Giles out of the room.

As they walked down the hall, Harry paused to admire a painting of a bowl of fruit by an artist called Peploe when Emma came dashing out of the drawing room, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him gently on the lips.

Giles continued up the stairs as if he hadn’t noticed, while Harry kept his eyes on the drawing-room door. Emma broke away when she heard it opening behind her.

‘Good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow,’ she whispered.

‘That I shall say good night till it be morrow,’ Harry replied.

‘Where are you two off to?’ asked Elizabeth Barrington as she came out of the breakfast room.

‘We’re going to climb Crag Cowen,’ said Emma. ‘Don’t wait up, because you may never see us again.’

Her mother laughed. ‘Then make sure you wrap up well, because even the sheep catch cold in the Highlands.’ She waited until Harry had closed the door behind them before she added, ‘Giles, your grandfather wishes to see us in his study at ten o’clock.’ It sounded to Giles more like a command than a request.

‘Yes, Mother,’ he said, before looking through the window and watching Harry and Emma walking down the path towards Crag Cowen. They’d only gone a few yards before Emma took Harry’s hand. Giles smiled as they turned the corner and disappeared behind a row of pines.

When the clock in the hall began to strike, Giles had to walk quickly along the corridor to make sure he reached his grandfather’s study before the tenth chime. His grandparents and his mother stopped talking the moment he entered the room. They had clearly been waiting for him.

‘Have a seat, dear boy,’ said his grandfather.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Giles replied, and sat down on a chair between his mother and his grandmother.

‘I suppose this would best be described as a council of war,’ said Lord Harvey, looking up from his high-backed leather chair as if he was addressing a board meeting. ‘I’ll try to bring everyone up to date before we decide what the best course of action should be.’ Giles was flattered that his grandfather now considered him to be a full member of the family board.

‘I telephoned Walter last night. He was just as appalled by Hugo’s conduct at the play as I was when Elizabeth told me about it, although I had to fill him in on what happened when she returned to the Manor House.’ Giles’s mother bowed her head, but didn’t interrupt. ‘I went on to tell him that I’d had a long talk with my daughter, and that we felt there were only two possible courses of action.’

Giles sat back in his chair, but didn’t relax.

‘I left Walter in no doubt that if Elizabeth were even to consider returning to the Manor House, it would be necessary for Hugo to make several concessions. First, he must apologize unequivocally for his appalling behaviour.’

Giles’s grandmother nodded in agreement.

‘Second, he will never again, and I repeated, never again, suggest that Emma should be taken out of her school, and he will in future fully support her efforts to gain a place at Oxford. God knows it’s hard enough for a young man to make the grade nowadays, but it’s damn nigh impossible for a woman.

‘My third and most important demand, and on this I was quite adamant, is that he explain to us all why he continues to treat Harry Clifton so appallingly. I suspect it might have something to do with Harry’s uncle stealing from Hugo. The sins of the father are one thing, but an uncle… I refuse to accept, as he has so often claimed to Elizabeth, that he considers Clifton unworthy to mix with his children simply because his father was a docker and his mother is a waitress. Perhaps Hugo has forgotten that my grandfather was a jobbing clerk in a firm of wine merchants, while his own grandfather left school at the age of twelve and started out as a docker like young Clifton’s father, and just in case anyone has forgotten, I’m the first Lord Harvey in this family, and you don’t get much more nouveau than that.’

Giles wanted to cheer.

‘Now, none of us can have failed to notice,’ continued Lord Harvey, ‘how Emma and Harry feel about each other, which is hardly surprising as they are two exceptional young people. If, in the fullness of time, their relationship blossoms, no one would be more delighted than Victoria and I. On that subject, Walter was in full agreement with me.’

Giles smiled. He liked the idea of Harry becoming a member of the family, even though he didn’t believe his father would ever accept it.

‘I told Walter,’ continued his grandfather, ‘that if Hugo felt unable to abide by these terms, Elizabeth would be left with no choice but to institute divorce proceedings immediately. I would also have to resign from the board of Barrington’s, and make public my reasons for doing so.’

Giles was saddened by this, as he knew there had never been a divorce in either family.

‘Walter kindly agreed to get back to me in the next few days, after he’s had a chance to talk things over with his son, but he did tell me that Hugo has already promised to stop drinking, and that he appears to be genuinely contrite. Let me finish by reminding you that this is a family matter and should not in any circumstances be discussed with outsiders. We must hope that this proves to be nothing more than an unfortunate incident that will soon be forgotten.’

The following morning, Giles’s father telephoned and asked to speak to him. He apologized profusely, saying how sorry he was to have blamed Giles for something that was entirely his own fault. He begged Giles to do everything in his power to convince his mother and Emma to return to Gloucestershire so they could all spend Christmas together at the Manor House. He also hoped that, as his father-in-law had suggested, the incident would be quickly forgotten. He made no mention of Harry Clifton.

41

ONCE THEY’D DISEMBARKED from the train at Temple Meads, Giles and his mother waited in the car while Emma said goodbye to Harry.

‘They’ve just spent the last nine days together,’ said Giles. ‘Have they forgotten that they’ll be seeing each other again tomorrow?’

‘And probably the next day,’ said Giles’s mother. ‘But try not to forget, unlikely though it might seem, that it could even happen to you one day.’

Emma eventually joined them, but when they drove off she continued to look out of the back window and didn’t stop waving until Harry was out of sight.

Giles was keen to get home and finally discover what it was that Harry could have done to make his father treat him so cruelly over the years. Surely it couldn’t be worse than stealing from the tuck shop or deliberately failing your exams. He’d considered a dozen possibilities but none of them made any sense. Now, at last, he hoped he was going to find out the truth. He glanced across at his mother. Although she rarely displayed her emotions, she was clearly becoming more and more agitated as they approached Chew Valley.

Giles’s father was standing on the top step waiting to greet them when the car drew up outside the house; no sign of Jenkins. He apologized immediately to Elizabeth and then the children, before telling them how much he’d missed them.

‘Tea is set up in the drawing room,’ he said. ‘Please join me there as soon as you’re ready.’

Giles was the first back downstairs and he sat uneasily in a chair opposite his father. While they waited for his mother and Emma to join them, his father confined himself to asking Giles how he’d enjoyed Scotland, and to explain that Nanny had taken Grace into Bristol to buy her school uniform. At no time did he mention Harry. When Giles’s mother and sister entered the room a few minutes later, his father immediately stood up. Once they were seated, he poured them all a cup of tea. He clearly didn’t want any servants to overhear what he was about to reveal.

Once everyone had settled, Giles’s father sat on the edge of his seat and began to speak softly.

‘Let me begin by saying to all three of you how unacceptable my behaviour was on the night of what everyone has described as Emma’s great triumph. That your father was not there for the curtain call was bad enough, Emma,’ he said, looking directly at his daughter, ‘but the way I treated your mother when you returned home that night was quite unforgivable, and I realize it may take some time before such a deep wound can be healed.’

Hugo Barrington placed his head in his hands and Giles noticed that he was trembling. He eventually steadied himself.

‘You have all, for different reasons, asked to know why I have treated Harry Clifton so badly over the years. It is true that I cannot bear to be in his presence, but the fault is entirely of my own making. When you learn the reason, you might begin to understand, and possibly even sympathize.’

Giles glanced at his mother, who was sitting stiffly in her chair. There was no way of telling how she felt.

‘Many years ago,’ continued Barrington, ‘when I first became managing director of the company, I convinced the board that we should branch out into shipbuilding, despite my father’s reservations. I signed a contract with a Canadian company to build a merchant ship called the Maple Leaf. That not only turned out to be a financial disaster for the company, but a personal catastrophe for me, from which I have never fully recovered and doubt if I ever will. Allow me to explain.

‘One afternoon a docker burst into my office insisting that his work mate was trapped inside the hull of the Maple Leaf and if I didn’t give the order to break it open, his life would be lost. Naturally I went down to the dock immediately and the ganger assured me there was absolutely no truth in the story. However, I insisted the men down tools so that we could listen for any sound coming from inside the hull. I waited for some considerable time, but as there was no sound, I gave the order for them to return to work, as we were already several weeks behind schedule.

‘I assumed the docker in question would sign on for his usual shift the following day. But not only did he not turn up, he was never seen again. The possibility of his death has been on my conscience ever since.’ He paused, raised his head and said, ‘That man’s name was Arthur Clifton, and Harry is his only son.’

Emma began to sob.

‘I want you to imagine, if you possibly can, what I go through whenever I see that young man, and how he would feel were he ever to find out that I might have been responsible for his father’s death. That Harry Clifton has become Giles’s closest friend, and fallen in love with my daughter, is the stuff of a Greek tragedy.’

Once again, he buried his head in his hands and didn’t speak for some time. When he finally looked up, he said, ‘If you wish to ask me any questions, I will do my best to answer them.’

Giles waited for his mother to speak first. ‘Were you responsible for sending an innocent man to jail for a crime he did not commit?’ Elizabeth asked quietly.

‘No, my dear,’ said Barrington. ‘I hope you know me well enough to realize I am not capable of such a thing. Stan Tancock was a common thief, who broke into my office and robbed me. Because he was Arthur Clifton’s brother-in-law, and for no other reason, I gave him back his job the day he was released from prison.’ Elizabeth smiled for the first time.

‘Father, I wonder if I might be allowed to ask a question,’ said Giles.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Did you have Harry and me followed when we travelled up to Scotland?’

‘Yes, I did, Giles. I was desperate to find out where your mother and Emma were so I could apologize to them for my disgraceful behaviour. Please try to forgive me.’

Everyone turned their attention to Emma, who hadn’t yet spoken. When she did, her words took them all by surprise. ‘You’ll have to tell Harry everything you’ve told us,’ she whispered, ‘and if he is willing to forgive you, you must then welcome him into our family.’

‘I would be delighted to welcome him into the family, my darling, although it would be understandable if he never wanted to speak to me again. But I cannot tell him the truth about what happened to his father.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Emma.

‘Because Harry’s mother has made it clear that she does not want him ever to find out how his father died, as he has been brought up to believe he was a brave man who was killed in the war. Up until this moment, I have kept my promise never to reveal to anyone what took place on that dreadful day.’

Elizabeth Barrington rose, walked across to her husband and kissed him gently. Barrington broke down and sobbed. A moment later Giles joined his parents and placed an arm around his father’s shoulders.

Emma didn’t move.

42

‘HAS YOUR MOTHER always been that good-looking?’ said Giles. ‘Or am I just getting older?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Harry. ‘All I can say is that your mother always looks so elegant.’

‘Much as I love the dear creature, she looks positively prehistoric compared to yours,’ said Giles as Elizabeth Barring-ton, parasol in one hand and handbag in the other, bore down upon them.

Giles, like every other boy, had been dreading what outfit his mother might turn up in. As for the selection of hats, it was worse than Ascot, with every mother and daughter trying to outdo each other.

Harry looked more carefully at his mother, who was chatting to Dr Paget. He had to admit that she was attracting more attention than most of the other mothers, which he found a little embarrassing. But he was pleased that she no longer appeared to be burdened by financial worries, and assumed the man standing on her right had something to do with that.

However grateful he was to Mr Atkins, he didn’t care for the idea of him becoming his stepfather. Mr Barrington may in the past have been over-zealous about his daughter, but Harry could not deny that he felt just as protective when it came to his mother.

She had recently told him that Mr Frampton was so pleased with her work at the hotel that he had promoted her to night supervisor and given her another pay rise. And certainly Harry no longer had to wait for his trousers to be too short before they were replaced. But even he had been surprised when she hadn’t commented about the cost of his travelling to Rome with the Arts Appreciation Society.

‘How nice to see you, Harry, on your day of triumph,’ said Mrs Barrington. ‘Two prizes, if I remember correctly. I’m only sorry that Emma can’t be with us to share in your glory, but as Miss Webb pointed out, her gels cannot be expected to take the morning off for someone else’s speech day, even if her brother is the school captain.’

Mr Barrington came across to join them, and Giles watched his father carefully as he shook hands with Harry. There was still a distinct lack of warmth on his father’s part, although no one could deny that he was making every effort to conceal it.

‘So, when are you expecting to hear from Oxford, Harry?’ asked Barrington.

‘Some time next week, sir.’

‘I’m confident they’ll offer you a place, although I suspect it will be a close-run thing for Giles.’

‘Don’t forget he’s also had his moment of glory,’ said Harry.

‘I don’t recall that,’ said Mrs Barrington.

‘I think Harry’s referring to the century I scored at Lord’s, Mama.’

‘Admirable though that might be, for the life of me I can’t see how it will help you get into Oxford,’ said his father.

‘Normally I would agree with you, Papa,’ said Giles, ‘were it not for the fact that the Professor of History was sitting next to the President of the MCC at the time.’

The laughter that followed was drowned out by the sound of bells. The boys began to move rapidly in the direction of the great hall, with their parents following dutifully a few paces behind them.

Giles and Harry took their places among the prefects and prize-winners in the front three rows.

‘Do you recall our first day at St Bede’s?’ said Harry, ‘when we all sat in the front row, quite terrified of Dr Oakshott?’

‘I was never terrified of the Shot,’ said Giles.

‘No, of course you weren’t,’ said Harry.

‘But I do remember when we came down for breakfast on the first morning that you licked your porridge bowl.’

‘And I remember you swore you’d never mention it again,’ whispered Harry.

‘And I promise I never will again,’ replied Giles not whispering. ‘What was the name of that frightful bully who slippered you on our first night?’

‘Fisher,’ said Harry. ‘And it was the second night.’

‘Wonder what he’s up to now?’

‘He’s probably running a Nazi youth camp.’

‘Then that’s a good enough reason to go to war,’ said Giles as everyone in the hall rose to welcome the chairman of the governors and his board.

The crocodile of smartly dressed men made their way slowly down the aisle and up on to the stage. The last person to take his seat was Mr Barton, the headmaster, but not before he’d ushered the guest of honour into the centre chair in the front row.

Once everyone had settled, the headmaster rose to welcome the parents and guests, before delivering the school’s annual report. He began by describing 1938 as a vintage year, and for the next twenty minutes he elaborated on this claim, giving details of the school’s academic and sporting achievements. He ended by inviting the Right Honourable Winston Churchill MP, Chancellor of Bristol University and Member of Parliament for Epping, to address the school and present the prizes.

Mr Churchill rose slowly from his place and stared down at the audience for some time before he began.

‘Some guests of honour begin their speeches by telling their audience that they never won any prizes when they were at school, in fact they were always bottom of the class. I cannot make such a claim: although I certainly never won a prize, at least I was never bottom of the class – I was second to bottom.’ The boys roared and cheered, while the masters smiled. Only Deakins remained unmoved.

The moment the laughter had subsided, Churchill scowled. ‘Our nation today faces another of those great moments in history, when the British people may once again be asked to decide the fate of the free world. Many of you present in this great hall…’ He lowered his voice and concentrated his attention on the rows of boys seated in front of him, not once looking in the direction of their parents.

‘Those of us who lived through the Great War will never forget the tragic loss of life our nation suffered, and the effect it has had on an entire generation. Of the twenty boys in my class at Harrow who went on to serve in the front line, only three of them lived long enough to cast a vote. I only hope that whoever delivers this speech in twenty years’ time will not need to refer to that barbaric and unnecessary waste of life as the First World War. With that single hope, I wish you all long, happy and successful lives.’

Giles was among the first to rise and give the guest of honour a standing ovation as he returned to his seat. He felt that if Britain were left with no choice but to go to war, this was the one man who should take over from Neville Chamberlain and become Prime Minister. When everyone had resumed their places some minutes later, the headmaster invited Mr Churchill to present the prizes.

Giles and Harry cheered when Mr Barton not only announced that Deakins was scholar of the year but added, ‘This morning I received a telegram from the Master of Balliol College, Oxford, to say that Deakins has been awarded the senior classics scholarship. I might add,’ continued Mr Barton, ‘that he is the first boy to achieve this distinction in the school’s four-hundred-year history.’

Giles and Harry were on their feet immediately, as a gangly, six-foot-two-inch boy with pebble glasses, wearing a suit that hung on him as if it had never left its coathanger, made his way slowly up on to the stage. Mr Deakins wanted to leap up and take a photograph of his son being presented with his prize by Mr Churchill, but didn’t do so, for fear it might be frowned upon.

Harry received a warm reception when he was awarded the English prize, as well as the school reading prize. The headmaster added, ‘None of us will ever forget his performance as Romeo. Let us all hope that Harry will be among those who receive a telegram next week offering them a place at Oxford.’

When Mr Churchill presented Harry with his prize, he whispered, ‘I never went to university. I only wish I had. Let’s hope you receive that telegram, Clifton. Good luck.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Harry.

But the biggest cheer of the day was reserved for Giles Barrington when he went up to receive the headmaster’s prize for captain of the school and captain of cricket. To the guest of honour’s surprise, the chairman of the governors leapt up from his place and shook hands with Giles before he reached Mr Churchill.

‘My grandson, sir,’ Sir Walter explained with considerable pride.

Churchill smiled, gripped Giles by the hand and, looking up at him, said, ‘Be sure you serve your country with the same distinction with which you have clearly served your school.’

That was the moment when Giles knew exactly what he would do if Britain went to war.

Once the ceremony was over, the boys, parents and masters rose as one to sing Carmen Bristoliense.

Sit clarior, sit dignior, quotquot labuntur menses:

Sit primus nobis hic decor, Sumus Bristolienses.

Once the last chorus had rung out, the headmaster led the guest of honour and his staff off the stage, out of the great hall and into the afternoon sunshine. Moments later, everyone else poured out on to the lawn to join them for tea. Three boys in particular were surrounded by well-wishers, as well as by a bevy of sisters who thought Giles was ‘just cute’.

‘This is the proudest day of my life,’ said Harry’s mother as she embraced him.

‘I know how you feel, Mrs Clifton,’ said Old Jack, shaking Harry by the hand. ‘I only wish Miss Monday had lived long enough to see you today, because I don’t doubt it would have also been the happiest day of her life.’

Mr Holcombe stood to one side and waited patiently to add his congratulations. Harry introduced him to Captain Tarrant, unaware that they were old friends.

When the band had stopped playing, and the captains and the kings had departed, Giles, Harry and Deakins sat alone on the grass and reminisced about things past, no longer schoolboys.

43

A TELEGRAM WAS DELIVERED to Harry’s study by a junior boy on Thursday afternoon. Giles and Deakins waited patiently for him to open it, but instead he handed the little brown envelope to Giles.

‘Passing the buck again,’ said Giles as he ripped it open. He couldn’t hide his surprise when he read the contents.

‘You failed,’ said Giles, sounding shocked. Harry collapsed back into his chair. ‘To win a scholarship. However,’ Giles added, reading the telegram aloud, ‘We are delighted to offer you an exhibition to Brasenose College, Oxford. Many congratulations. Details to follow in the next few days. W.T.S. Stallybrass, Principal. Not bad, but you’re clearly not in Deakins’s class.’

‘And which class are you in?’ said Harry, immediately regretting his words.

‘One scholar, one exhibitionist-’

‘Exhibitioner,’ corrected Deakins.

‘And one commoner,’ said Giles, ignoring his friend. ‘Has a nice ring about it.’

Eleven other telegrams were delivered to successful applicants from Bristol Grammar School that day, but none was addressed to Giles Barrington.

‘You should let your mother know,’ said Giles as they walked into the hall for supper. ‘She probably hasn’t slept all week worrying about it.’

Harry looked at his watch. ‘It’s too late, she’ll already have left for work. I won’t be able to tell her until tomorrow morning.’

‘Why don’t we go and surprise her at the hotel?’ said Giles.

‘I can’t do that. She’d think it unprofessional to interrupt her while she’s at work, and I don’t feel I can make an exception, even for this,’ he said, waving the telegram triumphantly.

‘But don’t you think she has a right to know?’ said Giles. ‘After all, she’s sacrificed everything to make it possible for you. Frankly, if they offered me a place at Oxford, I’d interrupt Mama even if she was addressing the Mothers’ Union. Don’t you agree, Deakins?’

Deakins removed his glasses and began to polish them with a handkerchief, always a sign that he was deep in thought. ‘I’d ask Paget’s opinion, and if he raises no objection-’

‘Good idea,’ said Giles. ‘Let’s go and see the Page.’

‘Are you coming, Deakins?’ asked Harry, but then noticed that Deakins’s glasses had been returned to the end of his nose, a sign that he had been transported to another world.

‘Many congratulations,’ said Dr Paget once he’d read the telegram. ‘And well deserved, if I may say so.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Harry. ‘I wondered if it would be possible for me to go to the Royal Hotel so I can tell my mother the news?’

‘I can’t see any reason why not, Clifton.’

‘Can I trot along with him?’ asked Giles innocently.

Paget hesitated. ‘Yes, you can, Barrington. But don’t even think about having a drink or smoking while you’re in the hotel.’

‘Not even one glass of champagne, sir?’

‘No, Barrington, not even a glass of cider,’ said Paget firmly.

As the two young men strolled out of the school gates, they passed a lamp lighter who was standing on his bicycle, stretching up to light a street lamp. They chatted about the summer hols, when Harry would be joining Giles’s family in Tuscany for the first time, and agreed they would have to be back in time to see the Australians when they played against Gloucestershire at the county ground. They discussed the possibility, or, according to Harry, the probability, of war being declared now that everyone had been issued with a gas mask. But neither of them touched on another subject that was on both of their minds: would Giles be joining Harry and Deakins at Oxford in September?

As they approached the hotel, Harry had second thoughts about interrupting his mother while she was at work, but Giles had already barged through the revolving doors and was standing in the foyer waiting for him.

‘It will only take a couple of minutes,’ said Giles when Harry joined him. ‘Just tell her the good news and we can go straight back to school.’ Harry nodded.

Giles asked the doorman where the Palm Court was, and he directed them to a raised area at the far end of the foyer. After climbing the half dozen steps, Giles walked up to the desk and, keeping his voice low, asked the receptionist, ‘Can we have a quick word with Mrs Clifton?’

‘Mrs Clifton?’ asked the girl. ‘Has she made a reservation?’ She ran her finger down a list of bookings.

‘No, she works here,’ said Giles.

‘Oh, I’m new here,’ said the girl, ‘but I’ll just ask one of the waitresses. They’re bound to know.’

‘Thank you.’

Harry remained on the bottom step, his eyes searching the room for his mother.

‘Hattie,’ the receptionist asked a passing waitress, ‘does a Mrs Clifton work here?’

‘Not any longer she doesn’t,’ came back the immediate reply. ‘She left a couple of years ago. Haven’t heard a dickybird from her since.’

‘There must be some mistake,’ said Harry, bounding up the steps to join his friend.

‘Do you have any idea where we might find her?’ asked Giles, keeping his voice low.

‘No,’ said Hattie. ‘But you could have a word with Doug, the night porter. He’s been here for ever.’

‘Thank you,’ said Giles and, turning to Harry, added, ‘There’s bound to be a simple explanation, but if you’d prefer to leave it…’

‘No, let’s find out if Doug knows where she is.’

Giles walked slowly across to the porter’s desk, giving Harry enough time to change his mind, but he didn’t say a word. ‘Are you Doug?’ he asked a man dressed in a faded blue frockcoat with buttons that no longer shone.

‘I am, sir,’ he replied. ‘How can I help you?’

‘We’re looking for Mrs Clifton.’

‘Maisie don’t work here any longer, sir. She must have left at least a couple of years back.’

‘Do you know where she is working now?’

‘I’ve no idea, sir.’

Giles took out his purse, extracted half a crown and placed it on the counter. The porter eyed it for some time before he spoke again. ‘It’s just possible you’ll find her at Eddie’s Nightclub.’

‘Eddie Atkins?’ enquired Harry.

‘I believe that’s correct, sir.’

‘Well, that explains it,’ said Harry. ‘And where is Eddie’s Nightclub?’

‘Welsh Back, sir,’ replied the porter as he pocketed the half a crown.

Harry left the hotel without another word and jumped into the back of a waiting cab. Giles got in beside him. ‘Don’t you think we should get back to school?’ said Giles, looking at his watch. ‘You can always tell your mother in the morning.’

Harry shook his head. ‘It was you who said you’d interrupt your mother even if she was addressing the Mothers’ Union,’ Harry reminded him. ‘Eddie’s Nightclub, Welsh Back, please, cabbie,’ he said firmly.

Harry didn’t speak during the short journey. When the cab turned into a dark alley and came to a halt outside Eddie’s, he got out and walked towards the entrance.

Harry banged firmly on the door. A shutter slid open and a pair of eyes stared at the two young men. ‘The entrance fee is five shillings each,’ said a voice behind the eyes. Giles pushed a ten-shilling note through the hole. The door swung open immediately.

The two of them made their way down a dimly lit staircase to the basement. Giles saw her first and quickly turned to leave, but it was too late. Harry was staring, transfixed, at a row of girls seated on stools at the bar, some chatting to men, others on their own. One of them, wearing a white see-through blouse, a short black leather skirt and black stockings, approached them and said, ‘Can I help you, gents?’

Harry ignored her. His eyes had settled on a woman at the far end of the bar who was listening intently to an older man who had his hand on her thigh. The girl looked to see who he was staring at. ‘I must say, you know class when you see it,’ she said. ‘Mind you, Maisie can be choosy, and I have to warn you, she doesn’t come cheap.’

Harry turned and bolted back up the steps, pulled open the door and ran out on to the street, with Giles chasing after him. Once Harry was on the pavement, he fell to his knees and was violently sick. Giles knelt and put his arm around his friend, trying to comfort him.

A man who had been standing in the shadows on the other side of the road limped away.