The Sins of the Father

38

‘GOOD MORNING, MR GUINZBURG,’ said Sefton Jelks as he rose from behind his desk. ‘It is indeed an honour to meet the man who publishes Dorothy Parker and Graham Greene.’

Guinzburg gave a slight bow, before shaking hands with Jelks.

‘And Miss Barrington,’ said Jelks, turning to Emma. ‘How nice to see you again. As I am no longer representing Mr Lloyd, I hope we can be friends.’

Emma frowned, and sat down without shaking Jelks’s outstretched hand.

Once the three of them were settled, Jelks continued. ‘Perhaps I might open this meeting by saying I thought it would be worthwhile for the three of us to get together and have a frank and open discussion, and see if it were possible to come up with a solution to our problem.’

‘Your problem,’ interjected Emma.

Mr Guinzburg pursed his lips, but said nothing.

‘I am sure,’ continued Jelks, focusing his attention on Guinzburg, ‘that you will want to do what is best for all concerned.’

‘And will that include Harry Clifton this time?’ asked Emma.

Guinzburg turned to Emma and gave her a disapproving grimace.

‘Yes, Miss Barrington,’ said Jelks, ‘any agreement we might reach would certainly include Mr Clifton.’

‘Just as it did last time, Mr Jelks, when you walked away at the time he most needed you?’

‘Emma,’ said Guinzburg reproachfully.

‘I should point out, Miss Barrington, that I was doing no more than carrying out my client’s instructions. Mr and Mrs Bradshaw both assured me that the man I was representing was their son, and I had no reason to believe otherwise. And of course I did prevent Tom from being tried for-’

‘And then you left Harry to fend for himself.’

‘In my defence, Miss Barrington, when I finally discovered that Tom Bradshaw was in fact Harry Clifton, he begged me to keep my counsel, as he didn’t want you to discover that he was still alive.’

‘That’s not Harry’s version of what happened,’ said Emma, who appeared to regret her words the moment she’d said them.

Guinzburg made no attempt to mask his displeasure. He looked like a man who realizes his trump card has been played too soon.

‘I see,’ said Jelks. ‘From that little outburst, I must assume you have both read the earlier notebook?’

‘Every word,’ said Emma. ‘So you can stop pretending you only did what was in Harry’s best interests.’

‘Emma,’ said Guinzburg firmly, ‘you must learn not to take things so personally, and try to consider the bigger picture.’

‘Is that the one where a leading New York lawyer ends up in jail for falsifying evidence and perverting the course of justice?’ said Emma, her eyes never leaving Jelks.

‘I apologize, Mr Jelks,’ said Guinzburg. ‘My young friend gets quite carried away when it comes to-’

‘You bet I do,’ said Emma, now almost shouting, ‘because I can tell you exactly what this man -’ she pointed at Jelks – ‘would have done if Harry had been sent to the electric chair. He would have pulled the lever himself if he thought it would save his own skin.’

‘That is outrageous,’ said Jelks, jumping up from his seat. ‘I had already prepared an appeal that would have left the jury in no doubt that the police had arrested the wrong man.’

‘So you did know it was Harry all along,’ said Emma, sitting back in her chair.

Jelks was momentarily stunned by Emma’s rebuke. She took advantage of his silence.

‘Let me tell you what’s going to happen, Mr Jelks. When Viking publishes Harry’s first notebook in the spring, not only will your reputation be shattered and your career in ruins, but, like Harry, you’ll discover at first hand what life is like at Lavenham.’

Jelks turned to Guinzburg in desperation. ‘I would have thought it in both our interests to reach an amicable settlement before this whole affair gets out of hand.’

‘What do you have in mind, Mr Jelks?’ asked Guinzburg, trying to sound conciliatory.

‘You’re not going to give this crook a lifeline, are you?’ said Emma.

Guinzburg raised a hand. ‘The least we can do, Emma, is hear him out.’

‘Just as he heard Harry out?’

Jelks turned to Guinzburg. ‘If you felt able not to publish the earlier notebook, I can assure you I would make it worth your while.’

‘I can’t believe you’re taking this seriously,’ said Emma.

Jelks continued to address Guinzburg as if Emma wasn’t in the room. ‘Of course, I realize that you stand to lose a considerable amount of money if you decide not to go ahead.’

‘If The Diary of a Convict is anything to go by,’ said Guinzburg, ‘over a hundred thousand dollars.’

The figure must have taken Jelks by surprise, because he didn’t respond.

‘And there’s also the twenty-thousand-dollar advance that was paid to Lloyd,’ continued Guinzburg. ‘That will have to be reimbursed to Mr Clifton.’

‘If Harry were here, he’d be the first to tell you that he’s not interested in the money, Mr Guinzburg, only in making sure that this man ends up in jail.’

Guinzburg looked appalled. ‘My company has not built its reputation on scandal-mongering, Emma, so before I make a final decision on whether or not to publish the notebook, I have to consider how my more distinguished authors might react to a publication of that kind.’

‘How right you are, Mr Guinzburg. Reputation is everything.’

‘How would you know?’ demanded Emma.

‘While we’re on the subject of distinguished authors,’ continued Jelks a little pompously, ignoring the interruption, ‘you may be aware that my firm has the privilege of representing the F. Scott Fitzgerald estate.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘I remember so well Scotty telling me that if he were to change publishers, he would want to move to Viking.’

‘You’re not going to fall for that line, are you?’ said Emma.

‘Emma, my dear, there are times when it is wise to take the long view.’

‘How long have you got in mind? Six years?’

‘Emma, I’m only doing what is in everyone’s best interests.’

‘It sounds to me as if what you’re doing will end up in your best interests. Because the reality is that once money becomes involved, you’re no better than him,’ she said, pointing at Jelks.

Guinzburg appeared wounded by Emma’s accusation, but quickly recovered. He turned to the lawyer and asked, ‘What do you have in mind, Mr Jelks?’

‘If you’ll agree not to publish the first notebook in any form, I would be happy to pay compensation, equivalent to the sum you have earned for The Diary of a Convict and, on top of that, I would repay in full the twenty thousand dollars you advanced to Mr Lloyd.’

‘Why don’t you just kiss me on the cheek, Mr Guinzburg,’ said Emma, ‘and then he’ll know who to give the thirty pieces of silver to.’

‘And Fitzgerald?’ said Guinzburg, ignoring her.

‘I will grant you the publishing rights of the F. Scott Fitzgerald estate for a period of fifty years, on the same terms as his current publisher.’

Guinzburg smiled. ‘Draw up a contract, Mr Jelks, and I’ll be happy to sign it.’

‘And what pseudonym will you use when you sign the contract?’ asked Emma. ‘Judas?’

Guinzburg shrugged his shoulders. ‘Business is business, my dear. And you and Harry won’t go unrewarded.’

‘I’m glad you mention that, Mr Guinzburg,’ said Jelks, ‘because I’ve been holding a cheque for ten thousand dollars made payable to Harry Clifton’s mother for some time, but because of the outbreak of war I had no way of getting it to her. Perhaps, Miss Barrington, you would be kind enough to give it to Mrs Clifton when you return to England.’ He slid the cheque across the table.

Emma ignored it. ‘You would never have mentioned that cheque if I hadn’t read about it in the first notebook, when you gave Harry your word that you’d send Mrs Clifton ten thousand dollars once he agreed to take the place of Tom Bradshaw.’ Emma stood up, before adding, ‘You both disgust me, and I only hope I never come across either of you again in my life.’

She stormed out of the office without another word, leaving the cheque on the desk.

‘Headstrong girl,’ said Guinzburg, ‘but I’m sure, given time, I’ll be able to convince her we made the right decision.’

‘I feel confident, Harold,’ said Jelks, ‘that you’ll handle this minor incident with all the skill and diplomacy that have become the hallmark of your distinguished company.’

‘That’s kind of you to say so, Sefton,’ said Guinzburg as he rose from his chair and picked up the cheque. ‘And I’ll make sure that Mrs Clifton gets this,’ he added, placing it in his wallet.

‘I knew I could rely on you, Harold.’

‘You most certainly can, Sefton, and I look forward to seeing you again, once the contract has been drawn up.’

‘I’ll have it ready by the end of the week,’ Jelks said as they left the room together and walked down the corridor. ‘Surprising we haven’t done any business before.’

‘I agree,’ said Guinzburg, ‘but I have a feeling this is just the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Jelks when they reached the lift. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as the contract is ready to sign,’ he added as he pressed the down button.

‘I’ll look forward to that, Sefton,’ said Guinzburg, and shook Jelks warmly by the hand before stepping into the lift.

When the lift reached the ground floor, Guinzburg stepped out, and the first thing he saw was Emma heading straight for him.

‘You were brilliant, my dear,’ he said. ‘I confess that for a moment I wondered if you’d gone a little too far with your comment about the electric chair, but no, you’d got the measure of the man,’ he added as they strolled out of the building arm in arm.

Emma spent most of the afternoon sitting alone in her room rereading the first exercise book, in which Harry had written about the time before he was sent to Lavenham.

As she turned each page and was made aware once again what he had been willing to put himself through in order to release her from any obligation she might feel she owed him, Emma resolved that if she ever found the idiotic man again, she wouldn’t let him out of her sight.

With Mr Guinzburg’s blessing, Emma became involved with every aspect of publishing the revised edition of The Diary of a Convict, or the first edition, as she always referred to it. She attended editorial meetings, discussed the cover lettering with the head of the art department, chose the photograph that would go on the back cover, wrote the blurb about Harry for the inside flap and even addressed a sales conference.

Six weeks later, boxes of books were transported from the printer by rail, truck and plane to depositories all across America.

On publication day, Emma was standing on the pavement outside Doubleday’s waiting for the doors of the bookstore to open. She was able to report to Great-aunt Phyllis and Cousin Alistair that evening that the book had been running out of the shop. Confirmation of this came in the form of the New York Times bestseller list the following Sunday, when the revised edition ofThe Diary of a Convict appeared in the top ten after only a week’s sales.

Journalists and magazine editors from all over the country were desperate to interview Harry Clifton and Max Lloyd. But Harry couldn’t be found in any penal establishment in America, while Lloyd, to quote The Times, was unavailable for comment. The New York News was less prosaic when it ran the headline, LLOYD ON THE LAM.

On the day of publication, Sefton Jelks’s office issued a formal statement making it clear that the company no longer represented Max Lloyd. Although The Diary of a Convict hit the number one spot on the New York Times bestseller list for the next five weeks, Guinzburg kept to his agreement with Jelks and did not publish any extracts from the earlier notebook.

However, Jelks did sign a contract giving Viking the exclusive right to publish all of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s works for the next fifty years. Jelks considered that he’d honoured his side of the bargain and that, given time, the press would become bored with the story and move on. And he might have been right if Time magazine hadn’t run a full-page interview with the recently retired Detective Karl Kolowski of the New York Police Department.

‘And I can tell you,’ Kolowski was quoted as saying, ‘that so far they’ve only published the boring bits. Just wait until you read what happened to Harry Clifton before he arrived at Lavenham.’

The story hit the wires around 6 p.m. Eastern Time, and Mr Guinzburg had received over a hundred calls by the time he walked into his office the following morning.

Jelks read the article in Time as he was driven to Wall Street. When he stepped out of the lift on the twenty-second floor, he found three of his partners waiting outside his office.

39

‘WHICH DO YOU want first?’ asked Phyllis, holding up two letters. ‘The good news or the bad news?’

‘The good news,’ said Emma without hesitation, as she buttered another piece of toast.

Phyllis placed one letter back on the table, adjusted her pince-nez and began to read the other.

Dear Mrs Stuart,

I’ve just finished reading The Diary of a Convict by Harry Clifton. There was an excellent review of the book in the Washington Post today, which towards the end posed a question about what happened to Mr Clifton after he left Lavenham Correctional Facility seven months ago, having completed only a third of his sentence.

For reasons of national security, which I am sure you will appreciate, I am unable to go into any great detail in this letter.

If Miss Barrington, who I understand is staying with you, would like any further information concerning Lieutenant Clifton, she is welcome to contact this office, and I will be happy to make an appointment to see her.

As it does not breach the Official Secrets Act, may I add how much I enjoyed Lieutenant Clifton’s diary. If the rumours in today’s New York Post are to be believed, I can’t wait to find out what happened to him before he was shipped off to Lavenham.

Yours sincerely

John Cleverdon (Col.)

Great-aunt Phyllis looked across to see Emma bouncing up and down like a bobbysoxer at a Sinatra concert. Parker poured Mrs Stuart a second cup of coffee, as if nothing unusual was taking place a few feet behind him.

Emma suddenly stood still. ‘So what’s the bad news?’ she asked, sitting back down at the table.

Phyllis picked up the other letter. ‘This one is from Rupert Harvey,’ she declared. ‘A second cousin, once removed.’ Emma stifled a laugh. Phyllis observed her critically over her pince-nez. ‘Don’t mock, child,’ she said. ‘Being a member of a large clan can have its advantages, as you’re about to discover.’ She turned her attention back to the letter.

Dear cousin Phyllis,

How nice to hear from you after all this time. It was kind of you to draw my attention to The Diary of a Convict by Harry Clifton, which I thoroughly enjoyed. What a formidable young lady cousin Emma must be.

Phyllis looked up.

‘Twice removed in your case,’ she said before returning to the letter.

I’d be delighted to assist Emma in her current dilemma. To that end: the Embassy has an aircraft that will be flying to London next Thursday, and the Ambassador has agreed that Miss Barrington can join him and his staff on the flight.

If Emma would be kind enough to drop by my office on Thursday morning, I will make sure that all the necessary paperwork is completed. Do remind her to bring her passport with her.

Yours affectionately,

Rupert

PS. Is cousin Emma half as beautiful as Mr Clifton suggests in his book?

Phyllis folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope.

‘So what’s the bad news?’ demanded Emma.

Phyllis bowed her head, as she did not approve of displays of emotion, and said quietly, ‘You have no idea, child, how much I shall miss you. You are the daughter I never had.’

‘I signed the contract this morning,’ said Guinzburg, raising his glass.

‘Congratulations,’ said Alistair, as everyone else around the dinner table raised their glasses.

‘Do forgive me,’ said Phyllis, ‘if I appear to be the only one among us who doesn’t fully understand. If you signed a contract that prevents your company from publishing Harry Clifton’s earlier work, what exactly are we celebrating?’

‘The fact that I put one hundred thousand dollars of Sefton Jelks’s money into my company’s bank account this morning,’ Guinzburg replied.

‘And I,’ said Emma, ‘have received a cheque for twenty thousand dollars from the same source. Lloyd’s original advance for Harry’s book.’

‘And don’t forget the cheque for ten thousand you failed to pick up for Mrs Clifton, which I retrieved,’ said Guinzburg. ‘Frankly, we’ve all done very well out of it, and now the contract has been signed, there will be even more to come, for the next fifty years.’

‘Possibly,’ said Phyllis, taking the high ground, ‘but I’m more than a little irked that you’ve allowed Jelks to get away with murder.’

‘I think you’ll find he’s still on Death Row, Mrs Stuart,’ said Guinzburg, ‘though I accept we’ve granted him a three-month stay of execution.’

‘I’m even more confused,’ said Phyllis.

‘Then allow me to explain,’ said Guinzburg. ‘You see, the contract I signed this morning wasn’t with Jelks, but with Pocket Books, a company who have bought the rights to publish all Harry’s diaries in softback.’

‘And what, may I ask, is a softback?’ said Phyllis.

‘Mama,’ said Alistair, ‘softbacks have been around for years now.’

‘So have ten-thousand-dollar bills, but I’ve never seen one.’

‘Your mother makes a fair point,’ said Guinzburg. ‘In fact, it could explain why Jelks was taken in, because Mrs Stuart represents an entire generation who will never come to terms with books being published in softback, and would only ever consider reading a hardback.’

‘What made you realize that Jelks was not fully acquainted with the concept of a softback?’ asked Phyllis.

‘F. Scott Fitzgerald was the clincher,’ said Alistair.

‘I do wish you wouldn’t use slang at the dinner table,’ said Phyllis.

‘It was Alistair who advised us,’ said Emma, ‘that if Jelks was willing to hold a meeting in his office without his legal assistant present, it must mean he hadn’t alerted his partners to the fact there was a missing notebook, and that if it were published it would be even more damning to the firm’s reputation than The Diary of a Convict.’

‘Then why didn’t Alistair attend the meeting,’ said Phyllis, ‘and make a record of everything Jelks said? After all, that man is one of the slipperiest lawyers in New York.’

‘Which is precisely why I didn’t attend the meeting, Mother. We didn’t want anything on the record, and I was convinced that Jelks would be arrogant enough to think that all he was up against was a slip of a girl from England and a publisher he was sure he could bribe, which meant we had him by the short and curlies.’

‘Alistair.’

‘However,’ Alistair continued, now in full flow, ‘it was just after Emma had stormed out of the meeting that Mr Guinzburg displayed a moment of true genius.’ Emma looked puzzled. ‘He told Jelks, “I look forward to seeing you again, once the contract has been drawn up.”’

‘And that’s exactly what Jelks did,’ said Guinzburg, ‘because once I’d gone over his contract, I realized it was modelled on one that had originally been drawn up for F. Scott Fitzgerald, a man who was only ever published in hardback. There was nothing in that contract to suggest that we couldn’t publish in softback. So the sub-contract I signed this morning will allow Pocket Books to publish Harry’s earlier diary, without breaking my agreement with Jelks.’ Guinzburg allowed Parker to refill his glass with champagne.

‘How much did you make?’ demanded Emma.

‘There are times, young lady, when you push your luck.’

‘How much did you make?’ asked Phyllis.

‘Two hundred thousand dollars,’ admitted Guinzburg.

‘You’ll need every penny of it,’ said Phyllis, ‘because once that book goes on sale, you and Alistair will be spending the next couple of years in court defending yourself against half a dozen libel writs.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Alistair after Parker had poured him a brandy. ‘In fact, I’d be willing to bet that ten-thousand-dollar bill you’ve never seen, Mama, that Sefton Jelks is now spending his last three months as the senior partner of Jelks, Myers and Abernathy.’

‘What makes you so sure of yourself?’

‘I have a feeling Jelks didn’t tell his partners about the first notebook, so when Pocket Books publish the earlier diary, he will be left with no choice but to hand in his resignation.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

‘Then they’ll throw him out,’ said Alistair. ‘A firm which is that ruthless with its clients won’t suddenly become humane with its partners. And don’t forget, there’s always someone else who wants to be senior partner… So, I’m bound to admit, Emma, you’re far more interesting than Amalgamated Wire-’

‘-versus New York Electric,’ said the others in unison, as they raised their glasses to Emma.

‘And should you ever change your mind about staying in New York, young lady,’ said Guinzburg, ‘there’ll always be a job for you at Viking.’

‘Thank you, Mr Guinzburg,’ said Emma. ‘But the only reason I came to America was to find Harry, and now I discover that he’s in Europe while I’m stranded in New York. So once I’ve had my meeting with Colonel Cleverdon, I’ll be flying home to be with our son.’

‘Harry Clifton’s a damn lucky man to have you in his corner,’ said Alistair wistfully.

‘If you ever meet either of them, Alistair, you’ll realize that I’m the lucky one.’

40

EMMA WOKE EARLY the following morning and chatted happily to Phyllis over breakfast about how much she was looking forward to being reunited with Sebastian and her family. Phyllis nodded, but said very little.

Parker collected Emma’s bags from her room, took them down in the lift and left them in the hall. She’d acquired another two since arriving in New York. Does anyone ever go home with less than they started out with? she wondered.

‘I’ll not come downstairs,’ said Phyllis after several attempts to say goodbye. ‘I’ll only make a fool of myself. It’s better that you simply remember an old battleaxe who didn’t like to be disturbed during her bridge parties. When you visit us next time, my dear, bring Harry and Sebastian with you. I want to meet the man who captured your heart.’

A taxi blasted its horn in the street below.

‘Time to go,’ said Phyllis. ‘Go quickly.’

Emma gave her one last hug and then she didn’t look back.

When she stepped out of the lift Parker was standing by the front door waiting for her, the bags already stowed away in the boot of the taxi. The moment he saw her, he walked out on to the pavement and opened the back door of the cab.

‘Goodbye, Parker,’ said Emma, ‘and thank you for everything.’

‘My pleasure, ma’am,’ he replied. Just as she was about to step into the taxi, he added, ‘If it’s not inappropriate, ma’am, I wondered if I might be allowed to make an observation?’

Emma stepped back, trying to mask her surprise. ‘Of course, please do.’

‘I so enjoyed Mr Clifton’s diary,’ he said, ‘that I hope it will not be too long before you return to New York accompanied by your husband.’

It wasn’t long before the train was speeding through the countryside and New York was no more, as they headed towards the capital. Emma found she couldn’t read or sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. Great-aunt Phyllis, Mr Guinzburg, Cousin Alistair, Mr Jelks, Detective Kolowski and Parker all made their exits and entrances.

She thought about what needed to be done once she arrived in Washington. First, she had to go to the British Embassy and sign some forms so she could join the ambassador on his flight to London, as arranged by Rupert Harvey, a second cousin twice removed. ‘Don’t mock, child,’ she could hear her great-aunt remonstrating, and then she fell asleep. Harry entered her dreams, this time in uniform, smiling, laughing, and then she woke with a jolt, quite expecting him to be in the carriage with her.

When the train pulled into Union Station five hours later, Emma had trouble lugging her suitcases on to the platform, until a porter, an ex-serviceman with one arm, came to her rescue. He found a taxi for her, thanked her for the tip and gave her a salute with the wrong arm. Someone else whose destiny had been decided by a war he didn’t declare.

‘The British Embassy,’ Emma said as she climbed into the cab.

She was dropped on Massachusetts Avenue, outside a pair of ornate iron gates displaying the Royal Standard. Two young soldiers ran across to help Emma with her bags.

‘Who are you visiting, ma’am?’ An English accent, an American word.

‘Mr Rupert Harvey,’ she said.

‘Commander Harvey. Certainly,’ said the corporal, who picked up her bags and guided Emma to an office at the rear of the building.

Emma entered a large room in which the staff, most dressed in uniform, scurried about in every direction. No one walked. A figure appeared out of the melee and greeted her with a huge smile.

‘I’m Rupert Harvey,’ he said. ‘Sorry about the organized chaos, but it’s always like this when the ambassador is returning to England. It’s even worse this time, because we’ve had a visiting cabinet minister with us for the past week. All your paperwork has been prepared,’ he added, returning to his desk. ‘I just need to see your passport.’

Once he’d flicked through the pages, he asked her to sign here, here and here. ‘A bus will be leaving from the front of the embassy for the airport at six this evening. Please make sure you’re on time as everyone’s expected to be on board the plane before the ambassador arrives.’

‘I’ll be on time,’ said Emma. ‘Would it be possible to leave my bags here while I go sightseeing?’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ said Rupert. ‘I’ll have someone put them on the bus for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Emma.

She was about to leave when he added, ‘By the way, I loved the book. And just to warn you, the minister is hoping to have a private word with you when we’re on the plane. I think he was a publisher before he went into politics.’

‘What’s his name?’ Emma asked.

‘Harold Macmillan.’

Emma recalled some of Mr Guinzburg’s sage advice. ‘Everyone is going to want this book,’ he’d told her. ‘There isn’t a publisher who won’t open their doors for you, so don’t be easily flattered. Try and see Billy Collins and Allen Lane of Penguin.’ He’d made no mention of a Harold Macmillan.

‘Then I’ll see you on the bus around six,’ said her second cousin twice removed, before he disappeared back into the melee.

Emma left the embassy, walked out on to Massachusetts Avenue and checked her watch. Just over two hours to spare before her appointment with Colonel Cleverdon. She hailed a cab.

‘Where to, miss?’

‘I want to see everything the city has to offer,’ she said.

‘How long have you got, a couple of years?’

‘No,’ Emma replied, ‘a couple of hours. So let’s get moving.’

The taxi sped away from the kerb. First stop: the White House – 15 minutes. On to the Capitol – 20 minutes. Circling the Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials – 25 minutes. Dashing into the National Gallery – another 25 minutes. Ending up at the Smithsonian – but there was only 30 minutes left until her appointment, so she didn’t make it past the first floor.

When she jumped back into the cab, the driver asked, ‘Where to now, miss?’

Emma checked the address on Colonel Cleverdon’s letter. ‘3022 Adams Street,’ she replied, ‘and I’m cutting it fine.’

When the cab drew up outside a large white marble building that occupied the entire block, Emma handed the cabbie her last five-dollar note. She would have to walk back to the embassy after her meeting. ‘Worth every cent,’ she told him.

He touched the rim of his cap. ‘I thought it was only us Americans who did that sort of thing,’ he said with a grin.

Emma walked up the steps, past two guards who stared right through her, and on into the building. She noticed that almost everyone was dressed in different shades of khaki, although few of them wore battle ribbons. A young woman behind the reception desk directed her to room 9197. Emma joined a mass of khaki uniforms as they headed towards the lifts, and when she stepped out on the ninth floor, she found Colonel Cleverdon’s secretary waiting to greet her.

‘I’m afraid the colonel has got caught up in a meeting, but he should be with you in a few minutes,’ she said as they walked along the corridor.

Emma was shown into the colonel’s office. Once she had sat down, she stared at a thick file on the centre of the desk. As with the letter on Maisie’s mantelpiece and the notebooks on Jelks’s desk, she wondered how long she would have to wait before its contents were revealed.

The answer was twenty minutes. When the door eventually swung open, a tall, athletic man, around the same age as her father, burst into the room, a cigar bobbing up and down in his mouth.

‘So sorry to have kept you,’ he said, shaking hands, ‘but there just aren’t enough hours in the day.’ He sat down behind his desk and smiled at her. ‘John Cleverdon, and I would have recognized you anywhere.’ Emma looked surprised, until he explained. ‘You’re exactly as Harry described you in his book. Would you like coffee?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Emma, trying not to sound impatient as she glanced at the file on the colonel’s desk.

‘I don’t even have to open this,’ he said, tapping the file. ‘I wrote most of it myself, so I can tell you everything Harry’s been up to since he left Lavenham. And now, thanks to his diaries, we all know he should never have been there in the first place. I can’t wait to read the next instalment and find out what happened to him before he was sent to Lavenham.’

‘And I can’t wait to find out what happened to him after he left Lavenham,’ Emma said, hoping she didn’t sound impatient.

‘Then let’s get on with it,’ said the colonel. ‘Harry volunteered to join a special services unit, which I have the privilege of commanding, in exchange for his prison sentence being commuted. Having begun his life in the United States Army as a GI, he was recently commissioned in the field, and is currently serving as a lieutenant. He’s been behind enemy lines now for several months,’ he continued. ‘He’s been working with resistance groups in occupied countries and helping to prepare for our eventual landing in Europe.’

Emma didn’t like the sound of that. ‘What does behind enemy lines actually mean?’

‘I can’t tell you exactly, because it’s not always easy to track him down when he’s on a mission. He often cuts off communication with the outside world for days on end. But what I can tell you is that he and his driver, Corporal Pat Quinn, another Lavenham graduate, have turned out to be two of the most effective operatives to come out of my group. They’re like two schoolboys who’ve been given a giant chemistry set and told they can go and experiment on the enemy’s communications network. They spend most of their time blowing up bridges, dismantling railway lines and bringing down electricity pylons. Harry’s specialty is disrupting German troop movements, and on one or two occasions the Krauts have nearly caught up with him. But so far he’s managed to stay a step ahead of them. In fact, he’s proved such a thorn in their flesh that they’ve put a price on his head, which seems to go up every month. Thirty thousand francs when I last checked.’

The colonel noticed that Emma’s face had gone as white as a sheet.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to alarm you but I sometimes forget, when I’m sitting behind a desk, just how much danger my boys face every day.’

‘When will Harry be released?’ asked Emma quietly.

‘I’m afraid he’s expected to serve out his sentence,’ said the colonel.

‘But now that you know he’s innocent, can’t you at least send him back to England?’

‘I don’t think that would make a great deal of difference, Miss Barrington, because if I know Harry, the moment he set foot in his homeland he’d only swap one uniform for another.’

‘Not if I have anything to do with it.’

The colonel smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can do to help,’ he promised as he rose from behind his desk. He opened the door and saluted her. ‘Have a safe journey back to England, Miss Barrington. I hope it won’t be long before the two of you end up in the same place, at the same time.’