The policeman saluted and nodded to a colleague, who lifted the barrier to allow them through.
Giles was glad they were early because they were moving so slowly. Crowds of pedestrians were overflowing from the pavement and spilling on to the road, finally causing the car to almost come to a halt.
‘Stop here, Tom,’ said Giles. ‘We’re going to have to walk the last hundred yards.’
Tom pulled up in the middle of the road and rushed to open the back door, but by the time he got there, Giles and Karin were already making their way through the crowd. People stood aside when they recognized him, and some even began clapping.
Giles was about to acknowledge their applause, when Karin whispered, ‘Don’t forget they’re applauding Harry, not you.’
They finally reached the cathedral steps and began to climb up through a corridor of raised pens and pencils, held high by those who wished to remember Harry not only as an author, but as a civil rights campaigner.
Giles looked up to see Eric Evans, canon in residence, waiting for them on the top step.
‘Got that wrong, didn’t I,’ he said, grinning. ‘It must be an author thing, always more popular than politicians.’
Giles laughed nervously as the canon escorted them through the north-west door and into the cathedral, where those who had arrived late, even if they had a ticket, were standing at the side of the nave, while those who didn’t were crammed at the back like football fans on a crowded terrace.
Karin knew that Giles’s laughter was a cocktail of nerves and adrenaline. In fact, she had never seen him so nervous.
‘Relax,’ she whispered, as the dean led them down the long marble aisle, past Wellington’s memorial and through the packed congregation, to their places at the head of the nave. Giles recognized several people as they made their slow progress towards the high altar. Aaron Guinzburg was sitting next to Ian Chapman, Dr Richards with Lord Samuel, Hakim Bishara and Arnold Hardcastle representing Farthings, Sir Alan Redmayne was next to Sir John Rennie, while Victor Kaufman and his old school chum Professor Algernon Deakins were seated near the front.
But it was two women, sitting alone, who took him by surprise. An elegant old lady, who bowed her head as Giles passed, was seated near the back, clearly no longer wishing to be acknowledged as a dowager duchess might have expected to be, while in the row directly behind the family was another old lady who had travelled from Moscow to honour her late husband’s dear friend.
Once they had taken their places in the front row, Giles picked up the order of service sheet that had been prepared by Grace. The cover was adorned with a simple portrait of Sir Harry Clifton KBE that had been drawn by the most recent winner of the Turner Prize.
The order of service could have been chosen by Harry himself, as it reflected his personal tastes: traditional, popular, with no concern about being described as romantic. His mother would have approved.
The congregation was welcomed by the Rt Rev. Barry Donaldson, the Lord Bishop of Bristol, who led them in prayers in memory of Harry. The first lesson was read by Jake, whose head could barely be seen above the lectern.
‘1 Corinthians 13. If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels . . .’
The choir of St Mary Redcliffe, where Harry had been a chorister, sang Rejoice that the Lord has risen!
Sebastian, as the new head of the Clifton family, walked slowly up to the north lectern to read the second lesson, Revelation 21 to 37, and only just managed to get the words out.
‘And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea . . .’ When he returned to his place in the front pew, Giles couldn’t help noticing that his nephew’s hair was starting to grey at the temples – which was only appropriate, he reflected, for a man who had recently been elected to the court of the Bank of England.
The congregation rose to join all those outside the cathedral in singing Harry’s favourite song from Guys and Dolls, ‘Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat’. Perhaps for the first time in the cathedral’s history, cries of ‘Encore’ rang out both inside and out; inside, where the Salvation Army were led by Miss Adelaide representing Emma, while outside were a thousand Sky Mastersons playing Harry.
The dean nodded, and the choir master raised his baton once again. Giles was probably the only person who didn’t join in when the congregation began to sing, And did those feet in ancient times . . . Becoming more nervous by the minute, he placed the order of service by his side and clung on to the pew, in the hope that no one would see his hands were shaking.