When they arrived back home in Lennox Gardens, they were met by another group of photographers and journalists. The same questions, but still no answers. Once they were safely inside, Seb accompanied Jessica into the living room, and before she had a chance to sit down, he demanded the truth, and nothing less.
‘And don’t spare us, because I’ve no doubt we’ll read every lurid detail in the Evening Standard later today.’
The self-assured young woman who’d left Annabel’s after celebrating her birthday had been replaced by a stammering, tearful nineteen-year-old, who replied to their questions in a quivering, uncertain voice that neither of her parents had ever experienced before. Between embarrassed silences, Jessica described how she’d first met Paulo and became infatuated by his charm, his sophistication and, most of all, she admitted, the endless flow of cash. Although she told her parents everything, she never placed any blame on her lover, and even asked if she might be allowed to see him one more time.
‘For what purpose?’ asked Sebastian.
‘To say goodbye.’ She hesitated. ‘And to thank him.’
‘I don’t think that would be wise, while the press will be dogging his every step and hoping you’ll do just that. But if you write him a letter, I’ll make sure he gets it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Jessie, you have to face the fact that you’ve let us both down badly. However, one thing’s for sure, nothing will be gained by raking over it. It’s now in the past, and only you can decide what you want to do about your future.’
Jessica looked up at her parents, but didn’t speak.
‘In my opinion, you have two choices,’ said Seb. ‘You can come back home and find out if it’s possible to pick up the pieces, or you can leave, and return to your other life.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Jessica, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘I know what I did was unforgivable. I don’t want to go back, and I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it up to both of you if you’ll just give me another chance.’
‘Of course we will,’ said Samantha, ‘but I can’t speak for the Slade.’
Sebastian left the flat a couple of hours later to pick up an early edition of the Evening Standard. The headline screamed out at him from a poster long before he’d reached the newsagent:
HEALTH MINISTER’S GRANDDAUGHTER
INVOLVED IN DRUGS SCANDAL
He read the article as he walked slowly back home. It included almost all of the details Jessie had volunteered earlier. A night spent in a police cell, champagne, marijuana, two bottles of expensive wine followed by brandy Alexanders consumed at Annabel’s in Mayfair. A police chase that ended up with a ￡100,000 Ferrari crashing head on into a squad car, and even the suggestion of four in a bed.
Mr Paulo Reinaldo warranted only a passing mention, but then the reporter was far more interested in making sure the Baroness Emma Clifton, Under Secretary of State for Health, Sir Harry Clifton, popular author and civil rights campaigner, Lord Barrington, former leader of the House of Lords, and Sebastian Clifton, chairman of a leading city bank, all got a mention, despite the fact that they were all fast asleep at the time Jessica Clifton was arrested.
Sebastian let out a deep sigh. He could only hope that his beloved daughter would eventually be able to chalk this down to experience and, given time, not only fully recover but be stronger for it. It wasn’t until he reached the last paragraph that he realized that wasn’t going to be possible.
Virginia also purchased an early edition of the Evening Standard, and couldn’t stop smiling as she read the ‘exclusive’ word for word. Ten pounds well spent, she thought to herself. Her only disappointment was that Paulo Reinaldo had pleaded guilty, and received a fine of ￡500 after assuring the judge he would be returning to Brazil in the next few days.
However, the smile reappeared on Virginia’s face when she came to the last paragraph of the article. Mr Gerald Knight, the principal of the Slade School of Fine Art, told the reporter he had been left with no choice but to expel both Mr Reinaldo and Miss Jessica Clifton from the college. He added that he had done so reluctantly in the case of Miss Clifton, as she was an extremely gifted student.
‘It’s a great pleasure to finally meet you, Dr Barrington. I’ve long been an admirer of yours.’
‘That’s kind of you, Sir James, but I had no idea you’d even heard of me.’
‘You taught my wife Helen when she was up at Cambridge,’ said Sir James as they sat down by the fire.
‘Remind me of her maiden name, Sir James?’
‘Helen Prentice. We met when I was reading Law at Trinity.’
‘Ah, yes, I remember Helen. She played the cello in the college orchestra. Does she still play?’
‘Only at weekends when no one is listening.’ They both laughed.