‘Such as?’ said Sir James, barely able to disguise his irritation.
‘Perhaps it’s time to remind you about another student, who didn’t have the same privileges as Jessica Clifton. A young man who, when he was an undergraduate at Cambridge, took his tutor’s motorbike without permission and in the middle of the night went on a joyride. When he was pulled over by the police for speeding, he claimed he had the owner’s permission.’
‘That was just a harmless prank.’
‘And when he appeared in front of the magistrate the following morning, he wasn’t charged, but was told to return the bike to its owner and apologize. And fortunately, because the young man was not the son of a government minister, the incident didn’t even manage a paragraph in the Cambridge Evening News.’
‘That’s not altogether fair, Dr Barrington.’
‘And when he returned the bike to his tutor and apologized, the undergraduate was not sent down or even rusticated, because his tutor was a civilized fellow, and was well aware that the young man was only a few weeks away from his finals.’
‘That’s below the belt, Dr Barrington.’
‘I cannot disagree,’ said Grace. ‘But I think it worthy of mention that the young man in question graduated with a first-class honours degree, and later became chairman of BP, president of the Slade School of Art, and a knight of the realm.’
Sir James bowed his head.
‘I apologize for resorting to such tactics, Sir James, and can only hope you will forgive me when Dame Jessica Clifton RA is appointed president of the Royal Academy.’
‘Tell me, Grandpops,’ said Jessica, ‘have you ever made a complete fool of yourself?’
‘Do you mean this week, or last week?’ asked Harry.
‘I’m serious. I mean when you were young.’
‘That’s so long ago, I can’t even remember,’ said Harry. Jessica remained silent as she waited for him to answer her question. ‘What about being arrested for murder?’ he finally managed. ‘Does that count?’
‘But you were innocent and it was all a terrible mistake.’
‘The judge didn’t seem to think so, because he sentenced me to four years in jail, and if I remember correctly, you only managed one night.’ Jessica frowned, and didn’t respond. ‘And then there was the time I disobeyed orders and advised a German general to lay down his arms and surrender, when all I had at my disposal was a pistol and an Irish corporal.’
‘And the Americans decorated you for that action.’
‘But that’s the point, Jessie. Often in war you’re hailed as a hero for something that had you done in peacetime, you would have been arrested for and possibly shot.’
‘Do you think my father will ever forgive me?’
‘There’s no reason why he shouldn’t. He did something far worse at your age, which was the reason your mother left him and returned to America.’
‘She told me they drifted apart.’
‘True, but what she didn’t tell you was why. And they have you to thank for bringing them back together.’
‘And whom do I have to thank?’
‘Your great-aunt Grace, if you’re asking who made it possible for you to return to the Slade in September.’
‘I assumed it was you or Grandmama who intervened.’
‘No. Although she won’t thank me for telling you, Grace joined forces with Professor Howard, proving that when two people work together, they can become an army.’
‘How can I ever begin to thank them?’
‘By proving they were right. Which leads me to ask how your work’s coming on.’
‘I don’t know, is the honest answer. Can you ever be sure how one of your books is shaping up?’
‘No. In the end I leave it to the critics and the public to make that decision.’
‘Then I guess it will be the same for me. So would you be willing to offer an honest opinion on my latest work?’
‘I could try,’ said Harry, hoping he wouldn’t have to dissemble.
‘Then no better time than now,’ said Jessica, grabbing him by the hand and leading him out of the library. ‘It was kind of you to allow me to come down for the summer and see if I could pick up the pieces,’ she added as they climbed the stairs.
‘And have you?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m hoping you’ll tell me,’ said Jessica, as she opened the door to the old playroom and stood aside.
Harry walked tentatively in and looked at row upon row of preliminary drawings scattered across the floor. They didn’t begin to prepare him for the huge canvas that stood on an easel in the centre of the room. He stared at a painting of the Manor House, which he had thought he knew so well. The lawn, the rose garden, the lake, the folly, the vast oaks that led your eye to the horizon. Every colour was wrong, but when put together . . .
When Jessica could bear it no longer she said, ‘Well? Say something, Grandpops.’
‘I only hope my latest book is half as good.’
28
‘BUT IT’S A FAMILY TRADITION,’ insisted Emma.