Best Kept Secret

8





‘IS THAT YOUR father’s book?’

Sebastian looked at a pile of novels stacked neatly in the window of the bookshop. A sign above them read, Nothing Gained by Harry Clifton, 3s 6d. The latest adventure of William Warwick.

‘Yes,’ said Sebastian proudly. ‘Would you like one?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Lu Yang.

Sebastian strolled into the shop, followed by his friend. A table near the front was piled high with his father’s latest hardback, surrounded by paperbacks of The Case of the Blind Witness and Nothing Ventured, the first two novels in the William Warwick series.

Sebastian handed Lu Yang a copy of each of the three books. They were quickly joined by several of his classmates, and he gave each of them a copy of the latest book, and in some cases the other two as well. The pile was rapidly diminishing when a middle-aged man charged out from behind the counter, grabbed Sebastian by the collar and dragged him away.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he shouted.

‘It’s all right,’ said Sebastian, ‘they’re my father’s books!’

‘Now I’ve heard everything,’ said the manager as he marched Sebastian, who was protesting with every stride, towards the back of the shop. He turned to an assistant and said, ‘Call the police. I caught this thief red-handed. Then see if you can retrieve the books his friends ran off with.’

The manager shoved Sebastian into his office and dumped him firmly on to an old horsehair sofa.

‘Don’t even think about moving,’ he said as he left the office, closing the door firmly behind him.

Sebastian heard a key turning in the lock. He stood up, walked across to the manager’s desk and picked up a book, then sat back down and began reading. He’d reached page nine, and was getting to quite like Richard Hannay, when the door opened and the manager returned with a triumphant smirk on his face.

‘There he is, chief inspector, I caught the lad red-handed.’

Chief Inspector Blakemore tried to keep a straight face when the manager added, ‘Had the gall to tell me the books belonged to his father.’

‘He wasn’t lying,’ said Blakemore. ‘That’s Harry Clifton’s boy.’ Looking sternly at Sebastian, he added, ‘But that’s no excuse for what you did, young man.’

‘Even if his father is Harry Clifton, I’m still short one pound and eighteen shillings,’ said the manager. ‘So what do you intend to do about that?’ he added, pointing an accusing finger at Sebastian.

‘I’ve already contacted Mr Clifton,’ said Blakemore, ‘so I don’t think it will be long before that question is answered. While we wait for him, I suggest you explain the economics of bookselling to his son.’

The manager, looking a little chastened, sat down on the corner of his desk.

‘When your father writes a book,’ he said, ‘his publishers pay him an advance, and then a percentage of the cover price for each copy sold. In your dad’s case, I would guess that would be around ten per cent. The publisher also has to pay his salesmen, the editorial and publicity staff, and the printer, as well as any advertising and distribution costs.’

‘And how much do you have to pay for each book?’ asked Sebastian.

Blakemore couldn’t wait to hear the bookseller’s reply. The manager hesitated before saying, ‘Around two-thirds of the cover price.’

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. ‘So my father only gets ten per cent on each book, while you pocket thirty-three per cent?’

‘Yes, but I have to pay rent and rates for these premises, as well as my staff’s wages,’ said the manager defensively.

‘So it would be cheaper for my father to replace the books rather than pay you the full amount of the cover price?’

The chief inspector wished Sir Walter Barrington was still alive. He would have enjoyed this exchange.

‘Perhaps you could tell me, sir,’ continued Sebastian, ‘how many books need to be replaced.’

‘Eight hardbacks and eleven paperbacks,’ said the manager, as Harry walked into the office.

Chief Inspector Blakemore explained to him what had happened, before adding, ‘I won’t be charging the boy for shoplifting on this occasion, Mr Clifton, just issuing him with a caution. I’ll leave it to you to make sure, sir, that he doesn’t do anything as irresponsible again.’

‘Of course, chief inspector,’ said Harry. ‘I’m most grateful, and I’ll ask my publishers to replace the books immediately. And there will be no more pocket money for you, my boy, until every penny has been paid back,’ he added, turning to face Sebastian.

Sebastian bit his lip.

‘Thank you, Mr Clifton,’ said the manager, and added a little sheepishly, ‘I was wondering, sir, as you’re here, if you’d be kind enough to sign the rest of the stock?’



When Emma’s mother Elizabeth went into hospital for a checkup, she tried to reassure her daughter that there was nothing to worry about, and told her she wasn’t to tell Harry or the children because it would only make them anxious.

It certainly made Emma anxious and, as soon as she returned to Barrington Hall, she phoned Giles at the House of Commons, and then her sister in Cambridge. They both dropped everything and caught the next train to Bristol.

‘Let’s hope I’m not wasting your time,’ said Emma after she’d picked them up from Temple Meads.

‘Let’s hope you are wasting our time,’ Grace replied.

Giles appeared preoccupied and stared out of the window as they continued their journey to the hospital in silence.

Even before Mr Langbourne had closed the door to his office, Emma sensed the news wasn’t going to be good.

‘I wish there was an easy way to tell you this,’ the specialist said once they’d sat down, ‘but I’m afraid there isn’t. Dr Raeburn, who’s been your mother’s GP for several years, carried out a routine check-up, and when he got the results of his tests, he referred her to me in order that I could carry out a more detailed examination.’

Emma clenched her fists, something she used to do as a schoolgirl whenever she was nervous or in trouble.

‘Yesterday,’ continued Mr Langbourne, ‘I received the results from the clinical lab. They confirmed Dr Raeburn’s fears: your mother has breast cancer.’

‘Can she be cured?’ was Emma’s immediate response.

‘There is no cure at present for someone of her age,’ said Langbourne. ‘Scientists are hoping for a breakthrough at some time in the future, but I fear that won’t be soon enough for your mother.’

‘Is there anything we can do?’ asked Grace.

Emma leant across and took her sister’s hand.

‘During this time, she will need all the love and support you and the family can give her. Elizabeth is a remarkable woman, and after all she has been through, she deserves better. But she’s never once complained – not her style. She’s a typical Harvey.’

‘How long will she be with us?’ asked Emma.

‘I fear,’ said Langbourne, ‘that it will be a matter of weeks, rather than months.’

‘Then there’s something I have to tell her,’ said Giles, who hadn’t spoken until then.



The shoplifting incident, as it came to be known at St Bede’s, turned Sebastian from a bit of a loner into something of a folk hero, and boys who previously wouldn’t have bothered with him invited him to join their gangs. Harry began to believe this might be a turning point, but when he told Sebastian that his grandmother only had a few weeks to live, the boy crept back into his shell.

Jessica had begun her first term at Red Maids’. She worked far harder than Sebastian, but didn’t come top in any subject. The art mistress told Emma it was a pity that painting wasn’t a recognized subject, because Jessica had more talent at the age of eight than she herself had shown in her final year at college.

Emma decided not to repeat this conversation to Jessica but to allow the child to discover for herself just how talented she was in the fullness of time. Sebastian regularly told her she was a genius, but what did he know? He also thought Stanley Matthews was a genius.

A month later, Sebastian failed three of his mock papers, taken only weeks before the BGS entrance exams. Neither Harry nor Emma felt they could chastise him while he was so distressed about his grandmother’s condition. He would accompany Emma to the hospital every afternoon after she picked him up from school, climb on to his grandmother’s bed and read to her from his favourite book until she fell asleep.

Jessica painted a new picture for Granny every day, and dropped it off at the hospital the following morning before Harry took her on to school. There were only a few blank spaces left on the walls of her private gallery by the end of term.

Giles missed several three-line whips, Grace countless tutorials, Harry endless deadlines, and Emma sometimes failed to reply to Cyrus Feldman’s weekly letters. But it was Sebastian who Elizabeth most looked forward to seeing every day. Harry couldn’t be sure who benefited more from the experience, his son or his mother-in-law.



It didn’t help that Sebastian had to take his exam for Bristol Grammar School while his grandmother’s life was ebbing away.

The outcome was as the headmaster of St Bede’s had predicted, mixed. His Latin, French, English and maths papers were of scholarship level, while he barely made the pass mark in history, failed narrowly in geography, and scored just 9 per cent in his natural sciences paper.

Dr Hedley called Harry at Barrington Hall moments after the results had been posted on the school notice board.

‘I’ll have a private word with John Garrett, my opposite number at BGS,’ he said, ‘and remind him that Sebastian scored a hundred per cent in Latin and maths, and will almost certainly be scholarship material by the time it comes for him to go to university.’

‘You might also remind him,’ said Harry, ‘that both his uncle and I were at BGS, and his grandfather, Sir Walter Barrington, was chairman of the governors.’

‘I don’t think he’ll need reminding,’ said Hedley. ‘But I will point out that Sebastian’s grandmother was in hospital while he was taking the exams. All we can do is hope he backs my judgement.’

He did. Dr Hedley called Harry at the end of the week to say that the headmaster of BGS would be recommending to the board that, despite Sebastian failing two of the set papers, he should still be offered a place at BGS for the Michaelmas term.

‘Thank you,’ said Harry. ‘That’s the first good news I’ve had in weeks.’

‘But,’ Hedley added, ‘he reminded me that in the end it will be the board’s decision.’



Harry was the last person to visit his mother-in-law that night, and was just about to leave when Elizabeth whispered, ‘Can you stay for a few more minutes, my dear? There’s something I need to discuss with you.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Harry, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

‘I spent the morning with Desmond Siddons, our family lawyer,’ Elizabeth said, stumbling over each word, ‘and I wanted to let you know that I’ve executed a new will, because I can’t bear the thought of that dreadful woman Virginia Fenwick getting her hands on any of my possessions.’

‘I don’t think that’s a problem any longer. We haven’t seen or heard from Virginia for weeks, so I assume it’s all over.’

‘The reason you haven’t seen or heard from her for weeks, Harry, is because she wants me to believe it’s all over. It’s not a coincidence that she disappeared from the scene only days after Giles learned I didn’t have long to live.’

‘I’m sure you’re overreacting, Elizabeth. I don’t believe even Virginia could be that callous.’

‘My dear Harry, you always give everyone the benefit of the doubt because you have such a generous nature. It was a lucky day for Emma when she met you.’

‘It’s sweet of you to say so, Elizabeth, but I’m sure that given time—’

‘That’s the one thing I don’t have.’

‘Then perhaps we should ask Virginia to come and visit you?’

‘I’ve made it clear to Giles on several occasions that I’d like to meet her, but each time I’ve been rebuffed with more and more unlikely excuses. Now, why do you think that is? Don’t bother to answer, Harry, because you’ll be the last person to work out what Virginia’s really up to. And you can be sure she won’t make her move until after my funeral.’ A flicker of a smile crossed Elizabeth’s face before she added, ‘But I still have one card up my sleeve, which I don’t intend to play until I’ve been lowered into my grave, when my spirit will return like an avenging angel.’

Harry didn’t interrupt Elizabeth as she leant back and, with all the energy she could muster, removed an envelope from under her pillow. ‘Now listen to me carefully, Harry,’ she said. You must be sure to carry out my instructions to the letter.’ She gripped his hand. ‘If Giles should contest my latest will—’

‘But why would he do that?’

‘Because he’s a Barrington, and Barringtons have always been weak when it comes to women. So, if he should contest my latest will,’ she repeated, ‘you must give this envelope to the judge who is selected to decide which member of the family will inherit my estate.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

‘You must destroy it,’ said Elizabeth, her breathing becoming shallower by the second. ‘You are not to open it yourself, or ever let Giles or Emma know of its existence.’ She tightened her grip on his hand, and whispered almost inaudibly, ‘Now you must give me your word, Harry Clifton, because I know Old Jack taught you that should always be enough.’

‘You have my word,’ said Harry, and placed the envelope in an inside pocket of his jacket.

Elizabeth relaxed her grip, and sank back on the pillow, a contented smile on her lips. She never did discover if Sydney Carton escaped the guillotine.



Harry opened the post while he was having breakfast.

Bristol Grammar School,

University Road,

Bristol

July 27th, 1951

Dear Mr Clifton,

I am sorry to inform you that your son, Sebastian, has not been . . .

Harry leapt up from the breakfast table and walked across to the telephone. He dialled the number at the bottom of the letter.

‘Headmaster’s office,’ announced a voice.

‘May I speak to Mr Garrett?’

‘Who’s calling, please?’

‘Harry Clifton.’

‘I’ll put you through, sir.’

‘Good morning, headmaster. My name is Harry Clifton.’

‘Good morning, Mr Clifton. I’ve been expecting your call.’

‘I can’t believe the board came to such an ill-founded decision.’

‘Frankly, Mr Clifton, neither could I, especially after I’d pleaded your son’s case so vehemently.’

‘What reason did they give for turning him down?’

‘That they mustn’t be seen to be making an exception for an old boy’s son when he’d failed to obtain the pass mark in two compulsory subjects.’

‘And that was their only reason?’

‘No,’ replied the headmaster. ‘One of the governors raised the matter of your son being cautioned by the police for shoplifting.’

‘But there’s a perfectly innocent explanation for that incident,’ said Harry, trying not to lose his temper.

‘I don’t doubt there is,’ said Garrett, ‘but our new chairman couldn’t be swayed on the matter.’

‘Then he’ll be my next call. What’s his name?’

‘Major Alex Fisher.’





GILES BARRINGTON





1951–1954