Harry had made it clear, long before he asked Emma to be his wife, that if war was declared he wouldn’t hesitate to leave Oxford and join the Royal Navy. He was a stubborn man at the best of times, and these were the worst of times. Emma realized there was no point in trying to dissuade him, as nothing she could say or do would have changed his mind. He had also warned her that he would not consider returning to Oxford until the Germans had surrendered.
Emma had also left Oxford early, but unlike Harry, she hadn’t been given a choice. For her there would be no chance of returning. Pregnancy was frowned upon at Somerville, and even more so when you weren’t married to the father. The decision must have broken her mother’s heart. Elizabeth Barrington had so wanted her daughter to achieve the academic accolades that she had been denied for no other reason than her sex. A rare glimmer of light appeared on the horizon a year later, when Emma’s younger sister Grace won an open scholarship to Girton College, Cambridge, and from the day she’d arrived in that seat of learning she had outshone the brightest men.
Once it became obvious that Emma was pregnant, she was whisked off to her grandfather’s estate in Scotland, to give birth to Harry’s child. Barringtons don’t produce illegitimate offspring, at least not in Bristol. Sebastian was crawling around the castle before the prodigal daughter was allowed to return to the Manor House. Elizabeth had wanted them to remain at Mulgelrie until the war was over, but Emma had had more than enough of being hidden away in a remote Scottish castle.
One of the first people she visited after returning to the West Country was her grandfather, Sir Walter Barrington. It had been he who had told her that Harry had joined the crew of the SS Devonian, and planned to return to Bristol within the month, as he intended to sign up as an ordinary seaman on HMS Resolution. Harry never returned, and six weeks went by before she learned that her lover had been buried at sea.
Sir Walter had taken it upon himself to visit each member of the family one by one, to inform them of the tragic news. He’d begun with Mrs Clifton, although he knew she had already heard what had happened from Dr Wallace, who had passed on Thomas Bradshaw’s letter. He next travelled up to Scotland to break the news to Emma. Sir Walter was surprised that his granddaughter didn’t shed a tear, but then Emma simply refused to accept that Harry was dead.
Once he’d returned to Bristol, Sir Walter visited Giles and told him the news. Harry’s closest friend had sunk into a desolate silence, and there was nothing any of the family could say or do to console him. When Lord and Lady Harvey heard the news of Harry’s death, they were stoical. A week later, when the family attended Captain Jack Tarrant’s memorial service at Bristol Grammar School, Lord Harvey remarked that he was glad Old Jack had never found out what had happened to his protégé.
The only person in the family Sir Walter refused to visit was his son, Hugo. He made an excuse about not knowing how to get in touch with him, but when Emma returned to Bristol he admitted to her that even if he had known, he wouldn’t have bothered, and added that her father was probably the one person who would be pleased that Harry was dead. Emma said nothing, but didn’t doubt that he was right.
For several days after her visit to Maisie in Still House Lane, Emma had spent hours alone in her room endlessly considering what she might do with her new-found knowledge. She concluded that there was no way she could hope to discover the contents of the letter that had rested on the mantelpiece for more than a year, without harming her relationship with Maisie. However, Emma resolved not only to prove to the whole world that Harry was still alive, but to find him, wherever he might be. With that in mind, she made another appointment to see her grandfather. After all, Sir Walter Barrington was the only person other than Maisie who’d met Dr Wallace, so he must surely be her best chance of unravelling the mystery of exactly who Thomas Bradshaw was.
7
ONE THING Emma’s grandfather had instilled in her from an early age was never to be late for an appointment. It gives the wrong impression, he told her; that is, if you want to be taken seriously.
With that in mind, Emma left the Manor House at 9.25 that morning, and was driven through the gates of Barrington’s shipyard at exactly eight minutes to ten. The car parked outside Barrington House at six minutes to ten. By the time she stepped out of the lift on the fifth floor and walked down the corridor to the chairman’s office, it was two minutes to ten.
Sir Walter’s secretary, Miss Beale, opened the door of his office as the clock on his mantelpiece began to chime ten. The chairman smiled, rose from behind his desk and walked across the room to greet Emma with a kiss on both cheeks.
‘And how is my favourite granddaughter?’ he asked as he guided her to a comfortable chair by the fire.
‘Grace is just fine, Gramps,’ said Emma. ‘Doing brilliantly at Cambridge, I’m told, and sends her love.’
‘Don’t get cheeky with me, young lady,’ he said, returning her smile. ‘And Sebastian, my favourite great-grandson, how’s he coming along?’