Emma felt guilty about being away from her homeland. She must find Harry, get him released from prison and together they would return to Bristol.
The hotel receptionist looked up Jelks, Myers & Abernathy in the Manhattan telephone directory, wrote out an address on Wall Street and handed it to Emma.
The cab dropped her outside a vast steel and glass building that stretched high into the sky. She pushed through the revolving doors and checked a large board on the wall that listed the names of every firm on the forty-eight floors. Jelks, Myers & Abernathy was located on floors 20, 21 and 22; all enquiries at reception on the twentieth floor.
Emma joined a horde of grey-flannel-suited men who filled the first available elevator. When she stepped out on the twentieth floor, she was greeted by the sight of three smart women dressed in open-neck white blouses and black skirts, who sat behind a reception desk, something else she hadn’t seen in Bristol. She marched confidently up to the desk. ‘I’d like to see Mr Jelks.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’ the receptionist asked politely.
‘No,’ admitted Emma, who’d only ever dealt with a local solicitor, who was always available whenever a member of the Barrington family dropped in.
The receptionist looked surprised. Clients didn’t just turn up at the front desk hoping to see the senior partner; they either wrote, or their secretary phoned to make an appointment in Mr Jelks’s crowded diary. ‘If I could take your name, I’ll have a word with his assistant.’
‘Emma Barrington.’
‘Please have a seat, Miss Barrington. Someone will be with you shortly.’
Emma sat alone in a little alcove. ‘Shortly’ turned out to be more than half an hour, when another grey-suited man appeared carrying a yellow pad.
‘My name is Samuel Anscott,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘I understand that you wish to see the senior partner.’
‘That is correct.’
‘I’m his legal assistant,’ said Anscott as he took the seat opposite her. ‘Mr Jelks has asked me to find out why you want to see him.’
‘It’s a private matter,’ said Emma.
‘I’m afraid he won’t agree to see you unless I’m able to tell him what it’s about.’
Emma pursed her lips. ‘I’m a friend of Harry Clifton.’
She watched Anscott closely, but it was obvious that the name meant nothing to him, although he did make a note of it on his yellow pad.
‘I have reason to believe that Harry Clifton was arrested for the murder of Adam Bradshaw, and that Mr Jelks represented him.’
This time the name did register, and the pen moved more swiftly across the pad.
‘I wish to see Mr Jelks, in order to find out how a lawyer of his standing could have allowed my fiancé to take Thomas Bradshaw’s place.’
A deep frown appeared on the young man’s face. He clearly wasn’t used to anyone referring to his boss in this way. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Barrington,’ he said, which Emma suspected was true. ‘But I will brief Mr Jelks, and come back to you. Perhaps you could give me a contact address.’
‘I’m staying at the Mayflower Hotel,’ said Emma, ‘and I’m available to see Mr Jelks at any time.’
Anscott made another note on his pad, stood up, gave a curt nod, but this time didn’t offer to shake hands. Emma felt confident that she wouldn’t have to wait long before the senior partner agreed to see her.
She took a taxi back to the Mayflower Hotel, and could hear the phone ringing in her room even before she’d opened the door. She ran across the room, but by the time she picked up the receiver, the line had gone dead.
She sat down at the desk and began to write to her mother to say she’d arrived safely although she didn’t mention the fact that she was now convinced Harry was alive. Emma would only do that when she’d seen him in the flesh. She was on the third page of the letter when the phone rang again. She picked it up.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Barrington.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Anscott,’ she said, not needing to be told who it was.
‘I’ve spoken to Mr Jelks concerning your request for a meeting, but I’m afraid he’s unable to see you, because it would create a conflict of interest with another client he represents. He is sorry not to be more helpful.’
The line went dead.