‘Or they could have worked together in the library,’ suggested Alistair.
‘If you were able to prove this,’ said Guinzburg, ‘it would place my company, and by that I mean me, in an invidious position to say the least, and in the circumstances, I might be wise to seek legal advice.’
‘We would like to make it clear from the start,’ interjected Alistair, who was sitting on Emma’s right, ‘that we came here in a spirit of goodwill, as we felt you would wish to be acquainted with my cousin’s story.’
‘It was the only reason I agreed to see you,’ said Guinzburg, ‘as I was a great admirer of your late father.’
‘I didn’t realize you knew him.’
‘I didn’t,’ said Guinzburg. ‘He appeared for the other side in a dispute my company was involved in, and I left the courtroom wishing he’d been on my side. However, if I am to accept your cousin’s story,’ he continued, ‘I hope you won’t mind if I ask Miss Barrington one or two questions.’
‘I’m happy to answer any questions you might have, Mr Guinzburg,’ said Emma. ‘But may I ask if you’ve read Harry’s book?’
‘I make a point of reading every book we publish, Miss Barrington. I can’t pretend I find all of them enjoyable, or even finish every one, but in the case of The Diary of a Convict, I knew the moment I’d finished the first chapter that it would be a bestseller. I also made a note in the margin on page two-eleven.’ Guinzburg picked up the book and flicked through its pages before beginning to read. ‘I’ve always wanted to be an author, and am currently working on an outline plot for the first in a series of detective novels based in Bristol.’
‘Bristol,’ said Emma, interrupting the old man. ‘How could Max Lloyd possibly know anything about Bristol?’
‘There is a Bristol in Mr Lloyd’s home state of Illinois, Miss Barrington,’ said Guinzburg, ‘as Max pointed out when I told him I’d be interested in reading the first in the series.’
‘You never will,’ Emma promised him.
‘He’s already submitted the opening chapters of Mistaken Identity,’ said Guinzburg, ‘and I have to say, they’re rather good.’
‘And were those chapters written in the same style as the diary?’
‘Yes. And before you ask, Miss Barrington, they are also written in the same hand, unless you’re suggesting that they were also copied.’
‘He’s got away with it once. Why wouldn’t he try it on a second time?’
‘But do you have any real proof that Mr Lloyd didn’t write The Diary of a Convict?’ said Guinzburg, beginning to sound a little irritated.
‘Yes, sir. I am the “Emma” in the book.’
‘If that is the case, Miss Barrington, I agree with the author’s judgement that you are indeed a great beauty, and you have already proved, to quote him, to be both spirited and combative.’
Emma smiled. ‘And you’re an old flatterer, Mr Guinzburg.’
‘As he wrote, spirited and combative,’ said Guinzburg, placing his half-moon spectacles back on his nose. ‘Nevertheless, I doubt your claim would stand up in a court of law. Sefton Jelks could put half a dozen Emmas on the witness stand who would swear blind they had known Lloyd all their lives. I need something more substantial.’
‘Don’t you find it a little too much of a coincidence, Mr Guinzburg, that the day Thomas Bradshaw arrives at Lavenham just happens to be the first day of the diary?’
‘Mr Lloyd explained that he didn’t start writing the diary until he became the prison librarian, when he had more time on his hands.’
‘But how do you explain there being no mention of his last night in prison, or the morning he’s released? He just has breakfast in the canteen, and reports to the library for another day’s work.’
‘What explanation do you have?’ asked Guinzburg, peering at her over the top of his glasses.
‘Whoever wrote the diary is still in Lavenham, and probably working on the next volume.’
‘That shouldn’t be difficult for you to verify,’ said Guinzburg, raising an eyebrow.
‘I agree,’ said Alistair, ‘and I’ve already submitted an application for Miss Barrington to visit Mr Bradshaw on compassionate grounds, and am waiting for the warden of Lavenham to give his approval.’
‘May I be allowed to ask a few more questions, Miss Barrington, in the hope of removing any lingering doubts?’ asked Guinzburg.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Emma.
The old man smiled, pulled his waistcoat down, pushed up his spectacles and studied a list of questions on a notepad in front of him. ‘Who is Captain Jack Tarrant, sometimes known as Old Jack?’
‘My grandfather’s oldest friend. They served in the Boer War together.’
‘Which grandfather?’
‘Sir Walter Barrington.’
The publisher nodded. ‘And did you consider Mr Tarrant to be an honourable man?’
‘Like Caesar’s wife, he was beyond reproach. He was probably the single biggest influence in Harry’s life.’