Clifton Chronicles 02 - The Sins of the Father (40 page)

‘I’m planning to stand for Parliament at the next election,’ he announced.

‘To which seat have you granted this honour?’ asked Harry.

‘Bristol Docklands,’ Giles replied.

‘But that’s a safe Labour seat.’

‘And I intend to be the Labour candidate.’

Harry made no attempt to hide his surprise. ‘What caused this Saint Paul-like conversion?’ he asked.

‘A corporal I served with on the frontline called Bates—’

‘Not Terry Bates?’ said Harry.

‘Yes, did you know him?’

‘Sure did. The brightest kid in my class at Merrywood Elementary, and the best sportsman. He left school at twelve to work in his father’s business: Bates and Son, butchers.’

‘That’s why I’m standing as a Labour candidate,’ said Giles. ‘Terry had just as much right to be at Oxford as you or me.’

The following day, Emma and Sebastian returned, armed with pens, pencils, pads and an India rubber. She told Harry the time had come for him to stop thinking and start writing.

During the long hours when he couldn’t sleep, or was simply alone, Harry’s thoughts turned to the novel he had intended to write if he hadn’t escaped from Lavenham.

He began to make outline notes of the characters that must turn the page. His detective would have to be a one-off, an original, who he hoped would become part of his readers’ everyday lives, like Poirot, Holmes or Maigret.

He finally settled on the name William Warwick. The Hon. William would be the second son of the Earl of Warwick, and have turned down the opportunity to go to Oxford, much to his father’s disgust, because he wanted to join the police force. His character would be loosely based on his friend Giles. After three years on the beat, walking the streets of Bristol, Bill, as he was known to his colleagues, would become a detective constable, and be assigned to Chief Inspector Blakemore, the man who’d intervened when Harry’s uncle Stan had been arrested and wrongly charged with stealing money from Hugo Barrington’s safe.

Lady Warwick, Bill’s mother, would be modelled on Elizabeth Barrington; Bill would have a girlfriend called Emma, and his grandfathers Lord Harvey and Sir Walter Barrington would make the occasional entrance on the page but only to offer sage advice.

Every night, Harry would read over the pages he’d written that day, and every morning his wastepaper basket needed emptying.

Harry always looked forward to Sebastian’s visits. His young son was so full of energy, so inquisitive and so good-looking, just like his mother, as everyone teased him.

Sebastian often asked questions no one else would have dared to: what’s it like being in prison? How many Germans did you kill? Why aren’t you and Mama married? Harry sidestepped most of them, but he knew Sebastian was far too bright not to work out what his father was up to, and feared it wouldn’t be long before the boy trapped him.

Whenever Harry was alone he continued to work on the outline plot for his novel.

He’d read over a hundred detective novels while he was working as deputy librarian at Lavenham, and he felt that some of the characters he’d come across in prison and in the army could provide material for a dozen novels: Max Lloyd, Sefton Jelks, Warden Swanson, Officer Hessler, Colonel Cleverdon, Captain Havens, Tom Bradshaw and Pat Quinn – especially Pat Quinn.

During the next few weeks, Harry became lost in his own world, but he had to admit that the way some of his visitors had spent the last five years had also turned out to be stranger than fiction.

When Emma’s sister Grace paid him a visit, Harry didn’t comment on the fact that she looked so much older than when he’d last seen her, but then she’d only been a schoolgirl at the time. Now Grace was in her final year at Cambridge and about to sit her exams. She told him with pride that for a couple of years she’d worked on a farm, not going back up to Cambridge until she was convinced the war was won.

It was with sadness that Harry learnt from Lady Barrington that her husband, Sir Walter, had passed away, a man Harry had admired second only to Old Jack.

His uncle Stan never visited him.

As the days went by, Harry thought about raising the subject of Emma’s father, but he sensed that even the mention of his name was off-limits.

And then one evening, after Harry’s doctor had told him that it wouldn’t be too long before they released him, Emma lay down next to him on the bed and told him that her father was dead.

When she came to the end of her story, Harry said, ‘You’ve never been good at dissembling, my darling, so perhaps the time has come to tell me why the whole family is so on edge.’

43

H
ARRY WOKE
the next morning to find his mother, along with the whole Barrington family, seated around his bed.

The only absentees were Sebastian and his uncle Stan, neither of whom it was felt would have made a serious contribution.

‘The doctor has said you can go home,’ said Emma.

‘Great news,’ said Harry. ‘But where’s home? If it means going back to Still House Lane and living with Uncle Stan, I’d prefer to stay in hospital – even go back to prison.’ No one laughed.

‘I’m now living at Barrington Hall,’ said Giles, ‘so why don’t you move in with me? Heaven knows there are enough rooms.’

‘Including a library,’ said Emma. ‘So you’ll have no excuse not to continue working on your novel.’

‘And you can come and visit Emma and Sebastian whenever you want to,’ added Elizabeth Barrington.

Harry didn’t respond for some time.

‘You’re all being very kind,’ he eventually managed, ‘and please don’t think I’m not grateful, but I can’t believe it needed the whole family to decide where I’m going to live.’

‘There’s another reason we wanted to talk to you,’ said Lord Harvey, ‘and the family have asked me to speak on their behalf.’

Harry sat bolt upright, and gave Emma’s grandfather his full attention.

‘A serious issue has arisen concerning the future of the Barrington estate,’ began Lord Harvey. ‘The terms of Joshua Barrington’s will have turned out to be a legal nightmare, rivalled only by Jarndyce and Jarndyce, and could end up being just as financially crippling.’

‘But I have no interest in either the title or the estate,’ said Harry. ‘My only desire is to prove that Hugo Barrington was not my father, so I can marry Emma.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Lord Harvey. ‘However, complications have arisen that I must acquaint you with.’

‘Please do, sir, because I can’t see that there’s any problem.’

‘I’ll try to explain. Following Hugo’s untimely death, I advised Lady Barrington that as she had recently suffered two onerous demands for death duties, and remembering that I am over seventy, it might be wise for our two companies, Barrington’s and Harvey’s, to join forces. This, you understand, was at a time when we still believed you were dead. Therefore, it seemed that any dispute over who would inherit the title and the estate had, however unhappily, been resolved, making it possible for Giles to take his place as head of the family.’

‘And he still can, as far as I’m concerned,’ said Harry.

‘The problem is that other interested parties have become involved and the implications now go far beyond the people in this room. When Hugo was killed, I took over as chairman of the newly merged company, and asked Bill Lockwood to return as managing director. Without blowing my own trumpet, Barrington Harvey has paid its shareholders a handsome dividend for the past two years, despite Herr Hitler. Once we realized you were still alive, we took legal advice from Sir Danvers Barker KC, to be sure that we were not in breach of the terms of Joshua Barrington’s will.’

‘If only I’d opened that letter,’ said Maisie, almost to herself.

‘Sir Danvers assured us,’ continued Lord Harvey, ‘that as long as you renounce any claim to the title or the estate, we could continue trading as we had for the previous two years. And indeed, he drew up a document to that effect.’

‘If someone hands me a pen,’ said Harry, ‘I’ll happily sign it.’

‘I wish it were that easy,’ said Lord Harvey. ‘And it might have been if the
Daily Express
hadn’t picked up the story.’

‘I’m afraid I’m to blame for that,’ Emma interrupted, ‘because following the success of your book on both sides of the Atlantic, the press have become obsessed with finding out who will inherit the Barrington title – will it be Sir Harry or Sir Giles?’

‘There’s a cartoon in the
News Chronicle
this morning,’ said Giles, ‘of the two of us on horseback, jousting, with Emma sitting in the stands offering you her handkerchief, while the men in the crowd boo and the women cheer.’

‘What are they alluding to?’ asked Harry.

‘The nation is divided right down the middle,’ said Lord Harvey. ‘The men only seem interested in who’ll end up with the title and the estate, while the women all want to see Emma walking up the aisle a second time. In fact, between you, you’re keeping Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman off the front pages.’

‘But once I’ve signed the document renouncing any claim to the title or the estate, surely the public will lose interest and turn their attention to something else?’

‘This might well have been the case had the Garter King of Arms not become involved.’

‘And who’s he?’ asked Harry.

‘The King’s representative when it comes to deciding who is next in line for any title. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, he simply sends letters patent to the next of kin. On the rare occasions when there’s a disagreement between two parties, he recommends that the matter be settled by a judge in chambers.’

‘Don’t tell me it’s come to that,’ said Harry.

‘I’m afraid it has. Lord Justice Shawcross ruled in favour of Giles’s claim, but only on the condition that once you were fully fit, you signed a disclaimer, waiving your rights to the title and the estate, while allowing the succession to progress from father to son.’

‘Well, I am fully fit now, so let’s make an appointment to see the judge and get this settled once and for all.’

‘I’d like nothing more,’ said Lord Harvey, ‘but I’m afraid the decision has been taken out of his hands.’

‘By who this time?’ asked Harry.

‘A Labour peer called Lord Preston,’ said Giles. ‘He picked up the story in the press and tabled a written question to the Home Secretary, asking him to make a ruling on which one of us was entitled to inherit the baronetcy. He then held a press conference, at which he claimed that I had no right to succeed to the title, because the real candidate was lying unconscious in a Bristol hospital, unable to put his case.’