“None other than Emma Clifton.”
“And what will my role be?” asked Fisher.
“I need you to find out what really happened on the first night of the Buckingham’s maiden voyage because clearly the Home Fleet story was nothing more than a smoke screen. Priscilla Bingham overheard one of the directors telling her husband that if the truth ever got out, Emma Clifton would have to resign and the company might even go bankrupt. Nothing would suit me better because that would leave our precious chairman with no choice but to settle the action and pay my costs.”
Fisher remained silent for some time, before he said, “There are a couple of directors on the board who’ve recently had a run-in with Mrs. Clifton, and one of them has a tendency to drink a little too much, especially when he’s not paying. Do we have anything to offer him in return, should he decide to resign?”
“A place on the board of Farthings Bank.”
“That would swing it, but what makes you think you can pull it off?”
“The chairman, Adrian Sloane, has every reason to loathe Sebastian Clifton, and will do anything to bring him down.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s amazing what you can pick up at dinner parties, especially when your host thinks women couldn’t possibly begin to understand what goes on in the City.”
Giles Barrington
1970
17
Giles hadn’t given a moment’s thought to how he wanted to spend his fiftieth birthday, but Gwyneth had.
Whenever Giles thought about his marriage — and he thought about it a great deal — he still couldn’t pinpoint when things had begun to go wrong. The tragic death of their son Walter at the age of three, and the realization that Gwyneth couldn’t have another child, had turned her from a bright spirit who lit up everyone’s lives, to a melancholy shadow, lost in her own world. Instead of the tragedy drawing them closer together, Giles found they were slowly drifting apart, not helped by a Member of Parliament’s unsocial hours and then a minister’s demanding schedule.
Giles had hoped that time would prove a healer, but in truth they began to live separate lives almost as if they weren’t a couple, and he couldn’t remember the last time they had made love. Despite this, he was determined to remain loyal to Gwyneth, as he didn’t want a second divorce and still hoped they might be reconciled.
Whenever they were together in public, they attempted to hide the truth, hoping Giles’s constituents, his colleagues, and even their family wouldn’t realize their marriage was a sham. But whenever Giles saw Harry and Emma together, he envied them.
Giles had rather assumed that on his birthday he’d be on his way to, or on his way back from, representing Her Majesty’s government in some foreign field. Gwyneth, however, was insisting that the milestone should be properly celebrated.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Giles.
“A dinner, just the family and a few close friends?”
“And where would it be held?”
“The House of Commons. We could book one of the private dining rooms.”
“That’s the last place I want to be reminded that I’m fifty.”
“Do try and remember, Giles, for most of us who don’t go to the Palace of Westminster every day, it’s still something rather special.”
Giles knew when he was beaten, so invitations were sent out the following day, and when he looked around the dining room table three weeks later, it was clear that Gwyneth had been right because everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Emma, who was seated on his right, and their sister Grace, on his left, were chatting to their respective neighbors. Giles used the time to think about his speech, jotting down a note or two on the back of his menu.
“I know we shouldn’t talk business on an occasion like this,” said Emma to Ross Buchanan, “but you know how much I value your advice.”
“And an old man,” said Ross, “is always flattered by a young woman seeking his advice.”
“I’ll be fifty next year,” Emma reminded him, “and you are an old flatterer.”
“Who will be seventy next year,” said Ross. “Perhaps by then it will be time to put me out to grass, so while I’m still sixty-nine, how can I help?”
“I’m having trouble with Desmond Mellor.”
“I never understood why you put him on the board in the first place.”
“Force majeure,” whispered Emma. “But now he’s pushing for deputy chairman.”
“Avoid it at all costs. He’ll see it as nothing more than a stepping stone to the job he really wants.”
“All the more reason to hold on until I think Sebastian is ready to take my place.”
“Seb thinks he’s ready to take your place right now,” said Ross. “But if Mellor were to become your deputy, you’d spend your life looking over your shoulder. It’s a golden rule for any chairman only ever to appoint a deputy who, one, isn’t after your job, or two, has unquestionably been overpromoted, or three, is too old to take over from you.”
“Good thinking,” said Emma, “but there’s not a lot I can do to stop him if he can convince a majority of the board to back him. To make matters worse, Seb thinks Mellor may have been in touch with Giles’s first wife.”
“Lady Virginia Fenwick?” said Ross, spitting out the words.
“And possibly Alex Fisher as well.”
“Then you’d better start looking over both shoulders.”
“Now tell me, revered aunt,” said Seb, “are you chancellor of the university yet?”
“The Duke of Edinburgh is our chancellor, as you well know,” said Grace.
“Then what about vice-chancellor?”
“Not everyone is quite as ambitious as you, Seb. For some of us, doing a worthwhile job, however humble, is reward enough in itself.”
“Then have you thought about principal of your college? After all, no one is more admired by their colleagues.”
“It’s kind of you to say so, Sebastian, and I will tell you in confidence that when Dame Elizabeth retired from the post recently, I was approached by one or two people. However, I made it clear that I wasn’t born to be an administrator but a teacher, and am happy with my lot.”
“I can’t argue with that,” said Seb.
“But tell me, Seb, as you’re on your own tonight, should I assume there’s still no one special in your life?”
“There hasn’t been anyone special, Aunt Grace, since I was stupid enough to lose Samantha.”
“I agree that wasn’t your most glorious hour. I realized the first time I met her that she was an exceptional young woman, and on that particular subject I speak with some authority.”
“You were right. I’ve never met anyone since who even comes close.”
“I’m sorry, Seb, it was tactless of me to raise the subject, but I’m sure, given time, you’ll find someone.”
“I wish.”
“Are you still in touch with Samantha? Is there even the slightest chance...?”
“Not a hope. I’ve written to her several times over the years, but she doesn’t reply.”
“Have you thought of going over to America and admitting you were wrong?”
“Every day.”
“How’s your campaign to have Anatoly Babakov released progressing?” asked Priscilla.
“I fear progress may not be the right word,” said Harry, who was seated on the opposite side of the table from Giles. “Mind you, one can never be sure with the Soviets. One day you think they might be about to release him, but the next you’re convinced they’ve thrown away the key.”