‘Thank you, Captain Tarrant,’ said the Reverend Styler. ‘While I accept your intervention in good faith, I need to know what specific charges you bring against these two young people.’
‘I bring no charge against Harry or Emma, both of whom I love and admire, and believe to be as much in the dark as the rest of you. No, my charge is against Hugo Barrington, who has known for many years that there is a possibility that he is the father of both of these unfortunate children.’
A gasp went around the room as everyone tried to grasp the enormity of this statement. The chaplain said nothing until he was able to regain their attention. ‘Is there anyone present who can verify or refute Captain Tarrant’s claim?’
‘This can’t possibly be true,’ said Emma, still clinging on to Harry. ‘There must be some mistake. Surely my father can’t …’
That was the moment everyone became aware that the father of the bride was no longer among them. The chaplain turned his attention to Mrs Clifton, who was quietly sobbing.
‘I can’t deny Captain Tarrant’s fears,’ she said haltingly. It was some time before she continued. ‘I confess I did have a relationship with Mr Barrington on one occasion.’ She paused again. ‘Only once, but, unfortunately, it was just a few weeks before I married my husband - ‘ she raised her head slowly - ‘so I have no way of knowing who Harry’s father is.’
‘I should point out to you all,’ said Old Jack, ‘that Hugo Barrington threatened Mrs Clifton on more than one occasion, should she ever reveal his dreadful secret.’
‘Mrs Clifton, may I be allowed to ask you a question?’ said Sir Walter gently.
Maisie nodded, although her head remained bowed.
‘Did your late husband suffer from colour-blindness?’
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ she said, barely loudly enough to be heard.
Sir Walter turned to Harry. ‘But I believe you do, my boy?’
‘Yes I do, sir,’ said Harry without hesitation. ‘Why is that of any importance?’
‘Because I am also colour-blind,’ said Sir Walter. ‘As are my son and grandson. It is a hereditary trait that has troubled our family for several generations.’
Harry took Emma in his arms. ‘I swear to you, my darling, I didn’t know anything about this.’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Elizabeth Barrington, speaking for the first time. ‘The only man who knew was my husband, and he didn’t have the courage to come forward and admit it. If he had, none of this need ever have happened. Father,’ she said, turning to Lord Harvey, ‘can I ask you to explain to our guests why the ceremony will not be continuing.’
Lord Harvey nodded. ‘Leave it to me, old gal,’ he said, touching her gently on the arm. ‘But what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going take my daughter as far away from this place as possible.’
‘I don’t want to go as far away as possible,’ Emma said, ‘unless it’s with Harry.’
‘I fear your father has left us with no choice,’ said Elizabeth, taking her gently by the arm. But Emma continued to cling on to Harry until he whispered, ‘I’m afraid your mother’s right, my darling. But one thing your father will never be able to do is stop me loving you, and if it takes the rest of my life, I’ll prove he’s not my father.’
‘Perhaps you’d prefer to leave by the rear entrance, Mrs Barrington,’ suggested the chaplain. Emma reluctantly released Harry and allowed her mother to take her away.
The chaplain led them out of the vestry and down a narrow corridor to a door that he was surprised to find unlocked. ‘May God go with you, my children,’ he said before letting them out.
Elizabeth accompanied her daughter around the outside of the church to the waiting Rolls-Royces. She ignored those members of the congregation who had strayed outside for some fresh air or to smoke a cigarette and now made no attempt to conceal their curiosity when they spotted the two women climbing unceremoniously into the back of the limousine.
Elizabeth had opened the door of the first Rolls and bundled her daughter into the back seat before the chauffeur spotted them. He had stationed himself by the great door as he hadn’t expected the bride and groom to appear for at least another half an hour, when a peal of bells would announce the marriage of Mr and Mrs Harry Clifton to the world. The moment the chauffeur heard the door slam, he stubbed out his cigarette, ran across to the car and jumped behind the wheel.
‘Take us back to the hotel,’ Elizabeth said.
Neither of them spoke again until they had reached the safety of their room. Emma lay sobbing on the bed while Elizabeth stroked her hair, the way she had when she was a child.
‘What am I going to do?’ cried Emma. ‘I can’t suddenly stop loving Harry.’
‘I’m sure you never will,’ said her mother, ‘but fate has decreed that you cannot be together until it can be proved who Harry’s father is.’ She continued to stroke her daughter’s hair, and thought she might even have fallen asleep, until Emma quietly added, ‘What will I tell my child when they ask who their father is?’
HARRY CLIFTON
1939-1940
48
The thing I remember most after Emma and her mother had left the church was how calm everyone appeared to be. No hysterics, no one fainted, there weren’t even any raised voices. A visitor might have been forgiven for not realizing how many people’s lives had just been irreparably damaged, even ruined. How very British, stiff upper lip and all that; no one willing to admit that their personal life had been shattered in the space of a single hour. Well, I have to admit, mine had.
I had stood in numbed silence as the different actors played out their roles. Old Jack had done no more or less than what he considered his duty, though the pallor of his skin and the deeply etched lines on his face suggested otherwise. He could have taken the easy way out and simply declined our invitation to the wedding, but Victoria Cross winners don’t walk away.
Elizabeth Barrington was cast from that metal which, when put to the test, proved she was the equal of any man: a veritable Portia, who sadly hadn’t married a Brutus.
As I looked around the vestry waiting for the chaplain to return, I felt saddest for Sir Walter, who had walked his granddaughter down the aisle, and had not gained a grandson, but rather lost a son, who, as Old Jack had warned me so many years ago, ‘was not cut from the same cloth’ as his father.
My dear mother was fearful to respond when I tried to take her in my arms and reassure her of my love. She clearly believed she alone was to blame for everything that had taken place that day.
And Giles, he became a man when his father crept out of the vestry to hide under some slimy stone, leaving the responsibility for his actions to others. In time, many of those present would become aware that what had taken place that day was every bit as devastating for Giles as for Emma.
Finally, Lord Harvey. He was an example to us all of how to behave in a crisis. Once the chaplain had returned and explained the legal implications of consanguinity to us, we agreed among ourselves that Lord Harvey should address the waiting congregation on behalf of both families.
‘I would like Harry to stand on my right,’ he said, ‘as I wish everyone present to be left in no doubt, as my daughter Elizabeth made abundantly clear, that no blame rests on his shoulders.
‘Mrs Clifton,’ he said, turning to my mother, ‘I hope you will be kind enough to stand on my left. Your courage in adversity has been an example to us all, and to one of us in particular.
‘I hope that Captain Tarrant will stand by Harry’s side: only a fool blames the messenger. Giles should take his place beside him. Sir Walter, perhaps you would stand next to Mrs Clifton, while the rest of the family take their places behind us. Let me make it clear to you all,’ he continued, ‘that I only have one purpose in this tragic business, namely to ensure that everyone gathered in this church today will be in no doubt of our resolve in this matter, so that no one will ever say we were a divided house.’
Without a
nother word, he led his small flock out of the vestry.
When the chattering congregation saw us filing back into the church, Lord Harvey didn’t need to call for silence. Each one of us took our allocated place on the altar steps as if we were about to pose for a family photograph that would later find its way into a wedding album.
‘Friends, if I may be so bold,’ began Lord Harvey, ‘I have been asked to let you know on behalf of our two families that sadly the marriage between my granddaughter, Emma Barrington, and Mr Harry Clifton will not be taking place today, or for that matter on any other day.’ Those last four words had a finality about them that was chilling when you were the only person present who still clung on to a vestige of hope that this might one day be resolved. ‘I must apologize to you all,’ he continued, ‘if you have been inconvenienced in any way for that was surely not our purpose. May I conclude by thanking you for your presence here today, and wish you all a safe journey home.’
I wasn’t sure what would happen next, but one or two members of the congregation rose from their places and began to make their way slowly out of the church; within moments the trickle turned into a steady stream, until finally those of us standing on the altar steps were the only ones remaining.
Lord Harvey thanked the chaplain, and warmly shook hands with me before accompanying his wife down the aisle and out of the church.
My mother turned to me and tried to speak, but was overcome by her emotions. Old Jack came to our rescue, taking her gently by the arm and leading her away, while Sir Walter took Grace and Jessica under his wing. Not a day mothers or bridesmaids would want to recall for the rest of their lives.
Giles and I were the last to leave. He had entered the church as my best man, and now he left it wondering if he was my half-brother. Some people stand by you in your darkest hour, while others walk away; only a select few march towards you and become even closer friends.
Once we had bidden farewell to the Reverend Styler, who seemed unable to find the words to express how sorry he felt, Giles and I trudged wearily across the cobbled stones of the quad and back to our college. Not a word passed between us as we climbed the wooden staircase to my rooms and sank into old leather chairs and young maudlin silence.
We sat alone as day turned slowly into night. Sparse conversation that had no sequence, no meaning, no logic. When the first long shadows appeared, those heralds of darkness that so often loosen the tongue, Giles asked me a question I hadn’t thought about for years.
‘Do you remember the first time you and Deakins visited the Manor House?’
‘How could I forget? It was your twelfth birthday, and your father refused to shake hands with me.’
‘Have you ever wondered why?’
‘I think we found out the reason today,’ I said, trying not to sound too insensitive.
‘No, we didn’t,’ said Giles quietly. ‘What we found out today was the possibility that Emma might be your half-sister. I now realize the reason my father kept his affair with your mother secret for so many years was because he was far more worried you might find out you were his son.’
‘I don’t understand the difference,’ I said, staring at him.
‘Then it’s important for you to recall the only question my father asked on that occasion.’
‘He asked when my birthday was.’
‘That’s right, and when he discovered you were a few weeks older than me, he left the room without another word. And later, when we had to leave to go back to school, he didn’t come out of his study to say goodbye, even though it was my birthday. It wasn’t until today that I realized the significance of his actions.’
‘How can that minor incident still be of any significance after all these years?’ I asked.
‘Because that was the moment my father realized you might be his first born, and that when he dies it could be you, not me, who inherits the family title, the business, and all his worldly goods.’
‘But surely your father can leave his possessions to whomever he pleases, and that certainly wouldn’t be me.’
‘I wish it was that simple,’ said Giles, ‘but as my grandpa so regularly reminds me, his father, Sir Joshua Barrington, was knighted by Queen Victoria in 1877 for services to the shipping industry. In his will, he stated that all his titles, deeds and possessions were to be left to the first-born surviving son, in perpetuity.’
‘But I have no interest in claiming what clearly is not mine,’ I said, trying to reassure him.
‘I’m sure you don’t,’ said Giles, ‘but you may have no choice in the matter, because in the fullness of time, the law will require you to take your place as head of the Barrington family.’
Giles left me just after midnight to drive to Gloucestershire. He promised to find out if Emma was willing to see me, as we’d parted without even saying goodbye, and said he would return to Oxford the moment he had any news.
I didn’t sleep that night. So many thoughts were racing through my mind, and for a moment, just a moment, I even contemplated suicide. But I didn’t need Old Jack to remind me that that was the coward’s way out.
I didn’t leave my rooms for the next three days. I didn’t respond to gentle knocks on the door. I didn’t answer the telephone when it rang. I didn’t open the letters that were pushed under the door. It may have been inconsiderate of me not to respond to those who had only kindness in their hearts, but sometimes an abundance of sympathy can be more overwhelming than solitude.
Giles returned to Oxford on the fourth day. He didn’t need to speak for me to realize his news wasn’t going to give me succour. It turned out to be far worse than I had even anticipated. Emma and her mother had left for Mulgelrie Castle, where we had meant to be spending our honeymoon, with no relations to be allowed within ten miles. Mrs Barrington had instructed her solicitors to begin divorce proceedings, but they were unable to serve any papers on her husband as no one had seen him since he’d crept unnoticed out of the vestry. Lord Harvey and Old Jack had both resigned from the board of Barrington’s, but out of respect for Sir Walter neither had made their reasons for doing so public - not that that would stop the rumour-mongers having a field day. My mother had left Eddie’s Nightclub and taken a job as a waitress in the dining room of the Grand Hotel.
‘What about Emma?’ I said. ‘Did you ask her …’
‘I didn’t have a chance to speak to her,’ said Giles. ‘They’d left for Scotland before I arrived. But she’d left a letter for you on the hall table.’ I could feel my heart beating faster as he handed me an envelope bearing her familiar handwriting. ‘If you feel like a little supper later, I’ll be in my rooms.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, inadequately.
I sat in my chair by the window overlooking Cobb’s quad, not wanting to open a letter that I knew wouldn’t offer me a glimmer of hope. I finally tore open the envelope and extracted three pages written in Emma’s neat hand. Even then, it was some time before I could read her words.
The Manor House
Chew Valley
Gloucestershire
July 29th, 1939
My Darling Harry,
It’s the middle of the night, and I am sitting in my bedroom writing to the only man I will ever love.
Deep hatred for my father, whom I can never forgive, has been replaced by a sudden calm, so I must write these words before bitter recrimination returns to remind me of just how much that treacherous man has denied us both.
I only wish we’d been allowed to part as lovers, and not as strangers in a crowded room, the fates having decided we should never say the words ‘until death do us part’, although I am certain I will go to my grave only having loved one man.
I will never be satisfied with just the memory of your love, for while there is the slightest hope that Arthur Clifton was your father, be assured, my darling, that I will remain constant.
Mama is convinced that given enough time, the memory of you, like the evening sun, will fade, and then finally disappear, bef
ore heralding a new dawn. Does she not recall telling me on the day of my wedding that our love for each other was so pure, so simple and so rare, that it would unquestionably withstand the test of time, which Mama confessed she could only envy, as she had never experienced such happiness.
But until I can be your wife, my darling, I am resolved that we must remain apart, unless, and until such time, it can be shown that we can be legally bound. No other man can hope to take your place and, if necessary, I will remain single, rather than settle for some counterfeit.
I wonder if the day will dawn when I do not reach out, expecting to find you by my side, and if it will ever be possible to fall asleep without whispering your name.
I would happily sacrifice the rest of my life to spend another year like the one we have just shared together, and no law made by God or man can change that. I still pray that the day will come when we can be joined together in the sight of that same God and those same men, but until then, my darling, I will always be your loving wife in all but name,
Emma
49
WHEN HARRY FINALLY summoned up the strength to open the countless letters that littered the floor, he came across one from Old Jack’s secretary in London.
Soho Square
London
Wednesday, August 2nd, 1939
Dear Mr Clifton,
You may not receive this letter until you’ve returned from your honeymoon in Scotland, but I wondered if Captain Tarrant stayed on in Oxford after the wedding. He didn’t return to the office on Monday morning, and he hasn’t been seen since, so I wondered if you had any idea where I might contact him.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Yours sincerely,
Phyllis Watson
Old Jack had clearly forgotten to let Miss Watson know he was going down to Bristol to spend a few days with Sir Walter, to make it clear that, although he had caused the wedding to be abandoned and had resigned from the board of Barrington’s, he remained a close friend of the chairman’s. As there wasn’t a second letter from Miss Watson among his pile of unopened mail, Harry assumed that Old Jack must have returned to Soho Square and be back behind his desk.