Olga was very understanding, and Hugo promised her that the moment he was free, he would ask her to marry him. He never stopped telling her how beautiful she was and how her rather lifeless efforts in bed were so exciting compared to Elizabeth. He continually reminded her that when his father died, she would become Lady Barrington, and his temporary financial difficulties would be resolved when he inherited the Barrington estate. He may have given her the impression that his father was a lot older and less robust than he actually was. ‘Fading fast’ was the expression he used.
A few weeks later Hugo moved into Lowndes Square, and over the next few months he returned to a lifestyle he assumed was his by right. Several chums commented on how lucky he was to have the company of such a charming and beautiful woman, and some of them couldn’t resist adding, ‘And she’s not short of a bob or two.’
Hugo had almost forgotten what it was like to eat three meals a day, wear new clothes and be chauffeured around town. He paid off most of his debts, and it wasn’t too long before doors began to reopen that had until recently been slammed in his face. However, he was beginning to wonder how long it could last, because he certainly had no intention of marrying a Jewish refugee from Warsaw.
Derek Mitchell climbed on board the express train from Temple Meads to Paddington. The private detective was back working full time for his old employer, now that his stipend was once again paid on the first day of the month, and his expenses were redeemed on presentation. Hugo expected Mitchell to report to him once a month on what the Barrington family were up to. In particular, Hugo was interested in the comings and goings of his father, his ex-wife, Giles, Emma and even Grace, but he was still paranoid about Maisie Clifton, and expected Mitchell to brief him on everything she got up to, and he meant everything.
Mitchell would travel to London by train, and the two of them would meet in the waiting room opposite platform seven at Paddington Station. An hour later Mitchell would take the train back to Temple Meads.
That was how Hugo knew that Elizabeth continued to live at the Manor House, while Grace rarely came home since she’d won a scholarship to Cambridge. Emma had given birth to a son, whom she’d christened Sebastian Arthur. Giles had enlisted in the Wessex Regiment as a private soldier, and after completing a twelve-week basic training course, had been sent to Mons Officer Cadet Training Unit.
This came as a surprise to Hugo, as he knew Giles had been passed unfit for active service by the Gloucesters shortly after the outbreak of war, because, like him and his father, he was colour-blind. Hugo had used the same excuse to avoid being called up in 1915.
As the months passed, Olga began to ask more and more frequently when Hugo’s divorce would be finalized. He always tried to make it sound as if it were imminent, but it wasn’t until she suggested he move back into his flat in Cadogan Square until he could confirm that papers had been lodged with the court that he decided to do something about it. He waited another week before he told her his lawyers had begun proceedings.
A few more months of domestic harmony followed. What he hadn’t told Olga was that he’d given his landlord in Cadogan Square a month’s notice on the day he moved in with her. If she threw him out, he would have nowhere to live.
It was about a month later that Mitchell phoned Hugo and said he needed to see him urgently, a most unusual request. They agreed to meet at four o’clock the following afternoon at their usual rendezvous.
When Mitchell walked into the station waiting room, Hugo was already sitting on a bench, hidden behind a copy of the London Evening News. He was reading about Rommel’s sacking of Tobruk, not that he could have placed Tobruk on a map. He continued reading when Mitchell sat down beside him. The private detective spoke softly and never once looked in Hugo’s direction.
‘I thought you’d want to know that your eldest daughter took a job as a waitress at the Grand Hotel, using the name Miss Dickens.’
‘Isn’t that where Maisie Clifton works?’
‘Yes, she’s the restaurant’s manageress, and was your daughter’s boss.’
Hugo couldn’t imagine why Emma could possibly want to work as a waitress. ‘Does her mother know?’
‘She must, because Hudson dropped her a hundred yards from the hotel every morning at five forty-five. But that isn’t the reason I needed to see you.’
Hugo turned the page of his newspaper to see a photograph of General Auchinleck standing outside his tent in the desert, addressing the troops.
‘Your daughter took a taxi to the docks yesterday morning. She was carrying a suitcase, when she boarded a passenger ship called the Kansas Star, where she was given a job in reception. She told her mother she was going to New York to visit her great-aunt Phyllis, who I believe is Lord Harvey’s sister.’
Hugo would have been fascinated to know how Mitchell had picked up that particular piece of information, but he was still trying to work out why Emma would want to take a job on the ship Harry Clifton had died on. None of this made any sense. He instructed Mitchell to dig deeper and let him know immediately he picked up any more information about what Emma was up to.
Just before Mitchell left to catch the train back to Temple Meads, he told Hugo that German bombers had razed Broad Street to the ground. Hugo couldn’t imagine why this would be of any interest to him, until Mitchell reminded him that it was the street on which Tilly’s tea shop had stood. He thought Mr Barrington ought to know that some developers were taking an interest in Mrs Clifton’s old site. Hugo thanked Mitchell for the information, without suggesting that it was of any real interest to him.
Hugo telephoned Mr Prendergast at the National Provincial Bank the moment he got back to Lowndes Square.
‘I expect you’re calling about Broad Street,’ were the bank manager’s opening words.
‘Yes, I heard the site of Tilly’s tea shop might be up for sale.’
‘The whole street’s up for sale following the bombing,’ said Prendergast. ‘Most of the shopkeepers have lost their livelihoods, and because it was an act of war, they can’t claim insurance.’
‘So could I pick up the Tilly’s site for a reasonable price?’
‘Frankly, you could pick up the whole street for next to nothing. In fact, if you have any spare cash, Mr Barrington, I would recommend it as a shrewd investment.’
‘That’s assuming we’re going to win the war,’ Hugo reminded him.
‘I admit it’s a gamble, but it could show a handsome return.’
‘How much are we talking about?’
‘For Mrs Clifton’s site, I think I could talk her into accepting two hundred pounds. In fact, as half the traders in that street bank with me, I suspect you could pick up the whole shooting match for around three thousand. It’s like playing Monopoly with loaded dice.’
‘I’ll look into it,’ Hugo said before putting the phone down. What he couldn’t tell Prendergast was that he didn’t even have Monopoly money.
He tried to think of some way of raising that amount, when all his usual contacts were unwilling to lend him even a fiver. He couldn’t ask Olga for any more money, unless he was willing to walk down the aisle with her, and that was out of the question.
He wouldn’t have given the matter another thought if he hadn’t bumped into Toby Dunstable at one of Archie’s parties.
Toby and Hugo had been contemporaries at Eton. Hugo couldn’t remember much about Dunstable, except that he regularly helped himself to the younger boys’ tuck. When he was finally caught removing a ten-shilling note from one of the boys’ lockers, everyone assumed he would be expelled, and possibly he would, if he hadn’t been the second son of the Earl of Dunstable.
When Hugo asked Toby what he was up to nowadays, he said rather vaguely that he dabbled in property. Hugo told him about the investment opportunity Broad Street presented, but he didn’t seem that interested. In fact, Hugo couldn’t help noticing that Toby didn’t take his eyes off the diamond necklace that sparkled around Olga’s neck.
Tob
y handed Hugo his card, saying, ‘If you’re ever in need of some ready cash, it shouldn’t prove too difficult, if you get my drift, old fellow.’
Hugo got his drift, but didn’t take his hinted proposal at all seriously, until Olga asked him over breakfast one morning if a date had been fixed for the decree nisi. Hugo assured her it was imminent.
He left the house, went straight to his club, checked Toby’s card and gave him a call. They agreed to meet at a pub in Fulham, where they sat alone in a corner, drinking double gins and chatting about how our lads were faring in the Middle East. They only changed the subject when they were certain they couldn’t be overheard.
‘All I’ll need is a key to the flat,’ said Toby, ‘and the exact location of her jewellery.’
‘That shouldn’t prove difficult,’ Hugo assured him.
‘The only thing you’ll have to do, old chum, is make sure you’re both off the premises long enough for me to carry out the job.’
When Olga suggested over breakfast that she would like to see a production of Rigoletto at Sadler’s Wells, Hugo agreed to book a couple of tickets. He would usually have made some excuse, but on this occasion he readily agreed, and even suggested that they have dinner at the Savoy afterwards to celebrate.
‘Celebrate what?’ she asked.
‘My decree nisi has been granted,’ he said casually. She threw her arms around him. ‘Just another six months, my darling, and you’ll be Mrs Barrington.’
Hugo took a small leather box out of his pocket and presented her with an engagement ring he’d bought on approval in Burlington Arcade the previous day. She approved. He intended to return it in six months’ time.
The opera seemed to last for three months, rather than the three hours suggested in the programme. However, Hugo didn’t complain, as he knew Toby would be making good use of the time.
Over dinner in the River Room, Hugo and Olga discussed where they might spend their honeymoon, as they couldn’t travel abroad. Olga favoured Bath, which was a little too close to Bristol for Hugo’s liking, but as it was never going to happen, he happily went along with her suggestion.
In the taxi on the way back to Lowndes Square, Hugo wondered how long it would be before Olga discovered that her diamonds were missing. Sooner than he’d bargained for, because when they opened the front door, they found the whole place had been ransacked. All that was left on the walls where the paintings had once hung were clear outlines to show what size they had been.
While Olga broke down in hysterics, Hugo picked up the phone and dialled 999. It took the police several hours to complete an inventory of everything that was missing, because Olga couldn’t remain calm enough to answer their questions for more than a few moments at a time. The chief inspector in charge of the case assured them that the details of the stolen items would be circulated to all the leading diamond merchants and art dealers in London within forty-eight hours.
Hugo hit the roof when he caught up with Toby Dunstable in Fulham the following afternoon. His old school chum calmly took it on the chin like a heavyweight boxer. When Hugo was finally spent, Toby pushed a shoebox across the table.
‘I don’t need a new pair of shoes,’ Hugo snapped.
‘Perhaps not, but you’ll be able to buy a shoe shop with what’s inside there,’ he said tapping the box.
Hugo lifted the lid and stared into the box, which contained no shoes, but was packed with five-pound notes.
‘You needn’t bother to count them,’ said Toby. ‘You’ll find there’s ten thousand pounds in readies.’
Hugo smiled, suddenly calm again. ‘You’re a good fellow,’ he said as he placed the lid back and ordered another two double gin-and-tonics.
As the weeks passed, and the police failed to come up with any suspects, the chief inspector didn’t leave Hugo in much doubt that he thought it was an inside job, an expression he used again and again whenever they met. However, Toby reassured him that they would never consider arresting the son of Sir Walter Barrington, unless they had cast-iron proof of his guilt that would convince a jury beyond reasonable doubt.
Olga asked Hugo where his new suits had come from and how he could possibly afford a Bugatti. He showed her the car’s logbook, which confirmed that he’d owned it before they met. What he didn’t tell her was how fortunate he’d been that the dealer he’d reluctantly sold it to still had it on his books.
As the end of the period after which the decree absolute would be granted was fast approaching, Hugo began to prepare for what they call in military circles an exit strategy. That was when Olga announced that she had some wonderful news to share with him.
Wellington once told a junior officer that timing was everything in life, and who was Hugo to disagree with the victor of Waterloo, especially when the great man’s prophecy was about to apply to him?
He was reading The Times over breakfast, when he turned to the obituaries and saw a picture of his father staring out at him. He tried to read it without Olga discovering that both their lives were about to change.
In Hugo’s opinion, the Thunderer had given the old man a good send-off, but it was the last paragraph of his record that most interested him. Sir Walter Barrington is succeeded by his only surviving son, Hugo, who will inherit the title.
However, what The Times didn’t add was, and all that therein is.
MAISIE CLIFTON
1939–1942
25
MAISIE COULD STILL REMEMBER the pain she’d experienced when her husband didn’t come home at the end of his evening shift. She knew Arthur was dead, even though it would be years before her brother Stan was willing to tell her the truth about how her husband had died at the dockyard that afternoon.
But that pain was nothing compared to being told that her only son had been buried at sea after the Devonian had been struck by a German torpedo, hours after war had been declared.
Maisie could still recall the last time she’d seen Harry. He’d come to visit her at the Grand Hotel that Thursday morning. The restaurant was packed, with a long queue of customers waiting to be seated. He’d stood in line, but when he saw his mother bustling in and out of the kitchen without a moment to spare, he slipped away, assuming she hadn’t noticed him. He was always a thoughtful boy, and he knew she didn’t approve of being interrupted at work, and, if the truth be told, he also knew she wouldn’t have wanted to hear that he’d left Oxford to join the navy.
Sir Walter Barrington dropped by the next day to let Maisie know that Harry had sailed on the morning tide as fourth officer on the SS Devonian, and would be back within the month to join the crew of HMS Resolution as an ordinary seaman, as he intended to go off in search of German U-boats in the Atlantic. What he didn’t realize was that they were already searching for him.
Maisie planned to take the day off when Harry returned, but it was not to be. Knowing how many other mothers had lost their offspring because of this evil and barbaric war didn’t help.
Dr Wallace, the senior medical officer on the SS Kansas Star, was waiting by her front door in Still House Lane when she returned home after work that October evening. He didn’t need to tell her why he was there. It was etched on his face.
They sat in the kitchen, and the doctor told her he’d been responsible for the welfare of those sailors who’d been dragged from the ocean following the sinking of the Devonian. He assured her that he’d done everything in his power to save Harry’s life, but unhappily he’d never regained consciousness. In fact, of the nine sailors he tended to that night, only one had survived, a Tom Bradshaw, the Devonian’s third officer, who was evidently a friend of Harry’s. Bradshaw had written a letter of condolence which Dr Wallace had promised to deliver to Mrs Clifton as soon as the Kansas Star returned to Bristol. He had kept his word. Maisie felt guilty the moment the doctor had left to return to his ship. She hadn’t even offered him a cup of tea.
She placed Tom Bradshaw’s letter on the mantelpiece next to her favourite photograph of Harry singing in t
he school choir.
When she returned to work the following day, her colleagues at the hotel were kind and solicitous, and Mr Hurst, the hotel manager, suggested she took a few days off. She told him that was the last thing she needed. Instead she took on as much overtime as she could handle, in the hope that it might dull the pain.
It didn’t.
Many of the young men who worked at the hotel were leaving to join the armed forces, and their places were being taken by women. It was no longer considered a stigma for a young lady to work, and Maisie found herself taking on more and more responsibility as the number of male staff dwindled.
The restaurant manager was due to retire on his sixtieth birthday, but Maisie assumed that Mr Hurst would ask him to stay on until the end of the war. It came as a shock when he called her into his office and offered her the job.
‘You’ve earned it, Maisie,’ he said, ‘and head office agrees with me.’
‘I’d like a couple of days to think about it,’ she replied before leaving the office.
Mr Hurst didn’t raise the subject for another week, and when he did, Maisie suggested that perhaps she should be put on a month’s trial. He laughed.
‘It’s usual,’ he reminded her, ‘for the employer, not the employee, to insist on a month’s trial.’
Within a week, they’d both forgotten about the trial period, because although the hours were long and her new responsibilities were onerous, Maisie had never felt more fulfilled. She knew that when the war was over and the lads returned from the front, she’d go back to being a waitress. She’d have gone back to being a prostitute, if it had meant Harry would be among those who came home.
Maisie didn’t need to be able to read a newspaper to know that the Japanese air force had destroyed the American fleet at Pearl Harbor, and the citizens of the United States had risen as one against a common enemy and joined the Allies, because for days it was the only subject on everyone’s lips.