Hugo glanced at his watch. ‘As it’s already gone four, I’ll drop in to the bank first thing tomorrow morning.’
The Prendergast cough. ‘First thing, Sir Hugo, is nine o’clock. And may I ask if you still have the eight hundred pounds I advanced to you in cash yesterday?’
‘Yes I do. But how can that still be of any significance?’
‘I do consider it would be prudent, Sir Hugo, to pay Mrs Clifton her thousand pounds before we bank United Dominion’s cheque for forty thousand. We wouldn’t want any embarrassing questions from head office at a later date.’
‘Quite so,’ said Hugo as he looked at his suitcase, relieved that he hadn’t spent one penny of the £800.
‘There’s nothing more for me to say,’ said Prendergast, ‘other than to congratulate you on closing a most successful contract.’
‘How do you know about the contract?’
‘I beg your pardon, Sir Hugo?’ said Prendergast sounding a little puzzled.
‘Oh, I thought you were referring to something else,’ said Hugo. ‘It’s of no importance, Prendergast. Forget I mentioned it,’ he added as he put the phone down.
Miss Potts came back into the room. ‘The managing director is waiting to see you, chairman.’
‘Send him straight in.’
‘You’ve heard the good news, Ray?’ said Hugo as Compton entered the room.
‘I have indeed, chairman, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.’
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Hugo.
‘You’re due to present the company’s annual results at next month’s board meeting, and although we’ll still have to declare a heavy loss this year, the new contract will guarantee that we go into profit next year.’
‘And for five years after that,’ Hugo reminded him, waving the minister’s letter triumphantly. ‘Why don’t you prepare the agenda for the board meeting, but don’t include the news about the government contract. I’d rather like to make that announcement myself.’
‘As you wish, chairman. I’ll see that all the relevant papers are on your desk by noon tomorrow,’ Compton added before leaving the room.
Hugo read the minister’s letter a fourth time. ‘Thirty thousand a year,’ he said out loud, just as the phone on his desk rang again.
‘A Mr Foster from Savills, the estate agency, is on the line,’ said Miss Potts.
‘Put him through.’
‘Good morning, Sir Hugo. My name is Foster. I’m the senior partner of Savills. I thought perhaps we ought to get together to discuss your instructions to sell Barrington Hall. Perhaps a spot of lunch at my club?’
‘No need to bother, Foster. I’ve changed my mind. Barrington Hall is no longer on the market,’ Hugo said, and put the phone down.
He spent the rest of the afternoon signing a stack of letters and cheques his secretary put in front of him, and it was just after six o’clock when he finally screwed the cap back on his pen.
When Miss Potts returned to collect all the correspondence, Hugo said, ‘I’ll see Tancock now.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Miss Potts with a hint of disapproval.
While Hugo waited for Tancock to appear, he fell on his knees and opened the suitcase. He stared at the £800 that would have made it possible for him to survive in America while he waited for the funds raised by the sale of Barrington Hall. Now, that same £800 would be used to make him a fortune on Broad Street.
When he heard a knock on the door, he snapped the lid of the suitcase closed and quickly returned to his desk.
‘Tancock to see you,’ said Miss Potts before closing the door behind her.
The docker marched confidently into the room and approached the chairman’s desk.
‘So what’s this news that can’t wait?’ asked Hugo.
‘I’ve come to collect the other five quid what you owe me,’ Tancock said, with a look of triumph in his eyes.
‘I owe you nothing,’ said Hugo.
‘But I talked my sister into selling that land you wanted, didn’t I?’
‘We agreed on two hundred pounds, and I ended up having to pay five times that amount, so as I said, I owe you nothing. Get out of my office, and go back to work.’
Stan didn’t budge. ‘And I’ve got that letter you said you wanted.’
‘What letter?’
‘The letter what our Maisie got from that doctor off the American ship.’
Hugo had completely forgotten about the letter of condolence from Harry Clifton’s shipmate, and couldn’t imagine that it would be of any significance now Maisie had agreed to the sale. ‘I’ll give you a pound for it.’
‘You said you’d give me a fiver.’
‘I suggest you leave my office while you’ve still got a job, Tancock.’
‘OK, OK,’ said Stan, backing down, ‘you can have it for a quid. What’s it to me?’ He took a crumpled envelope out of his back pocket and handed it over to the chairman. Hugo extracted a ten-shilling note from his wallet and placed it on the desk in front of him.
Stan stood his ground as Hugo put his wallet back in an inside pocket and stared defiantly at him.
‘You can have the letter or the ten-bob note. Take your choice.’
Stan grabbed the ten-bob note and left the room grumbling under his breath.
Hugo put the envelope to one side, leant back in his chair and thought about how he would spend some of the profit he’d made on the Broad Street deal. Once he’d been to the bank and signed all the necessary documents, he would walk across the road to the car saleroom. He had his eye on a 1937 2-litre 4-seater Aston Martin. He would then drive it across town and visit his tailor – he hadn’t had a suit made for longer than he cared to remember – and after the fitting, lunch at the club, where he would settle his outstanding bar bill. During the afternoon, he would set about replenishing the wine cellar at Barrington Hall, and might even consider redeeming from the pawnbroker some of the jewellery his mother seemed to miss so much. In the evening— there was a tap at the door.
‘I’m just leaving,’ said Miss Potts. ‘I want to get to the post office before seven to catch the last delivery. Do you need anything else, sir?’
‘No, Miss Potts. But I may be in a little late tomorrow, as I have an appointment with Mr Prendergast at nine o’clock.’
‘Of course, chairman,’ said Miss Potts.
As the door closed behind her, his eyes settled on the crumpled envelope. He picked up a silver letter opener, slit the envelope open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. His eyes impatiently scanned the page, searching for relevant phrases.
New York,
September 8th, 1939
My dearest mother,
. . . I did not die when the Devonian was sunk . . . I was plucked out of the sea . . . the vain hope that at some time in the future I might be able to prove that Arthur Clifton and not Hugo Barrington was my father . . . I must beg you to keep my secret as steadfastly as you kept your own for so many years.
Your loving son,
Harry
Hugo’s blood ran cold. All the triumphs of the day evaporated in an instant. This was not a letter he wanted to read a second time or, more important, that he wished anyone else to become aware of.
He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and took out a box of Swan Vestas. He lit a match, held the letter over the wastepaper basket and didn’t let it go until the frail black cinders had evaporated into dust. The best ten shillings he’d ever spent.
Hugo was confident that he was the only person who knew Clifton was still alive, and he intended it to remain that way. After all, if Clifton kept his word and continued to go by the name of Tom Bradshaw, how could anyone else find out the truth?
He suddenly felt sick when he remembered that Emma was still in America. Had she somehow discovered that Clifton was alive? But surely that wasn’t possible if she hadn’t read the letter. He needed to find out why she’d gone to America.
He had picked up the phone and begun to dial Mitchell’s
number when he thought he heard footsteps in the corridor. He replaced the receiver, assuming it must be the night watchman checking to see why his light was still on.
The door opened, and he stared at a woman he had hoped never to see again.
‘How did you get past the guard on the gate?’ he demanded.
‘I told him we had an appointment to see the chairman; a long overdue appointment.’
‘We?’ said Hugo.
‘Yes, I’ve brought you a little present. Not that you can give something to someone when it’s already theirs.’ She placed a wicker basket on Hugo’s desk, and removed a thin muslin cloth to reveal a sleeping baby. ‘I felt it was about time you were introduced to your daughter,’ Olga said, standing aside to allow Hugo to admire her.
‘What makes you think I would have the slightest interest in your bastard?’
‘Because she’s also your bastard,’ said Olga calmly, ‘so I will assume you want to give her the same start in life you gave Emma and Grace.’
‘Why would I even consider making such a ridiculous gesture?’
‘Because Hugo,’ she said, ‘you bled me dry, and now it’s your turn to face up to your responsibility. You can’t assume you will always get away with it.’
‘The only thing I got away from was you,’ said Hugo with a smirk. ‘So you can bugger off and take that basket with you, because I won’t be lifting a finger to help her.’
‘Then perhaps I’ll have to turn to someone who just might be willing to lift a finger to help her.’
‘Like who?’ snapped Hugo.
‘Your mother might be a good place to start, although she’s probably the last person on earth who still believes a word you say.’
Hugo leapt up from his seat, but Olga didn’t flinch. ‘And if I can’t convince her,’ she continued, ‘my next stop would be the Manor House, where I would take afternoon tea with your ex-wife, and we could talk about the fact that she’d already divorced you long before we even met.’
Hugo stepped out from behind his desk, but it didn’t stop Olga continuing. ‘And if Elizabeth is not at home, I can always pay a visit to Mulgelrie Castle and introduce Lord and Lady Harvey to yet another of your offspring.’
‘What makes you think they’d believe you?’
‘What makes you think they wouldn’t?’
Hugo moved towards her, only stopping when they were a few inches apart, but Olga still hadn’t finished.
‘And then finally, I’d feel I owe it to myself to visit Maisie Clifton, a woman I greatly admire, because if all I’ve heard about her—’
Hugo grabbed Olga by the shoulders and began to shake her. He was only surprised that she made no attempt to defend herself.
‘Now you listen to me, you Yid,’ he shouted. ‘If you so much as hint to anyone that I’m the father of that child, I’ll make your life so miserable that you’ll wish you’d been dragged off by the Gestapo with your parents.’
‘You don’t frighten me any longer, Hugo,’ said Olga, with an air of resignation. ‘I only have one interest left in life, and that’s to make sure you don’t get away with it a second time.’
‘A second time?’ repeated Hugo.
‘You think I don’t know about Harry Clifton, and his claim to the family title?’
Hugo let go of her and took a step back, clearly shaken. ‘Clifton is dead. Buried at sea. Everyone knows that.’
‘You know he’s still alive, Hugo, however much you want everyone else to believe he isn’t.’
‘But how can you possibly know—’
‘Because I’ve learnt to think like you, behave like you, and more important, act like you, which is why I decided to hire my own private detective.’
‘But it would have taken you years—’ began Hugo.
‘Not if you come across someone who’s out of work, whose only client has run away a second time and who hasn’t been paid for six months.’ Olga smiled when Hugo clenched his fists, a sure sign that her words had hit home. Even when he raised his arm she didn’t flinch, just stood her ground.
When the first blow came crashing into her face, she toppled back, clutching her broken nose, just as a second punch landed in her stomach, causing her to double up.
Hugo stood back and laughed while she swayed from side to side, trying to stay on her feet. He was about to hit her a third time when her legs crumpled and she collapsed to the ground in a heap, like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
‘Now you know what you can expect if you’re ever foolish enough to bother me again,’ shouted Hugo, as he towered over her. ‘And if you don’t want more of the same, you’ll get out while you’ve still got the chance. Just be sure to take that bastard with you back to London.’
Olga slowly pushed herself up off the floor and on to her knees, blood still pouring from her nose. She attempted to stand, but was so weak that she stumbled forward, only breaking her fall by clinging on to the edge of the desk. She paused for a moment and took several deep breaths as she tried to recover. When she finally raised her head, she was distracted by a long, thin silver object that glistened in a circle of light thrown out by the desk lamp.
‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ Hugo hollered as he stepped forward, grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back.
With all the force she could muster, Olga jerked her leg back and rammed the heel of her shoe into his groin.
‘You bitch,’ screamed Hugo as he let go of her hair and fell back, allowing Olga a split second to grab the letter opener and conceal it inside the sleeve of her dress. She turned to face her tormentor. When Hugo had caught his breath, he once again moved towards her. As he passed a side table, he grabbed a heavy glass ashtray and raised it high above his head, determined to deliver a blow from which she would not so easily recover.
When he was only a pace away, she pulled up her sleeve, gripped the letter opener with both hands and pointed the blade towards his heart. Just as he was about to bring the ashtray crashing down on her head, he spotted the blade for the first time, tried to swerve to one side, tripped and lost his balance, falling heavily on top of her.
There was a moment’s silence before he sank slowly to his knees and let out a scream that would have woken all Hades. Olga watched as he grabbed at the handle of the letter opener. She stood mesmerized, as if she was watching a slow-motion clip from a film. It must have been only a moment, although it felt interminable to Olga, before Hugo finally collapsed and slumped to the floor at her feet.
She stared down at the blade of the letter opener. The tip was sticking out of the back of his neck and blood was spurting in every direction, like an out-of-control fire hydrant.
‘Help me,’ Hugo whimpered, trying to raise a hand.
Olga knelt by his side and took the hand of a man she’d once loved. ‘There is nothing I can do to help you, my darling,’ she said, ‘but then there never was.’
His breathing was becoming less regular, although he still gripped her hand tightly. She bent down to be sure that he could hear her every word. ‘You only have a few more moments to live,’ she whispered, ‘and I wouldn’t want you to go to your grave without knowing the details of Mitchell’s latest report.’
Hugo made one last effort to speak. His lips moved, but no words came out.
‘Emma has found Harry,’ said Olga, ‘and I know you’ll be pleased to hear he’s alive and well.’ Hugo’s eyes never left her as she leant even closer, until her lips were almost touching his ear. ‘And he’s on his way back to England to claim his rightful inheritance.’
It wasn’t until Hugo’s hand went limp that she added, ‘Ah, but I forgot to tell you, I’ve also learnt how to lie like you.’
The Bristol Evening Post and the Bristol Evening News ran different headlines on the first editions of their papers the following day.
SIR HUGO BARRINGTON
STABBED TO DEATH
was the banner headline in the Post, while the News preferred to lead with
&nbs
p; UNKNOWN WOMAN THROWS HERSELF
IN FRONT OF LONDON EXPRESS
Only Detective Chief Inspector Blakemore, the head of the local CID, worked out the connection between the two.
EMMA BARRINGTON
1942
38
‘GOOD MORNING, MR GUINZBURG,’ said Sefton Jelks as he rose from behind his desk. ‘It is indeed an honour to meet the man who publishes Dorothy Parker and Graham Greene.’
Guinzburg gave a slight bow, before shaking hands with Jelks.
‘And Miss Barrington,’ said Jelks, turning to Emma. ‘How nice to see you again. As I am no longer representing Mr Lloyd, I hope we can be friends.’
Emma frowned, and sat down without shaking Jelks’s outstretched hand.
Once the three of them were settled, Jelks continued. ‘Perhaps I might open this meeting by saying I thought it would be worthwhile for the three of us to get together and have a frank and open discussion, and see if it were possible to come up with a solution to our problem.’
‘Your problem,’ interjected Emma.
Mr Guinzburg pursed his lips, but said nothing.
‘I am sure,’ continued Jelks, focusing his attention on Guinzburg, ‘that you will want to do what is best for all concerned.’
‘And will that include Harry Clifton this time?’ asked Emma.
Guinzburg turned to Emma and gave her a disapproving grimace.
‘Yes, Miss Barrington,’ said Jelks, ‘any agreement we might reach would certainly include Mr Clifton.’
‘Just as it did last time, Mr Jelks, when you walked away at the time he most needed you?’
‘Emma,’ said Guinzburg reproachfully.
‘I should point out, Miss Barrington, that I was doing no more than carrying out my client’s instructions. Mr and Mrs Bradshaw both assured me that the man I was representing was their son, and I had no reason to believe otherwise. And of course I did prevent Tom from being tried for—’
‘And then you left Harry to fend for himself.’
‘In my defence, Miss Barrington, when I finally discovered that Tom Bradshaw was in fact Harry Clifton, he begged me to keep my counsel, as he didn’t want you to discover that he was still alive.’