Best Kept Secret

by Jeffrey Archer

  ‘It is a matter of principle,’ Lord Preston had explained to any lobby correspondents who questioned him.

  ‘Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony?’

  ‘I will.’

  Harry and Giles had remained inseparable friends throughout the entire episode, despite the fact that they were officially set against each other in the highest court in the land, as well as on the front pages of the national press.

  Harry and Giles would both have rejoiced at the Lord Chancellor’s decision had Emma and Giles’s grandfather Lord Harvey been in his seat on the front bench to hear the ruling, but he never learned of his triumph. The nation remained divided by the outcome, while the two families were left to pick up the pieces.

  The other consequence of the Lord Chancellor’s ruling was, as the press were quick to point out to their rapacious readers, that the highest court in the land had ordained that Harry and Emma were not of the same bloodline, and therefore he was free to invite her to be his lawfully wedded wife.

  ‘With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.’

  However, Harry and Emma both knew that a decision made by man did not prove beyond reasonable doubt that Hugo Barrington was not Harry’s father, and as practising Christians, it worried them that they might be breaking God’s law.

  Their love for each other had not diminished in the face of all they had been through. If anything, it had grown stronger, and with the encouragement of her mother, Elizabeth, and the blessing of Harry’s mother Maisie, Emma accepted Harry’s proposal of marriage. It only saddened her that neither of her grandmothers had lived to attend the ceremony.

  The nuptials did not take place in Oxford, as originally planned, with all the pomp and circumstance of a university wedding, and the inevitable glare of publicity that would accompany it, but at a simple, register office ceremony in Bristol, with only the family and a few close friends in attendance.

  Perhaps the saddest decision that Harry and Emma reluctantly agreed on was that Sebastian Arthur Clifton would be their only child.

  2

  HARRY AND EMMA left for Scotland to spend their honeymoon in Mulgelrie Castle, the ancestral home of Lord and Lady Harvey, Emma’s late grandparents, but not before they had left Sebastian in Elizabeth’s safe keeping.

  The castle brought back many happy memories of the time they’d spent a holiday there just before Harry went up to Oxford. They roamed the hills together during the day, rarely returning to the castle before the sun had disappeared behind the highest mountain. After supper, the cook having recalled how Master Clifton liked three portions of broth, they sat by a roaring log fire reading Evelyn Waugh, Graham Greene and, Harry’s favourite, P. G. Wodehouse.

  After a fortnight, during which time they encountered more Highland cattle than human beings, they reluctantly set out on the long journey back to Bristol. They arrived at the Manor House looking forward to a life of domestic tranquillity, but it was not to be.

  Elizabeth confessed that she couldn’t wait to get Sebastian off her hands; tears before bedtime had occurred once too often, she told them as her Siamese cat, Cleopatra, leapt up on to her mistress’s lap and promptly fell asleep. ‘Frankly, you haven’t arrived a moment too soon,’ she added. ‘I haven’t managed to complete The Times crossword once in the past fortnight.’

  Harry thanked his mother-in-law for her understanding, and he and Emma took their hyperactive five-year-old back to Barrington Hall.

  Before Harry and Emma were married, Giles had insisted that as he spent the majority of his time in London carrying out his duties as a Labour Member of Parliament, they were to consider Barrington Hall as their home. With its ten-thousand-book library, expansive park and ample stables, it was ideal for them. Harry could write his William Warwick detective novels in peace, while Emma rode every day, and Sebastian played in the spacious grounds, regularly bringing strange animals home to join him for tea.

  Giles would often drive down to Bristol on Friday evenings in time to join them for dinner. On Saturday morning he would conduct a constituency surgery, before dropping into the dock workers’ club for a couple of pints with his agent, Griff Haskins. In the afternoon, he and Griff would join 10,000 of his constituents at Eastville Stadium to watch Bristol Rovers lose more times than they won. Giles never admitted, even to his agent, that he would rather have spent his Saturday afternoons watching Bristol play rugby, but had he done so Griff would have reminded him that the crowd at the Memorial Ground was rarely more than two thousand, and most of them voted Conservative.

  On Sunday mornings, Giles could be found on his knees at St Mary Redcliffe, with Harry and Emma by his side. Harry assumed that for Giles this was just another constituency duty, as he’d always looked for any excuse to avoid chapel at school. But no one could deny that Giles was quickly gaining a reputation as a conscientious, hard-working Member of Parliament.

  And then suddenly, without explanation, Giles’s weekend visits became less and less frequent. Whenever Emma raised the subject with her brother, he mumbled something about parliamentary duties. Harry remained unconvinced, and hoped that his brother-in-law’s long absences from the constituency would not eat into his slim majority at the next election.

  One Friday evening, they discovered the real reason Giles had been otherwise engaged for the past few months.

  He had rung Emma earlier in the week to warn her that he was coming down to Bristol for the weekend, and would arrive in time for dinner on Friday. What he hadn’t told her was that he would be accompanied by a guest.

  Emma usually liked Giles’s girlfriends, who were always attractive, often a little scatty and without exception adored him, even if most of them didn’t last long enough for her to get to know them. But that was not to be the case this time.

  When Giles introduced Virginia to her on Friday evening, Emma was puzzled by what her brother could possibly see in the woman. Emma accepted that she was beautiful and well connected. In fact Virginia reminded them more than once that she’d been Deb of the Year (in 1934), and three times that she was the daughter of the Earl of Fenwick, before they’d even sat down for dinner.

  Emma might have dismissed this as simply being nerves, if Virginia hadn’t picked at her food and whispered to Giles during dinner, in tones she must have known they could overhear, how difficult it must be to find decent domestic staff in Gloucestershire. To Emma’s surprise, Giles just smiled at these observations, never once disagreeing with her. Emma was just about to say something she knew she would regret, when Virginia announced that she was exhausted after such a long day and wished to retire.

  Once she had upped and departed, with Giles following a pace behind, Emma walked through to the drawing room, poured herself a large whisky and sank into the nearest chair.

  ‘God knows what my mother will make of the Lady Virginia.’

  Harry smiled. ‘It won’t matter much what Elizabeth thinks, because I have a feeling Virginia will last about as long as most of Giles’s other girlfriends.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ said Emma. ‘But what puzzles me is why she’s interested in Giles, because she’s clearly not in love with him.’

  When Giles and Virginia drove back to London after lunch on Sunday afternoon, Emma quickly forgot about the Earl of Fenwick’s daughter as she had to deal with a far more pressing problem. Yet another nanny had handed in her notice, declaring that it had been the last straw when she’d found a hedgehog in her bed. Harry felt some sympathy for the poor woman.

  ‘It doesn’t help that he’s an only child,’ said Emma after she’d finally got her son to sleep that night. ‘It can’t be fun having no one to play with.’

  ‘It never worried me,’ said Harry, not looking up from his book.

  ‘Your mother told me you were quite a handful before you went to St Bede’s school, and in any case, when you were his age, you s
pent more time down at the docks than you did at home.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be long before he starts at St Bede’s.’

  ‘And what do you expect me to do in the meantime? Drop him off at the docks every morning?’

  ‘Not a bad idea.’

  ‘Be serious, my darling. If it hadn’t been for Old Jack, you’d still be there now.’

  ‘True,’ said Harry, as he raised his glass to the great man. ‘But what can we do about it?’

  Emma took so long to reply that Harry wondered if she’d fallen asleep. ‘Perhaps the time has come for us to have another child.’

  Harry was so taken by surprise that he closed his book and looked closely at his wife, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. ‘But I thought we’d agreed . . .’

  ‘We did. And I haven’t changed my mind, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t consider adoption.’

  ‘What’s brought this on, my darling?’

  ‘I can’t stop thinking about the little girl who was found in my father’s office the night he died’ – Emma could never bring herself to say the word killed – ‘and the possibility that she might be his child.’

  ‘But there’s no proof of that. And in any case, I’m not sure how you’d find out where she is after all this time.’

  ‘I was thinking of consulting a well-known detective writer, and seeking his advice.’

  Harry thought carefully before he spoke. ‘William Warwick would probably recommend that you try and track down Derek Mitchell.’

  ‘But surely you can’t have forgotten that Mitchell worked for my father, and didn’t exactly have our best interests at heart.’

  ‘True,’ said Harry, ‘and that’s exactly why I would seek his advice. After all, he’s the one person who knows where all the bodies are buried.’

  They agreed to meet at the Grand Hotel. Emma arrived a few minutes early and selected a seat in the corner of the lounge where they could not be overheard. While she waited, she went over the questions she planned to ask him.

  Mr Mitchell walked into the lounge as the clock struck four. Although he’d put on a little weight since she’d last seen him, and his hair was greyer, the unmistakable limp was still his calling card. Her first thought was that he looked more like a bank manager than a private detective. He clearly recognized Emma, because he headed straight for her.

  ‘It’s nice to see you again, Mrs Clifton,’ he ventured.

  ‘Please have a seat,’ Emma said, wondering if he was as nervous as she was. She decided to get straight to the point. ‘I wanted to see you, Mr Mitchell, because I need the help of a private detective.’

  Mitchell shifted uneasily in his chair.

  ‘When we last met, I promised I would settle the rest of my father’s debt to you.’ This had been Harry’s suggestion. He said it would make Mitchell realize she was serious about employing him. She opened her handbag, extracted an envelope and handed it to Mitchell.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mitchell, clearly surprised.

  Emma continued, ‘You will recall when I last saw you we discussed the baby who was found in the wicker basket in my father’s office. Detective Chief Inspector Blakemore, who was in charge of the case, as I’m sure you remember, told my husband the little girl had been taken into care by the local authority.’

  ‘That would be standard practice, assuming no one came forward to claim her.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve already discovered that much, and only yesterday I spoke to the person in charge of that department at City Hall, but he refused to supply me with any details as to where the little girl might be now.’

  ‘That will have been at the instruction of the coroner following the inquest, to protect the child from inquisitive journalists. It doesn’t mean there aren’t ways of finding out where she is.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that.’ Emma hesitated. ‘But before we go down that path, I need to be convinced that the little girl was my father’s child.’

  ‘I can assure you, Mrs Clifton, there isn’t any doubt about that.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I could supply you with all the details, but it might cause you some discomfort.’

  ‘Mr Mitchell, I cannot believe that anything you could tell me about my father would surprise me.’

  Mitchell remained silent for a few moments. Eventually he said, ‘During the time I worked for Sir Hugo, you’ll be aware that he moved to London.’

  ‘Ran away on the day of my wedding, would be more accurate.’

  Mitchell didn’t comment. ‘About a year later, he began living with a Miss Olga Piotrovska in Lowndes Square.’

  ‘How could he afford that, when my grandfather had cut him off without a penny?’

  ‘He couldn’t. To put it bluntly, he was not only living with Miss Piotrovska, but living off her.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything about this lady?’

  ‘A great deal. She was Polish by birth, and escaped from Warsaw in 1941, soon after her parents were arrested.’

  ‘What was their crime?’

  ‘Being Jewish,’ said Mitchell without feeling. ‘She managed to get across the border with some of the family’s possessions, and made her way to London, where she rented a flat in Lowndes Square. It wasn’t long after that that she met your father at a cocktail party given by a mutual friend. He courted the lady for a few weeks and then moved into her apartment, giving his word that they would be married as soon as his divorce came through.’

  ‘I said nothing would surprise me. I was wrong.’

  ‘It gets worse,’ said Mitchell. ‘When your grandfather died, Sir Hugo immediately dumped Miss Piotrovska, and returned to Bristol to claim his inheritance and take over as chairman of the board of Barrington’s shipping line. But not before he’d stolen all of Miss Piotrovska’s jewellery as well as several valuable paintings.’

  ‘If that’s true, why wasn’t he arrested?’

  ‘He was,’ said Mitchell, ‘and was about to be charged when his associate, Toby Dunstable, who had turned King’s evidence, committed suicide in his cell the night before the trial.’

  Emma bowed her head.

  ‘Would you rather I didn’t continue, Mrs Clifton?’

  ‘No,’ said Emma looking directly at him. ‘I need to know everything.’

  ‘Although your father wasn’t aware of it when he returned to Bristol, Miss Piotrovska was pregnant. She gave birth to a little girl, who is named on the birth certificate as Jessica Piotrovska.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because Miss Piotrovska employed me when your father could no longer pay my bills. Ironically, she ran out of money just as your father inherited a fortune. That was the reason she travelled down to Bristol with Jessica. She wanted Sir Hugo to know he had another daughter, as she felt it was his responsibility to bring the girl up.’

  ‘And now it’s my responsibility,’ said Emma quietly. She paused. ‘But I’ve no idea how to go about finding her, and I was hoping you could help.’

  ‘I’ll do whatever I can, Mrs Clifton. But after all this time, it won’t be easy. If I come up with anything, you’ll be the first to hear,’ the detective added as he rose from his seat.

  As Mitchell limped away, Emma felt a little guilty. She hadn’t even offered him a cup of tea.

  Emma couldn’t wait to get home and tell Harry about her meeting with Mitchell. When she burst into the library at Barrington Hall, he was putting down the phone. He had such a huge grin on his face that all she said was, ‘You first.’

  ‘My American publishers want me to do a tour of the States when they launch the new book next month.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news, darling. At last you’ll get to meet Great-aunt Phyllis, not to mention Cousin Alistair.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘Don’t mock, child!’

  ‘I’m not, because my publishers have suggested you join me on the trip, so you’ll be able to see them too.’

  ‘I’d love
to go with you, darling, but the timing couldn’t be worse. Nanny Ryan has packed her bags, and I’m embarrassed to say that the agency’s taken us off their books.’

  ‘Perhaps I could get my publishers to agree to Seb coming along as well.’

  ‘Which would probably result in all of us being deported,’ said Emma. ‘No, I’ll stay at home with Seb, while you go off and conquer the colonies.’

  Harry took his wife in his arms. ‘Pity. I was looking forward to a second honeymoon. By the way, how did your meeting with Mitchell go?’

  Harry was in Edinburgh addressing a literary lunch when Derek Mitchell phoned Emma.

  ‘I may have a lead,’ he said, not giving his name. ‘When can we meet?’

  ‘Ten o’clock tomorrow morning, same place?’

  No sooner had she put the phone down than it rang again. She picked it up, to find her sister on the other end of the line.

  ‘What a pleasant surprise, Grace, but knowing you, you’ll have a good reason for calling.’

  ‘Some of us have full-time jobs,’ Grace reminded her. ‘But you’re right. I rang because last night I attended a lecture given by Professor Cyrus Feldman.’

  ‘The double Pulitzer Prize-winner?’ said Emma, hoping to impress her sister. ‘Stanford University, if I remember correctly.’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ said Grace. ‘More to the point, you’d have been fascinated by the talk he gave.’

  ‘He’s an economist, if I recall?’ said Emma, trying to keep her head above water. ‘Hardly my field.’