Best Kept Secret

by Jeffrey Archer

  He drove down Grange Road, took a right and parked his car in Sidgwick Avenue. He walked under an archway declaring Newnham College, founded in 1871, before women could be awarded degrees, by a far-sighted visionary who believed that would happen in his lifetime. It didn’t.

  Giles stopped at the lodge and was about to ask directions to Miss Barrington’s party when the porter said, ‘Good evening, Sir Giles, you’ll be wanting the Sidgwick Room.’

  Recognized. No turning back.

  ‘If you walk on down the corridor, it’s at the top of the stairs, third door on the left. You can’t miss it.’

  Giles followed his directions, passing a dozen or so undergraduates dressed in long black skirts, white blouses and academic gowns. They didn’t give him a second look, but then why should they? He was thirty-three, almost twice their age.

  He climbed the stairs, and when he reached the top step he didn’t need further directions because he could hear exuberant voices and laughter long before he reached the third door on the left. He took a deep breath and tried not to make an entrance.

  Jessica was the first to spot him, and immediately ran across the room shouting, ‘Uncle Giles, Uncle Giles, where have you been?’ Where indeed, thought Giles, as he looked at the young girl he adored, not quite a swan, but no longer a cygnet. She leapt up and threw her arms around him. He looked over her shoulder to see Grace and Emma heading towards him. All three of them tried to hug him at once. Other guests looked on, wondering what all the fuss was about.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Giles, after he’d shaken hands with Harry. ‘I should never have put you through all that.’

  ‘Don’t dwell on it,’ said Harry. ‘And frankly, both of us have been through far worse.’

  Giles was surprised how quickly he relaxed with his oldest friend. They were chatting about Peter May as if it were old times, when he first saw her. After that, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  ‘The best cover drive I’ve ever seen,’ Harry said, placing his left foot firmly forward while trying to give a demonstration without a bat. He hadn’t noticed how distracted Giles had become.

  ‘Yes, I was at Headingley when he scored a century against the South Africans in his first Test.’

  ‘I saw that innings as well,’ said an elderly don who had joined them. ‘A quite magnificent knock.’

  Giles slipped away, and wove his way around the crowded room, only stopping to chat to Sebastian about how he was getting on at school. The young man seemed far more relaxed and confident than he ever remembered him being.

  Giles was beginning to fear she might leave before he got the chance to meet her, and when Sebastian became distracted by a sausage roll, he moved on until he found himself standing by her side. She was chatting to an older woman and didn’t seem to be aware of him. He stood there, tongue-tied, wondering why Englishmen found it so difficult to introduce themselves to women, particularly beautiful women. How right Betjeman was, and this wasn’t even a desert island.

  ‘I don’t think Schwarzkopf’s got the range for the part,’ the other woman was saying.

  ‘You may be right, but I’d still give up half my annual grant just to hear her sing.’

  The older woman glanced at Giles and turned to speak to someone else, almost as if she knew. Giles introduced himself, hoping no one else would join them. They shook hands. Just touching her . . .

  ‘Hello. I’m Giles Barrington.’

  ‘You must be Grace’s brother, the MP I keep reading about who has all those radical views. I’m Gwyneth,’ she said, revealing her ancestry.

  ‘Are you an undergraduate?’

  ‘You flatter me,’ she said, giving him a smile. ‘No, I’m just completing my PhD. Your sister is my supervisor.’

  ‘What’s your thesis on?’

  ‘The links between mathematics and philosophy in Ancient Greece.’

  ‘I can’t wait to read it.’

  ‘I’ll see that you get an early copy.’

  ‘Who’s the girl Giles is chatting to?’ Emma asked her sister.

  Grace turned and looked across the room. ‘Gwyneth Hughes, one of my brighter PhD students. He’ll certainly find her something of a contrast to Lady Virginia. She’s the daughter of a Welsh miner, up from the valleys, as she likes to remind everyone, and she certainly knows the meaning of compos mentis.’

  ‘She’s very attractive,’ Emma said. ‘You don’t think—’

  ‘Good heavens, no, what would they have in common?’

  Emma smiled to herself, before saying, ‘Have you handed over your eleven per cent of the company to Giles?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace, ‘along with my rights to Grandfather’s home in Smith Square, as I agreed with Mama, once I was convinced the silly boy was finally free of Virginia.’

  Emma didn’t speak for some time. ‘So you always knew the contents of Mama’s new will?’

  ‘And what was in the envelope,’ said Grace casually, ‘which was why I couldn’t attend the trial.’

  ‘How well Mother knew you.’

  ‘How well she knew all three of us,’ said Grace as she looked across the room at her brother.

  16

  ‘CAN YOU SET the whole thing up?’ asked Giles.

  ‘Yes, sir, just leave it to me.’

  ‘I’d like to get it over with as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Such a sordid business. I only wish there was a more civilized way of doing these things.’

  ‘It’s the law that needs changing, Sir Giles, and frankly that’s more your department than mine.’

  Giles knew the man was right, and undoubtedly the law would change in time, but Virginia had made it clear she couldn’t wait. After months of not making any contact with him, she’d rung him out of the blue to tell him why she wanted a divorce. She didn’t need to spell out what was expected of him.

  ‘Thank you, Bunny, I knew you could be relied on,’ she’d said before putting the phone down.

  ‘When will I hear from you?’ Giles asked.

  ‘By the end of the week,’ the man replied, before downing his half pint. He rose, gave a slight bow and limped away.

  Giles was wearing a large red carnation in his buttonhole so she couldn’t miss him. He glanced at every female under the age of thirty who walked in his direction. None of them even gave him a glance, until a prim young woman came to a halt by his side.

  ‘Mr Brown?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Giles replied.

  ‘My name is Miss Holt. I’m from the agency.’

  Without another word, she linked her arm in his and led him along the platform like a guide dog until they reached a first-class carriage. Once they had taken their seats opposite each other, Giles wasn’t altogether sure what he was meant to do next. As it was a Friday evening, every other seat was taken long before the train pulled out of the station. Miss Holt didn’t say a word on the entire journey.

  When the train pulled into Brighton, she was among the first to get off. Giles handed two tickets to the collector at the barrier and followed her towards the taxi rank. It was clear to Giles that Miss Holt had done this several times before. It was only when they were seated in the back of the taxi that she spoke again, and not to him.

  ‘Grand Hotel.’

  On their arrival at the hotel, Giles checked in, registering as Mr and Mrs Brown.

  ‘Room thirty-one, sir,’ said the receptionist. He looked as if he was about to wink, but only smiled and said, ‘Have a good night, sir.’

  A porter carried their cases up to the third floor. It wasn’t until after he’d collected his tip and left that she spoke again.

  ‘My name is Angela Holt,’ she said, sitting upright on the end of the bed.

  Giles remained standing, and looked at a woman he couldn’t have been less likely to spend a dirty weekend in Brighton with. ‘Can you guide me through the procedure?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly, Sir Giles,’ said Miss Holt,
as if he’d asked her to take dictation. ‘At eight o’clock, we’ll go downstairs and have dinner. I’ve booked a table in the centre of the room, in the hope that someone might recognize you. After dinner, we’ll return to the bedroom. I will remain fully dressed at all times, but you can get undressed in the bathroom, where you will put on your pyjamas and dressing gown. At ten o’clock, I will go and sleep on the bed and you will sleep on the couch. At two a.m., you will phone down to the front desk and order a bottle of vintage champagne, half a pint of Guinness and a round of ham sandwiches. When the night porter delivers your order, you will say that you asked for Marmite and tomato sandwiches, and tell him to bring the correct order immediately. When he returns, you will thank him and give him a five-pound note.’

  ‘Why such a large tip?’ asked Giles.

  ‘Because if this should come to court, the night porter will undoubtedly be called to give evidence, and we need to be sure he won’t have forgotten you.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘In the morning, we will have breakfast together, and when you check out you must pay the bill by cheque, so it can be easily traced. As we leave the hotel, you will embrace me and kiss me several times. You will then get into a taxi and wave goodbye.’

  ‘Why several times?’

  ‘Because we need to be sure that your wife’s private detective gets an easily identifiable photograph of us together. Do you have any further questions, Sir Giles, before we go down to dinner?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Holt. May I ask how often you do this?’

  ‘You are my third gentleman this week, and the agency has already booked me for a couple of jobs for next week.’

  ‘This is madness. Our divorce laws are frankly barbaric. The government ought to draft new legislation as soon as possible.’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Miss Holt, ‘because if you were to do that, Sir Giles, I’d be out of a job.’

  ALEX FISHER

  1954–1955

  17

  ‘I QUITE SIMPLY want to destroy him,’ she said. ‘Nothing less will satisfy me.’

  ‘I can assure you, Lady Virginia, I’ll do anything I can to assist.’

  ‘That’s good to know, major, because if we’re going to work together, we’ll need to trust each other. No secrets. However, I still have to be convinced you’re the right man for the job. Tell me why you think you’re so well qualified?’

  ‘I think you’ll find I’m over-qualified, my lady,’ said Fisher. ‘Barrington and I go back a long way.’

  ‘Then start at the beginning and take me through every detail, however insignificant it might seem.’

  ‘It all began when the three of us were at St Bede’s prep school, and Barrington made friends with the docker’s son.’

  ‘Harry Clifton,’ said Virginia, spitting out the words.

  ‘Barrington should have been expelled from St Bede’s.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Virginia.

  ‘He was caught stealing from the tuck shop, but he got away with it.’

  ‘How did he manage that?’

  ‘His father, Sir Hugo, another criminal, wrote out a cheque for a thousand pounds, which made it possible for the school to build a new cricket pavilion. So the headmaster turned a blind eye, which made it possible for Barrington to go to Oxford.’

  ‘Did you also go up to Oxford?’

  ‘No, I joined the army. But our paths crossed again in Tobruk while we were serving in the same regiment.’

  ‘Which is where he made a name for himself, winning the Military Cross and later escaping from a prisoner-of-war camp?’

  ‘It should have been my MC,’ said Fisher, his eyes narrowing. ‘I was his commanding officer at the time and responsible for leading an attack on an enemy battery. After I sent the Germans packing, the colonel put me up for an MC, but Corporal Bates, a friend of Barrington’s, refused to endorse my citation, so I was downgraded to mentioned in dispatches, and Barrington ended up getting my MC.’

  This wasn’t Giles’s version of what had taken place that day, but Virginia knew which one she wanted to believe. ‘Have you come across him since?’

  ‘No. I stayed in the army, but once I realized he’d scuppered my chance of getting any further promotion, I took early retirement.’

  ‘So what do you do now, major?’

  ‘I’m a stockbroker by profession, as well as being on the board of Bristol Grammar School. I’m also on the executive committee of the local Conservative Association. I joined the party so I could play a role in making sure Barrington doesn’t win at the next election.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to make sure you play a leading role,’ said Virginia, ‘because the one thing that man cares most about is holding on to his seat in the House of Commons. He’s convinced that if Labour wins the next election, Attlee will offer him a place in the Cabinet.’

  ‘Over my dead body.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll have to go that far. After all, if he were to lose his seat at the next election, there’s not much chance they’ll readopt him, and that would probably mean the end of his political career.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ said Fisher. ‘But I have to point out that although he doesn’t have a large majority, he’s still very popular in the constituency.’

  ‘I wonder how popular he’ll be after I’ve sued him for adultery.’

  ‘He’s already prepared the ground for that, telling everyone he had to go through a charade in Brighton to protect your reputation. He’s even campaigning to have the divorce laws changed.’

  ‘But how would his constituents react if they discovered that for the past year he’s been having an affair with a student in Cambridge?’

  ‘Once your divorce has gone through, no one will give a damn.’

  ‘But if it hasn’t been settled and I let it be known that I’m trying desperately for a reconciliation . . .’

  ‘That would change the situation completely,’ said Fisher. ‘And you can rely on me to make sure that news of your sad predicament reaches the right ears.’

  ‘Good. Now, it would help our long-term aims considerably if you were to become chairman of the Bristol Docklands Conservative Association.’

  ‘I’d like nothing more. The only problem is that I can’t afford to spend that amount of time on politics, while I have to earn a living.’ Fisher tried not to sound embarrassed.

  ‘You won’t have to worry about that once you’ve joined the board of the Barrington Shipping group.’

  ‘There’s not much hope of that ever happening. Barrington would veto the appointment the moment my name was proposed.’

  ‘He can’t veto anything as long as I own seven and a half per cent of the company’s stock.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘Then allow me to explain, major. For the past six months, I’ve been purchasing Barrington’s shares through a blind trust, and I now own seven and a half per cent of the company. If you check their bylaws, you’ll find that allows me to appoint a member of the board, and I can’t think of anyone better qualified to represent me, major.’

  ‘How do I begin to thank you?’

  ‘It’s very simple. In the short term you will devote your time to becoming chairman of the local Conservative Association. Once you’ve achieved that, your sole purpose will be to make sure the voters of Bristol Docklands remove their Member of Parliament at the next election.’

  ‘And in the long term?’

  ‘I have an idea that may tickle your fancy. But we can’t even consider that until you become chairman of the association.’

  ‘Then I’d better get back to Bristol and start working on it immediately. But before I do, there’s something I’d like to ask you.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Virginia, ‘ask me anything. After all, we’re partners now.’

  ‘Why did you choose me for this job?’

  ‘Oh, that’s simple, major. Giles once told me you were the only man he’s ever detested.’

  ‘Gent
lemen,’ said Bill Hawkins, the chairman of the Conservative Association as he tapped his gavel on the table, ‘if I might call the meeting to order. Perhaps I could begin by asking our honorary secretary, Major Fisher, to read the minutes of the last meeting.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Chairman. At the last meeting, held on the fourteenth of June 1954, the committee instructed me to write to Central Office in London and request a list of candidates who might be considered to represent the party in this constituency at the next general election. The official candidates list arrived a few days later, and I circulated a copy to members so they could consider the applicants at this evening’s meeting.

  ‘It was agreed that the summer fete would be held at Castle Combe this year, by kind permission of the Hon. Mrs Hartley-Booth JP. There followed a discussion on the price of raffle tickets, and a vote was taken, after which it was agreed they should be sixpence each, and six for half a crown. The treasurer, Mr Maynard, then reported that the association’s bank account was in credit to the tune of forty-seven pounds and twelve shillings. He said he had written a follow-up letter to all those members who had not yet paid their annual subscription. There being no other business, the meeting was closed at twelve minutes past ten.’

  ‘Thank you, major,’ said the chairman. ‘Now let us move on to item two, namely the list of candidates recommended by Central Office. You have all had several days to consider the names, so I will throw the meeting open for a general discussion before we shortlist those candidates you feel should be invited for an interview.’

  Fisher had already shown the list of candidates to Lady Virginia, and they had agreed on the person they thought would best serve their long-term purpose. Fisher sat back and listened carefully as his fellow committee members expressed their opinions as to the merits and shortcomings of each candidate. It quickly became clear that his choice was not the front-runner, but at least no one was opposed to him.

  ‘Do you wish to offer an opinion, major, before I call for a vote?’ Hawkins asked.