Only Time Will Tell (2011)

by Jeffrey Archer

  Maisie’s brother, Stan Tancock, had been released from prison after serving eighteen months of his three-year sentence. Hugo never did find out what had happened to Detective Inspector Blakemore but he never saw the man again following his father’s dinner party. A young detective sergeant gave evidence at Tancock’s trial, and he clearly wasn’t in any doubt who the guilty party was.

  Once Tancock was safely behind bars, speculation about what had happened to Arthur Clifton quickly dried up. In a business where death is commonplace, Arthur Clifton became just another statistic. However, when Lady Harvey launched the Maple Leaf six months later, Hugo couldn’t help thinking that Davy Jones’s Locker would have been a more appropriate name for the vessel.

  When the final figures were presented to the board, Barrington’s ended up showing a loss of PS13,712 on the project. Hugo didn’t suggest that they tender for any more shipbuilding contracts in the future, and Sir Walter never referred to the subject again. In the years that followed, Barrington’s returned to its traditional business as a shipping line, and continued to go from strength to strength.

  After Stan had been carted off to the local prison, Hugo had assumed that would be the last he heard of him. But shortly before Tancock was due to be released, the deputy governor of HMP Bristol rang Miss Potts and asked for an appointment. When they met, the deputy governor pleaded with Barrington to give Tancock his old job back, otherwise he would have little hope of ever being employed again. At first, Hugo was delighted to hear this piece of news, but after giving the matter some thought, changed his mind and dispatched Phil Haskins, his chief ganger, to visit Tancock in prison and tell him he could have his job back on one condition: he was never to mention the name of Arthur Clifton again. If he did, he could collect his cards and look for work elsewhere. Tancock had accepted the offer gratefully, and as the years passed it became clear that he had kept his side of the bargain.

  The Rolls-Royce drew up outside the front gate of St Bede’s and the chauffeur leapt out to open the back door. Several pairs of eyes turned to look in their direction, some with admiration, others with envy.

  Giles clearly didn’t enjoy the attention and quickly walked away, disowning the chauffeur as well as his parents. His mother chased after him, bent down and pulled his socks up, before giving his fingernails one last inspection. Hugo spent his time looking into the faces of countless children, wondering if he would instantly recognize someone he’d never seen before.

  And then he saw a boy walking up the hill, unaccompanied by a mother or father. He looked past the boy to see a woman watching him, a woman he could never forget. Both of them must have been wondering if he had one son or two reporting for their first day at St Bede’s.

  When Giles caught chicken pox and had to spend a few days in the sanatorium, his father realized this might be his chance to prove that Harry Clifton wasn’t his son. He didn’t tell Elizabeth he was going to visit Giles while he was in the san, as he didn’t want her around when he asked Matron a seemingly innocuous question.

  Once he’d dealt with the morning post, Hugo told Miss Potts that he would be popping into St Bede’s to see his son and she shouldn’t expect him back for at least a couple of hours. He drove into the city and parked outside Frobisher House. He remembered only too well where the san was, as he’d had to visit it regularly when he was at St Bede’s.

  Giles was sitting up in bed having his temperature taken when his father strode into the room. The boy’s face lit up the moment he saw him.

  Matron was standing by the bed, checking her patient’s temperature. ‘Down to ninety-nine. We’ll have you back in time for the first lesson on Monday morning, young man,’ she declared as she shook the thermometer. ‘I’ll leave you now, Mr Barrington, so you can spend a little time with your son.’

  ‘Thank you, Matron,’ said Hugo. ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you before I leave?’

  ‘Of course, Mr Barrington. You’ll find me in my office.’

  ‘You don’t look too bad to me, Giles,’ said Hugo once Matron had left the room.

  ‘I’m fine, Papa. In fact, I was rather hoping Matron would let me out on Saturday morning so I can play football.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with her before I go.’

  ‘Thank you, Papa.’

  ‘So, how’s the work coming along?’

  ‘Not bad,’ said Giles. ‘But that’s only because I share a study with the two brightest boys in my class.’

  ‘And who are they?’ asked his father, dreading the reply.

  ‘There’s Deakins, he’s the cleverest boy in the school. In fact, the other boys won’t even talk to him because they think he’s a swot. But my best friend is Harry Clifton. He’s very clever too, but not as clever as Deakins. You’ve probably heard him singing in the choir. I know you’ll like him.’

  ‘But isn’t Clifton the son of a stevedore?’ Hugo said.

  ‘Yes, and just like Grandpa he doesn’t hide the fact. But how did you know that, Papa?’

  ‘I think Clifton used to work for the company,’ Hugo said, immediately regretting his words.

  ‘It must have been before your time, Papa,’ said Giles, ‘because his father was killed in the war.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ said Hugo.

  ‘Harry’s mother. She’s a waitress at the Royal Hotel. We went to tea there on his birthday.’

  Hugo would have liked to have asked when Clifton’s birthday was, but feared it might be one question too many. Instead, he said, ‘Your mother sends her love. I think she and Emma plan to visit you later this week.’

  ‘Yuk. That’s all I need,’ said Giles. ‘Chicken pox and a visit from my dreadful sister.’

  ‘She’s not that bad,’ said his father, laughing.

  ‘She’s worse,’ said Giles. ‘And Grace doesn’t look as if she’s going to be any better. Do they have to come on holiday with us, Papa?’

  ‘Yes, of course they do.’

  ‘I was wondering if Harry Clifton could join us in Tuscany this summer. He’s never been abroad.’

  ‘No,’ said Hugo a little too firmly. ‘Holidays are strictly for the family, not to be shared with strangers.’

  ‘But he’s not a stranger,’ said Giles. ‘He’s my best friend.’

  ‘No,’ Hugo repeated, ‘and that’s an end of the matter.’ Giles looked disappointed. ‘So what would you like for your birthday, my boy?’ Hugo asked, quickly changing the subject.

  ‘The latest radio,’ said Giles without hesitation. ‘It’s called a Roberts Reliable.’

  ‘Are you allowed to have radios at school?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Giles, ‘but you can only play them at weekends. If you’re caught listening after lights out or during the week, they get confiscated.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. Will you be coming home on your birthday?’

  ‘Yes, but only for tea. I have to be back at school in time for prep.’

  Then I’ll try and drop in,’ said Hugo. I’ll be off now. I want a word with Matron before I leave.’

  ‘Don’t forget to ask her if she’ll let me out on Saturday morning,’ Giles reminded him as his father left the room to carry out the real purpose of his visit.

  ‘I’m so glad you were able to drop by, Mr Barrington. It will perk Giles up no end,’ said Matron as he walked into her office. ‘But as you can see, he’s almost fully recovered.’

  ‘Yes, and he’s hoping you’ll let him out on Saturday morning so he can play in a football match.’

  ‘I’m sure that will be possible,’ said Matron. ‘But you said there was something else you wanted to talk about?’

  ‘Yes, Matron. As you know, Giles is colour-blind. I just wanted to ask if it was causing him any difficulties.’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of,’ said Matron. ‘If it is, it certainly doesn’t stop him hitting a red ball across a green field until it reaches a white boundary.’

  Barrington laughed before he delivered his next well-prepare
d line. ‘When I was at St Bede’s, I used to be teased because I was the only boy who suffered from colour-blindness.’

  ‘Let me assure you,’ said Matron, ‘no one teases Giles. And in any case, his best friend is also colour-blind.’

  Hugo drove back to his office thinking that something had to be done before the situation got out of control. He decided to have another word with Colonel Danvers.

  Once he was back behind his desk, he told Miss Potts he didn’t want to be disturbed. He waited until she’d closed the door before he picked up the telephone. A few moments later the chief constable was on the line.

  ‘It’s Hugo Barrington, Colonel.’

  ‘How are you, my boy?’ asked the chief constable.

  ‘I’m well, sir. I was wondering if you could advise me on a private matter.’

  ‘Fire away, old fellow.’

  ‘I’m looking for a new head of security, and I wondered if you might be able to point me in the right direction.’

  ‘As a matter of fact I do know a man who might fit the bill, but I’m not sure if he’s still available. I’ll find out and give you a call back.’

  The chief constable was as good as his word, and phoned back the following morning. ‘The man I had in mind has a part-time job at the moment, but he’s looking for something more permanent.’

  ‘What can you tell me about him?’ asked Hugo.

  ‘He was being groomed for higher things in the force, but he had to leave when he was badly injured trying to apprehend a robber during a raid on the Midland Bank. You probably remember the story. It even hit the national press. In my opinion, he’d be the ideal candidate to head your security team, and frankly you’d be lucky to get him. If you’re still interested, I could drop you a line with his details.’

  Barrington rang Derek Mitchell from his home, as he didn’t want Miss Potts to find out what he was up to. He agreed to meet the former policeman at the Royal Hotel at six o’clock on Monday evening, after Mrs Clifton would have left for the day and the Palm Court would be empty.

  Hugo arrived a few minutes early and headed straight for a table at the far end of the room that he wouldn’t normally have considered. He took a seat behind the pillar, where he knew his meeting with Mitchell would not be seen or overheard. While he waited, he went over a list of questions in his mind that needed answering if he was going to put his trust in a complete stranger.

  At three minutes to six, a tall, well-built man of military bearing pushed his way through the revolving doors. His dark navy blazer, grey flannels, short hair and highly polished shoes all suggested a life of discipline.

  Hugo stood and raised a hand as if he was summoning a waiter. Mitchell walked slowly across the room, making no attempt to disguise a slight limp, an injury which, according to Danvers, was the reason Mitchell had been invalided out of the police service.

  Hugo recalled the last occasion he’d come face to face with a police officer, but this time he would be asking the questions.

  ‘Good evening, sir.’

  ‘Good evening, Mitchell,’ said Hugo as they shook hands. Once Mitchell had sat down, Hugo took a closer look at his broken nose and cauliflower ears, and also recalled from Colonel Danvers’s notes that he used to play in the second row for Bristol.

  ‘Let me say from the outset, Mitchell,’ said Hugo, not wasting any time, ‘that what I want to discuss with you is of a highly confidential nature, and must be kept strictly between the two of us.’ Mitchell nodded. ‘It is so confidential, in fact, that even Colonel Danvers has no idea of the real reason I needed to see you, as I am certainly not looking for someone to head up my security operation.’

  Mitchell’s face remained inscrutable as he waited to hear what Hugo had in mind.

  ‘I am looking for someone to act as a private detective. His sole purpose will be to report to me each month on the activities of a woman who lives in this city, and in fact works in this hotel.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  ‘I want to know everything she gets up to, whether professional or personal, however insignificant it might seem. She must never, I repeat, never, become aware of your interest in her. So before I reveal her name, do you consider yourself capable of carrying out such an assignment?’

  ‘These things are never easy,’ said Mitchell, ‘but they’re not impossible. As a young detective sergeant, I worked on an undercover operation which resulted in a particularly loathsome individual ending up behind bars for sixteen years. If he were to walk into this hotel now, I’m confident he wouldn’t recognize me.’

  Hugo smiled for the first time. ‘Before I go any further,’ he continued, ‘I need to know if you would be willing to take on such an assignment?’

  ‘That would depend on several things, sir.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Would it be a full-time position, because I currently have a night security job, working for a bank.’

  ‘Hand in your notice tomorrow,’ said Hugo. ‘I don’t want you to be working for anyone else.’

  ‘And what are the hours?’

  ‘At your discretion.’

  ‘And my salary?’

  ‘I will pay you eight pounds a week, a month in advance, and will also cover any legitimate expenses.’

  Mitchell nodded. ‘May I suggest you make any payments in cash, sir, so that nothing can be traced back to you?’

  ‘That seems sensible,’ said Hugo, who’d already made that decision.

  ‘And would you want the monthly reports to be in writing, or in person?’

  ‘In person. I want as little committed to paper as possible.’

  ‘Then we should always meet at a different location and never on the same day of the week. That way it would be unlikely that anyone would come across us more than once.’

  ‘I have no problem with that,’ said Hugo.

  ‘When would you want me to start, sir?’

  ‘You started half an hour ago,’ said Barrington. He removed a slip of paper and an envelope containing PS32 from an inside pocket and handed them to Mitchell.

  Mitchell studied the name and address written on the piece of paper for a few moments before handing it back to his new boss. ‘I’ll also need your private number, sir, and details of when and where you can be contacted.’

  ‘At my office any evening between five and six,’ said Hugo. ‘You must never contact me at home unless it’s an emergency,’ he added as he took out a pen.

  ‘Just tell me the numbers, sir, don’t write them down.’

  23

  ‘WERE YOU THINKING OF attending Master Giles’s birthday party?’ asked Miss Potts.

  Hugo looked at his diary. Giles, 12th birthday, 3 p.m., Manor House was written in bold letters at the top of the page.

  ‘Do I have time to pick up a present on the way home?’

  Miss Potts left the room, and returned a moment later carrying a large parcel wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with a ribbon.

  ‘What’s inside?’ asked Hugo.

  ‘The latest Roberts radio; the one he asked for when you visited him in the san last month.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Potts,’ said Hugo. He checked his watch. ‘I’d better leave now if I’m going to be in time to see him cut the cake.’

  Miss Potts placed a thick file in his briefcase and before he could ask, she said, ‘Your background notes for tomorrow morning’s board meeting. You can go over them after Master Giles has returned to St Bede’s. That way there will be no need for you to come back this evening.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Potts,’ said Hugo. ‘You think of everything.’

  As he drove through the city on his way home, Hugo couldn’t help noticing how many more cars there seemed to be on the highway than there had been a year ago. Pedestrians were becoming more wary of casually crossing the road since the government had increased the speed limit to 30 miles per hour. A horse reared up as Hugo shot past a hansom cab. He wondered how much longer they could hope to survive now that
the city council had authorized its first taxi cab.

  Once he had driven out of the city, Hugo sped up, not wanting to be late for his son’s party. How quickly the boy was growing. He was already taller than his mother. Would he end up taller than his father?

  When Giles left St Bede’s and took up his place at Eton in a year’s time, Hugo felt confident that his friendship with the Clifton boy would soon be forgotten, although he realized there were other difficulties that needed to be addressed before then.

  He slowed down as he passed through the gates of his estate. He always enjoyed the long drive through the avenue of oaks up to the Manor House. Jenkins was standing on the top step as Hugo got out of the car. He held open the front door and said, ‘Mrs Barrington is in the drawing room sir, with Master Giles and two of his school friends.’

  As he walked into the hall, Emma came running down the stairs and threw her arms around her father.

  ‘What’s in the parcel?’ she demanded.

  ‘A birthday present for your brother.’

  ‘Yes, but what is it?’

  ‘You’ll have to wait and see, young lady,’ said her father with a smile before he handed his briefcase to the butler. ‘Would you put that in my study, Jenkins,’ he said as Emma grabbed him by the hand and began to tug him towards the drawing room.

  Hugo’s smile evaporated the moment he opened the door and saw who was sitting on the sofa.

  Giles leapt up and ran towards his father, who handed him the parcel and said, ‘Happy birthday, my boy.’

  ‘Thank you, Papa,’ he said, before introducing his friends.

  Hugo shook Deakins’s hand, but when Harry offered his, he just said, ‘Good afternoon, Clifton,’ and sat down in his favourite chair.

  Hugo watched with interest as Giles undid the ribbon on his parcel and they both saw the present for the first time. Even his son’s unbridled delight with his new radio didn’t bring a smile to Hugo’s lips. He had a question that he needed to ask Clifton, but it mustn’t appear as if the boy’s reply was of any significance.