‘Is that also the reason you felt unable to share your problem with us?’ Harry came to a sudden halt: a stumble or a sneeze wasn’t going to rescue him this time. ‘If you’d been just a little more frank in the first place, we’d have been happy to sort out the problem. But, given the circumstances, we had no choice but to inform Captain Parker and leave him to decide what should be done.’
Harry collapsed into the nearest deckchair, but as Kristin made no attempt to come to his rescue, he knew he was beaten. ‘It’s far more complicated than you realize,’ he began. ‘But I can explain why I didn’t want to involve anyone else.’
‘No need to,’ said Kristin. ‘The captain’s already come to our rescue. But he did want to ask how you intended to deal with the bigger problem.’
Harry bowed his head. ‘I’m willing to answer any questions the captain might have,’ he said, feeling almost a sense of relief that he’d been found out.
‘Like the rest of us, he wanted to know how you’re going to get off the ship when you don’t have any clothes, or a dime to your name?’
Harry smiled. ‘I figured New Yorkers might consider a Kansas Star dressing gown to be pretty nifty.’
‘Frankly, not too many New Yorkers would notice even if you did walk down Fifth Avenue in a robe,’ said Kristin. ‘And the ones that did would probably think it was the latest fashion. But just in case they don’t, Richard’s come up with a couple of white shirts and a sports jacket. Pity he’s so much taller than you, otherwise he’d have been able to supply a pair of pants as well. Dr Wallace can spare a pair of brown wingtips, a pair of socks and a tie. That still leaves us with the problem of the pants, but the captain has a pair of Bermuda shorts that no longer fit him.’ Harry burst out laughing. ‘We hope you won’t be offended, Tom, but we also held a little collection among the crew,’ she added, passing him a thick envelope. ‘I think you’ll find there’s more than enough to get you to Connecticut.’
‘How do I begin to thank you?’ said Harry.
‘No need to, Tom. We’re all so pleased you survived. I only wish we could have saved your friend Harry Clifton as well. Still, you’ll be glad to hear that Captain Parker has instructed Dr Wallace to deliver your letter to his mother personally.’
56
HARRY WAS AMONG the first on deck that morning, some two hours before the Kansas Star was due to sail into New York Harbour. It was another forty minutes before the sun joined him, by which time he’d worked out exactly how he was going to spend his first day in America.
He had already said farewell to Dr Wallace, after trying, inadequately, to thank him for all he’d done. Wallace assured him that he would post his letter to Mrs Clifton just as soon as he arrived in Bristol, and had reluctantly accepted that it might not be wise to visit her, after Harry had hinted that she was of a nervous disposition.
Harry was touched when Captain Parker called into the sick bay to deliver a pair of Bermuda shorts and wish him luck. After he had returned to the bridge, Kristin said firmly, ‘It’s time for you to go to bed, Tom. You’ll need all your strength if you’re going to travel to Connecticut tomorrow.’ Tom Bradshaw would have liked to spend a day or two with Richard and Kristin in Manhattan, but Harry Clifton couldn’t afford to waste any time now that Britain had declared war on Germany.
‘When you wake up in the morning,’ continued Kristin, ‘try to get up on to the passenger deck before first light, then you can watch the sun rising as we sail into New York. I know you’ll have seen it many times before, Tom, but it never fails to excite me.’
‘Me too,’ said Harry.
‘And once we’ve docked,’ continued Kristin, ‘why don’t you wait for Richard and me to come off duty and then we can disembark together?’
Dressed in Richard’s sports jacket and shirt, a little too large, the captain’s Bermuda shorts, a little too long, and the doctor’s shoes and socks, a little too tight, Harry couldn’t wait to go ashore.
The ship’s purser had telegraphed ahead to advise the New York Immigration Department that they had an extra passenger on board, an American citizen called Tom Bradshaw. The NYID had telegraphed back to say that Mr Bradshaw should make himself known to one of the immigration officials and they would take it from there.
Once Richard had dropped him off at Grand Central, Harry planned to hang around in the station for a little while before heading back to the docks, where he intended to report straight to the union office and find out which ships were due to sail for England. It didn’t matter which port they were heading for, as long as it wasn’t Bristol.
Once he had identified a suitable vessel, he would sign up for any job on offer. He didn’t care if he worked on the bridge or in the boiler room, scrubbed the decks or peeled potatoes, just as long as he got back to England. If there turned out to be no jobs available, he would book the cheapest passage home. He’d already checked the contents of the bulky white envelope Kristin had given him and there was more than enough to pay for a berth that couldn’t be smaller than the broom cupboard he’d slept in on the Devonian.
It saddened Harry that when he returned to England he wouldn’t be able to contact any of his old friends, and he’d have to be cautious even when he got in touch with his mother. But the moment he stepped ashore, his only purpose would be to join one of His Majesty’s war ships and enlist in the fight against the King’s enemies, even though he knew that whenever that ship returned to port he would have to remain on board, like a criminal on the run.
Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a lady. He gazed in admiration when he first saw the Statue of Liberty looming up in front of him through the early-morning mist. He had seen photographs of the iconic landmark but they had not given a true sense of her size as she towered above the Kansas Star, welcoming visitors, immigrants and her fellow countrymen to the United States.
As the ship continued on its way towards the harbour, Harry leant over the railings and looked towards Manhattan, disappointed that the skyscrapers didn’t appear to be any taller than some of the buildings he remembered in Bristol. But then, as each minute passed, they grew and grew until they appeared to soar up into the heavens and he had to shade his eyes from the sun as he stared up at them.
A New York Port Authority tug boat came out to join them and guided the Kansas Star safely to its berth on number seven dock. When Harry saw the cheering crowds, he began to feel apprehensive for the first time, even though the young man who was sailing into New York that morning was far older than the fourth officer who’d left Bristol only three weeks earlier.
‘Smile, Tom.’
Harry turned to see Richard looking down into a Kodak Brownie Box camera. He was peering at an upside-down image of Tom, with the Manhattan skyline as a backdrop.
‘You’ll be one passenger I sure won’t forget in a hurry,’ said Kristin, as she walked across to join him so that Richard could take a second photograph of them together. She had exchanged her nurse’s uniform for a smart polka-dot dress, white belt and white shoes.
‘Nor me you,’ said Harry, hoping that neither of them could sense how nervous he was.
‘Time for us to go ashore,’ said Richard, closing the shutter of his camera.
The three of them took the wide staircase down to the lower deck, where several passengers were already streaming off the ship to be reunited with relieved relatives and anxious friends. As they made their way down the gangway, Harry’s spirits were lifted by how many of the ship’s passengers and crew wanted to shake him by the hand and wish him luck.
Once they’d stepped on to the dockside, Harry, Richard and Kristin headed towards immigration, where they joined one of four long queues. Harry’s eyes darted about in every direction, and he wanted to ask so many questions, but any one of them would have revealed that this was the first time he’d set foot in America.
The first thing that struck him was the patchwork quilt of different colours that made up the American people. He’d only ever seen one black ma
n in Bristol, and remembered stopping to stare at him. Old Jack had told him it was both rude and inconsiderate, adding, ‘How would you feel if everyone stopped to stare at you just because you were white?’ But it was the noise, the bustle and the sheer pace of everything around him that most caught Harry’s imagination and made Bristol seem as if it were languishing in a bygone age.
He was already beginning to wish that he’d accepted Richard’s offer to stay with him overnight and perhaps spend a few days in a city he was finding so exciting even before he’d left the dockside.
‘Why don’t I go through first?’ said Richard, as they reached the head of the queue. ‘Then I can pick up my car and meet you both outside the terminal.’
‘Good idea,’ said Kristin.
‘Next!’ shouted an immigration officer.
Richard walked up to the desk and handed over his passport to the official, who glanced briefly at the photo before stamping it. ‘Welcome home, Lieutenant Tibbet.’
‘Next!’
Harry stepped forward, uncomfortably aware that he had no passport, no identification and someone else’s name.
‘My name’s Tom Bradshaw,’ he said with a confidence he didn’t feel. ‘I think the purser of the SS Kansas Star telegraphed ahead to warn that I would be coming ashore.’
The immigration officer looked closely at Harry, then picked up a sheet of paper and began to study a long list of names. Finally he put a tick by one before turning round and nodding. For the first time, Harry noticed two men standing on the other side of the barrier, wearing identical grey suits and grey hats. One of them gave him a smile.
The immigration officer stamped a piece of paper and handed it to Harry. ‘Welcome back, Mr Bradshaw. It’s been a long time.’
‘Sure has,’ said Harry.
‘Next!’
‘I’ll wait for you,’ said Harry as Kristin made her way to the desk.
‘I’ll only be a moment,’ she promised.
Harry passed through the barrier and entered the United States of America for the first time.
The two men in grey suits stepped forward. One of them said, ‘Good morning, sir. Are you Mr Thomas Bradshaw?’
‘That’s me,’ said Harry.
The words were hardly out of his mouth before the other man grabbed him and pinned his arms behind his back, while the first man handcuffed him. It all happened so quickly that Harry didn’t even have time to protest.
He remained outwardly calm, as he had already considered the possibility that someone might work out that he wasn’t Tom Bradshaw, but in fact an Englishman called Harry Clifton. Even so, he had assumed that the worst they could do was serve him with a deportation order and have him shipped back to Britain. And as that was exactly what he’d planned to do anyway, he didn’t put up a fight.
Harry spotted two cars waiting by the sidewalk. The first was a black police car, with its back door being held open by another unsmiling man in a grey suit. The second was a red sports car, with Richard sitting on the bonnet, smiling.
The moment Richard saw that Tom had been handcuffed and was being led away, he leapt up and began to run towards him. At the same time, one of the police officers began to read Mr Bradshaw his rights, while the other continued to grip Harry firmly by the elbow. ‘You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.’
A moment later Richard was striding by their sides. He glared at the officers and said, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you,’ continued the first policeman, while the other ignored him.
Richard was clearly amazed by how relaxed Tom appeared, almost as if he wasn’t surprised to have been arrested. But he was still determined to do anything he could to assist his friend. He leapt forward and blocked the officers’ path and said firmly, ‘What are you charging Mr Bradshaw with, officer?’
The senior detective came to a halt, looked Richard in the eye, and said, ‘First degree murder.’
ALSO BY JEFFREY ARCHER
NOVELS
Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less
Shall We Tell the President?
Kane and Abel
The Prodigal Daughter
First Among Equals
A Matter of Honour
As the Crow Flies
Honour Among Thieves
The Fourth Estate
The Eleventh Commandment
Sons of Fortune
False Impression
The Gospel According to Judas
(with the assistance of Professor Francis J. Moloney)
A Prisoner of Birth
Paths of Glory
SHORT STORIES
A Quiver Full of Arrows
A Twist in the Tale
Twelve Red Herrings
The Collected Short Stories
To Cut a Long Story Short
Cat O’ Nine Tales
And Thereby Hangs a Tale
PLAYS
Beyond Reasonable Doubt
Exclusive
The Accused
PRISON DIARIES
Volume One - Belmarsh: Hell
Volume Two - Wayland: Purgatory
Volume Three - North Sea Camp: Heaven
SCRRENPLAYS
Mallory: Walking Off the Map
False Impression
My thanks go to the following people for their invaluable advice and research:
John Anstee, Simon Bainbridge, John Cleverdon, Eleanor Dryden, George Havens, Alison Prince, Mari Roberts, Susan Watt, David Watts and Peter Watts
First published 2011 by Macmillan
This electronic edition published 2011 by Macmillan
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-0-230-76038-7 EPUB
Copyright (c) Jeffrey Archer 2011
The right of Jeffrey Archer to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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Only Time Will Tell (2011) Page 36
