Only Time Will Tell

by Jeffrey Archer

  ‘Giles tells me that he came second in mathematics this term,’ said Mrs Barrington, turning to her husband.

  ‘Which doesn’t make up for him being bottom in almost every other subject,’ he retorted. Giles tried not to look embarrassed, as he continued to search for another station on his radio.

  ‘But you should have seen the goal he scored against Avonhurst,’ said Harry. ‘We’re all expecting him to captain the eleven next year.’

  ‘Goals aren’t going to get him into Eton,’ said Mr Barring-ton, not looking at Harry. ‘It’s time the boy buckled down and worked harder.’

  No one spoke for some time, until Mrs Barrington broke the silence. ‘Are you the Clifton who sings in the choir at St Mary Redcliffe?’ she asked.

  ‘Harry’s the treble soloist,’ said Giles. ‘In fact, he’s a choral scholar.’

  Harry became aware that Giles’s father was now staring at him.

  ‘I thought I recognized you,’ said Mrs Barrington. ‘Giles’s grandfather and I attended a performance of the Messiah at St Mary’s, when the choir of St Bede’s joined forces with Bristol Grammar School. Your I Know That My Redeemer Liveth was quite magnificent, Harry.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Barrington,’ said Harry, blushing.

  ‘Are you hoping to go on to Bristol Grammar School after you leave St Bede’s, Clifton?’ asked Mr Barrington.

  Clifton again, thought Harry. ‘Only if I win a scholarship, sir,’ he replied.

  ‘But why is that important?’ asked Mrs Barrington. ‘Surely you will be offered a place, like any other boy?’

  ‘Because my mother wouldn’t be able to afford the fees, Mrs Barrington. She’s a waitress at the Royal Hotel.’

  ‘But wouldn’t your father—’

  ‘He’s dead,’ said Harry. ‘He was killed in the war.’ He watched carefully to see how Mr Barrington would react, but like a good poker player he gave nothing away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mrs Barrington. ‘I didn’t realize.’

  The door opened behind Harry and the under-butler entered, carrying a two-tier birthday cake on a silver tray which he placed on the centre of the table. After Giles had succeeded in blowing out all twelve candles with one puff, everyone applauded.

  ‘And when’s your birthday, Clifton?’ asked Mr Barrington.

  ‘It was last month, sir,’ Harry replied.

  Mr Barrington looked away.

  The under-butler removed the candles before handing the young master a large cake knife. Giles cut deep into the cake and placed five uneven slices on the tea plates the maid had laid out on the table.

  Deakins devoured the lumps of icing that had fallen on to his plate before taking a bite of the cake. Harry followed Mrs Barrington’s lead. He picked up the small silver fork by the side of his plate, using it to remove a tiny piece of his cake before placing it back on the plate.

  Only Mr Barrington didn’t touch his cake. Suddenly, without warning, he rose from his place and left without another word.

  Giles’s mother made no attempt to conceal her surprise at her husband’s behaviour, but she said nothing. Harry never took his eyes off Mr Hugo as he left the room, while Deakins, having finished his cake, turned his attention back to the smoked salmon sandwiches, clearly oblivious to what was going on around him.

  Once the door was closed, Mrs Barrington continued to chat as if nothing unusual had happened. ‘I’m sure you’ll win a scholarship to Bristol Grammar, Harry, especially considering everything Giles has told me about you. You’re obviously a very clever boy, as well as a gifted singer.’

  ‘Giles does have a tendency to exaggerate, Mrs Barrington,’ said Harry. ‘I can assure you only Deakins is certain of winning a scholarship.’

  ‘But doesn’t BGS offer grants for music scholars?’ she asked.

  ‘Not for trebles,’ said Harry. ‘They won’t take the risk.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Mrs Barrington. ‘Nothing can take away the years of choral training you’ve been put through.’

  ‘True, but sadly no one can predict what will happen when your voice breaks. Some trebles end up as basses or baritones, and the really lucky ones become tenors, but there’s no way of telling in advance.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Deakins, taking an interest for the first time.

  ‘There are plenty of treble soloists who can’t even get a place in their local choir once their voice has broken. Ask Master Ernest Lough. Every household in England has heard him sing Oh, for the wings of a dove, but after his voice broke no one ever heard from him again.’

  ‘You’re just going to have to work harder,’ said Deakins between mouthfuls. ‘Don’t forget the grammar school awards twelve scholarships every year, and I can only win one of them,’ he added matter-of-factly.

  ‘But that’s the problem,’ said Harry. ‘If I’m going to work any harder, I’ll have to give up the choir, and without my bursary, I’d have to leave St Bede’s, so …’

  ‘You’re between a rock and a hard place,’ said Deakins.

  Harry had never heard the expression before and decided to ask Deakins later what it meant.

  ‘Well, one thing’s for certain,’ said Mrs Barrington, ‘Giles isn’t likely to win a scholarship to any school.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Harry. ‘But Bristol Grammar isn’t likely to turn down a left-handed batsman of his calibre.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to hope that Eton feels the same way,’ said Mrs Barrington, ‘because that’s where his father wants him to go.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to Eton,’ said Giles, putting down his fork. ‘I want to go to BGS and be with my friends.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll make a lot of new friends at Eton,’ said his mother. ‘And it would be a great disappointment to your father if you didn’t follow in his footsteps.’

  The under-butler coughed. Mrs Barrington looked out of the window to see a car drawing up at the bottom of the steps. ‘I think the time has come for you all to return to school,’ she said. ‘I certainly don’t want to be responsible for anyone being late for prep.’

  Harry looked longingly at the large plate of sandwiches and the half-finished birthday cake but reluctantly rose from his place and began to walk towards the door. He glanced back once and could have sworn he saw Deakins put a sandwich in his pocket. He took one last look out of the window and was surprised to notice, for the first time, a gangly young girl with long pigtails who was curled up in the corner reading a book.

  ‘That’s my frightful sister, Emma,’ said Giles. ‘She never stops reading. Just ignore her.’ Harry smiled at Emma, but she didn’t look up. Deakins didn’t give her a second look.

  Mrs Barrington accompanied the three boys to the front door, where she shook hands with Harry and Deakins. ‘I do hope you’ll both come again soon,’ she said. ‘You’re such a good influence on Giles.’

  ‘Thank you very much for having us to tea, Mrs Barrington,’ Harry said. Deakins just nodded. Both boys looked away when she hugged her son and gave him a kiss.

  As the chauffeur drove down the long driveway towards the gates, Harry looked out of the back window at the house. He didn’t notice Emma staring out of the window at the disappearing car.

  7

  THE SCHOOL TUCK SHOP was open between four and six every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon.

  Harry rarely visited the ‘Emporium’, as it was known by the boys, since he only had two shillings’ pocket money a term, and he knew his mother wouldn’t appreciate any little extras appearing on his end-of-term account. However, on Deakins’s birthday, Harry made an exception to this rule, as he intended to purchase a one-penny bar of fudge for his friend.

  Despite Harry’s rare visits to the tuck shop, a bar of Fry’s Five Boys chocolate could be found on his desk every Tuesday and Thursday evening. Although there was a school rule that no boy could spend more than sixpence a week in the tuck shop, Giles would also leave a packet of Liquorice Allsorts for Deakins, making it clea
r to his friends that he expected nothing in return.

  When Harry arrived at the tuck shop that Tuesday, he joined a long queue of boys waiting to be served. His mouth watered as he stared at the neatly stacked rows of chocolate, fudge, jelly babies, liquorice and, the latest craze, Smiths potato crisps. He’d considered buying a packet for himself, but after a recent introduction to Mr Wilkins Micawber, he had been left in no doubt about the value of sixpence.

  As Harry ogled the Emporium’s treasures, he heard Giles’s voice and noticed that he was a few places ahead of him in the queue. He was just about to hail his friend when he saw Giles remove a bar of chocolate from a shelf and slip it into his trouser pocket. A few moments later, a packet of chewing gum followed. When Giles reached the front of the queue, he placed on the counter a box of Liquorice Allsorts, 2d, and a bag of crisps, 1d, which Mr Swivals, the master in charge of the shop, entered neatly in his ledger against the name of Barrington. The two other items remained in Giles’s pocket, unaccounted for.

  Harry was horrified, and before Giles could turn round, he slipped out of the shop, not wanting his friend to spot him. Harry walked slowly around the school block, trying to work out why Giles would want to steal anything, when he could so obviously afford to pay. He assumed there had to be some simple explanation, although he couldn’t imagine what it might be.

  Harry went up to his study just before prep, to find the pilfered bar of chocolate on his desk, and Deakins tucking into a box of Liquorice Allsorts. He found it difficult to concentrate on the causes of the Industrial Revolution while he tried to decide what, if anything, he should do about his discovery.

  By the end of prep, he’d made his decision. He placed the unopened bar of chocolate in the top drawer of his desk, having decided he would return it to the tuck shop on Thursday, without telling Giles.

  Harry didn’t sleep that night, and after breakfast he took Deakins to one side and explained why he hadn’t been able to give him a birthday present. Deakins couldn’t hide his disbelief.

  ‘My dad’s been having the same problem in his shop,’ said Deakins. ‘It’s called shoplifting. The Daily Mail is blaming it on the Depression.’

  ‘I don’t think Giles’s family will have been affected much by the Depression,’ said Harry with some feeling.

  Deakins nodded thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps you should tell the Frob?’

  ‘Sneak on my best friend?’ said Harry. ‘Never.’

  ‘But if Giles is caught he could be expelled,’ said Deakins. ‘The least you can do is warn him you’ve found out what he’s up to.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ said Harry. ‘But in the meantime I’m going to return anything Giles gives me to the tuck shop without letting him know.’

  Deakins leant over. ‘Could you take my stuff back as well?’ he whispered. ‘I never go to the tuck shop, so I wouldn’t know what to do.’

  Harry agreed to take on the responsibility, and after that he went to the tuck shop twice a week and placed Giles’s unwanted gifts back on the shelves. He had concluded that Deakins was right and that he would have to confront his friend before he was caught, but decided to put it off until the end of term.

  ‘Good shot, Barrington,’ said Mr Frobisher as the ball crossed the boundary. A ripple of applause broke out around the ground. ‘Mark my words, headmaster, Barrington will play for Eton against Harrow at Lord’s.’

  ‘Not if Giles has anything to do with it,’ Harry whispered to Deakins.

  ‘What are you doing for the summer hols, Harry?’ asked Deakins, seemingly oblivious to all that was going on around him.

  ‘I don’t have any plans to visit Tuscany this year, if that’s what you’re asking,’ Harry replied with a grin.

  ‘I don’t think Giles really wants to go either,’ said Deakins. ‘After all, the Italians have never understood cricket.’

  ‘Well, I’d be happy to change places with him,’ said Harry. ‘It doesn’t bother me that Michelangelo, Da Vinci and Caravaggio were never introduced to the finer subtleties of leg break bowling, not to mention all that pasta he’ll be expected to wade through.’

  ‘So where are you going?’ asked Deakins.

  A week on the Riviera of the West,’ said Harry with bravado. ‘The grand pier at Weston-super-Mare is usually the high spot, followed by fish and chips at Coffins cafe. Care to join me?’

  ‘Can’t spare the time,’ said Deakins, who clearly thought Harry was being serious.

  ‘And why’s that?’ asked Harry, playing along.

  ‘Too much work to do.’

  ‘You intend to go on working during the holidays?’ asked Harry in disbelief.

  ‘Work is a holiday for me,’ said Deakins. ‘I enjoy it every bit as much as Giles does his cricket, and you do your singing.’

  ‘But where do you work?’

  ‘In the municipal library, clot. They have everything I need.’

  ‘Can I join you?’ asked Harry, sounding just as serious. ‘I need all the help I can get if I’m to have any chance of winning a scholarship to BGS.’

  ‘Only if you agree to remain silent at all times,’ said Deakins. Harry would have laughed, but he knew his friend didn’t consider work a laughing matter.

  ‘But I desperately need some help with my Latin grammar,’ said Harry. ‘I still don’t understand the consecutive clause, let alone subjunctives, and if I don’t manage a pass mark in the Latin paper, it’s curtains, even if I do well in every other subject.’

  ‘I’d be willing to help you with your Latin,’ said Deakins, ‘if you do me a favour in return.’

  ‘Name it,’ said Harry, ‘though I can’t believe you’re hoping to perform a solo at this year’s carol service.’

  ‘Good shot, Barrington,’ said Mr Frobisher again. Harry joined in the applause. ‘That’s his third half-century this season, headmaster,’ added Mr Frobisher.

  ‘Don’t be frivolous, Harry,’ said Deakins. ‘The truth is, my dad needs someone to take over the morning paper round during the summer holidays, and I’ve suggested you. The pay is a shilling a week, and as long as you can report to the shop by six o’clock every morning, the position’s yours.’

  ‘Six o’clock?’ said Harry scornfully. ‘When you’ve got an uncle who wakes up the whole house at five, that’s the least of your problems.’

  ‘Then you’d be willing to take on the job?’

  ‘Yes of course,’ said Harry. ‘But why don’t you want it? A bob a week is not to be sniffed at.’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ said Deakins, ‘but I can’t ride a bicycle.’

  ‘Oh hell,’ said Harry. ‘I don’t even have a bicycle.’

  ‘I didn’t say I didn’t have a bicycle,’ sighed Deakins, ‘I said I couldn’t ride one.’

  ‘Clifton,’ said Mr Frobisher as the cricketers walked off the ground for tea, ‘I’d like to see you in my study after prep.’

  Harry had always liked Mr Frobisher, who was one of the few masters who treated him as an equal. He also didn’t appear to have any favourites, while some of the other beaks left him in no doubt that a docker’s son should never have been allowed to enter the hallowed portals of St Bede’s however good his voice was.

  When the bell rang at the end of prep, Harry put down his pen and walked across the corridor to Mr Frobisher’s study. He had no idea why his housemaster wanted to see him, and hadn’t given the matter a great deal of thought.

  Harry knocked on the study door.

  ‘Come,’ said the voice of a man who never wasted words. Harry opened the door and was surprised not to be greeted with the usual Frob smile.

  Mr Frobisher stared up at Harry as he came to a halt in front of his desk. ‘It has been brought to my attention, Clifton, that you have been stealing from the tuck shop.’ Harry’s mind went blank as he tried to think of a response that wouldn’t condemn Giles. ‘You were seen by a prefect, removing goods from the shelves,’ continued Frobisher in the same uncompromising tone, ‘and then slipping out of
the shop before you reached the front of the queue.’

  Harry wanted to say, ‘Not removing, sir, returning,’ but all he managed was, ‘I have never taken anything from the tuck shop, sir.’ Despite the fact that he was telling the truth, he could still feel his cheeks reddening.

  ‘Then how do you explain your twice weekly visits to the Emporium, when there isn’t a single entry against your name in Mr Swivals’s ledger?’

  Mr Frobisher waited patiently, but Harry knew if he told the truth, Giles would surely be expelled.

  ‘And this bar of chocolate and packet of Liquorice Allsorts were found in the top drawer of your desk, not long after the tuck shop had closed.’

  Harry looked down at the sweets, but still said nothing.

  ‘I’m waiting for an explanation, Clifton,’ said Mr Frobisher. After another long pause, he added, ‘I am of course aware that you have far less pocket money than any other boy in your class, but that is no excuse for stealing.’

  ‘I have never stolen anything in my life,’ said Harry.

  It was Mr Frobisher’s turn to look dismayed. He rose from behind his desk. ‘If that is the case, Clifton - and I want to believe you - you will report back to me after choir practice with a full explanation of how you came to be in possession of tuck you clearly didn’t pay for. Should you fail to satisfy me, we will both be paying a visit to the headmaster, and I have no doubt what his recommendation will be.’

  Harry left the room. The moment he closed the door behind him, he felt sick. He made his way back to his study, hoping Giles wouldn’t be there. When he opened the door, the first thing he saw was another bar of chocolate on his desk.

  Giles looked up. ‘Are you feeling all right?’ he asked when he saw Harry’s flushed face. Harry didn’t reply. He placed the bar of chocolate in a drawer and left for choir practice without saying a word to either of his friends. Giles’s eyes never left him, and once the door was closed, he turned to Deakins and asked casually, ‘What’s his problem?’ Deakins went on writing as if he hadn’t heard the question. ‘Didn’t you hear me, cloth ears?’ said Giles. ‘Why’s Harry in a sulk?’