This Was a Man

by Jeffrey Archer

  “And there’s another thing we ought to discuss now you have so much more time on your hands,” said Karin as she placed a plate of stew on the table in front of him.

  “You’re quite right, my darling,” said Giles, picking up his knife and fork. “But don’t let’s just talk about it this time, let’s do something.”

  * * *

  Lord Goodman heaved himself up from behind his desk as his secretary entered the office accompanied by a prospective client.

  “What a pleasure to meet you at last, Mrs. Grant,” the distinguished lawyer said as they shook hands. “Do have a seat,” he added, ushering her to a comfortable chair.

  “Is it correct that you were the prime minister’s lawyer?” asked Ellie May, once she was seated.

  “Yes, I was,” said Goodman. “I now only serve Mr. Wilson in a private capacity.”

  “And have you found time to read the letter and enclosures I sent you recently?” Ellie May asked, well aware that small talk would be charged at the same rate as legal opinion.

  “Every word,” said Goodman, tapping a file on the table in front of him. “I only wish your husband had sought my advice at the time of this unfortunate incident. Had he done so, I would have recommended that he call the lady’s bluff.”

  “There would be far less need for lawyers, Lord Goodman, if we were all blessed with hindsight. But despite that, is it your opinion that Lady Virginia has a case to answer?”

  “Most emphatically she does, madam. That is, assuming Mr. and Mrs. Morton will agree to sign an affidavit confirming that the Hon. Freddie Fenwick is their offspring, and that Lady Virginia was aware of that at the time of the child’s birth.”

  “Just put the necessary document in front of them, Lord Goodman, and they will sign. And once they’ve done so, can Cyrus claim back the full amount he’s paid out to that charlatan over the years?”

  “Every red cent, plus any interest or other charges set by the court, along with my fees, of course.”

  “So your advice would be to sue the bitch?” Ellie May asked, leaning forward.

  “With one proviso,” said Goodman, raising an eyebrow.

  “Lawyers always come up with a proviso just in case they end up losing. So let’s hear it.”

  “There wouldn’t be much point in suing Lady Virginia for such a large sum if she has no assets of any real value. One newspaper,” he said, opening a thick file, “is claiming she’s withdrawing young Freddie from his prep school because she can no longer afford the fees.”

  “But she owns a house in Onslow Square, I’m reliably informed, and has half a dozen staff to run it.”

  “Had,” said Goodman. “Lady Virginia sold the house some months ago and sacked all the staff.” He opened another file and checked some press cuttings before passing them across to his client.

  Once Ellie May had finished reading them, she asked, “Does this alter your opinion?”

  “No, but to start with, I would recommend we send Lady Virginia a without prejudice letter, requesting that she pay back the full amount, and give her thirty days to respond. I find it hard to believe she won’t want to make some sort of settlement rather than be declared bankrupt and even face the possibility of being arrested for fraud.”

  “And if she doesn’t … because I have a feeling she won’t,” said Ellie May.

  “You will have to decide whether or not to issue a writ, with the strong possibility that not one penny will be recovered, in which case you will still have to pay your own legal costs, which will not be insubstantial.” Goodman paused before adding, “On balance, I would advise caution. Of course, the decision is yours. But as I have pointed out, Mrs. Grant, that could end up costing you a great deal of money, with no guarantee of any return.”

  “If that bitch ends up bankrupt, humiliated, and having to face a spell in prison, it will have been worth every penny.”

  * * *

  Harry and Emma joined Giles and Karin for a fortnight at Mulgelrie Castle, their maternal grandfather’s family home in Scotland, and whenever the phone rang, it was almost always for Emma, and when red boxes arrived, Giles had to get used to not opening them.

  Her brother was able to advise the fledgling minister on how to deal with civil servants who seemed to have forgotten she was on holiday, and political journalists who were desperate for an August story while the House wasn’t sitting. And whenever they took a stroll on the grouse moors together, Giles answered all his sister’s myriad questions, sharing with her his years of experience as a minister in the Lords, so that by the time she returned to London, Emma felt she hadn’t so much had a holiday as attended several advanced seminars on government.

  After Emma and Harry had departed, Giles and Karin stayed on for another couple of weeks. Giles had something else he needed to do before he attended the party conference in Brighton.

  * * *

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Archie.”

  “My pleasure,” said the tenth Earl of Fenwick. “I will never forget your kindness when I took my father’s seat in the House and made my maiden speech.”

  “It was very well received,” said Giles. “Even though you did attack the government.”

  “And I intend to be equally critical of the Conservatives, if their farming policy is as antiquarian as yours. But tell me, Giles, to what do I owe this honor, because you’ve never struck me as a man who has time to waste.”

  “I confess,” said Giles as Archie handed him a large glass of whisky, “that I’m a seeker after information concerning a family matter.”

  “It wouldn’t be your ex-wife Virginia you’re curious about, by any chance?”

  “Got it in one. I was rather hoping you could bring me up to date on what your sister’s been doing lately. I’ll explain why later.”

  “I only wish I could,” said Archie, “but I can’t pretend we’re that close. The only thing I know for sure is that Virginia’s penniless once again, even though I have abided by the terms of my father’s will, and continued to supply her with a monthly allowance. But it won’t be nearly enough to deal with her present problems.”

  Giles sipped his whisky. “Could one of the problems be the Hon. Freddie Fenwick?”

  Archie didn’t reply immediately. “One thing we now know for certain,” he eventually said, “is that Freddie is not Virginia’s son and, perhaps more interestingly, my father must have known that long before he left her only one bequest in his will.”

  “The bottle of Maker’s Mark,” said Giles.

  “Yes. That had me puzzled for some time,” admitted Archie, “until I had a visit from a Mrs. Ellie May Grant of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, who explained that it was her husband Cyrus’s favorite brand of whisky. She then told me in great detail what had taken place on her husband’s visit to London when he had the misfortune to encounter Virginia. But I’m still in the dark as to how she got away with it for so long.”

  “Then let me add what I know, courtesy of the Honorable Hayden Rankin, Governor of Louisiana, and an old friend of Cyrus T. Grant III. It seems that while Cyrus was on his first and last trip to London, Virginia set up an elaborate scam to convince him that he had proposed to her, despite the fact he already had plans to marry someone else—Ellie May, in fact. She then duped the foolish man into believing she was pregnant, and he was the father. That’s about everything I know.”

  “I can add a little more,” said Archie. “Mrs. Grant informed me she had recently employed Virginia’s former butler and his wife, a Mr. and Mrs. Morton, who have signed an affidavit confirming that Freddie was their child, which is the reason Virginia’s monthly payments from Cyrus suddenly dried up.”

  “No wonder she’s penniless. Is Freddie aware that the Mortons are in fact his parents?”

  “No, he’s never asked and I’ve never told him, as he clearly feels his parents abandoned him,” said Archie. “And it gets worse. Mrs. Grant has recently instructed Lord Goodman to represent her in an attempt to get back eve
ry penny Cyrus parted with. And having had the pleasure of meeting the formidable Ellie May Grant, I can tell you my sister has finally met her match.”

  “But how can Virginia possibly—” Giles fell silent when the door swung open and a young boy burst in.

  “What have I told you about knocking, Freddie, especially when I have a guest with me.”

  “Sorry, sir,” said Freddie, and quickly turned to leave.

  “Before you go, I’d like you to meet a great politician.” Freddie turned back. “This is Lord Barrington, who until recently was leader of the House of Lords.”

  “How do you do, sir,” said Freddie, thrusting out his hand. He stared at Giles for some time before he eventually said, “Aren’t you the man who was married to my mother?”

  “Yes I am,” said Giles. “And I’m delighted to meet you at last.”

  “But you’re not my father, are you?” said Freddie, after another long pause.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Freddie looked disappointed. “My uncle says you are a great politician, but isn’t it also true that you were once a great cricketer?”

  “Never great,” said Giles, trying to lighten the mood. “And that was a long time ago.”

  “But you scored a century at Lord’s.”

  “Some still consider that my greatest achievement.”

  “One day I’m going to score a century at Lord’s,” said Freddie.

  “I hope I’ll be present to witness it.”

  “You could come and watch me bat next Sunday. It’s the local derby, Castle versus the Village, and I’m going to score the winning run.”

  “Freddie, I don’t think—”

  “Sadly I have to be in Brighton for the Labour Party conference,” said Giles. Freddie looked disappointed. “Though I must confess,” Giles continued, “I’d far rather be watching you play cricket than listening to endless speeches by trade union leaders who’ll be saying exactly the same thing as they said last year.”

  “Do you still play cricket, sir?”

  “Only when the Lords play the Commons and no one will notice how out of form I am.”

  “Form is temporary, class is permanent, my cricket master told me.”

  “That may be so,” said Giles, “but I’m nearly sixty, and that’s my age, not my batting average.”

  “W. G. Grace played for England when he was over fifty, sir, so perhaps you’d consider turning out for us sometime in the future?”

  “Freddie, you must remember that Lord Barrington is a very busy man.”

  “But not too busy to accept such a flattering offer.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Freddie. “I’ll send you the fixture list. Must leave you now,” he added. “I have to work on the batting order with Mr. Lawrie, our butler, who’s also the Castle’s captain.” Freddie dashed off before Giles had a chance to ask his next question.

  “I’m sorry about that,” said Archie, after the door had closed, “but Freddie doesn’t seem to realize that other people just might have a life of their own.”

  “Does he live here with you?” asked Giles.

  “Only during the holidays, which I’m afraid isn’t ideal, because now my girls have grown up and left home he’s rather short of company. The nearest house is a couple of miles away, and they don’t have any children. But despite Virginia abandoning the poor boy, he’s no financial burden, because my father left Freddie the Glen Fenwick Distillery, which produces an annual income of just under a hundred thousand pounds, which he’ll inherit on his twenty-fifth birthday. In fact, that’s what you’re drinking,” said Archie as he topped Giles’s glass up, before adding, “But I’ve recently been warned by our lawyers that Virginia has her eyes on the distillery, and is taking advice on whether she can break the terms of my father’s will.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time she’s tried to do that,” said Giles.

  9

  “ARE YOU NERVOUS?”

  “You bet I am,” admitted Emma. “It reminds me of my first day at school,” she added, as she adjusted her long red robe.

  “There’s nothing to be nervous about,” said Giles. “Just think of yourself as a Christian who’s about to enter the Colosseum at the time of Diocletian, with several hundred starving lions waiting impatiently for their first meal in weeks.”

  “That hardly fills me with confidence,” said Emma, as two doormen in court dress pulled open the west doors to allow the three peers to enter the chamber.

  The Baroness Clifton of Chew Magna, in the county of Somerset, entered the chamber for the first time. On her right, also wearing a long red gown and carrying a tricorn hat, was Lord Belstead, the leader of the House of Lords. On her left, Lord Barrington of Bristol Docklands, a former leader of the House. The first time in the long history of the Lords that a new member had been supported by the leaders of the two main political parties.

  As Emma walked onto the floor of the House, a thousand eyes stared at her, from both sides of the chamber. The three of them doffed their tricorn hats and bowed to their peers. They then continued past the crossbenches, packed with members who bore no allegiance to any political party, often referred to as the great and the good. They could be the deciding factor on any contentious issue once they decided which lobby to cast their vote in, Giles had told her.

  They proceeded along the government front bench until Lord Belstead reached the dispatch box. The table clerk gave the new peer a warm smile, and handed her a card on which was printed the oath of allegiance to the Crown.

  Emma stared at the words she had already rehearsed in the bath that morning, during breakfast, in the car on the way to the Palace of Westminster, and finally as she was being “fitted up” in the robing room. But suddenly it was no longer a rehearsal.

  “I, Emma Elizabeth Clifton, swear by Almighty God, that I will be faithful, and bear allegiance to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, according to the law, so help me God.”

  The table clerk turned the page of a large parchment manuscript so the new member could add her name to the test roll. He offered her a pen which she politely declined in favor of one that had been given to her by her grandfather, Lord Harvey, at her christening almost sixty years ago.

  Once Emma had signed the test roll, she glanced up at the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery, to see Harry, Karin, Sebastian, Samantha, Grace, and Jessica smiling down at her with unmistakable pride. She smiled back, and when she lowered her eyes, saw a lady from the Commons standing at the bar of the House. The prime minister gave her a slight bow, and Emma returned the compliment.

  The Baroness Clifton followed her brother along the front bench, past the Woolsack on which sat the law lords, until she reached the speaker’s chair. The clerk of the house stepped forward and introduced the new peer to the lord speaker.

  “Welcome to the House, Lady Clifton,” he said, shaking her warmly by the hand. This was followed by cries of “Hear, hear” from all sides of the chamber as her fellow peers added their traditional welcome to a new member.

  Giles then led his sister past the throne, where several members who were sitting on the steps smiled as she continued out of the east door and into the Prince’s Chamber. Once they were outside the chamber, she removed her tricorn hat and breathed a long sigh of relief.

  “It sounded as if the lions rather liked the look of you,” said Giles, as he bent down to kiss his sister on both cheeks, “although I did notice one or two of my colleagues licking their lips in anticipation of your first appearance at the dispatch box.”

  “Don’t be fooled by your brother,” said Belstead. “He’ll be among those licking his lips when the time comes for you to face the opposition.”

  “But not until you’ve delivered your maiden speech, sis. However, after that, I’m bound to admit, you’ll be fair game.”

  “So what next?” asked Emma.

  “Tea with the family on the terrace,” Giles reminded her.

  “And once you’re free,�
�� said Belstead, “may I suggest you slip back into the chamber and take your place on the end of the front bench. For the next few days, I would advise you to observe the workings of the House, accustom yourself to our strange ways and traditions, before you consider delivering your maiden speech.

  “The only speech you’ll make when no members will even consider interrupting you, and whoever follows will praise your contribution as if you were Cicero.”

  “And what then?”

  “You must prepare for your first questions as undersecretary of state for health,” said Belstead, “and try not to forget there will be several senior members of the medical profession in attendance.”

  “When the gloves will be off,” said Giles. “And you needn’t expect any brotherly love, even from your kith and kin. The gentle smiles and hear hears will only be coming from your side of the House.”

  “And you won’t always be able to rely on them,” said Belstead with a wry smile.

  “Nevertheless, sis, welcome to the House. I confess, I feel a glow of pride whenever one of my fellow peers says, ‘Did you know, that’s Lord Barrington’s sister?’”

  “Thank you, Giles,” said Emma. “I look forward to the day when one of my fellow peers says, ‘Did you know, that’s Lady Clifton’s brother?’”

  * * *

  Tap, tap, tap. Karin was the first to wake. She turned over, assuming she must be dreaming.

  Tap, tap, tap. A little louder.

  Suddenly she was wide awake. She climbed slowly out of bed and, not wanting to disturb Giles, tiptoed across to the window. Tap, tap, tap, even louder.

  “Is that what I think it is?” said a sleepy voice.

  “I’m about to find out,” said Karin as she pulled open the curtain and stared down at the pavement.

  “Good God,” she said, and had disappeared out of the bedroom before Giles could ask her what was going on.

  Karin ran down the stairs and quickly unlocked the front door to find a young boy hunched up on the doorstep, shivering.

  “Come in,” she whispered. But he seemed reluctant to move until she put an arm around his shoulder and said, “I don’t know about you, Freddie, but I could do with a hot chocolate. Why don’t you come inside and see what we can find?”