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  Jessica adored Winston, second only to Sebastian, despite her new brother declaring somewhat haughtily, ‘I’m far too grown up to have a teddy bear. After all, I’ll be going to school in a few weeks’ time.’

  Jessica wanted to go to St Bede’s with him, but Harry explained that boys and girls didn’t go to the same school.

  ‘Why not?’ Jessica demanded.

  ‘Why not indeed,’ said Emma.

  When the first day of term finally dawned, Emma stared at her young man, wondering where the years had gone. He was dressed in a red blazer, red cap and grey flannel shorts. Even his shoes shone. Well, it was the first day of term. Jessica stood on the doorstep and waved goodbye as the car disappeared down the drive and out of the front gates. She then sat down on the top step and waited for Sebastian to return.

  Sebastian had requested that his mother didn’t join him and his father on the journey to school. When Harry asked why, he replied, ‘I don’t want the other boys to see Mama kissing me.’

  Harry would have reasoned with him, if he hadn’t recalled his first day at St Bede’s. He and his mother had taken the tram from Still House Lane, and he’d asked if they could get off a stop early and walk the last hundred yards so the other boys wouldn’t realize they didn’t own a car. And when they were fifty yards from the school gates, although he allowed her to kiss him, he quickly said goodbye and left her standing there. As he approached St Bede’s for the first time, he saw his future classmates being dropped off from hansom cabs and motor cars – one even arrived in a Rolls-Royce driven by a liveried chauffeur.

  Harry had also found his first night away from home difficult, but, unlike Jessica, it was because he’d never slept in a room with other children.

  But the alphabet had been kind to him, because he ended up sleeping in a dormitory with Barrington on one side and Deakins on the other. He wasn’t as lucky when it came to his dormitory prefect. Alex Fisher slippered him every other night of his first week, for no other reason than Harry was the son of a dock labourer, and therefore not worthy of being educated at the same school as Fisher, the son of an estate agent. Harry sometimes wondered what had happened to Fisher after he left St Bede’s. He knew that he and Giles had crossed paths during the war when they’d served in the same regiment at Tobruk, and he assumed Fisher must still live in Bristol, because he’d recently avoided talking to him at a St Bede’s Old Boys’ reunion.

  At least Sebastian would be arriving in a motor car, and as a day bug he wouldn’t suffer the Fisher problem, because he would be returning to Barrington Hall every evening. Even so, Harry suspected that his son wasn’t going to find St Bede’s any easier than he had, even if it would be for completely different reasons.

  When Harry drew up outside the school gates, Sebastian jumped out even before he’d had time to pull on the brakes. Harry watched as his son ran through the gates and disappeared into a melee of red blazers in which he was indistinguishable from a hundred other boys. He never once looked back. Harry accepted that the old order changeth, yielding place to new.

  He drove slowly back to Barrington Hall and began to think about the next chapter of his latest book. Was it time for William Warwick to be promoted?

  As he approached the house, he spotted Jessica sitting on the top step. He smiled as he brought the car to a halt. But when he climbed out, the first thing she said was, ‘Where’s Seb?’

  Each day, while Sebastian was away at school, Jessica retreated into her own world. While she waited for him to return home she would pass the time by reading to Winston about other animals, Pooh Bear, Mr Toad, a white rabbit, a marmalade cat called Orlando, and a crocodile that had swallowed a clock.

  Once Winston had fallen asleep, she would tuck him up in bed, return to her easel and paint. On and on. In fact, what Emma had once considered the nursery had been converted by Jessica into an art studio. Once she had covered every piece of paper she could lay her hands on, including Harry’s old manuscripts (he had to keep his new ones locked up), with pencil, crayon or paint, she turned her attention to redecorating the nursery walls.

  Harry didn’t want to curb her enthusiasm, far from it, but he did remind Emma that Barrington Hall wasn’t their home, and perhaps they ought to consult Giles before she escaped from the nursery and discovered how many other pristine walls there were in the house.

  But Giles was so smitten with the new arrival at Barrington Hall that he declared he wouldn’t mind if she repainted the whole house inside and out.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t encourage her,’ begged Emma. ‘Sebastian has already asked her to repaint his room.’

  ‘And when are you going to tell her the truth?’ Giles asked as they sat down for dinner.

  ‘We can’t see that there’s any need to tell her yet,’ said Harry. ‘After all, Jessica’s only six, and she’s hardly settled in.’

  ‘Well, don’t leave it too long,’ Giles warned him, ‘because she already looks upon you and Emma as her parents, Seb as her brother, and calls me Uncle Giles, while the truth is she’s my half-sister, and Seb’s aunt.’

  Harry laughed. ‘I think it will be some time before she can be expected to grasp that.’

  ‘I hope she never has to,’ said Emma. ‘Don’t forget, all she knows is that her real parents are dead. Why should that change, while only the three of us know the whole truth?’

  ‘Don’t underestimate Sebastian. He’s already halfway there.’

  7

  HARRY AND EMMA were surprised when they were invited to join the headmaster for tea at the end of Sebastian’s first term, and quickly discovered it was not a social occasion.

  ‘Your son’s a bit of a loner,’ declared Dr Hedley, once the maid had poured them a cup of tea and left the room. ‘In fact he’s more likely to befriend a boy from overseas than one who’s lived in Bristol all his life.’

  ‘Why would that be?’ asked Emma.

  ‘Boys from far-flung shores have never heard of Mr and Mrs Harry Clifton, or his famous uncle Giles,’ explained the headmaster. ‘But, as is so often the case, something positive has come out of it because we’ve become aware that Sebastian has a natural gift for languages that in normal circumstances might have been missed. In fact, he is the only boy in the school who can converse with Lu Yang in his native tongue.’

  Harry laughed, but Emma noticed that the headmaster wasn’t smiling.

  ‘However,’ Dr Hedley continued, ‘there may be a problem when it comes to Sebastian sitting his entrance exam for Bristol Grammar School.’

  ‘But he came top in English, French and Latin,’ said Emma proudly.

  ‘And he scored one hundred per cent in maths,’ Harry reminded the headmaster.

  ‘True, and all very commendable, but unfortunately, at the same time, he languishes near the bottom of his class in history, geography and natural sciences, all of which are compulsory subjects. Should he fail to reach the pass mark in two or more of these, he will automatically be rejected by BGS, which I know would be a great disappointment for both of you, as well as his uncle.’

  ‘Great disappointment would be an understatement,’ said Harry.

  ‘Quite so,’ said Dr Hedley.

  ‘Do they ever make exceptions to the rules?’ asked Emma.

  ‘I can only recall one case in my tenure,’ said the headmaster, ‘and that was for a boy who had scored a century every Saturday during the summer term.’

  Harry laughed, having sat on the grass and watched Giles score every one of them. ‘So we’ll just have to make sure he realizes the consequences of dropping below the pass mark in two of the compulsory subjects.’

  ‘It’s not that he isn’t bright enough,’ said the headmaster, ‘but if a subject doesn’t appeal to him, he quickly becomes bored. The irony is, with his talent for languages, I predict he’ll sail into Oxford. But we still have to make sure he paddles into BGS.’

  After a little coaxing from his father, and some considerable bribery from his grandmother, S
ebastian managed to climb a few places off the bottom in two of the three compulsory subjects. He’d worked out that he was permitted to fail one, and chose natural sciences.

  By the end of Sebastian’s second year, the headmaster felt confident that with a little more effort the boy would obtain the necessary pass mark in five of the six exam subjects. He too had given up on natural sciences. Harry and Emma were beginning to feel more hopeful, but still tried to keep Sebastian up to the mark. And indeed, the headmaster might have proved right in his optimistic assessment, had it not been for two incidents that occurred during Sebastian’s final year.

  8

  ‘IS THAT YOUR father’s book?’

  Sebastian looked at a pile of novels stacked neatly in the window of the bookshop. A sign above them read, Nothing Gained by Harry Clifton, 3s 6d. The latest adventure of William Warwick.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sebastian proudly. ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Lu Yang.

  Sebastian strolled into the shop, followed by his friend. A table near the front was piled high with his father’s latest hardback, surrounded by paperbacks of The Case of the Blind Witness and Nothing Ventured, the first two novels in the William Warwick series.

  Sebastian handed Lu Yang a copy of each of the three books. They were quickly joined by several of his classmates, and he gave each of them a copy of the latest book, and in some cases the other two as well. The pile was rapidly diminishing when a middle-aged man charged out from behind the counter, grabbed Sebastian by the collar and dragged him away.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he shouted.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Sebastian, ‘they’re my father’s books!’

  ‘Now I’ve heard everything,’ said the manager as he marched Sebastian, who was protesting with every stride, towards the back of the shop. He turned to an assistant and said, ‘Call the police. I caught this thief red-handed. Then see if you can retrieve the books his friends ran off with.’

  The manager shoved Sebastian into his office and dumped him firmly on to an old horsehair sofa.

  ‘Don’t even think about moving,’ he said as he left the office, closing the door firmly behind him.

  Sebastian heard a key turning in the lock. He stood up, walked across to the manager’s desk and picked up a book, then sat back down and began reading. He’d reached page nine, and was getting to quite like Richard Hannay, when the door opened and the manager returned with a triumphant smirk on his face.

  ‘There he is, chief inspector, I caught the lad red-handed.’

  Chief Inspector Blakemore tried to keep a straight face when the manager added, ‘Had the gall to tell me the books belonged to his father.’

  ‘He wasn’t lying,’ said Blakemore. ‘That’s Harry Clifton’s boy.’ Looking sternly at Sebastian, he added, ‘But that’s no excuse for what you did, young man.’

  ‘Even if his father is Harry Clifton, I’m still short one pound and eighteen shillings,’ said the manager. ‘So what do you intend to do about that?’ he added, pointing an accusing finger at Sebastian.

  ‘I’ve already contacted Mr Clifton,’ said Blakemore, ‘so I don’t think it will be long before that question is answered. While we wait for him, I suggest you explain the economics of bookselling to his son.’

  The manager, looking a little chastened, sat down on the corner of his desk.

  ‘When your father writes a book,’ he said, ‘his publishers pay him an advance, and then a percentage of the cover price for each copy sold. In your dad’s case, I would guess that would be around ten per cent. The publisher also has to pay his salesmen, the editorial and publicity staff, and the printer, as well as any advertising and distribution costs.’

  ‘And how much do you have to pay for each book?’ asked Sebastian.

  Blakemore couldn’t wait to hear the bookseller’s reply. The manager hesitated before saying, ‘Around two-thirds of the cover price.’

  Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. ‘So my father only gets ten per cent on each book, while you pocket thirty-three per cent?’

  ‘Yes, but I have to pay rent and rates for these premises, as well as my staff’s wages,’ said the manager defensively.

  ‘So it would be cheaper for my father to replace the books rather than pay you the full amount of the cover price?’

  The chief inspector wished Sir Walter Barrington was still alive. He would have enjoyed this exchange.

  ‘Perhaps you could tell me, sir,’ continued Sebastian, ‘how many books need to be replaced.’

  ‘Eight hardbacks and eleven paperbacks,’ said the manager, as Harry walked into the office.

  Chief Inspector Blakemore explained to him what had happened, before adding, ‘I won’t be charging the boy for shoplifting on this occasion, Mr Clifton, just issuing him with a caution. I’ll leave it to you to make sure, sir, that he doesn’t do anything as irresponsible again.’

  ‘Of course, chief inspector,’ said Harry. ‘I’m most grateful, and I’ll ask my publishers to replace the books immediately. And there will be no more pocket money for you, my boy, until every penny has been paid back,’ he added, turning to face Sebastian.

  Sebastian bit his lip.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Clifton,’ said the manager, and added a little sheepishly, ‘I was wondering, sir, as you’re here, if you’d be kind enough to sign the rest of the stock?’

  When Emma’s mother Elizabeth went into hospital for a checkup, she tried to reassure her daughter that there was nothing to worry about, and told her she wasn’t to tell Harry or the children because it would only make them anxious.

  It certainly made Emma anxious and, as soon as she returned to Barrington Hall, she phoned Giles at the House of Commons, and then her sister in Cambridge. They both dropped everything and caught the next train to Bristol.

  ‘Let’s hope I’m not wasting your time,’ said Emma after she’d picked them up from Temple Meads.

  ‘Let’s hope you are wasting our time,’ Grace replied.

  Giles appeared preoccupied and stared out of the window as they continued their journey to the hospital in silence.

  Even before Mr Langbourne had closed the door to his office, Emma sensed the news wasn’t going to be good.

  ‘I wish there was an easy way to tell you this,’ the specialist said once they’d sat down, ‘but I’m afraid there isn’t. Dr Raeburn, who’s been your mother’s GP for several years, carried out a routine check-up, and when he got the results of his tests, he referred her to me in order that I could carry out a more detailed examination.’

  Emma clenched her fists, something she used to do as a schoolgirl whenever she was nervous or in trouble.

  ‘Yesterday,’ continued Mr Langbourne, ‘I received the results from the clinical lab. They confirmed Dr Raeburn’s fears: your mother has breast cancer.’

  ‘Can she be cured?’ was Emma’s immediate response.

  ‘There is no cure at present for someone of her age,’ said Langbourne. ‘Scientists are hoping for a breakthrough at some time in the future, but I fear that won’t be soon enough for your mother.’

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’ asked Grace.

  Emma leant across and took her sister’s hand.

  ‘During this time, she will need all the love and support you and the family can give her. Elizabeth is a remarkable woman, and after all she has been through, she deserves better. But she’s never once complained – not her style. She’s a typical Harvey.’

  ‘How long will she be with us?’ asked Emma.

  ‘I fear,’ said Langbourne, ‘that it will be a matter of weeks, rather than months.’

  ‘Then there’s something I have to tell her,’ said Giles, who hadn’t spoken until then.

  The shoplifting incident, as it came to be known at St Bede’s, turned Sebastian from a bit of a loner into something of a folk hero, and boys who previously wouldn’t have bothered with him invited him to join their gangs. Harry began to believe this m
ight be a turning point, but when he told Sebastian that his grandmother only had a few weeks to live, the boy crept back into his shell.

  Jessica had begun her first term at Red Maids’. She worked far harder than Sebastian, but didn’t come top in any subject. The art mistress told Emma it was a pity that painting wasn’t a recognized subject, because Jessica had more talent at the age of eight than she herself had shown in her final year at college.

  Emma decided not to repeat this conversation to Jessica but to allow the child to discover for herself just how talented she was in the fullness of time. Sebastian regularly told her she was a genius, but what did he know? He also thought Stanley Matthews was a genius.

  A month later, Sebastian failed three of his mock papers, taken only weeks before the BGS entrance exams. Neither Harry nor Emma felt they could chastise him while he was so distressed about his grandmother’s condition. He would accompany Emma to the hospital every afternoon after she picked him up from school, climb on to his grandmother’s bed and read to her from his favourite book until she fell asleep.

  Jessica painted a new picture for Granny every day, and dropped it off at the hospital the following morning before Harry took her on to school. There were only a few blank spaces left on the walls of her private gallery by the end of term.

  Giles missed several three-line whips, Grace countless tutorials, Harry endless deadlines, and Emma sometimes failed to reply to Cyrus Feldman’s weekly letters. But it was Sebastian who Elizabeth most looked forward to seeing every day. Harry couldn’t be sure who benefited more from the experience, his son or his mother-in-law.

  It didn’t help that Sebastian had to take his exam for Bristol Grammar School while his grandmother’s life was ebbing away.