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So what’s your opinion, Percy?
Too early to make an accurate assessment. I’ll need to get her back to the lab and carry out some more tests before I can give you a considered judgment.
When can I expect to get your preliminary report? asked Warwick.
You’re always so impatient, William …
Harry looked up. He suddenly realized who’d committed the murder.
* * *
Although Emma hadn’t been willing to accept Sebastian’s suggestion that she should co-opt Giles and Grace on to the board to ensure she couldn’t lose the crucial vote, she still considered it her duty to keep her brother and sister up to date on what was going on. Emma was proud to represent the family on the board, although she knew only too well that neither of her siblings was particularly interested in what went on behind closed doors at Barrington’s, as long as they received their quarterly dividends.
Giles was preoccupied with his responsibilities at the House of Commons, which had become even more demanding after Hugh Gaitskell had invited him to join the Shadow Cabinet, to cover the European portfolio. This meant that he was rarely seen in his constituency, despite being expected to nurse a marginal seat while at the same time regularly visiting those countries that had a vote on whether Britain should be allowed to join the EEC. However, Labor had been ahead in the opinion polls for several months, and it was looking increasingly likely that Giles would become a Cabinet minister after the next election. So the last thing he needed was to be distracted by “trouble at t’mill.”
Harry and Emma were delighted when Giles had finally announced his engagement to Gwyneth Hughes, not in The Times’ social column, but at the Ostrich public house in the heart of his constituency.
“I want to see you married before the next election,” declared Griff Haskins, his constituency agent. “And if Gwyneth could be pregnant by the first week of the campaign, that would be even better.”
“How romantic,” Giles sighed.
“I’m not interested in romance,” said Griff. “I’m here to make sure you’re still sitting in the House of Commons after the next election, because if you’re not, you sure as hell won’t be in the Cabinet.”
Giles wanted to laugh, but he knew Griff was right.
“Has a date been fixed?” asked Emma, who had strolled across to join them.
“For the wedding, or the general election?”
“For the wedding, idiot.”
“May the seventeenth at Chelsea Register Office,” said Giles.
“Bit of a contrast from St. Margaret’s, Westminster, but at least this time Harry and I can hope to receive an invitation.”
“I’ve asked Harry to be my best man,” said Giles. “But I’m not so sure about you,” he added with a grin.
* * *
The timing could have been better, but the only chance Emma had to see her sister was on the evening before the crucial board meeting. She had already been in touch with those directors who she was confident supported her position, as well as one or two she felt might be wavering. But she wanted to let Grace know that she still couldn’t predict which way the vote would fall.
Grace took even less interest in the company’s fortunes than Giles, and on one or two occasions had even forgotten to cash her quarterly dividend check. She had recently been appointed Senior Tutor at Newnham, so she rarely ventured beyond the outskirts of Cambridge. Emma was occasionally able to tempt her sister up to London for a visit to the Royal Opera House, but only for a matinee, with just enough time for supper before catching the train back to Cambridge. As Grace explained, she didn’t care to sleep in a strange bed. So sophisticated at one level, so parochial at another, their dear mother had once remarked.
Luchino Visconti’s production of Verdi’s Don Carlo had proved irresistible, and Grace even lingered over supper, listening intently as Emma spelled out the consequences of investing such a large amount of the company’s capital reserve on a single project. Gr
ace nibbled away at her green salad in silence, only making the occasional comment, but not offering an opinion until Major Fisher’s name entered the conversation.
“He’s also getting married in a few weeks’ time, I’m reliably informed,” said Grace, taking her sister by surprise.
“Who in God’s name would want to marry that vile creature?”
“Susie Lampton, it seems.”
“Why do I know that name?”
“She was at Red Maids’ when you were head girl, but she was two years below you, so it’s unlikely you’d remember her.”
“Only the name,” said Emma. “So it’s your turn to brief me.”
