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“I agree with him on both counts,” said Ross. “Let’s hope his exuberance is the prelude to a full recovery.”
“His surgeon seems to think so. Mr. Owen told me that modern surgery made rapid advances during the war because so many soldiers needed to be operated on without the time to seek second and third opinions. Thirty years ago, Seb would have ended up in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, but not today.”
“Is he still hoping to go up to Cambridge next Michaelmas?”
“I think so. He recently had a visit from his supervisor, who told him that he could take up his place at Peterhouse in September. He even gave him some books to read.”
“Well, he can’t pretend there’s a whole lot to distract him.”
“Funny you should mention that,” said Emma, “because he’s recently begun to take a great deal of interest in the company’s fortunes, which comes as something of a surprise. In fact, he reads the minutes of every board meeting from cover to cover. He’s even bought ten shares, which gives him the legal right to follow our every move, and I can tell you, Ross, he’s not shy in expressing his views, not least on the proposed building of the Buckingham.”
“No doubt influenced by his mother’s well-known opinion on the subject,” said Buchanan, smiling.
“No, that’s the strange thing,” said Emma. “Someone else seems to be advising him on that particular subject.”
* * *
Emma burst out laughing.
Harry looked up from the other end of the breakfast table and put down his newspaper. “As I can’t find anything even remotely amusing in The Times this morning, do share the joke with me.”
Emma took a sip of coffee before returning to the Daily Express.
“It seems that Lady Virginia Fenwick, only daughter of the ninth Earl of Fenwick, has issued divorce proceedings against the Count of Milan. William Hickey is suggesting that Virginia will receive a settlement of around two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, plus their flat in Lowndes Square, as well as the country estate in Berkshire.”
“Not a bad return for two years’ work.”
“And of course Giles gets a mention.”
“That’s always going to be the case whenever Virginia makes the headlines.”
“Yes, but it’s quite flattering for a change,” she said, returning to the newspaper. “‘Lady Virginia’s first husband, Sir Giles Barrington, Member of Parliament for Bristol Docklands, is widely tipped to be a cabinet minister should Labor win the next election.’”
“I think that’s unlikely.”
“That Giles will be a cabinet minister?”
“No, that Labor will win the next election.”
“‘He has proved to be a formidable front bench spokesman,’” Emma continued, “‘and has recently become engaged to Dr. Gwyneth Hughes, a lecturer at King’s College, London.’ Great picture of Gwyneth, ghastly photo of Virginia.”
“Virginia won’t like that,” said Harry, returning to The Times. “But there’s not a lot she can do about it now.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” said Emma. “I have a feeling the sting has not yet been fully extracted from that particular scorpion.”
* * *
Harry and Emma drove up from Gloucestershire to Harlow every Sunday to visit Sebastian, with Jessica always in tow, as she never missed an opportunity to see her big brother. Every time Emma turned left out of the Manor House gates to begin the long drive to the Princess Alexandra Hospital, she could never shake off the memory of the first time she’d made that journey, when she’d thought her son had been k
illed in a car crash. Emma was only thankful that she hadn’t phoned Grace or Giles to tell them the news, and that Jessica had been camping in the Quantocks with the Girl Guides when the tutor rang. Only poor Harry had spent twenty-four hours believing he would never see his son again.
Jessica considered the visits to Sebastian to be the highlight of her week. On arriving at the hospital, she would present him with her latest work of art, and after having covered every inch of his plaster casts with images of the Manor House, family and friends, she moved on to the hospital walls. Matron hung every new picture in the corridor outside the ward, but admitted that it wouldn’t be too long before they would have to migrate down the staircase to the floor below. Emma could only hope that Sebastian would be released before Jessica’s offerings reached the reception area. She always felt a little embarrassed whenever her daughter presented Matron with her latest effort.
“No need to feel embarrassed, Mrs. Clifton,” said Miss Puddicombe. “You should see some of the daubs I’m presented with by doting parents, who expect them to be hung in my office. In any case, when Jessica becomes an RA, I shall sell them all and build a new ward with the proceeds.”
Emma didn’t need to be reminded how talented her daughter was, as she knew Miss Fielding, her art mistress at Red Maids’, had plans to enter her for a scholarship to the Slade School of Fine Art, and seemed confident of the outcome.
“It’s quite a challenge, Mrs. Clifton, to have to teach someone who you know is far more talented than you are,” Miss Fielding had once told her.
