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ove Adrian Sloane once and for all. But I can’t hope to pull it off without your help.”
* * *
“You can’t win them all,” said Lady Virginia, “but as Wellington reminded us after Waterloo, it’s only the final battle that really matters.”
“And who’s playing Napoleon on this particular battlefield?”
“None other than Emma Clifton.”
“And what will my role be?” asked Fisher.
“I need you to find out what really happened on the first night of the Buckingham’s maiden voyage because clearly the Home Fleet story was nothing more than a smoke screen. Priscilla Bingham overheard one of the directors telling her husband that if the truth ever got out, Emma Clifton would have to resign and the company might even go bankrupt. Nothing would suit me better because that would leave our precious chairman with no choice but to settle the action and pay my costs.”
Fisher remained silent for some time, before he said, “There are a couple of directors on the board who’ve recently had a run-in with Mrs. Clifton, and one of them has a tendency to drink a little too much, especially when he’s not paying. Do we have anything to offer him in return, should he decide to resign?”
“A place on the board of Farthings Bank.”
“That would swing it, but what makes you think you can pull it off?”
“The chairman, Adrian Sloane, has every reason to loathe Sebastian Clifton, and will do anything to bring him down.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s amazing what you can pick up at dinner parties, especially when your host thinks women couldn’t possibly begin to understand what goes on in the City.”
GILES BARRINGTON
1970
17
GILES HADN’T GIVEN a moment’s thought to how he wanted to spend his fiftieth birthday, but Gwyneth had.
Whenever Giles thought about his marriage—and he thought about it a great deal—he still couldn’t pinpoint when things had begun to go wrong. The tragic death of their son Walter at the age of three, and the realization that Gwyneth couldn’t have another child, had turned her from a bright spirit who lit up everyone’s lives, to a melancholy shadow, lost in her own world. Instead of the tragedy drawing them closer together, Giles found they were slowly drifting apart, not helped by a Member of Parliament’s unsocial hours and then a minister’s demanding schedule.
Giles had hoped that time would prove a healer, but in truth they began to live separate lives almost as if they weren’t a couple, and he couldn’t remember the last time they had made love. Despite this, he was determined to remain loyal to Gwyneth, as he didn’t want a second divorce and still hoped they might be reconciled.
Whenever they were together in public, they attempted to hide the truth, hoping Giles’s constituents, his colleagues, and even their family wouldn’t realize their marriage was a sham. But whenever Giles saw Harry and Emma together, he envied them.
Giles had rather assumed that on his birthday he’d be on his way to, or on his way back from, representing Her Majesty’s government in some foreign field. Gwyneth, however, was insisting that the milestone should be properly celebrated.
“What do you have in mind?” asked Giles.
“A dinner, just the family and a few close friends?”
“And where would it be held?”
“The House of Commons. We could book one of the private dining rooms.”
“That’s the last place I want to be reminded that I’m fifty.”
“Do try and remember, Giles, for most of us who don’t go to the Palace of Westminster every day, it’s still something rather special.”
Giles knew when he was beaten, so invitations were sent out the following day, and when he looked around the dining room table three weeks later, it was clear that Gwyneth had been right because everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Emma, who was seated on his right, and their sister Grace, on his left, were chatting to their respective neighbors. Giles used the time to think about his speech, jotting down a note or two on the back of his menu.
“I know we shouldn’t talk business on an occasion like this,” said Emma to Ross Buchanan, “but you know how much I value your advice.”
