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“All clear. It seems I ticked all the boxes except one, and although I’ve stopped jogging, Dr. Richards is pleased that I’m still walking for an hour every morning.”
“I only wish I could say the same,” said Emma.
“Your diary secretary would make sure it was never possible. But at least you try to make up for it at the weekend.”
“You said every box except one,” Emma said as they walked along the driveway toward the main road.
“He says I have a couple of small lumps on my prostate. Nothing to worry about, but it might be wise to deal with it in the not-too-distant future.”
“I agree with him. After all, you can have an operation nowadays, or a course of radiotherapy, and be back to normal in a few weeks.”
“I only need another year.”
“What do you mean?” said Emma, stopping in her tracks.
“By then I should have finished Heads You Win, and fulfilled the terms of my contract.”
“But knowing you, my darling, by then you’ll have another half a dozen ideas racing around in your head. Dare I ask how this one’s going?”
“Every author believes their latest work is the best thing they’ve ever done, and I’m no exception. But you don’t really have a clue until you read the reviews or, as Aaron Guinzburg says, three weeks later, when you find out if the tills are still ringing up sales once the initial hype is over and you only have word of mouth to rely on.”
“To hell with Aaron Guinzburg. How do you feel?” pressed Emma.
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever done,” said Harry, beating his chest with bravado, only to add, “Who knows? But then, are you able to be realistic about how your speech is coming along?”
“There’s only one thing I can be sure about. My colleagues will let me know how I’ve done the moment I sit down. They won’t wait three weeks to tell me.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You could get hold of a copy of Giles’s speech so I can find out what I’ll be up against.”
“Have a word with Karin. I’m sure she could lay her hands on a copy.”
“That’s exactly what Seb suggested, and I told him that if Giles ever found out, I wouldn’t be the only person he wasn’t speaking to.”
“Giles’s speech,” said Harry, “will be like Falstaff in full flow, lots of grandiose ideas, most of them impractical, and certainly unaffordable, along with one or two golden nuggets that you’ll be able to steal, and possibly even implement before the next election.”
“You’re a crafty old thing, Harry Clifton. You would have made a formidable politician.”
“I would have made a dreadful politician. To start with, I’m not altogether sure which party I support. It’s usually the one in opposition. And the thought of having to expose myself to the press, let alone the electorate, would be enough to make me become a hermit.”
“What guilty secret are you hiding?” mocked Emma, as they walked on toward the village.
“All I’m willing to admit is that I intend to go on writing until I drop, and frankly there are enough politicians in this family already. In any case, like a typical politician, you haven’t answered my question. How’s your speech coming on?”
“Well enough, but I’m worried it’s a bit dull and workmanlike at the moment. I think I’ve dealt with most of my colleagues’ reservations, even if one or two of them still remain unresolved. Frankly the speech needs a big idea that will keep Giles in his place, and I’ve been hoping you might find the time to read it and give me your honest opinion.”
“Of course I will. Though I suspect Giles is every bit as anxious as you are and would like nothing better than to get his hands on a copy of your speech. So I wouldn’t be too worried.”
“Can I ask another favor?”
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“Anything, my darling.”
“Promise me you’ll go and see a specialist, otherwise I’ll worry,” said Emma as they linked arms.
“I promise,” said Harry, as they passed the parish church and turned down a public footpath that would lead them back across the meadows to the Manor House. “But in return, I expect something from you.”
