Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(17)
Dear Mrs Clifton,
Thank you for attending the board meeting last week. I am pleased to inform you that we would like to take your application to the next stage.
Emma wanted to ring Harry immediately but knew it was the middle of the night in America, and she wasn’t even sure which city he was in.
We have several suitable candidates for you and your husband to consider, a number of whom are residing in our homes at Taunton, Exeter and Bridgwater. I will be happy to send information on each child, if you would be kind enough to let me know which home you’d prefer to visit first.
Yours sincerely,
Mr David Slater
One call to Mitchell confirmed that Jessica Smith was still at Dr Barnardo’s in Bridgwater, but was hoping to be amongst those going to Australia. Emma checked her watch. She would have to wait until noon before Harry could be expected to ring and she could tell him the news. She then turned her attention to a second letter which had a ten-cent stamp on it. She didn’t need to check the postmark to know who had sent it.
By the time Harry arrived in Chicago, Nothing Ventured had come in at number 33 on the New York Times bestseller list, and Natalie was no longer placing a hand on his leg.
‘No need to panic,’ she reassured him. ‘The second week is always the most important. But we’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to make it into the top fifteen by next Sunday.’
Denver, Dallas and San Francisco took them almost to the end of the second week, by which time Harry was convinced that Natalie was among those who hadn’t read the book. Some of the prime-time shows dropped Harry at the last minute, and he started to spend more and more of his time in smaller and smaller book stores signing fewer and fewer copies. One or two proprietors even refused to let him do that because, as Natalie explained, they couldn’t return signed copies to the publisher as they were considered damaged goods.
By the time they touched down in Los Angeles, Nothing Ventured had crept up to number 28 on the bestseller list and, with only a week to go, Natalie couldn’t mask her disappointment. She began to hint that the book just wasn’t moving out of the shops fast enough. That became even more apparent the following morning when Harry came down to breakfast and found someone called Justin sitting opposite him.
‘Natalie’s flown back to New York overnight,’ Justin explained. ‘Had to meet up with another author.’ He didn’t need to add, someone who’s more likely to make it into the top fifteen of the bestseller list. Harry couldn’t blame her.
During his final week, Harry zigzagged across the country, appearing on shows in Seattle, San Diego, Raleigh, Miami and finally Washington. He began to relax without Natalie by his side constantly reminding him about the bestseller list, and even managed to mention Nothing Ventured more than once during some of the longer interviews, even if it was only on local shows.
When he flew back into New York on the final day of the tour, Justin checked him into an airport motel, handed him an economy-class ticket for London, and wished him luck.
Once Emma had filled in the Stanford application form, she wrote a long letter to Cyrus to thank him for making it all possible. She then turned her attention to a bulky package that contained profiles of Sophie Barton, Sandra Davis and Jessica Smith. It only took a cursory reading for her to realize which candidate Matron favoured, and it certainly wasn’t Miss J. Smith.
What would happen if Sebastian agreed with Matron or, worse, decided he preferred someone who wasn’t even on the shortlist? Emma lay awake wishing Harry would call.
Harry thought about calling Emma, but assumed she would already have gone to bed. He began to pack so everything would be ready for the early morning flight, then lay down on the bed and thought about how they could convince Sebastian that Jessica Smith was not only the ideal girl to be his sister, but his first choice.
He closed his eyes, but there wasn’t any hope of snatching even a moment’s sleep while the air-conditioning thumped out a constant rhythm as if auditioning for a place in a Calypso band. Harry lay on the thin, lumpy mattress, and rested his head on a foam pillow that enveloped his ears. There certainly wasn’t a choice between a shower and a bath, just a washbasin with constantly dripping brown water. He closed his eyes and reran the last three weeks, frame by frame, like a flickering black and white movie. There had been no colour. What a complete waste of everyone’s time and money it had all been. Harry had to admit he just wasn’t cut out for the author tour, and if he couldn’t even get the book into the top fifteen after countless radio and print interviews, perhaps the time had come to pension off William Warwick along with Chief Inspector Davenport and start looking for a real job.
The headmaster of St Bede’s had hinted quite recently that they were looking for a new English teacher, although Harry knew he wasn’t cut out to be a schoolmaster. Giles had graciously suggested, on more than one occasion, that he should join the board of Barrington’s so that he could represent the family’s interests. But the truth was, he wasn’t family, and in any case, he’d always wanted to be a writer, not a businessman.
It was bad enough living in Barrington Hall. The books still hadn’t earned enough money to buy a house worthy of Emma, and it hadn’t helped when Sebastian had asked him quite innocently why he didn’t go out to work every morning, like every other father he knew. It sometimes made him feel like a kept man.