Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(5)

He had rung Emma earlier in the week to warn her that he was coming down to Bristol for the weekend, and would arrive in time for dinner on Friday. What he hadn’t told her was that he would be accompanied by a guest.

Emma usually liked Giles’s girlfriends, who were always attractive, often a little scatty and without exception adored him, even if most of them didn’t last long enough for her to get to know them. But that was not to be the case this time.

When Giles introduced Virginia to her on Friday evening, Emma was puzzled by what her brother could possibly see in the woman. Emma accepted that she was beautiful and well connected. In fact Virginia reminded them more than once that she’d been Deb of the Year (in 1934), and three times that she was the daughter of the Earl of Fenwick, before they’d even sat down for dinner.

Emma might have dismissed this as simply being nerves, if Virginia hadn’t picked at her food and whispered to Giles during dinner, in tones she must have known they could overhear, how difficult it must be to find decent domestic staff in Gloucestershire. To Emma’s surprise, Giles just smiled at these observations, never once disagreeing with her. Emma was just about to say something she knew she would regret, when Virginia announced that she was exhausted after such a long day and wished to retire.

Once she had upped and departed, with Giles following a pace behind, Emma walked through to the drawing room, poured herself a large whisky and sank into the nearest chair.

‘God knows what my mother will make of the Lady Virginia.’

Harry smiled. ‘It won’t matter much what Elizabeth thinks, because I have a feeling Virginia will last about as long as most of Giles’s other girlfriends.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Emma. ‘But what puzzles me is why she’s interested in Giles, because she’s clearly not in love with him.’



When Giles and Virginia drove back to London after lunch on Sunday afternoon, Emma quickly forgot about the Earl of Fenwick’s daughter as she had to deal with a far more pressing problem. Yet another nanny had handed in her notice, declaring that it had been the last straw when she’d found a hedgehog in her bed. Harry felt some sympathy for the poor woman.

‘It doesn’t help that he’s an only child,’ said Emma after she’d finally got her son to sleep that night. ‘It can’t be fun having no one to play with.’

‘It never worried me,’ said Harry, not looking up from his book.

‘Your mother told me you were quite a handful before you went to St Bede’s school, and in any case, when you were his age, you spent more time down at the docks than you did at home.’

‘Well, it won’t be long before he starts at St Bede’s.’

‘And what do you expect me to do in the meantime? Drop him off at the docks every morning?’

‘Not a bad idea.’

‘Be serious, my darling. If it hadn’t been for Old Jack, you’d still be there now.’

‘True,’ said Harry, as he raised his glass to the great man. ‘But what can we do about it?’

Emma took so long to reply that Harry wondered if she’d fallen asleep. ‘Perhaps the time has come for us to have another child.’

Harry was so taken by surprise that he closed his book and looked closely at his wife, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. ‘But I thought we’d agreed . . .’

‘We did. And I haven’t changed my mind, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t consider adoption.’

‘What’s brought this on, my darling?’

‘I can’t stop thinking about the little girl who was found in my father’s office the night he died’ – Emma could never bring herself to say the word killed – ‘and the possibility that she might be his child.’

‘But there’s no proof of that. And in any case, I’m not sure how you’d find out where she is after all this time.’

‘I was thinking of consulting a well-known detective writer, and seeking his advice.’

Harry thought carefully before he spoke. ‘William Warwick would probably recommend that you try and track down Derek Mitchell.’

‘But surely you can’t have forgotten that Mitchell worked for my father, and didn’t exactly have our best interests at heart.’

‘True,’ said Harry, ‘and that’s exactly why I would seek his advice. After all, he’s the one person who knows where all the bodies are buried.’



They agreed to meet at the Grand Hotel. Emma arrived a few minutes early and selected a seat in the corner of the lounge where they could not be overheard. While she waited, she went over the questions she planned to ask him.

Mr Mitchell walked into the lounge as the clock struck four. Although he’d put on a little weight since she’d last seen him, and his hair was greyer, the unmistakable limp was still his calling card. Her first thought was that he looked more like a bank manager than a private detective. He clearly recognized Emma, because he headed straight for her.

‘It’s nice to see you again, Mrs Clifton,’ he ventured.

‘Please have a seat,’ Emma said, wondering if he was as nervous as she was. She decided to get straight to the point. ‘I wanted to see you, Mr Mitchell, because I need the help of a private detective.’