Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(68)

‘But I intend to be rich.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’ said Griff, filling his glass again. ‘In that case you’ll have to become a champagne socialist, and heaven knows we’ve got enough of them in our party.’

‘I’m not in your party,’ said Sebastian firmly. ‘I’m a Tory in every other seat, apart from the one Uncle Giles is standing in.’

‘Then you’ll have to come and live in Bristol,’ said Griff as the newly re-elected member strolled across to join them.

‘Not much chance of that,’ said Giles. ‘His parents tell me they have high hopes of him winning a scholarship to Cambridge.’

‘Well, if it’s to be Cambridge rather than Bristol, you’ll probably end up seeing more of your uncle than we do.’

‘You’ve had too much to drink, Griff,’ said Giles, patting his agent on the back.

‘Not as much as I would have had if we’d lost,’ said Griff, downing his glass. ‘And try not to forget the bloody Tories have increased their majority in the House.’

‘We ought to be getting home, Seb, if you’re going to be in any shape for school tomorrow. Heaven knows how many rules you’ve broken in the last couple of hours.’

‘Can I say goodnight to Miss Parish before I go?’

‘Yes, of course. Why don’t you do that while I go and pay the drinks bill. The drinks are on me, now the election is over.’

Sebastian wove his way through groups of volunteers, some swaying like branches in the wind, while others, heads down on the nearest table, had passed out, or were simply incapable of movement. He spotted Miss Parish seated in an alcove on the far side of the room with two empty bottles of champagne for company. When he finally reached her, he wasn’t altogether sure she recognized him.

‘Miss Parish, I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to be in your team. I’ve learnt so much from you. I only wish you were one of my teachers at the Abbey.’

‘That is indeed a compliment, Sebastian,’ said Miss Parish. ‘But I fear I was born in the wrong century. It will be a long time before women are offered the chance to teach at an independent boys’ school.’ She hauled herself up and gave him a huge hug. ‘Good luck, Sebastian,’ she said. ‘I hope you get that scholarship to Cambridge.’

‘What did Miss Parish mean, she was born in the wrong century?’ asked Sebastian as Giles drove them back to the Manor House.

‘Simply that women of her generation weren’t given the opportunity to pursue a proper career,’ said Giles. ‘She would have made a great teacher, and hundreds of children would have benefited from her wisdom and common sense. The truth is, we lost two generations of men in world wars, and two generations of women who weren’t given the chance to take their places.’

‘Fine words, Uncle Giles, but what are you going to do about it?’

Giles laughed. ‘I could have done a damned sight more if we’d won the election, because tomorrow I would probably have been in the Cabinet. Now I’ll have to be satisfied with another stint on the Opposition front bench.’

‘Is my mother going to suffer from the same problem?’ asked Sebastian. ‘Because she’d make a damned good MP.’

‘No, although I can’t see her wanting to enter the House. I’m afraid she doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and that’s part of the job description. But I have a feeling she’ll end up surprising us all.’

Giles brought the car to a halt outside the Manor House, switched off the engine and placed a finger to his lips. ‘Shh. I promised your mother I wouldn’t wake Jessica.’

The two of them tiptoed across the gravel and Giles opened the front door tentatively, hoping it wouldn’t creak. They were about halfway across the hall when Giles saw her, curled up in a chair by the last embers of a dying fire, fast asleep. He lifted her gently and carried her up the stairs in his arms. Sebastian ran ahead, opened her bedroom door and pulled back the blanket as Giles lowered her on to the bed. He was about to close the door behind him when he heard a voice say, ‘Did we win, Uncle Giles?’

‘Yes we did, Jessica,’ Giles whispered. ‘By four votes.’

‘One of them was mine,’ said Jessica after a lengthy yawn, ‘because I got Albert to vote for you.’

‘Then that’s worth two votes,’ said Sebastian. But before he could explain why, Jessica had fallen asleep again.



By the time Giles put in an appearance at breakfast the following morning, it might have been better described as brunch.

‘Good morning, good morning, good morning,’ Giles said as he walked around the table. He took a plate from the sideboard, lifted the lids of three silver salvers and selected large portions of scrambled eggs, bacon and baked beans, as if he was still a schoolboy. He sat down between Sebastian and Jessica.

‘Mummy says you ought to have a glass of fresh orange juice and some cornflakes with milk before you visit the hotplate,’ said Jessica.

‘And she’s right,’ said Giles, ‘but it’s not going to stop me sitting next to my favourite girlfriend.’

‘I’m not your favourite girlfriend,’ said Jessica, which silenced him more effectively than any Tory minister had ever managed. ‘Mummy told me that Gwyneth is your favourite girlfriend. Politicians!’ she added, mimicking Emma, who burst out laughing.