Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(7)

‘Don’t mock, child!’

‘I’m not, because my publishers have suggested you join me on the trip, so you’ll be able to see them too.’

‘I’d love to go with you, darling, but the timing couldn’t be worse. Nanny Ryan has packed her bags, and I’m embarrassed to say that the agency’s taken us off their books.’

‘Perhaps I could get my publishers to agree to Seb coming along as well.’

‘Which would probably result in all of us being deported,’ said Emma. ‘No, I’ll stay at home with Seb, while you go off and conquer the colonies.’

Harry took his wife in his arms. ‘Pity. I was looking forward to a second honeymoon. By the way, how did your meeting with Mitchell go?’



Harry was in Edinburgh addressing a literary lunch when Derek Mitchell phoned Emma.

‘I may have a lead,’ he said, not giving his name. ‘When can we meet?’

‘Ten o’clock tomorrow morning, same place?’

No sooner had she put the phone down than it rang again. She picked it up, to find her sister on the other end of the line.

‘What a pleasant surprise, Grace, but knowing you, you’ll have a good reason for calling.’

‘Some of us have full-time jobs,’ Grace reminded her. ‘But you’re right. I rang because last night I attended a lecture given by Professor Cyrus Feldman.’

‘The double Pulitzer Prize-winner?’ said Emma, hoping to impress her sister. ‘Stanford University, if I remember correctly.’

‘I’m impressed,’ said Grace. ‘More to the point, you’d have been fascinated by the talk he gave.’

‘He’s an economist, if I recall?’ said Emma, trying to keep her head above water. ‘Hardly my field.’

‘Or mine, but when he spoke about transport. . .’

‘Sounds riveting.’

‘It was,’ said Grace, ignoring her sarcasm, ‘especially when he touched on the future of shipping, now that the British Overseas Airways Corporation is planning to start a regular air service from London to New York.’

Emma was suddenly aware of why her sister had rung. ‘Any hope of getting a transcript of the lecture?’

‘You can do better than that. His next port of call is Bristol, so you can go along and hear him in person.’

‘Perhaps I could have a word with him after the lecture. There’s so much I’d like to ask him,’ said Emma.

‘Good idea, but if you do, be warned. Although he’s one of those rare men whose brain is bigger than his balls, he’s on his fourth wife, and there was no sign of her last night.’

Emma laughed. ‘You’re so crude, sis, but thanks for the advice.’



Harry took the train from Edinburgh to Manchester the following morning and, after addressing a small gathering in the city’s municipal library, agreed to take questions.

The first was inevitably from a member of the press. They rarely announced themselves, and seemed to have little or no interest in his latest book. Today it was the turn of the Manchester Guardian.

‘How is Mrs Clifton?’

‘Well, thank you,’ Harry replied cautiously.

‘Is it true you’re both living in the same house as Sir Giles Barrington?’

‘It’s quite a big house.’

‘Do you feel any resentment about the fact that Sir Giles got everything in his father’s will, and you got nothing?’

‘Certainly not. I got Emma, which is all I ever wanted.’

That seemed to silence the journalist for a moment, allowing a member of the public the chance to jump in.

‘When will William Warwick get Chief Inspector Davenport’s job?’

‘Not in the next book,’ said Harry with a smile. ‘I can assure you of that.’

‘Is it true, Mr Clifton, that you’ve lost seven nannies in less than three years?’

Manchester clearly had more than one newspaper.

In the car on the way back to the station, Harry began to grumble about the press, although the Manchester rep pointed out that all the publicity didn’t seem to be harming his sales. But Harry knew that Emma was becoming concerned about the endless press attention, and the effect it might have on Sebastian once he started school.

‘Little boys can be so brutal,’ she’d reminded him.

‘Well, at least he won’t be thrashed for licking his porridge bowl,’ said Harry.



Although Emma was a few minutes early, Mitchell was already seated in the alcove when she walked into the hotel lounge. He stood up the moment she joined him. The first thing she said, even before she sat down, was, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mr Mitchell?’

‘No, thank you, Mrs Clifton.’ Mitchell, not a man for small talk, sat back down and opened his note book. ‘It seems the local authority has placed Jessica Smith—’

‘Smith?’ said Emma. ‘Why not Piotrovska, or even Barrington?’

‘Too easy to trace, would be my bet, and I suspect the coroner insisted on anonymity following the inquest. The local authority,’ he continued, ‘sent a Miss J. Smith to a Dr Barnardo’s home in Bridgwater.’

‘Why Bridgwater?’

‘Probably the nearest home that had a vacancy at the time.’