Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(81)

Without a roof to cover her head, Tibby had migrated west, like a bird that needs to find new feeding grounds. She took a job at the Safe Haven guest house as a general dogsbody. Three years later she became the waitress, and when the owner died, she didn’t so much inherit the guest house as take it on, since the bank was looking for someone, anyone, to pay the mortgage.

She nearly went under, but in 1951 she was rescued by the Festival of Britain, which attracted a million extra visitors to London, making it possible for the guest house to show a profit for the first time. That profit had increased every year, if only by a small margin, and now the mortgage had been paid off and the business was hers. She relied on her regulars to get her through the winter, as she had learned early on that those who rely solely on passing trade soon have to close their doors.

Mrs Tibbet snapped out of her daydream and looked around the station until her eyes settled on a W.H. Smith sign. She watched as seasoned travellers dashed in and out. Most only bought a morning paper for a halfpenny, but others at the back of the shop were browsing among the bookshelves.

She ventured in but then stood helplessly in the middle of the shop, getting in the customers’ way. When she spotted a woman at the back stacking books on to the shelves from a wooden trolley, she walked over to her, but didn’t interrupt her work.

The assistant looked up. ‘Can I help you, madam?’ she asked politely.

‘Have you heard of an author called Harry Clifton?’

‘Oh yes,’ the assistant replied. ‘He’s one of our most popular authors. Was there a particular title you were looking for?’ Mrs Tibbet shook her head. ‘Then let’s go and see what we have in stock.’ The assistant walked to the other side of the shop, with Mrs Tibbet following in her wake, stopping when she reached a section labelled CRIME. The William Warwick Mysteries were stacked in a neat row, with several gaps confirming how popular the author was. ‘And of course,’ continued the assistant, ‘there are the prison diaries, and a biography by Lord Preston, called The Hereditary Principle, which is about the fascinating Clifton-Barrington inheritance case. Perhaps you remember it? It dominated the headlines for weeks.’

‘Which of Mr Clifton’s novels would you recommend?’

‘Whenever I’m asked that question about any author,’ replied the assistant, ‘I always suggest, start with the first.’ She took a copy of William Warwick and the Case of the Blind Witness from the shelf.

‘Will the other one, the hereditary one, tell me more about the Clifton family?’

‘Yes, and you’ll find it as gripping as any novel,’ the assistant said as she walked over to the biography section. ‘That will be three shillings, madam,’ she said, handing her both books.

When Mrs Tibbet returned to the guest house just before lunch, Janice was surprised to see that her shopping basket was empty, and even more surprised when she locked herself into the office, only coming out when a knock on the front door announced a prospective customer.

It took her two days and two nights to read The Hereditary Principle by Reg Preston, by which time Mrs Tibbet realized she was going to have to visit another place she had never entered before, and it would be far more nerve-racking than a bookshop.



Sebastian came down to breakfast early on Monday morning, as he wanted to have a word with Bruno’s father before he left for work.

‘Good morning, sir,’ he said as he took a seat at the breakfast table.

‘Good morning, Sebastian,’ said Don Pedro, putting down his newspaper. ‘So, have you made up your mind if you’re going to come to Buenos Aires with me?’

‘Yes, I have, sir. I’d love to come, if I haven’t left it too late.’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ said Don Pedro. ‘Just be sure you’re ready by the time I return.’

‘What time will we be leaving, sir?’

‘Around five o’clock.’

‘I’ll be ready and waiting,’ said Sebastian as Bruno came into the room.

‘You will be pleased to hear that Sebastian will be travelling to Buenos Aires with me,’ said Don Pedro as his son sat down. ‘He’ll be back in London by the end of the month. Make sure you take care of him when he returns.’

Bruno was about to comment when Elena came in and placed a rack of toast in the centre of the table.

‘What would you like for breakfast, sir?’ she asked Bruno.

‘Two boiled eggs, please.’

‘Me too,’ said Sebastian.

‘I must go,’ said Don Pedro, as he rose from his place at the head of the table. ‘I have an appointment in Bond Street.’ He turned to Sebastian and added, ‘Be sure you’re packed and ready to leave by five o’clock. We can’t afford to miss the tide.’

‘I can’t wait, sir,’ said Sebastian, sounding genuinely excited.

‘Have a good day, Papa,’ said Bruno as his father left the room. He didn’t speak again until he heard the front door close, when he looked across the table and said to his friend, ‘Are you certain you’re making the right decision?’



Mrs Tibbet couldn’t stop shaking. She wasn’t convinced she could go through with it. When the guests sat down for breakfast that morning, they were served with hard-boiled eggs, burnt toast and lukewarm tea, and it was Janice who ended up taking the blame. It didn’t help that Mrs Tibbet hadn’t done any shopping for the past two days, so the bread was stale, the fruit was over-ripe and they’d run out of bacon. Janice was relieved when the last disgruntled guest filed out of the breakfast room. One even refused to pay the bill.