Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(83)

Giles sat on the edge of his seat, willing every traffic light to turn green, and urging the driver to change lanes whenever he saw a chance to grab a few yards. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Harry and Emma must have been through during the past two days. Had they told Jessica? If so, she’d be sitting on the top step at the Manor House waiting anxiously for Sebastian to return.

As the taxi pulled up outside No. 37, the cabbie couldn’t help wondering why a Member of Parliament could possibly be visiting a guest house in Paddington. But it was none of his business, especially as the gentleman gave him such a large tip.

Giles leapt out of the taxi, ran to the door and hammered several times on the knocker. A few moments later, the door was opened by a young woman who said, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but the last room has been taken.’

‘I’m not looking for a room,’ Giles told her. ‘I was hoping to see –’ he glanced once again at the visitor’s card – ‘a Mrs Tibbet.’

‘Who shall I say wants to see her?’

‘Sir Giles Barrington.’

‘If you’ll just wait there, sir, I’ll let her know,’ she said before closing the door.

Giles stood on the pavement, wondering if Sebastian had been just a hundred yards from Paddington Station the whole time. He only had to wait a couple of minutes before the door was flung open again.

‘I’m so sorry, Sir Giles,’ said Mrs Tibbet, sounding flustered. ‘Janice had no idea who you are. Please come through to the parlour.’

Once Giles had settled into a comfortable high-backed chair, Mrs Tibbet offered him a cup of tea.

‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m anxious to find out if you have any news about Seb. His parents are worried out of their minds.’

‘Of course they are, poor things,’ said Mrs Tibbet. ‘I did tell him several times that he should get in touch with his mother, but—’

‘But?’ interrupted Giles.

‘It’s a long story, Sir Giles, but I’ll be as quick as I can.’

Ten minutes later, Mrs Tibbet was telling him that the last time she’d seen Sebastian was when he left in a taxi to return to Eaton Square, and she hadn’t heard from him since.

‘So as far as you know, he’s staying with his friend Bruno Martinez at forty-four Eaton Square?’

‘That’s right, Sir Giles. But I did—’

‘I am greatly in your debt,’ said Giles, rising from his seat and taking out his wallet.

‘You owe me nothing, sir,’ said Mrs Tibbet, waving a hand. ‘Everything I did was for Sebastian, not for you. But if I may be allowed to give you one piece of advice . . .’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Giles, sitting back down.

‘Sebastian is anxious that his parents will be angry with him because he’s thrown away the chance of going to Cambridge, and—’

‘But he hasn’t lost his place at Cambridge,’ interrupted Giles.

‘That’s the best news I’ve heard all week. You’d better find him quickly and let him know that, because he won’t want to go home while he thinks his parents are still angry with him.’

‘My next stop will be number forty-four Eaton Square,’ said Giles as he rose a second time.

‘Before you go,’ said Mrs Tibbet, still not budging, ‘you should know that he took the blame for his friend, which is why Bruno Martinez didn’t suffer the same punishment. So perhaps he deserves a pat on the back rather than a telling off.’

‘You’re wasted, Mrs Tibbet – you should have joined the diplomatic corps.’

‘And you’re an old flatterer, Sir Giles, like most members of parliament. Not that I’ve ever come across one before,’ she admitted. ‘But don’t let me hold you up any longer.’

‘Thank you again. Once I’ve caught up with Sebastian and sorted things out,’ said Giles as he rose a third time, ‘perhaps you’ll come back to the Commons and join us both for tea?’

‘That’s most considerate of you, Sir Giles. But I can’t afford to take two days off in one week.’

‘Then it will have to be next week,’ said Giles as she opened the front door and they walked out on to the pavement. ‘I’ll send a car to pick you up.’

‘That’s kind of you,’ said Mrs Tibbet, ‘but—’

‘No buts. Sebastian got lucky, very lucky, when he stopped at number thirty-seven.’



When the phone rang Don Pedro walked across the room, but he didn’t pick it up until he’d checked his study door was closed.

‘Your international call from Buenos Aires is on the line, sir.’

He heard a click, before a voice said, ‘It’s Diego.’

‘Listen carefully. Everything has fallen into place, including our Trojan horse.’

‘Does that mean Sotheby’s have agreed to—?’

‘The sculpture will be included in their sale at the end of this month.’

‘So all we need now is a courier.’

‘I think I have the ideal person. A school friend of Bruno’s who needs a job and speaks fluent Spanish. Better still, his uncle is a Member of Parliament and one of his grandfathers was a lord, so he’s what the English consider blue blood, which can only smooth the way.’