Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(89)

‘Well I’m damned if I can work it out,’ said Harry.

‘Put yourself in his shoes,’ said Giles. ‘He thinks that because the headmaster’s caught him smoking while travelling up to London without permission, he must have been expelled, and lost his place at Cambridge. I suspect you’ll find he’s afraid of returning home and having to face you and Emma.’

‘Well, that’s no longer the problem, but we still have to find him and let him know. If I drive up to London straight away, can I stay at Smith Square?’

‘Of course you can, but that doesn’t make any sense, Harry. You should stay at the Manor House with Emma. I’ll go up to London and then we’ll have both ends covered.’

‘But you and Gwyneth are meant to be spending a weekend together, in case you’d forgotten.’

‘And Seb’s still my nephew, Harry, in case you’ve forgotten.’

‘Thank you,’ said Harry.

‘I’ll ring you as soon as I get to London.’

‘You said you had some news?’

‘It’s not important. Well, not as important as finding Seb.’



Giles drove up to London that evening, and when he arrived in Smith Square his housekeeper confirmed that Sebastian hadn’t been in touch.

Once Giles had passed that news on to Harry, his next call was to the assistant commissioner at Scotland Yard. He couldn’t have been more sympathetic, but he pointed out that a dozen children were reported missing in London every day, and most of them were a lot younger than Sebastian. In a city with a population of eight million, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. But he said he would put out an alert to every police district in the Met area.

Harry and Emma sat up late into the night calling Sebastian’s grandmother Maisie, his aunt Grace, Deakins, Ross Buchanan, Griff Haskins, and even Miss Parish, as they tried to find out if Sebastian had been in touch with any of them. Harry spoke to Giles several times the following day, but he had nothing new to report. A needle in a haystack, he repeated.

‘How’s Emma bearing up?’

‘Not well. She fears the worst as each hour passes.’

‘And Jessica?’

‘Inconsolable.’

‘I’ll call you the moment I hear anything.’



The following afternoon, Giles rang Harry from the House of Commons to tell him he was on his way to Paddington to visit a woman who’d asked to see him because she had news about Sebastian.

Harry and Emma sat by the phone, expecting Giles to ring back within the hour, but he didn’t call again until just after nine o’clock that evening.

‘Tell me he’s fit and well,’ said Emma after she’d grabbed the phone out of Harry’s hand.

‘He’s fit and well,’ said Giles, ‘but I’m afraid that’s the only good news. He’s on his way to Buenos Aires.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Emma. ‘Why would Seb want to go to Buenos Aires?’

‘I’ve no idea. All I can tell you is that he’s on board the SS South America with someone called Pedro Martinez, the father of one of his school friends.’

‘Bruno,’ said Emma. ‘Is he on board as well?’

‘No, he can’t be, because I saw him at his house in Eaton Square.’

‘We’ll drive up to London immediately,’ said Emma. ‘Then we can visit Bruno first thing in the morning.’

‘I don’t think that would be wise in the circumstances,’ said Giles.

‘Why not?’ demanded Emma.

‘For several reasons, not least because I’ve just had a call from Sir Alan Redmayne, the cabinet secretary. He’s asked if the three of us would join him in Downing Street at ten o’clock tomorrow. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence.’





34


‘GOOD DAY, SIR ALAN,’ said Giles as the three of them were shown into the cabinet secretary’s office. ‘May I introduce my sister, Emma, and my brother-in-law, Harry Clifton?’

Sir Alan Redmayne shook hands with Harry and Emma before introducing Mr Hugh Spencer.

‘Mr Spencer is an assistant secretary at the Treasury,’ he explained. ‘The reason for his presence will become clear.’

They all sat down around a circular table in the centre of the room.

‘I realize this meeting was called to discuss a most serious matter,’ said Sir Alan, ‘but before I begin, I would like to say, Mr Clifton, that I am an avid follower of William Warwick. Your latest book is on my wife’s side of the bed, so unfortunately I won’t be allowed to read it until she’s turned the last page.’

‘That’s very kind of you, sir.’

‘Let me begin by explaining why we needed to see you at such short notice,’ said Sir Alan, his tone of voice changing. ‘I would like to reassure you, Mr and Mrs Clifton, that we are just as concerned about your son’s welfare as you are, even if our interests may differ from yours. The government’s interest,’ he continued, ‘centres around a man called Don Pedro Martinez, who has fingers in so many pies that we now have a filing cabinet exclusively devoted to him. Mr Martinez is an Argentinian citizen with a residence in Eaton Square, a country house at Shillingford, three cruise liners, a string of polo ponies stabled at the Guards Polo Club in Windsor Great Park, and a box at Ascot. He always comes to London during the season, and has a wide circle of friends and associates who believe him to be a wealthy cattle baron. And why shouldn’t they? He owns three hundred thousand acres of pampas in Argentina, with around five hundred thousand head of cattle grazing on it. Although this yields him a handsome profit, in fact it’s nothing more than a front to shield his more nefarious activities.’