Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles, #1)(106)

‘Have you seen Captain Tarrant recently?’ Harry asked sharply.

‘Not for the past couple of weeks, sir,’ said the man, leaping to his feet and almost standing to attention when he heard Harry’s accent.

‘Do you have a master key that will open his flat?’ asked Harry.

‘I do, sir, but I’m not allowed to use it except in emergencies.’

‘I can assure you this is an emergency,’ said Harry, who turned and bounded back up the stairs, not waiting for his reply.

The man followed, if not quite as quickly. Once he’d caught up, he opened the door. Harry moved quickly from room to room, but there was no sign of Old Jack. The last door he came to was closed. He knocked quietly, fearing the worst. When there was no reply, he cautiously went in, to find a neatly made bed and no sign of anyone. He must still be with Sir Walter, was Harry’s first thought.

He thanked the porter, walked back down the stairs and out on to the street as he tried to gather his thoughts. He hailed a passing taxi, not wanting to waste any more time on buses in a city that did not know him.

‘Paddington Station. I’m in a hurry.’

‘Everyone seems to be in a hurry today,’ said the cabbie as he moved off.

Twenty minutes later Harry was standing on platform 6, but it was another fifty minutes before the train would depart for Temple Meads. He used the time to grab a sandwich and a cup of tea – ‘Only got cheese, sir’ – and to phone Miss Watson to let her know that Old Jack hadn’t been back to his flat. If it was possible, she sounded even more harassed than when he had left her. ‘I’m on my way to Bristol,’ he told her. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as I catch up with him.’

As the train made its way out of the capital, through the smog-filled back streets of the city and into the clean air of the countryside, Harry decided he had no choice but to go straight to Sir Walter’s office at the dockyard, even if it meant running into Hugo Barrington. Finding Old Jack surely outweighed any other consideration.

Once the train shunted into Temple Meads, Harry knew the two buses he needed to catch without having to ask the paperboy who was standing on the corner bellowing ‘Britain Awaits Hitler’s Response’ at the top of his voice. Same headline, but this time a Bristolian accent. Thirty minutes later, Harry was at the dockyard gates.

‘Can I help you?’ asked a guard who didn’t recognize him.

‘I have an appointment with Sir Walter,’ said Harry, hoping this would not be questioned.

‘Of course, sir. Do you know the way to his office?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Harry. He started walking slowly towards a building he’d never entered before. He began to think about what he would do if he came face to face with Hugo Barrington before he reached Sir Walter’s office.

He was pleased to see the chairman’s Rolls-Royce parked in its usual place, and even more relieved that there was no sign of Hugo Barrington’s Bugatti. He was just about to enter Barrington House when he glanced at the railway carriage in the distance. Was it just possible? He changed direction and walked towards the Pullman wagon lit, as Old Jack was wont to describe it after a second glass of whisky.

When Harry reached the carriage he knocked gently on the glass pane as if it were a grand home. A butler did not appear, so he opened the door and climbed in. He walked along the corridor to first class, and there he was, sitting in his usual seat.

It was the first time Harry had ever seen Old Jack wearing his Victoria Cross.

Harry took the seat opposite his friend and recalled the first time he’d sat there. He must have been about five and his feet hadn’t reached the ground. Then he thought of the time he’d run away from St Bede’s, and the shrewd old gentleman had persuaded him to be back in time for breakfast. He recalled when Old Jack had come to hear him sing a solo in the church, the time his voice had broken. Old Jack had dismissed this as a minor setback. Then there was the day he learnt he’d failed to win a scholarship to Bristol Grammar School, a major setback. Despite his failure, Old Jack had presented him with the Ingersoll watch he was still wearing today. It must have cost him every penny he possessed. In Harry’s last year at school, Old Jack had travelled down from London to see him playing Romeo, and Harry had introduced him to Emma for the first time. And he would never forget his final speech day, when Jack had sat on stage as a governor of his old school and watched Harry being awarded the English prize.

And now, Harry would never be able to thank him for so many acts of friendship over the years that couldn’t be repaid. He stared at a man he’d loved and had assumed would never die. As they sat there together in first class, the sun went down on his young life.





50


HARRY WATCHED AS the stretcher was placed in the ambulance. A heart attack, the doctor had said, before the ambulance drove away.

Harry didn’t need to go and tell Sir Walter that Old Jack was dead, because when he woke the following morning, the chairman of Barrington’s was sitting by his side.

‘He told me he no longer had any reason to live,’ were Sir Walter’s first words. ‘We have both lost a close and dear friend.’

Harry’s response took Sir Walter by surprise. ‘What will you do with this carriage, now that Old Jack is no longer around?’

‘No one will be allowed anywhere near it, as long as I’m chairman,’ said Sir Walter. ‘It harbours too many personal memories for me.’