Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles, #1)(70)

‘Would you care to join me in the buffet car for a cup of tea?’ Old Jack asked. ‘Mrs Clifton was kind enough to supply me with a quite excellent packet of Earl Grey.’

‘No, thank you sir,’ said Holcombe, ‘I’ve only just had breakfast.’

‘So, the boy just missed out on a scholarship,’ said Old Jack, assuming that was what the schoolmaster had come to see him about.

‘Failed is how Harry looks upon it,’ said Holcombe, ‘despite coming seventeenth out of three hundred, and being offered a place in the school’s A stream this September.’

‘But will he be able to accept the offer? It will place an extra financial burden on his mother.’

‘As long as there are no unexpected bombshells, she should be able to get Harry through the next five years.’

‘Even so, Harry won’t be able to afford the little extras most of the other boys will take for granted.’

‘Possibly, but I have managed to cover some of his sundry expenses from the school’s list, so he’ll be able to consider at least two of the three extracurricular activities he’s keen to sign up for.’

‘Let me guess,’ said Old Jack. ‘The choir, the theatre club and . . . ?’

‘Art appreciation,’ said Holcombe. ‘Miss Monday and Miss Tilly are taking responsibility for any trips the choir might make, I’m covering the theatre club and . . .’

‘So I get art appreciation,’ said Old Jack. ‘His new passion. I can still hold my own with Harry when it comes to Rembrandt and Vermeer, even this new chap, Matisse. Now he’s trying to get me interested in a Spaniard called Picasso, but I can’t see it myself.’

‘I’ve never heard of him,’ admitted Holcombe.

‘And I doubt if you ever will,’ said Old Jack, ‘but don’t tell Harry I said so.’ He picked up a small tin box, opened it, and took out three notes and almost all the coins he possessed.

‘No, no,’ said Holcombe, ‘that isn’t the reason I came to see you. In fact, I plan to visit Mr Craddick later this afternoon, and I’m confident he’ll—’

‘I think you’ll find that I take precedence over Mr Craddick,’ said Old Jack, handing across the money.

‘That’s very generous of you.’

‘Money well spent,’ said Old Jack, ‘even if it is the widow’s mite. At least my father would approve,’ he added as an afterthought.

‘Your father?’ repeated Holcombe.

‘He’s the resident canon at Wells Cathedral.’

‘I had no idea,’ said Holcombe. ‘So at least you’re able to visit him from time to time.’

‘Sadly not. I fear I am a modern prodigal son,’ said Old Jack. Not wishing to go any further down that road, he said, ‘So tell me, young man, why did you want to see me?’

‘I can’t remember the last occasion anyone called me “young man”.’

‘Just be grateful that anyone still does,’ said Old Jack.

Holcombe laughed. ‘I’ve got a couple of tickets for the school play, Julius Caesar. As Harry is performing, I thought you might like to join me for the opening night.’

‘I knew he was auditioning,’ said Old Jack. ‘What part did he get?’

‘He’s playing Cinna,’ said Holcombe.

‘Then we’ll know him by his gait.’

Holcombe bowed low. ‘Does that mean you’ll join me?’

‘I fear not,’ said Old Jack, raising a hand. ‘It’s extremely kind of you to think of me, Holcombe, but I’m not yet ready for a live performance, even as just a member of the audience.’





Old Jack was disappointed to miss Harry’s performance in the school play and had to be satisfied with being told the boy’s version of how he had performed. The following year, when Holcombe suggested that perhaps Old Jack should attend because Harry’s roles were getting bigger, he nearly gave in, but it wasn’t until Harry played Puck, a year later, that he finally allowed the dream a reality.

Although he was still fearful of large crowds, Old Jack had decided that he would slip into the back of the school hall, where no one would see him or, even worse, recognize him.

It was while he was trimming his beard in the fifth-floor washroom of Barrington House that he noticed the screaming headline in a copy of the local rag that someone had left behind. Tilly’s tea shop burnt to the ground. Arson suspected. When he saw the photograph below it, he felt sick; Mrs Clifton was standing on the pavement surrounded by her staff, surveying the burnt-out remains of the shop. Turn to page 11 for full story. Old Jack obeyed the instruction, but there was no page 11.

He quickly left the washroom, hoping to find the missing page on Miss Potts’s desk. He wasn’t surprised to find that her desk was clear and her wastepaper basket had been emptied. He tentatively opened the door to the managing director’s office, looked inside and spotted the missing page laid out on Mr Hugo’s desk. He sat down in the high-backed leather chair and began to read.

Jack’s immediate reaction once he’d finished was to wonder if Harry would have to leave school.

The report noted that unless the insurance company paid the full amount on her premium, Mrs Clifton would be facing bankruptcy. The reporter went on to say that a spokesman for the Bristol and West of England had made it clear that the company wouldn’t be paying out a brass farthing until the police had eliminated all suspects from their enquiries. What else could possibly go wrong for the poor woman, Old Jack wondered.