Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles, #1)(93)
‘What’s the name of Giles’s best friend?’ I asked.
‘Harry Clifton,’ she replied.
The next time I saw Harry Clifton was at the Advent carol service at St Mary Redcliffe. He sang O Little Town of Bethlehem, and my best friend, Jessica Braithwaite, accused me of swooning as if he was the new Bing Crosby. I didn’t bother to deny it. I saw him chatting to Giles after the service and I would have liked to congratulate him, but Papa seemed to be in a hurry to get home. As we left, I saw his nanny giving him a huge hug.
I was also at St Mary Redcliffe the evening his voice broke, but at the time I didn’t understand why so many heads were turning and some members of the congregation began to whisper among themselves. All I know is that I never heard him sing again.
When Giles was driven to the grammar school on his first day, I begged my mother to let me go along, but only because I wanted to meet Harry. But my father wouldn’t hear of it, and despite my bursting into controlled tears, they still left me standing on the top step with my younger sister Grace. I knew Papa was cross about Giles not being offered a place at Eton, something I still don’t understand, because a lot of boys more stupid than my brother passed the exam. Mama didn’t seem to mind which school Giles went to, whereas I was delighted he was going to Bristol Grammar, because it meant I’d have a better chance of seeing Harry again.
In fact I must have seen him at least a dozen times during the next three years, but he was never able to recall any of those occasions, until we met up in Rome.
The family were all staying at our villa in Tuscany that summer when Giles took me to one side and said he needed to ask my advice. He only ever did that when he wanted something. But this time it turned out to be something I wanted just as much as he did.
‘So what are you expecting me to do this time?’ I asked.
‘I need an excuse to go into Rome tomorrow,’ he said, ‘because I’m meant to be meeting up with Harry.’
‘Harry who?’ I said, feigning indifference.
‘Harry Clifton, stupid. He’s on a school trip to Rome and I promised to get away and spend the day with him.’ He didn’t need to spell out that Papa wouldn’t have approved. ‘All you have to do,’ he continued, ‘is ask Mama if she could take you to Rome for the day.’
‘But she’ll need to know why I want to go into Rome.’
‘Tell her you’ve always wanted to visit the Villa Borghese.’
‘Why the Villa Borghese?’
‘Because that’s where Harry will be at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘But what happens if Mama agrees to take me? Then you’ll be stymied.’
‘She won’t. They’re having lunch with the Hendersons in Arezzo tomorrow, so I’ll volunteer to be your chaperone.’
‘And what do I get in exchange?’ I demanded, as I didn’t want Giles to know how keen I was to see Harry.
‘My gramophone,’ he said.
‘For keeps, or just to borrow?’
Giles didn’t speak for some time. ‘For ever,’ he said reluctantly.
‘Hand it over now,’ I said, ‘or you can forget it.’ To my surprise he did.
I was even more amazed when, the next day, my mother fell for his little ploy. Giles didn’t even have to offer to act as my chaperone; Papa insisted that he accompany me. My deceitful brother made a show of protesting, but finally gave in.
I rose early the following morning and spent some considerable time thinking about what I should wear. It would have to be fairly conservative if my mother wasn’t to become suspicious, but on the other hand I wanted to make sure Harry noticed me.
While we were on the train to Rome, I disappeared into the lavatory and put on a pair of mother’s silk stockings and just a touch of lipstick, not enough for Giles to notice.
Once we’d checked into our hotel, Giles wanted to leave immediately for the Villa Borghese. So did I.
As we walked through the gardens and up towards the villa, a soldier turned to look at me. It was the first time that had happened, and I could feel my cheeks reddening.
No sooner had we entered the gallery than Giles went off in search of Harry. I hung back, pretending to take a great deal of interest in the paintings and statues. I needed to make an entrance.
When I eventually caught up with them, I found Harry chatting to my brother, although Giles wasn’t even pretending to listen to him as he was clearly besotted by the tour guide. If he’d asked me, I could have told him he didn’t have a chance. But older brothers rarely listen to their sisters when it comes to women; I would have advised him to comment on her shoes, which made me quite envious. Men think the Italians are only famous for designing cars. One exception to this rule is Captain Tarrant, who knows exactly how to treat a lady. My brother could learn a lot from him. Giles simply regarded me as his gauche little sister, not that he would have known what the word gauche meant.
I picked my moment, then strolled across and waited for Giles to introduce us. Imagine my surprise when Harry invited me to join him for dinner that night. My only thought was that I hadn’t packed a suitable evening dress. Over dinner, I discovered that my brother had paid Harry a thousand lira to take me off his hands, but he had refused until Giles also agreed to part with his Caruso recording. I told Harry he’d got the records and I’d got the gramophone. He didn’t catch on.