The Sins of the Father (The Clifton Chronicles, #2)(85)

‘Harry Clifton’s a damn lucky man to have you in his corner,’ said Alistair wistfully.

‘If you ever meet either of them, Alistair, you’ll realize that I’m the lucky one.’





40

EMMA WOKE EARLY the following morning and chatted happily to Phyllis over breakfast about how much she was looking forward to being reunited with Sebastian and her family. Phyllis nodded, but said very little.

Parker collected Emma’s bags from her room, took them down in the lift and left them in the hall. She’d acquired another two since arriving in New York. Does anyone ever go home with less than they started out with? she wondered.

‘I’ll not come downstairs,’ said Phyllis after several attempts to say goodbye. ‘I’ll only make a fool of myself. It’s better that you simply remember an old battleaxe who didn’t like to be disturbed during her bridge parties. When you visit us next time, my dear, bring Harry and Sebastian with you. I want to meet the man who captured your heart.’

A taxi blasted its horn in the street below.

‘Time to go,’ said Phyllis. ‘Go quickly.’

Emma gave her one last hug and then she didn’t look back.

When she stepped out of the lift Parker was standing by the front door waiting for her, the bags already stowed away in the boot of the taxi. The moment he saw her, he walked out on to the pavement and opened the back door of the cab.

‘Goodbye, Parker,’ said Emma, ‘and thank you for everything.’

‘My pleasure, ma’am,’ he replied. Just as she was about to step into the taxi, he added, ‘If it’s not inappropriate, ma’am, I wondered if I might be allowed to make an observation?’

Emma stepped back, trying to mask her surprise. ‘Of course, please do.’

‘I so enjoyed Mr Clifton’s diary,’ he said, ‘that I hope it will not be too long before you return to New York accompanied by your husband.’



It wasn’t long before the train was speeding through the countryside and New York was no more, as they headed towards the capital. Emma found she couldn’t read or sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. Great-aunt Phyllis, Mr Guinzburg, Cousin Alistair, Mr Jelks, Detective Kolowski and Parker all made their exits and entrances.

She thought about what needed to be done once she arrived in Washington. First, she had to go to the British Embassy and sign some forms so she could join the ambassador on his flight to London, as arranged by Rupert Harvey, a second cousin twice removed. ‘Don’t mock, child,’ she could hear her great-aunt remonstrating, and then she fell asleep. Harry entered her dreams, this time in uniform, smiling, laughing, and then she woke with a jolt, quite expecting him to be in the carriage with her.

When the train pulled into Union Station five hours later, Emma had trouble lugging her suitcases on to the platform, until a porter, an ex-serviceman with one arm, came to her rescue. He found a taxi for her, thanked her for the tip and gave her a salute with the wrong arm. Someone else whose destiny had been decided by a war he didn’t declare.

‘The British Embassy,’ Emma said as she climbed into the cab.

She was dropped on Massachusetts Avenue, outside a pair of ornate iron gates displaying the Royal Standard. Two young soldiers ran across to help Emma with her bags.

‘Who are you visiting, ma’am?’ An English accent, an American word.

‘Mr Rupert Harvey,’ she said.

‘Commander Harvey. Certainly,’ said the corporal, who picked up her bags and guided Emma to an office at the rear of the building.

Emma entered a large room in which the staff, most dressed in uniform, scurried about in every direction. No one walked. A figure appeared out of the melee and greeted her with a huge smile.

‘I’m Rupert Harvey,’ he said. ‘Sorry about the organized chaos, but it’s always like this when the ambassador is returning to England. It’s even worse this time, because we’ve had a visiting cabinet minister with us for the past week. All your paperwork has been prepared,’ he added, returning to his desk. ‘I just need to see your passport.’

Once he’d flicked through the pages, he asked her to sign here, here and here. ‘A bus will be leaving from the front of the embassy for the airport at six this evening. Please make sure you’re on time as everyone’s expected to be on board the plane before the ambassador arrives.’

‘I’ll be on time,’ said Emma. ‘Would it be possible to leave my bags here while I go sightseeing?’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ said Rupert. ‘I’ll have someone put them on the bus for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Emma.

She was about to leave when he added, ‘By the way, I loved the book. And just to warn you, the minister is hoping to have a private word with you when we’re on the plane. I think he was a publisher before he went into politics.’

‘What’s his name?’ Emma asked.

‘Harold Macmillan.’

Emma recalled some of Mr Guinzburg’s sage advice. ‘Everyone is going to want this book,’ he’d told her. ‘There isn’t a publisher who won’t open their doors for you, so don’t be easily flattered. Try and see Billy Collins and Allen Lane of Penguin.’ He’d made no mention of a Harold Macmillan.