“The only eventuality you should have prepared for,” snorted Admiral Summers, “was handing in your resignation before this meeting took place.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little rough?” chipped in Andy Dobbs. “After all, Jim was placed in an unenviable position.”

“Loyalty is never unenviable,” said the admiral, “unless of course you’re a cad.”

Sebastian suppressed a smile. He couldn’t believe anyone still used the word “cad” in the second half of the twentieth century. He personally felt “fucking hypocrite” would have been more appropriate, although, in truth, it wouldn’t have been any more effective.

“Perhaps the company secretary should read out Mr. Knowles’s statement,” said Emma. “The one that would have been released to the press, had I lost the case.”

Mr. Webster extracted a single sheet of paper from his file, but before he had the chance to utter a word, Knowles rose from his place, gathered up his papers and said, “That won’t be necessary, chairman, because I tender my resignation.”

Without another word, he turned to leave, but not before Admiral Summers muttered, “Not a moment too soon.” He then fixed his gimlet eye on the two other directors who had backed Knowles.

After a moment’s hesitation, Clive Anscott and Andy Dobbs also stood up, and quietly left the room.

Emma waited for the door to close before she spoke again. “From time to time, I may have appeared impatient with the company secretary’s fastidious recording of the board’s minutes. I now concede that Mr. Webster has proved me wrong, and I apologize unreservedly.”

“Do you wish me to record your sentiments in the minutes, madam chairman?” asked Webster, without a hint of irony.

This time Sebastian did allow himself a smile.

4

ONCE HARRY HAD edited the fourth draft of Anatoly Babakov’s remarkable memoirs of Stalin’s Russia, all he wanted to do was take the first available flight to New York and hand the manuscript of Uncle Joe to his publisher, Harold Guinzburg. But there was something even more important that prevented him from leaving. An event he had no intention of missing, under any circumstances. His mother’s seventieth birthday party.

Maisie had lived in a cottage on the Manor House estate since her second husband’s death three years before. She remained actively involved with several local charities, and although she rarely missed her daily three-mile constitutional, it was now taking her over an hour. Harry would never forget the personal sacrifices his mother had made to ensure he won a choral scholarship to St. Bede’s, and with it the chance to compete with anyone, whatever their background, including his oldest friend, Giles Barrington.

Harry and Giles had first met at St. Bede’s over forty years ago, and seemed an unlikely pair to end up as best friends. One born in the back streets of the docks, the other in a private ward of the Bristol Royal Infirmary. One a scholar, the other a sportsman. One shy, the other extrovert. And certainly no one would have predicted that Harry would fall in love with Giles’s sister, except Emma herself, who claimed she had planned the whole thing after they’d first met at Giles’s twelfth birthday party.