“I am ashamed,” said Harry, his voice cracking. “I should have paraded this great lady, not hidden her. And when I went to Bristol Grammar School, she continued to work full-time as a waitress at the Royal Hotel during the day, and as a hostess at Eddie’s Club every evening. I didn’t realize it was because that was the only way she could afford the school fees. But, like St. Peter, whenever any of my school chums asked if it was true that my mother worked in a nightclub, I denied her.” Harry’s head dropped, and Emma looked on anxiously as the tears ran down his cheeks.

“What hardships did she have to endure without ever once, ever once … burdening me with her problems. And now it’s too late to let her know.” Harry’s head dropped again. “To tell her…” he said, desperately searching for his place. He gripped the side of the pulpit. “And when I went to Bristol Grammar School … I didn’t realize.” He furiously turned back a page. “I never realized…” He turned another page. “Whenever any of my school chums asked me…”

Giles rose slowly from his place in the front row, walked across to the pulpit and climbed the steps. He placed an arm around his friend’s shoulder, and guided him back to his place in the front pew.

Harry took Emma’s hand and whispered, “I let her down when she most needed me.”

Giles didn’t whisper when he replied, “No son has ever paid his mother a greater compliment, and right now she’s telling St. Peter, ‘That’s my boy Harry down there.’”

After the service, Harry and Emma stood by the door of the church, shaking hands with a long line of well-wishers. Harry had still not fully recovered, but it quickly became clear that the congregation universally agreed with Giles’s sentiments.

Family and friends returned to the Manor House and raised glasses as they swapped stories about a remarkable woman, who touched the lives of everyone with whom she came into contact. Finally, when the last guest had departed, Harry, Emma and Sebastian were left alone.

“Let’s drink to my mother’s memory,” said Harry. “I think it’s time to open the ’57 Merlot that Harold Guinzburg said should be saved for a special occasion. But before we do,” he added as he uncorked the bottle, “I have to tell you that my mother gave me a letter a few weeks ago that she said was not to be opened until after her funeral.” He removed an envelope from his inside pocket with a flourish, tore it open and pulled out several handwritten pages in Maisie’s bold, unmistakable script.

Emma sat down, feeling a little apprehensive, while Seb perched on the edge of his seat as if he were back at school before Harry began to read.

Dearest Harry,