Chapters (71)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Family Tree
- Prologue
- Harry and Emma Clifton: 1970–1971
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Giles Barrington: 1971
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Lady Virginia Fenwick: 1971
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Sebastian Clifton: 1971
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Lady Virginia Fenwick: 1972
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Maisie Clifton: 1972
- Chapter 25
- Emma Clifton: 1972–1975
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Sebastian Clifton: 1975
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Hakim Bishara: 1975
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Giles Barrington: 1976–1977
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Harry and Emma Clifton: 1978
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Epilogue: 1978
- About the Author
- Also by Jeffrey Archer
- Newsletter Sign-up
He left Miss Tomkins to have another look at Jessica’s paintings. He took his time studying the half dozen works he now owned and, with the satisfaction of a seasoned collector, he ended up in front of My Father, which he had already decided would hang over the mantelpiece in his flat. He was just about to leave when a voice behind him said, “Are you looking in a mirror?”
Sebastian swung around to see his daughter, who immediately threw her arms around him and said, “What took you so long?”
It was rare for Sebastian to be struck speechless, but he just didn’t know what to say, so he clung onto her before she took a step back and grinned up at him. “Well, say something!”
“I’m so sorry,” he eventually managed. “You’re right. I did see you once, years ago, but I didn’t have the courage to say hello. I’ve been such a fool.”
“Well, we can at least agree on that,” said Jessica. “But then, to be fair, Mom hasn’t exactly covered herself in glory either.” Jessica took his hand and led him out of the room, continuing to chat as if they were old friends. “Actually, she’s just as much to blame as you are. I told her to get in touch with you after my stepfather died.”
“You never thought he was your father?”
“I may not be that good at math, but even I can work out that if I was six and they’d met only five years before…”
Seb laughed.
“Just after Michael died, Mom confirmed what I already knew, but I still couldn’t persuade her to get in touch with you.”
They walked around the park, arm in arm, dropped into a Farrell’s ice-cream parlor and shared a hot fudge sundae, while she chatted about her friends, her painting, her plans for the future. As he listened he wondered hopelessly how he could make up for all the lost years in a couple of hours.
“It’s getting late,” he said eventually, looking at his watch. “Won’t your mother be wondering where you are?”
“Sebastian,” she said, placing her hands on her hips, “I’m ten years old.”
“Well, if you’re so grown-up, what do you think I should do next?”
“I’ve taken care of that. You’re taking Mom and me to dinner at the Belvedere tonight. I’ve already made a reservation for three at seven thirty. Then all we’ll need to decide is if we’re going to live in London or Washington.”
“But what if I hadn’t come back to the school this afternoon?”
“I knew you’d come back.”
“But I didn’t know myself.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“You seem to have everything worked out,” said Seb.
“Of course I have. I’ve had a long time to think about it, haven’t I?”