Chapters (64)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Family Tree
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- I. Harry and Emma 1964–1965
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- II. Lady Virginia Fenwick 1966
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- III. Giles Barrington 1970
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- IV. Sebastian Clifton 1970
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- V. Lady Virginia Fenwick 1970
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- VI. Sebastian Clifton 1970
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- VII. Harry and Emma 1970
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- About the Author
- Also by Jeffrey Archer
- Newsletter Sign-up
“And say what?” asked Seb. “If he asks me how the meeting went, I’ll have to tell him the truth otherwise he’ll never trust me again.” He brought the car to a halt outside the Manor House. “What time did you say he was likely to call?”
“His flight’s at four, so I suppose it will be some time around three.”
Seb looked at his watch. “Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something by then.”
* * *
Harry didn’t need to check in his luggage because he’d only brought an overnight bag. He knew exactly what he needed to do from the moment he landed and he would have more than enough time to fine-tune his plan on the long flight across the continent. If the impossible had happened and Emma had lost the vote, then it wouldn’t matter anyway, because he’d be taking the next train back to Bristol.
“This is the first call for all passengers on BOAC flight 726 to Leningrad. Would you please make your way to gate number three where the flight is now boarding.”
Harry strode across to the nearest phone booth, clutching a handful of coins. He dialed his home number and fed in enough money to allow him three minutes.
“Bristol 4313,” said a voice he recognized immediately.
“Seb, hi. What are you doing at home?”
“Helping Mum celebrate. I’ll go and get her so she can tell you the good news herself.”
“This is the second call for passengers traveling to Leningrad on BOAC flight number…”
“Hello, darling,” said Emma. “I’m so glad you called, because—” The line went dead.
“Emma, are you there?” There was no reply. “Emma?” he tried again, but there was still no response and he didn’t have enough coins left over to call a second time.
“This is the third and final call for passengers on BOAC flight 726 to Leningrad.”
Harry replaced the receiver, trying to recall Seb’s exact words—“Helping Mum celebrate. I’ll go and get her so she can tell you the good news herself.” When Emma had come on the line, she had sounded unusually cheerful. She must have won the vote, Harry concluded. Despite this, he hesitated for a moment.
“Would Mr. Harry Clifton please make his way to gate number three, as the gate is about to close.”
* * *
“What are we celebrating?” asked Emma.
“I don’t know,” said Seb, “but I’ll think of something by the time Dad gets back from Russia. But for now we have to concentrate on more immediate problems.”
“There’s not much we can do until the trial is over.”
“Mother, you must stop acting like a Girl Guide, and begin to think like Mellor and Knowles.”
“And what are they thinking at this moment?”