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Chapters (64)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. Family Tree
  6. Epigraph
  7. Prologue
  8. I. Harry and Emma 1964–1965
  9. Chapter 1
  10. Chapter 2
  11. Chapter 3
  12. Chapter 4
  13. Chapter 5
  14. Chapter 6
  15. Chapter 7
  16. Chapter 8
  17. Chapter 9
  18. Chapter 10
  19. Chapter 11
  20. Chapter 12
  21. Chapter 13
  22. Chapter 14
  23. II. Lady Virginia Fenwick 1966
  24. Chapter 15
  25. Chapter 16
  26. III. Giles Barrington 1970
  27. Chapter 17
  28. Chapter 18
  29. Chapter 19
  30. Chapter 20
  31. Chapter 21
  32. Chapter 22
  33. Chapter 23
  34. IV. Sebastian Clifton 1970
  35. Chapter 24
  36. Chapter 25
  37. Chapter 26
  38. Chapter 27
  39. V. Lady Virginia Fenwick 1970
  40. Chapter 28
  41. Chapter 29
  42. Chapter 30
  43. Chapter 31
  44. Chapter 32
  45. VI. Sebastian Clifton 1970
  46. Chapter 33
  47. Chapter 34
  48. Chapter 35
  49. Chapter 36
  50. VII. Harry and Emma 1970
  51. Chapter 37
  52. Chapter 38
  53. Chapter 39
  54. Chapter 40
  55. Chapter 41
  56. Chapter 42
  57. Chapter 43
  58. Chapter 44
  59. Chapter 45
  60. Chapter 46
  61. Chapter 47
  62. About the Author
  63. Also by Jeffrey Archer
  64. Newsletter Sign-up

“Not a pleasant experience to have to go through, especially when there’s so much at stake. Talk in chambers is that it’s too close to call, but the odds are shortening on your mother, as nobody thinks Lady Virginia will endear herself to the jury. She’ll either patronize them, or insult them.”

“I was rather hoping both.”

“Now, why are you calling, Sebastian, because I usually charge by the hour, not that I’ve started the clock yet.”

Seb would have laughed, but he suspected Arnold wasn’t joking. “Word in the City is that you’ve sold your shares in Farthings Bank.”

“Mother’s shares, to be accurate, and only after I was made an offer that it would have been extremely foolish to turn down. Even then I only agreed when I was assured that Adrian Sloane would be removed as chairman, and Ross Buchanan would take his place.”

“But that’s not going to happen,” said Seb. “Sloane’s representative lied to you, and I can prove it if you felt able to answer a couple of questions.”

“Only if they don’t involve a client I represent.”

“Understood,” said Seb, “but I hoped you’d be able to tell me who bought your mother’s shares and how much he paid for them.”

“I can’t answer that, as it would break client confidentiality.” Seb was about to curse when Arnold added, “However, were you to suggest the name of Sloane’s representative, and were I to remain silent, you could draw your own conclusions. But, Sebastian, let me make it clear, one name and one name only. This is not a raffle.”

“Desmond Mellor.” Seb held his breath for several seconds, but there was no response. “And is there any chance you’ll let me know how much he paid for the shares?”

“Under no circumstances,” said Arnold firmly. “And now I must dash, Seb. I’m off to see my mother in Yorkshire, and if I don’t leave immediately I’ll miss the 3:09 to Huddersfield. Do give your mother my kindest regards and wish her luck for the trial.”

“And please pass on my best wishes to Mrs. Hardcastle,” said Seb, but the line had already gone dead.

He checked his watch. It was just after ten, which didn’t make any sense. Seb picked up the phone again and dialed Hakim Bishara’s private line.

“Good morning, Sebastian. Did you have any luck getting your distinguished QC to answer my two questions?”

“Yes, and I think so.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

“He confirmed that it was Desmond Mellor who bought the stock, and I think the price he paid was three pounds and nine shillings per share.”

“Why can’t you be sure? He either told you the price, or he didn’t.”