Be Careful What You Wish For (The Clifton Chronicles) Read online

  The night before the curtain was due to go up, he felt he was ready. Well, half ready.

  * * *

  Giles was becoming accustomed to Sebastian bowing every morning when he entered the breakfast room.

  “And you must acknowledge me with a nod, otherwise I can’t sit down,” said Sebastian.

  “I’m beginning to enjoy this,” said Giles, as Gwyneth walked in to join them. “Good morning, my darling,” he said, as both men rose from their places.

  “There’s a smart Daimler parked outside the front door,” said Gwyneth, taking a seat opposite Giles.

  “Yes, it’s taking me to London airport to pick up Mr. Morita.”

  “Ah, of course, today’s the big day.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Sebastian. He drained his orange juice, jumped up, ran out into the corridor and took one more look in the mirror.

  “I like the shirt,” said Gwyneth, buttering a piece of toast, “but the tie’s a little … old school. I think the blue silk one you wore at our wedding would be more appropriate.”

  “You’re right,” said Sebastian, and immediately dashed upstairs and disappeared into his bedroom.

  “Good luck,” said Giles as he came bounding back down the stairs.

  “Thank you,” Sebastian shouted over his shoulder as he headed out of the house.

  Mr. Hardcastle’s chauffeur was standing by the back door of the Daimler.

  “I think I’ll join you in the front, Tom, as that’s where I’ll be sitting on the way back.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Tom, climbing in behind the wheel.

  “Tell me,” said Sebastian as the car turned right out of Smith Square and on to the Embankment, “when you were a young man—”

  “Steady on, my lad. I’m only thirty-four.”

  “Sorry. I’ll try again. When you were single, how many women did you, you know, before you were married?”

  “Fuck?” said Tom.

  Sebastian turned bright red, but managed, “Yes.”

  “Having trouble with the birds, are we?”

  “In a word, yes.”

  “Well, I’ve no intention of answering that question, m’lud, on account of the fact that it would undoubtedly incriminate me.” Sebastian laughed. “But not as many as I’d have liked, and not as many as I told my mates I had.”

  Sebastian laughed again. “And what’s married life like?”

  “Up and down like Tower Bridge. What’s brought all this on, Seb?” asked Tom as they passed Earl’s Court. “Found someone you fancy, have you?”

  “If only. No, it’s just that I’m useless when it comes to women. I seem to blow it whenever I meet a girl I like. I somehow manage to send out all the wrong signals.”

  “Which isn’t that clever when you’ve got everythin’ goin’ for you, is it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a good-lookin’ lad, in a toffee-nosed sort of way, well-educated, talk proper, come from a good family, so what more do you want?”

  “But I’m penniless.”

  “Possibly. But you’ve got potential, and girls like potential. Always think they can harness it, turn it to their advantage. So believe me, you won’t have any problems in that department. Once you get goin,’ you’ll never look back.”

  “You’re wasted, Tom, you should have been a philosopher.”

  “None of your cheek, lad. It’s not me what’s got a place booked at Cambridge. ’Cause I tell you what, given half a chance, I’d swap places with you.”

  A thought that had never crossed Sebastian’s mind.

  “Mind you, I’m not complainin’. Got a good job, Mr. Hardcastle’s a diamond, and Linda’s all right. But if I’d had your start in life, I wouldn’t be a chauffeur, that’s for sure.”

  “What would you be?”

  “I’d own a fleet of cars, by now, and you’d be callin’ me sir.”

  Sebastian suddenly felt guilty. He took so much for granted, never giving a thought to what was going on in other people’s lives, or how privileged they might think he was. He remained silent for the rest of the journey, having been made painfully aware that birth is life’s first lottery ticket.

  Tom broke the silence as he turned off the Great West Road. “Is it right we’re picking up three Nips?”

  “Behave yourself, Tom. We’re picking up three Japanese gentlemen.”

  “Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothin’ against the little yellow bastards. Stands to reason doesn’t it, they only went to war ’cause they were told to.”

  “You’re a historian as well,” said Sebastian as the car came to a halt outside the airport terminal. “Have the back door open and the engine running when you next see me, Tom, because these three gentlemen are very important to Mr. Hardcastle.”

  “I’ll be right ’ere, standin’ to attention,” said Tom. “Even practiced my bow, ’aven’t I?”

  “Very low, in your case,” said Sebastian, grinning.

  * * *

  Although the arrivals board showed that the aircraft was on time, Sebastian was an hour early. He bought a lukewarm coffee from a small, overcrowded café, picked up a copy of the Daily Mail and read about two monkeys the Americans had sent into space that had just returned safely to Earth. He went to the lavatory, twice, checked his tie in the mirror, three times—Gwyneth had been right—and walked up and down the concourse countless times rehearsing “Good morning, Mr. Morita, welcome to England,” in Japanese, followed by a low bow.

  “Japan Airlines flight number one zero two seven from Tokyo has just landed,” announced a prim voice over the loudspeaker.

  Sebastian immediately selected a place outside the arrivals gate from where he would have a good view of the passengers as they came out of customs. What he hadn’t anticipated was that there would be a large number of Japanese businessmen disembarking from flight 1027, and he had no idea what Mr. Morita or his colleagues looked like.

  Every time three passengers came through the gate together, he immediately stepped forward, bowed low and introduced himself. He managed to get it right the fourth time, but he had become so flustered that he delivered his little speech in English.

  “Good morning, Mr. Morita, welcome to England,” he said before bowing low. “I am Mr. Hardcastle’s personal assistant, and I have a car waiting to take you to the Savoy.”

  “Thank you,” said Mr. Morita, immediately revealing that his English was far superior to Sebastian’s Japanese. “It was most considerate of Mr. Hardcastle to go to so much trouble.”

  As Morita made no attempt to introduce his two colleagues, Sebastian immediately led them out of the terminal. He was relieved to find Tom standing to attention by the open back door of the car.

  “Good morning, sir,” said Tom, bowing low, but Mr. Morita and his colleagues climbed into the car without acknowledging him.

  Sebastian jumped into the front seat, and the car joined the slow-moving traffic into London. He remained silent during the journey to the Savoy, while Mr. Morita chatted quietly to his colleagues in their native tongue. Forty minutes later, the Daimler came to a halt outside the hotel. Three porters rushed to the back of the car and began unloading the luggage.

  When Mr. Morita stepped out on to the pavement, Sebastian bowed low. “I will return at eleven thirty, sir,” he said in English, “so that you will be in time for your meeting with Mr. Hardcastle at twelve o’clock.”

  Mr. Morita managed a nod as the manager of the hotel stepped forward and said, “Welcome back to the Savoy, Morita-san.” He bowed low.

  Sebastian didn’t get back into the car until Mr. Morita had disappeared through the hotel’s revolving doors. “We need to get back to the office, and as quickly as possible.”

  “But my instructions are to stay put,” said Tom, not budging, “in case Mr. Morita needs to use the car.”

  “I don’t give a damn what your instructions were,” said Sebastian. “We’re going back to the office, and right now, so step