Best Kept Secret Read online

  He drove down Grange Road, took a right and parked his car in Sidgwick Avenue. He walked under an archway declaring Newnham College, founded in 1871, before women could be awarded degrees, by a far-sighted visionary who believed that would happen in his lifetime. It didn’t.

  Giles stopped at the lodge and was about to ask directions to Miss Barrington’s party when the porter said, ‘Good evening, Sir Giles, you’ll be wanting the Sidgwick Room.’

  Recognized. No turning back.

  ‘If you walk on down the corridor, it’s at the top of the stairs, third door on the left. You can’t miss it.’

  Giles followed his directions, passing a dozen or so undergraduates dressed in long black skirts, white blouses and academic gowns. They didn’t give him a second look, but then why should they? He was thirty-three, almost twice their age.

  He climbed the stairs, and when he reached the top step he didn’t need further directions because he could hear exuberant voices and laughter long before he reached the third door on the left. He took a deep breath and tried not to make an entrance.

  Jessica was the first to spot him, and immediately ran across the room shouting, ‘Uncle Giles, Uncle Giles, where have you been?’ Where indeed, thought Giles, as he looked at the young girl he adored, not quite a swan, but no longer a cygnet. She leapt up and threw her arms around him. He looked over her shoulder to see Grace and Emma heading towards him. All three of them tried to hug him at once. Other guests looked on, wondering what all the fuss was about.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Giles, after he’d shaken hands with Harry. ‘I should never have put you through all that.’

  ‘Don’t dwell on it,’ said Harry. ‘And frankly, both of us have been through far worse.’

  Giles was surprised how quickly he relaxed with his oldest friend. They were chatting about Peter May as if it were old times, when he first saw her. After that, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  ‘The best cover drive I’ve ever seen,’ Harry said, placing his left foot firmly forward while trying to give a demonstration without a bat. He hadn’t noticed how distracted Giles had become.

  ‘Yes, I was at Headingley when he scored a century against the South Africans in his first Test.’

  ‘I saw that innings as well,’ said an elderly don who had joined them. ‘A quite magnificent knock.’

  Giles slipped away, and wove his way around the crowded room, only stopping to chat to Sebastian about how he was getting on at school. The young man seemed far more relaxed and confident than he ever remembered him being.

  Giles was beginning to fear she might leave before he got the chance to meet her, and when Sebastian became distracted by a sausage roll, he moved on until he found himself standing by her side. She was chatting to an older woman and didn’t seem to be aware of him. He stood there, tongue-tied, wondering why Englishmen found it so difficult to introduce themselves to women, particularly beautiful women. How right Betjeman was, and this wasn’t even a desert island.

  ‘I don’t think Schwarzkopf’s got the range for the part,’ the other woman was saying.

  ‘You may be right, but I’d still give up half my annual grant just to hear her sing.’

  The older woman glanced at Giles and turned to speak to someone else, almost as if she knew. Giles introduced himself, hoping no one else would join them. They shook hands. Just touching her . . .

  ‘Hello. I’m Giles Barrington.’

  ‘You must be Grace’s brother, the MP I keep reading about who has all those radical views. I’m Gwyneth,’ she said, revealing her ancestry.

  ‘Are you an undergraduate?’

  ‘You flatter me,’ she said, giving him a smile. ‘No, I’m just completing my PhD. Your sister is my supervisor.’

  ‘What’s your thesis on?’

  ‘The links between mathematics and philosophy in Ancient Greece.’

  ‘I can’t wait to read it.’

  ‘I’ll see that you get an early copy.’

  ‘Who’s the girl Giles is chatting to?’ Emma asked her sister.

  Grace turned and looked across the room. ‘Gwyneth Hughes, one of my brighter PhD students. He’ll certainly find her something of a contrast to Lady Virginia. She’s the daughter of a Welsh miner, up from the valleys, as she likes to remind everyone, and she certainly knows the meaning of compos mentis.’

  ‘She’s very attractive,’ Emma said. ‘You don’t think—’

  ‘Good heavens, no, what would they have in common?’

  Emma smiled to herself, before saying, ‘Have you handed over your eleven per cent of the company to Giles?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grace, ‘along with my rights to Grandfather’s home in Smith Square, as I agreed with Mama, once I was convinced the silly boy was finally free of Virginia.’

  Emma didn’t speak for some time. ‘So you always knew the contents of Mama’s new will?’

  ‘And what was in the envelope,’ said Grace casually, ‘which was why I couldn’t attend the trial.’

  ‘How well Mother knew you.’

  ‘How well she knew all three of us,’ said Grace as she looked across the room at her brother.

  16

  ‘CAN YOU SET the whole thing up?’ asked Giles.

  ‘Yes, sir, just leave it to me.’

  ‘I’d like to get it over with as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Such a sordid business. I only wish there was a more civilized way of doing these things.’

  ‘It’s the law that needs changing, Sir Giles, and frankly that’s more your department than mine.’

  Giles knew the man was right, and undoubtedly the law would change in time, but Virginia had made it clear she couldn’t wait. After months of not making any contact with him, she’d rung him out of the blue to tell him why she wanted a divorce. She didn’t need to spell out what was expected of him.

  ‘Thank you, Bunny, I knew you could be relied on,’ she’d said before putting the phone down.

  ‘When will I hear from you?’ Giles asked.

  ‘By the end of the week,’ the man replied, before downing his half pint. He rose, gave a slight bow and limped away.

  Giles was wearing a large red carnation in his buttonhole so she couldn’t miss him. He glanced at every female under the age of thirty who walked in his direction. None of them even gave him a glance, until a prim young woman came to a halt by his side.

  ‘Mr Brown?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Giles replied.

  ‘My name is Miss Holt. I’m from the agency.’

  Without another word, she linked her arm in his and led him along the platform like a guide dog until they reached a first-class carriage. Once they had taken their seats opposite each other, Giles wasn’t altogether sure what he was meant to do next. As it was a Friday evening, every other seat was taken long before the train pulled out of the station. Miss Holt didn’t say a word on the entire journey.

  When the train pulled into Brighton, she was among the first to get off. Giles handed two tickets to the collector at the barrier and followed her towards the taxi rank. It was clear to Giles that Miss Holt had done this several times before. It was only when they were seated in the back of the taxi that she spoke again, and not to him.

  ‘Grand Hotel.’

  On their arrival at the hotel, Giles checked in, registering as Mr and Mrs Brown.

  ‘Room thirty-one, sir,’ said the receptionist. He looked as if he was about to wink, but only smiled and said, ‘Have a good night, sir.’

  A porter carried their cases up to the third floor. It wasn’t until after he’d collected his tip and left that she spoke again.

  ‘My name is Angela Holt,’ she said, sitting upright on the end of the bed.

  Giles remained standing, and looked at a woman he couldn’t have been less likely to spend a dirty weekend in Brighton with. ‘Can you guide me through the procedure?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly, Sir Giles,’ said Miss Holt,