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  ‘What did Miss Parish mean, she was born in the wrong century?’ asked Sebastian as Giles drove them back to the Manor House.

  ‘Simply that women of her generation weren’t given the opportunity to pursue a proper career,’ said Giles. ‘She would have made a great teacher, and hundreds of children would have benefited from her wisdom and common sense. The truth is, we lost two generations of men in world wars, and two generations of women who weren’t given the chance to take their places.’

  ‘Fine words, Uncle Giles, but what are you going to do about it?’

  Giles laughed. ‘I could have done a damned sight more if we’d won the election, because tomorrow I would probably have been in the Cabinet. Now I’ll have to be satisfied with another stint on the Opposition front bench.’

  ‘Is my mother going to suffer from the same problem?’ asked Sebastian. ‘Because she’d make a damned good MP.’

  ‘No, although I can’t see her wanting to enter the House. I’m afraid she doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and that’s part of the job description. But I have a feeling she’ll end up surprising us all.’

  Giles brought the car to a halt outside the Manor House, switched off the engine and placed a finger to his lips. ‘Shh. I promised your mother I wouldn’t wake Jessica.’

  The two of them tiptoed across the gravel and Giles opened the front door tentatively, hoping it wouldn’t creak. They were about halfway across the hall when Giles saw her, curled up in a chair by the last embers of a dying fire, fast asleep. He lifted her gently and carried her up the stairs in his arms. Sebastian ran ahead, opened her bedroom door and pulled back the blanket as Giles lowered her on to the bed. He was about to close the door behind him when he heard a voice say, ‘Did we win, Uncle Giles?’

  ‘Yes we did, Jessica,’ Giles whispered. ‘By four votes.’

  ‘One of them was mine,’ said Jessica after a lengthy yawn, ‘because I got Albert to vote for you.’

  ‘Then that’s worth two votes,’ said Sebastian. But before he could explain why, Jessica had fallen asleep again.

  By the time Giles put in an appearance at breakfast the following morning, it might have been better described as brunch.

  ‘Good morning, good morning, good morning,’ Giles said as he walked around the table. He took a plate from the sideboard, lifted the lids of three silver salvers and selected large portions of scrambled eggs, bacon and baked beans, as if he was still a schoolboy. He sat down between Sebastian and Jessica.

  ‘Mummy says you ought to have a glass of fresh orange juice and some cornflakes with milk before you visit the hotplate,’ said Jessica.

  ‘And she’s right,’ said Giles, ‘but it’s not going to stop me sitting next to my favourite girlfriend.’

  ‘I’m not your favourite girlfriend,’ said Jessica, which silenced him more effectively than any Tory minister had ever managed. ‘Mummy told me that Gwyneth is your favourite girlfriend. Politicians!’ she added, mimicking Emma, who burst out laughing.

  Giles tried to move on to safer ground, turning to Sebastian and asking, ‘Will you be playing for the first eleven this year?’

  ‘Not if we want to win any matches,’ he replied. ‘No, I’ll have to spend most of my time making sure I pass eight O levels if I’m to have any chance of joining the remove next year.’

  ‘That would please your aunt Grace.’

  ‘Not to mention his mother,’ said Emma, not looking up from her paper.

  ‘What will be your chosen subject if you make it to the remove?’ asked Giles, still trying to dig himself out of a hole.

  ‘Modern languages, with maths as my back-up.’

  ‘Well, if you do win a scholarship to Cambridge, you’ll have outdone both your father and I.’

  ‘Your father and me,’ corrected Emma.

  ‘But not my mama or Aunt Grace,’ Sebastian reminded him.

  ‘True,’ admitted Giles, who decided to keep quiet and concentrate on his morning post, which Marsden had brought across from Barrington Hall. He slit open a long white envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper that he’d been expecting for the past six months. He read the document a second time, before leaping joyfully in the air. Everyone stopped eating and stared at him, until Harry eventually asked, ‘Has the Queen asked you to form a government?’

  ‘No, it’s far better news than that,’ said Giles. ‘Virginia has finally signed her divorce papers. I’m a free man at last!’

  ‘It would appear that she’s signed them in the nick of time,’ said Emma, looking up from the Daily Express.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Giles.

  ‘There’s a photograph of her in the William Hickey column this morning, and she looks to me about seven months pregnant.’

  ‘Does it say who the father is?’

  ‘No, but the Duke of Arezzo is the man with his arm around her in the photo.’ Emma passed the paper to her brother. ‘And apparently he wants everyone to know that he’s the happiest man in the world.’

  ‘The second happiest,’ said Giles.

  ‘Does that mean I’ll never have to speak to Lady Virginia again?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘Yes it does,’ said Giles.

  ‘Yippee,’ said Jessica.

  Giles slit open another envelope and extracted a cheque. As he studied it he raised his coffee cup to his grandfather, Sir Walter Barrington, coupled with the name of Ross Buchanan.

  Emma nodded as he held it up to show her, and mouthed the words, ‘I got one too.’

  A few moments later, the door opened and Denby entered the room.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Sir Giles, but Dr Hughes is on the line.’

  ‘I was just about to call her,’ said Giles, picking up his morning post and heading for the door.

  ‘Why don’t you take it in my study,’ said Harry, ‘then you won’t be disturbed.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Giles, almost running out of the room.

  ‘And we’d better be on our way, Seb,’ said Harry, ‘if you still hope to be back in time for prep tonight.’

  Sebastian allowed his mother to give him a perfunctory kiss before going upstairs to collect his suitcase. When he came back down a few moments later, Denby was holding the front door open for him.

  ‘Goodbye, Master Sebastian,’ he said. ‘We’ll look forward to seeing you again in the summer holidays.’

  ‘Thank you, Denby,’ Sebastian said as he ran out on to the drive, where he found Jessica standing by the passenger door of the car. He gave her a big hug before climbing into the front seat next to his father.

  ‘Make sure you pass all eight O levels,’ Jessica said, ‘so I can tell my friends how clever my big brother is.’

  27

  THE HEADMASTER WOULD have been the first to admit that the boy who had taken a couple of days off to assist his uncle at the general election was not the same young man who returned to Beechcroft Abbey a few days later.

  Sebastian’s housemaster, Mr Richards, described it as his ‘St Paul on the road to Bristol’ epiphany, because when Clifton came back to begin swotting for his end-of-term exams, he was no longer satisfied with simply coasting and relying on the natural gift for languages and maths that had always got him over the finishing line in the past. For the first time in his life he began to work just as hard as his less gifted chums, Bruno Martinez and Vic Kaufman.

  When the results of their O levels were posted on the school notice board, no one was surprised that all three of them would be starting the new academic year in the sixth form, although several people, not including his aunt Grace, were amazed when Sebastian was invited to join the select group who were chosen to sit for a prize scholarship to Cambridge.

  Sebastian’s housemaster agreed that Clifton, Kaufman and Martinez could share a study during their final year, and although Sebastian seemed to be working just as hard as his two friends, Mr Richards told the headmaster it still worried him that the boy might at some time revert to his old ways. Those misgivin