This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)

The three visitors took their seats around a small square table in the center of the room, leaving a vacant chair for Mellor. Arnold opened his briefcase and extracted a file. He took out a share-transfer certificate and a three-page agreement, the wording of which he checked once again before placing it on the table. If all went to plan, by the time they left the prison in an hour’s time, there would be two signatures on the bottom line.

Seb couldn’t stop staring at the clock on the wall, aware that they would only be allowed an hour to close the deal and sign all the necessary legal documents. The moment the minute hand reached twelve, a man in a green bow tie, striped shirt, and tweed jacket walked into the room. Arnold immediately stood and said, “Good morning, governor.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hardcastle. I’m sorry to have to inform you that this meeting is no longer able to take place.”

“Why?” demanded Seb, leaping to his feet.

“When the wing officer unlocked Mellor’s cell at six o’clock this morning, he found his bed upended, and he’d hanged himself using a sheet as a noose.”

Seb collapsed back into his chair.

The governor paused to allow them all to take in the news, before adding matter-of-factly, “Sadly, suicides are all too common at Belmarsh.”

* * *

When Virginia read the paragraph reporting Mellor’s suicide on page 11 of The Evening Standard, her first thought was that another source of income had dried up. But then she had a second thought.

17

“IT’S SO RARE nowadays to have the family all together for the weekend,” said Emma, as they strolled into the drawing room after dinner.

“And we all know who’s to blame for that,” said Sebastian. “I only hope you’re still enjoying the job.”

“Enjoying would be the wrong word. But not a day goes by when I don’t think how lucky I am, and how a chance meeting with Margaret Thatcher changed my whole life.”

“What’s it like working for the PM?” asked Samantha, pouring herself a coffee.

“To be honest, I don’t get to see her that often, but whenever I do, she seems to know exactly what I’ve been up to.”

“And what have you been up to?” asked Seb as he joined his wife on the sofa.

“The new National Health Bill is about to leave the Commons and come to the Lords. It will be my job to steer it through the House clause by clause, before sending it back to the Commons, with I hope not too many opposition amendments attached.”

“That won’t be easy with Giles trying to trip you

up at every turn,” said Grace, “though I expect you’ll catch him out on the detail.”

“Maybe, but he’s still one of the finest debaters in either House, even though he’s been relegated to the backbenches.”

“Has he given up any hope of rejoining the shadow cabinet?” asked Samantha.

“I think the answer to that has to be yes, because Michael Foot can’t have been pleased with his outspoken remarks following the donkey jacket incident.”

“Turning up at the Cenotaph on Remembrance Sunday wearing a donkey jacket revealed a certain lack of political nous,” suggested Seb.

“Just a pity Giles couldn’t keep his mouth shut on the subject,” said Grace, as Emma handed her a coffee.

“The front bench’s loss is our gain,” said Seb. “Since Giles has rejoined the board of Farthings, he’s opened doors we didn’t have a key to.”

“Joining the board of a City bank is something else that won’t have endeared him to Michael Foot,” said Emma. “So I don’t suppose we’ll see him on the front bench again until the Labour Party has a new leader.”

“And possibly not even then,” suggested Seb. “I’m afraid the next generation may well consider Giles a bit of a dinosaur, and, to quote Trotsky, consign him to the dustbin of history.”

“You couldn’t get a dinosaur into a dustbin,” said Harry from a corner chair no one else would have dreamed of sitting in. The rest of the family burst out laughing.

“Enough of politics,” said Emma, turning to Samantha. “I want to know what Jessica’s been up to, and why she hasn’t joined us for the weekend.”

“I think she’s got a boyfriend,” said Sam.