This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)

The publication of Heads You Win came and went, making no impact on the Cliftons’ daily lives. Harry did not travel to America for his planned eleven-city tour, nor did he visit India to address the Bombay Literary Festival.

During this period, he only went up to London once, not to visit his publisher, or to speak at the Foyle’s Literary lunch, but to tell Roger Kirby that he wouldn’t be going ahead with his prostate cancer operation, as he wasn’t willing to be out of commission for any length of time.

The surgeon was sympathetic, but warned, “If the cancer escapes from your prostate and spreads to your bowel or liver, your life will be in danger. Tell me, Harry, have you had any sharp pain in your back recently?”

“No,” Harry lied. “Let’s discuss it again, when…”

Harry had one more task to carry out before he could return to the Manor House. He had promised Emma he would pick up a copy of her favorite novel from Hatchards, so he could read a chapter to her every evening. When he got out of the taxi in Piccadilly, he didn’t notice the window in which only one book was displayed, with a banner that proclaimed:

THE PUBLISHING SENSATION OF THE YEAR

He walked into the bookshop and once he’d found a hardback copy of The Mill on the Floss, he handed over a ten-pound note to the young woman behind the counter. She placed the book in a bag, and as he turned to leave she took a closer look at the customer, wondering for a moment if it was possible.

She crossed to the central display table, picked up a copy of Heads You Win, and turned to the author’s photograph on the back flap, before peering through the window at the man who was climbing into a taxi. She had thought for a moment it might be Harry Clifton, but looking at the photograph more closely, she realized the unshaven man with disheveled gray hair she had just served was far too old. After all, the photograph had been taken less than a year ago.

She returned the book to the top of the table of bestsellers, where it had been for the past eleven weeks.

* * *

When Emma was finally confined to her bed, Dr. Richards warned Harry that it could now only be a matter of weeks.

Although Harry rarely left her alone for more than a few minutes, he found it hard to bear the pain she had to endure. His wife was now barely able to swallow anything but liquids, and even the power of speech

had deserted her, so she had begun to communicate by blinking. Once for yes, twice for no. Three times please, four times thank you. Harry pointed out to her that three and four were somewhat redundant, but he could hear her saying good manners are never redundant.

Whenever darkness crept into the room, Harry would switch on the bedside light and read her another chapter, hoping she would quickly fall asleep.

* * *

After one of his morning visits, Dr. Richards took Harry to one side.

“It won’t be long now.”

For some time, Harry’s only concern had been how much longer Emma would have to suffer. He replied, “Let’s hope you’re right.”

That evening, he sat on the edge of the bed and continued reading. “This is a puzzling world, and Old Harry’s got a finger on it.”

Emma smiled.

When he came to the end of the chapter, he closed the book and looked down at the woman who had shared his life, but who clearly no longer wanted to live. He bent down and whispered, “I love you, my darling.” Four blinks of the eyelids.

“Is the pain unbearable?” One blink.

“It won’t be much longer now.” Three blinks, followed by a pleading look.

He kissed her gently on the lips. “I have only ever loved one woman in my life,” he whispered. Four blinks. “And I pray it will not be long before we see each other again.” One blink, followed by three, followed by four.

He held her hand, closed his eyes, and asked a God of whose existence he was no longer sure to forgive him. He then picked up a pillow before he could change his mind, and looked at her one more time.

One blink, followed by three.

He hesitated.

One blink, repeated every few seconds.

He lowered the pillow gently onto Emma’s face.

Her hands and legs twitched for a few moments before she fell still, but he continued to press down. When he finally lifted the pillow, there was a smile on her face as if she was enjoying her first rest in months.