Cometh the Hour (The Clifton Chronicles 6)

“It was kind of you to include me in such an illustrious occasion, Mrs. Clifton.”

“Don’t be silly, Hakim, your name was one of the first on the guest list. No one could have done more for Sebastian, and after that rather unpleasant experience with Adrian Sloane I shall be forever in your debt, which I know your countrymen don’t take lightly.”

“You have to know who your friends are, when you spend so much time looking over your shoulder, Mrs. Clifton.”

“Emma,” she insisted. “And tell me, Hakim, what exactly do you see when you look over your shoulder?”

“An unholy trinity that I suspect has plans to rise from the dead and once again try to take control of Farthings—and possibly even Barrington’s.”

“But Mellor and Knowles are no longer on the board of Barrington’s, and Sloane has forfeited whatever reputation he had in the City.”

“True, but that hasn’t stopped them forming a new company.”

“Mellor Travel?”

“Which I don’t imagine will be recommending that their customers book a holiday on the Barrington line.”

“We’ll survive,” said Emma.

“And I presume you know that Lady Virginia Fenwick is considering selling her shares in Barrington’s? My spies tell me she’s a bit strapped for cash at the moment.”

“Is she indeed? Well, I wouldn’t want those shares to fall into the wrong hands.”

“You needn’t worry about that, Emma. I’ve already instructed Sebastian to pick them up the moment they come on the market. Be assured that if anyone even thinks about attacking you again, Hakim Bishara and his caravan of camels will be at your disposal.”

* * *

“It’s Deakins, isn’t it?” said Maisie, as a thin, middle-aged man with prematurely gray hair came up to her to pay his respects. He was dressed in the suit he must have graduated in.

“I’m flattered that you remember me, Mrs. Clifton.”

“How could I ever forget? After all, Harry never stopped reminding me, ‘Deakins is in my class but, frankly, he’s in a different class.’”

“And I was proved right, Mother,” said Harry as he joined them. “Because Deakins is now Regius Professor of Greek at Oxford. And like myself, he mysteriously disappeared during the war. But while I ended up in jail, he was at a place called Bletchley Park. Not that he ever reveals what went on behind those moss-covered walls.”

“And I doubt he ever will,” said Maisie, looking more closely at Deakins.

“‘Did you ever see the picture of “We Three”?’” said Giles, appearing by Deakins’s side.

“Which play?” demanded Harry.

“Twelfth Night,” said Giles.

“Not bad, but which character says the words and to whom?”

“The Fool, to Sir Andrew Aguecheek.”

“And who else?”

“Sir Toby Belch.”

&n

bsp; “Impressive,” said Deakins, smiling at his old friend, “but for an alpha, which act and which scene?”

Giles fell silent.

“Act two, scene three,” said Harry. “But did you spot the one-word mistake?”