Mightier Than the Sword (The Clifton Chronicles 5)

The waiter deftly removed the plate without comment, as Priscilla turned to Harry. “Can you make a living as a writer?”

“It’s tough,” admitted Harry, “not least because there are so many excellent authors out there. However—”

“Still, you married a rich woman, so it really doesn’t matter all that much, does it?”

This silenced Harry, but not Emma. “Well, at last we’ve discovered something we have in common, Priscilla.”

“I agree,” said Priscilla, not missing a beat, “but then I’m old-fashioned, and was brought up to believe it’s the natural order of things for a man to take care of a woman. It somehow doesn’t seem right the other way around.” She took a sip of wine, and Emma was about to respond when she added with a warm smile, “I think you’ll find the wine is corked.”

“I thought it was excellent,” said Bob.

“Dear Robert still doesn’t know the difference between a claret and a burgundy. Whenever we throw a dinner party, it’s always left to me to select the wine. Waiter!” she said, turning to the sommelier. “We’ll need another bottle of the Merlot.”

“Yes of course, madam.”

“I don’t suppose you get to the north of England much,” said Bob.

“Not that often,” said Emma. “But a branch of my family hails from the Highlands.”

“Mine too,” said Priscilla. “I was born a Campbell.”

“I think you’ll find that’s the Lowlands,” said Emma, as Harry kicked her under the table.

“I’m sure you’re right, as always,” said Priscilla. “So I know you won’t mind me asking you a personal question.” Bob put down his knife and fork and looked anxiously across at his wife. “What really happened on the first night of the voyage? Because I know the Home Fleet was nowhere to be seen.”

“How can you possibly know that, when you were fast asleep at the time?” said Bob.

“So what do you think happened, Priscilla?” asked Emma, reverting to a tactic her brother often used when he didn’t want to answer a question.

“Some passengers are saying that one of the turbines exploded.”

“The engine room is open for inspection by the passengers at any time,” said Emma. “In fact, I believe there was a well-attended guided tour this morning.”

“I also heard that a bomb exploded in your cabin,” said Priscilla, undaunted.

“You are most welcome to visit our cabin at any time so you can correct the ill-informed rumormonger who suggested that.”

“And someone else told me,” said Priscilla, plowing on, “that a group of Irish terrorists boarded the ship at around midnight—”

“Only to find we were fully booked, and as there wasn’t a cabin available, they were made to walk the plank and swim all the way back to Belfast?”

“And did you hear the one about some Martians flying in from outer space and landing inside one of the funnels?” said Harry, as the waiter reappeared with a rare steak.

Priscilla gave it no more than a glance, before she rose from her place. “You’re all hiding something,” she said, dropping her napkin on the table, “and I intend to find out what it is before we reach Avonmouth.”

The three of them watched as she glided serenely across the floor and out of the dining room.

“I apologize,” said Bob. “That turned out even worse than I feared.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry. “My wife snores.”

“I do not,” said Emma, as the two men burst out laughing.

“I’d give half my fortune to have the relationship you two enjoy.”

“I’ll take it,” said Harry. This time it was Emma’s turn to kick her husband under the table.

“Well, I’m grateful for one thing, Bob,” said Emma, reverting to her chairman’s voice. “Your wife clearly has no idea what really happened on our first night at sea. But if she ever found out…”