Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles 3)

Emma was among the first to arrive at the university's lecture theatre that evening to hear Professor Cyrus Feldman lecture on the topic, Having won the War, has Britain lost the peace?

She slipped into a place at the end of a row of raked seats about halfway back. Long before the appointed hour the room was so packed that latecomers had to sit on the gangway steps, with one or two even perched on windowsills.

The audience burst into applause the moment the double Pulitzer Prize-winner entered the auditorium, accompanied by the university's vice chancellor. Once everyone had resumed their places, Sir Philip Morris introduced his guest, giving a potted history of Feldman's distinguished career, from his student days at Princeton, to being appointed the youngest professor at Stanford, to the second Pulitzer Prize he'd been awarded the previous year. This was followed by another prolonged round of applause. Professor Feldman rose from his place and made his way to the podium.

The first thing that struck Emma about Cyrus Feldman, even before he began to speak, was how handsome the man was, something Grace had omitted to mention when she'd called. He must have been a shade over six foot, with a head of thick grey hair, and his suntanned face reminded everyone which university he taught at. His athletic build belied his age, and suggested he must spend almost as many hours in the gym as in the library.

The second he began to speak, Emma was captivated by Feldman's raw energy, and within moments he had everyone in the auditorium sitting on the edge of their seats. Students began furiously writing down his every word, and Emma regretted not bringing a notepad and pen along with her.

Speaking without notes, the professor nimbly switched from subject to subject: the role of Wall Street after the war, the dollar as the new world currency, oil becoming the commodity that would dominate the second half of the century and possibly beyond, the future role of the International Monetary Fund, and whether America would remain fixed to the gold standard.

When his lecture came to an end, Emma's only regret was that he'd scarcely touched on transport, with just a passing mention of how the aeroplane would change the new world order, both for business and tourism. But like a seasoned pro, he reminded his audience that he'd written a book on the subject. Emma wouldn't be waiting for Christmas to get hold of a copy. It made her think about Harry, and hope his book tour was going as well in America.

Once she'd purchased a copy of The New World Order, she joined a long queue of those waiting to have their copies signed. She had nearly completed the first chapter by the time she reached the front of the line, and was wondering if he might be willing to spare a few moments to expand his views on the future of the British shipping industry.

She placed the book on the table in front of him, and he gave her a friendly smile.

'Who shall I make it out to?'

She decided to take a chance. 'Emma Barrington.'

He took a closer look at her. 'You wouldn't by any chance be related to the late Sir Walter Barrington?'

'He was my grandfather,' she said proudly.

'I heard him lecture many years ago on the role of the shipping industry should America enter the First World War. I was a student at the time, and he taught me more in one hour than my tutors had managed in a whole semester.'

'He taught me a lot too,' said Emma, returning his smile.

'There was so much I wanted to ask him,' added Feldman, 'but he had to catch the train back to Washington that night, so I never saw him again.'

'And there's so much I want to ask you,' said Emma. 'In fact, "need" would be more accurate.'

Feldman glanced at the waiting queue. 'I guess this shouldn't take me more than another half hour, and as I'm not catching the train back to Washington tonight, perhaps we could have a private chat before I leave, Miss Barrington?'

4

'AND HOW IS my beloved Emma?' asked Harold Guinzburg after he'd welcomed Harry to the Harvard Club.

'I've just spoken to her on the phone,' said Harry. 'She sends her love, and was disappointed that she wasn't able to join us.'

'Me too. Please tell her I won't accept any excuses next time.' Guinzburg guided his guest through to the dining room and they took their seats at what was clearly his usual corner table. 'I hope you're finding the Pierre to your liking,' he said as a waiter handed them both menus.

'It would be fine, if only I knew how to turn the shower off.'

Guinzburg laughed. 'Perhaps you should ask Miss Redwood to come to your rescue.'

'If she did, I'm not sure I'd know how to turn her off.'

'Ah, so she's already subjected you to her lecture on the importance of getting Nothing Ventured on to the bestseller list as quickly as possible.'

'A formidable lady.'

'That's why I made her a director,' said Guinzburg, 'despite protests from several directors who didn't want a woman on the board.'

'Emma would be proud of you,' said Harry, 'and I can assure you that Miss Redwood has warned me of the consequences should I fail.'

'That sounds like Natalie. And remember, she alone decides if you return home by plane or row boat.'

Harry would have laughed, but he wasn't sure his publisher was joking.

'I would have invited her to join us for lunch,' said Guinzburg, 'but as you may have observed, the Harvard Club does not allow women on the premises  -  don't tell Emma.'

'I have a feeling you'll see women dining in the Harvard Club long before you spot one in any gentlemen's club on Pall Mall or St James's.'

'Before we talk about the tour,' said Guinzburg, 'I want to hear everything you and Emma have been up to since she left New York. How did you win the Silver Star? Has Emma got a job? How did Sebastian react to meeting his father for the first time? And - '

'And Emma insisted that I don't go back to England without finding out what's happened to Sefton Jelks.'

'Shall we order first? I don't care to think about Sefton Jelks on an empty stomach.'

'I may not be catching the train to Washington, but I'm afraid I do have to get back to London tonight, Miss Barrington,' said Professor Feldman after he'd signed the last book. 'I'm addressing the London School of Economics at ten tomorrow morning, so I can only spare you a few minutes.'

Emma tried not to look disappointed.

'Unless . . .' said Feldman.

'Unless?'

'Unless you'd like to join me on the journey to London, in which case you'd have my undivided attention for at least a couple of hours.'

Emma hesitated. 'I'll have to make a phone call.'

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting in a first-class railway carriage opposite Professor Feldman. He asked the first question.

'So, Miss Barrington, does your family still own the shipping line that bears their illustrious name?'

'Yes, my mother owns twenty-two per cent.'

'That should give the family more than enough control, and that's all that matters in any organization  -  as long as no one else gets their hands on more than twenty-two per cent.'

'My brother Giles doesn't take a great deal of interest in the company's affairs. He's a Member of Parliament and doesn't even attend the AGM. But I do, professor, which is why I needed to speak to you.'