Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles 3)

'The board has studied your application with interest, Mrs Clifton,' began the chairman, 'and with your permission, we would like to ask you a few questions.'

'Yes, of course,' said Emma, trying to relax.

'How long have you been considering adoption, Mrs Clifton?'

'Ever since I realized I couldn't have another child,' replied Emma, without adding any details. The two men smiled sympathetically, but Miss Braithwaite remained po-faced.

'You state on your application form,' continued the chairman, looking down at his papers, 'that you would prefer to adopt a girl aged around five or six. Is there any particular reason for that?'

'Yes,' said Emma. 'My son Sebastian is an only child, and my husband and I felt it would be good for him to be brought up with someone who hasn't had all the advantages and privileges he has taken for granted since birth.' She hoped her reply hadn't sounded too rehearsed, and could have sworn the chairman placed a tick in a box.

'Can we assume from your answer,' said the chairman, 'that there are no financial restrictions that might hinder you bringing up a second child?'

'None whatsoever, Mr Chairman. My husband and I are comfortably off.' Emma noticed this elicited another tick.

'I only have one more question,' said the chairman. 'You stated in your application that you would consider a child from any religious background. May I ask if you are affiliated to any particular church?'

'Like Dr Barnardo,' said Emma, 'I am a Christian. My husband was a choral scholar at St Mary Redcliffe.' Looking directly at the chairman, she added, 'Before he went on to Bristol Grammar School, where he ended up as the senior chorister. I was educated at Red Maids' School, before winning a scholarship to Oxford.'

The chairman touched his tie, and Emma felt things couldn't be going much better, until Miss Braithwaite tapped her pencil on the table. The chairman nodded in her direction.

'You mentioned your husband, Mrs Clifton. May I enquire why he isn't with you today?'

'He's in the United States on a book tour. He'll be returning in a couple of weeks' time.'

'Is he often away?'

'No. Very rarely in fact. My husband is a writer by profession, so he's at home most of the time.'

'But he must need to visit a library occasionally,' suggested Miss Braithwaite, with what might have passed as a smile.

'No, we have our own library,' said Emma, regretting the words the moment she'd uttered them.

'And do you work?' Miss Braithwaite asked, making it sound like a crime.

'No, although I assist my husband in any way I can. However, I consider being a wife and mother a full-time job.' Although Harry had recommended this line, he knew only too well that Emma didn't believe it, and she now believed it even less after meeting Cyrus Feldman.

'And how long have you been married, Mrs Clifton?' persisted Miss Braithwaite.

'Just over three years.'

'But I see from your application form that your son Sebastian is eight years old.'

'Yes, he is. Harry and I were engaged in 1939, but he felt it was his duty to sign up even before war had been declared.'

Miss Braithwaite was about to ask another question, when the man on the chairman's left leant forward and said, 'So you were married soon after the war ended, Mrs Clifton?'

'Sadly not,' said Emma, looking at a man who only had one arm. 'My husband was badly wounded by a German landmine only days before the war ended, and it was some time before he was fit enough to be discharged from hospital.'

Miss Braithwaite still appeared unmoved. Emma wondered, could it be possible that . . . she decided to take a risk she knew Harry would not have approved of.

'But, Mr Needham,' she said, her eyes not leaving the man with one arm, 'I consider myself to be among the lucky ones. My heart goes out to those women whose husbands, fiances and sweethearts did not return to their families, having made the ultimate sacrifice for their country.'

Miss Braithwaite bowed her head, and the chairman said, 'Thank you, Mrs Clifton. Someone will be in touch with you in the near future.'

5

NATALIE WAS STANDING in the lobby waiting for him at 6 a.m. She looked just as crisp and perky as she had done when she'd left him the day before. Once they were seated in the back of the limousine, she opened the inevitable folder.

'You begin the day being interviewed by Matt Jacobs on NBC, the highest-rated breakfast show in the country. The good news is that you've been given the prime slot, which means you'll be on some time between seven forty and eight a.m. The not-so-good news is that you're sharing it with Clark Gable, and Mel Blanc, the voice of Bugs Bunny and Tweetie Pie. Gable's promoting his latest movie, Homecoming, in which he stars alongside Lana Turner.'

'And Mel Blanc?' said Harry, trying not to laugh.

'He's celebrating a decade with Warner Brothers. Now, taking into account sponsors' breaks, I estimate you'll be on air for four to five minutes, which you must think of as 240 to 300 seconds. I cannot stress enough,' continued Natalie, 'how important this show is for launching our whole campaign. You won't be doing anything bigger in the next three weeks. This could not only get you on to the bestseller list but, if it goes well, every major show across the country will want to book you.'

Harry could feel his heartbeat rising by the second.

'All you have to do is find any excuse to mention Nothing Ventured,' she added as the limousine drew up outside the NBC studios at the Rockefeller Center.

Harry couldn't believe the sight that greeted him when he stepped out on to the pavement. The narrow entrance that led to the front of the building had been fenced off and was crammed on both sides with screaming fans. As Harry made his way through the crowds of expectant onlookers, he didn't need to be told that 90 per cent of them had come to see Clark Gable, 9 per cent Mel Blanc, and possibly 1 per cent . . .

'Who's he?' someone shouted as Harry hurried past.

Perhaps not even 1 per cent.

Once he was safely inside the building, a floor walker escorted him to the green room and briefed him on timings.

'Mr Gable will be on at seven forty. Mel Blanc will follow him at seven fifty, and we're hoping to get you on by seven fifty-five in the run-up to the news.'

'Thank you,' said Harry as he took a seat and tried to compose himself.

Mel Blanc bounced into the green room at 7.30, and looked at Harry as if he was expecting to be asked for an autograph. Mr Gable, accompanied by his entourage, followed a few moments later. Harry was surprised to see the screen idol dressed in a dinner jacket and carrying a glass of whisky. Gable explained to Mel Blanc that it wasn't an early morning drink, because he hadn't been to bed. Laughter followed him as he was whisked away, and Harry was left alone with Mel.

'Listen carefully to Gable,' said Mel as he sat down next to Harry. 'The minute the red light goes on, no one, including the studio audience, will realize he's had anything to drink but orange juice, and by the time he comes off, everyone will want to see his new movie.'

Mel turned out to be right. Gable was the ultimate professional, and the title of his new film got a mention at least every thirty seconds. And although Harry had read somewhere that he and Miss Turner couldn't stand each other, Gable was so gracious about his co-star that even the most cynical listener would have been convinced they were bosom pals. Only Natalie didn't look pleased, because Gable overran his slot by forty-two seconds.