This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)

“We ought to get going,” he said.

“Of course we should, my darling,” said Karin, “that is, if you’re thinking of walking to the cathedral. If you leave now, you’ll be there in time to welcome the dean,” she added before disappearing into the bathroom.

While Giles had been going over his speech downstairs, she had laid out a white shirt, his Bristol Grammar School tie, and a dark suit that had come back from the cleaners the previous day. Giles took his time dressing, finally selecting a pair of gold cufflinks Harry had given him on his wedding day. Once he’d checked himself in the mirror, he paced restlessly around the bedroom, delivering whole paragraphs of his eulogy out loud and constantly looking at his watch. How long was she going to be?

When Karin reappeared twenty minutes later, she was wearing a simple navy blue dress that Giles had never seen before, adorned with a gold portcullis brooch. She’d done Harry proud.

“Time to leave,” she announced calmly.

As they left the house Giles was relieved to see that Tom was already standing by the back door of the car.

“Let’s get moving, Tom,” he said as he slumped into the backseat, checking his watch again.

Tom drove sedately out of Smith Square as befitted the occasion. Past the Palace of Westminster and around Parliament Square before making his way along Victoria Embankment.

“The traffic seems unusually heavy today,” said Giles, once again looking at his watch.

“About the same as last week,” said Tom.

Giles didn’t comment on the fact that every light seemed to turn red just as they approached it. He was convinced they were going to be late.

As they drove past the mounted griffins that herald the City of London, Giles began to relax for the first time, as it now looked as if t

hey would be about ten minutes early. And they would have been, but for something none of them had anticipated.

With about half a mile to go and the dome of the cathedral in sight, Tom spotted a barrier across the road that hadn’t been there the previous week when they’d carried out the practice run. A policeman raised his arm to stop them, and Tom wound down his window and said, “The Lord Chancellor.”

The policeman saluted and nodded to a colleague, who lifted the barrier to allow them through.

Giles was glad they were early because they were moving so slowly. Crowds of pedestrians were overflowing from the pavement and spilling onto the road, finally causing the car to almost come to a halt.

“Stop here, Tom,” said Giles. “We’re going to have to walk the last hundred yards.”

Tom pulled up in the middle of the road and rushed to open the back door, but by the time he got there, Giles and Karin were already making their way through the crowd. People stood aside when they recognized him, and some even began clapping.

Giles was about to acknowledge their applause, when Karin whispered, “Don’t forget they’re applauding Harry, not you.”

They finally reached the cathedral steps and began to climb up through a corridor of raised pens and pencils, held high by those who wished to remember Harry not only as an author, but as a civil rights campaigner.

Giles looked up to see Eric Evans, canon in residence, waiting for them on the top step.

“Got that wrong, didn’t I,” he said, grinning. “It must be an author thing, always more popular than politicians.”

Giles laughed nervously as the canon escorted them through the northwest door and into the cathedral, where those who had arrived late, even if they had a ticket, were standing at the side of the nave, while those who didn’t were crammed at the back like football fans on a crowded terrace.

Karin knew that Giles’s laughter was a cocktail of nerves and adrenaline. In fact, she had never seen him so nervous.

“Relax,” she whispered, as the dean led them down the long marble aisle, past Wellington’s memorial and through the packed congregation, to their places at the head of the nave. Giles recognized several people as they made their slow progress toward the high altar. Aaron Guinzburg was sitting next to Ian Chapman, Dr. Richards with Lord Samuel, Hakim Bishara, and Arnold Hardcastle representing Farthings, Sir Alan Redmayne was next to Sir John Rennie, while Victor Kaufman and his old school chum Professor Algernon Deakins were seated near the front.

But it was two women, sitting alone, who took him by surprise. An elegant old lady, who bowed her head as Giles passed, was seated near the back, clearly no longer wishing to be acknowledged as a dowager duchess might have expected to be, while in the row directly behind the family was another old lady who had traveled from Moscow to honor her late husband’s dear friend.

Once they had taken their places in the front row, Giles picked up the order of service sheet that had been prepared by Grace. The cover was adorned with a simple portrait of Sir Harry Clifton KBE that had been drawn by the most recent winner of the Turner Prize.

The order of service could have been chosen by Harry himself, as it reflected his personal tastes: traditional, popular, with no concern about being described as romantic. His mother would have approved.

The congregation was welcomed by the Rt. Rev. Barry Donaldson, the Lord Bishop of Bristol, who led them in prayers in memory of Harry. The first lesson was read by Jake, whose head could barely be seen above the lectern.

“1 Corinthians 13. If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels…”