The Sins of the Father by Jeffrey Archer
‘Do we have a map of the United States?’ Swanson demanded.
‘Yes, of course,’ Harry replied. He walked quickly over to the reference section and extracted a copy of Hubert’s Map of America. ‘Anywhere in particular, warden?’ he asked.
‘Pearl Harbor.’
For the next twenty-four hours, there was only one subject on everyone’s lips, prisoners and guards alike. When would America enter the war?
Swanson returned to the library the following morning.
‘President Roosevelt has just announced on the radio that the United States has declared war on Japan.’
‘That’s all very well,’ said Harry, ‘but when will the Americans help us defeat Hitler?’
Harry regretted the word ‘us’ the moment he’d uttered it. He looked up to find Swanson staring at him quizzically, and quickly returned to shelving the previous day’s books.
Harry found out the answer some weeks later, when Winston Churchill boarded the Queen Mary and sailed to Washington to conduct discussions with the President. By the time the Prime Minister had arrived back in Britain, Roosevelt had agreed that the United States would turn their attention to the war in Europe, and the task of defeating Nazi Germany.
Harry filled page after page of his diary with the reaction of his fellow prisoners to the news that their country was at war. He concluded that most of them fell into one of two distinct categories, the cowards and the heroes: those who were relieved to be safely locked up in jail, and only hoped the hostilities would be over long before they were released, and those who couldn’t wait to get out and take on an enemy they hated even more than the prison guards. When Harry asked his cellmate which category he fell into, Quinn replied, ‘Have you ever met an Irishman who didn’t relish a scrap?’
For his part, Harry became even more frustrated, convinced that now the Americans had entered the war, it would be over long before he’d been given the chance to play his part. For the first time since being locked up, he thought about trying to escape.
Harry had just finished reading a book review in the New York Times when an officer marched into the library and said, ‘The warden wants to see you in his office immediately, Bradshaw.’
Harry wasn’t surprised, although after glancing once again at the advertisement at the bottom of the page, he still wondered how Lloyd imagined he would get away with it. He folded the paper neatly, placed it back in the rack, and followed the officer out of the room.
‘Any idea why he wants to see me, Mr Joyce?’ Harry asked as they walked across the yard.
‘Don’t ask me,’ said Joyce, not attempting to hide his sarcasm. ‘I’ve never been one of the warden’s confidants.’
Harry didn’t speak again until they were standing outside the warden’s office. Joyce gave a quiet tap on the door.
‘Enter,’ said an unmistakable voice. Joyce opened the door, and Harry walked into the room. He was surprised to find another man he’d never seen before seated opposite the warden. The man was wearing an army officer’s uniform, and looked as smart as Harry felt unkempt. He never took his eyes off the prisoner.
The warden rose from behind his desk. ‘Good morning, Tom.’ It was the first time Swanson had addressed him by his Christian name. ‘This is Colonel Cleverdon, of the Fifth Texas Rangers.’
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Harry.
Cleverdon stood up and shook hands with Harry; another first.
‘Have a seat, Tom,’ said Swanson. ‘The colonel has a proposition he wants to put to you.’
Harry sat down.
‘It’s good to meet you, Bradshaw,’ began Colonel Cleverdon as he sat back down. ‘I’m the commanding officer of Rangers.’ Harry gave him a quizzical look. ‘You won’t find us listed in any recruitment manuals. I train groups of soldiers who will be dropped behind enemy lines with the purpose of causing as much mayhem for the enemy as possible, so the infantry will have a better chance to do their job. Nobody knows yet where or when our troops will be landing in Europe, but I’ll be among the first to be told, as my boys will be parachuted into the target area a few days before the invasion.’
Harry was sitting on the edge of his seat.
‘But before that balloon goes up, I’ll be putting together a small specialist unit to prepare for any eventuality. This unit will consist of three groups, each comprising ten men: one captain, one staff sergeant, two corporals and six private soldiers. During the past few weeks I’ve been in touch with several prison wardens to ask if they had any exceptional men, who they felt might be suited for such an operation. Your name was one of the two put forward by Mr Swanson. Once I checked your record, from when you served in the navy, I had to agree with the warden that you’d be better off in uniform rather than wasting your time in here.’
Harry turned to the warden. ‘Thank you, sir, but may I ask who the other person is?’
‘Quinn,’ said Swanson. ‘The two of you have caused me so many problems during the past couple of years, I thought it was the Germans’ turn to be subjected to your special brand of subterfuge.’ Harry smiled.
‘If you decide to join us, Bradshaw,’ continued the colonel, ‘you will begin an eight-week basic training course immediately, followed by a further six weeks with special operations. Before I go any further, I need to know if the idea appeals to you.’
‘When do I start?’ said Harry.
The colonel smiled. ‘My car’s outside in the yard, and I left the engine running.’
‘I’ve already arranged for your civilian clothes to be collected from the stores,’ said the warden. ‘Obviously we need to keep the reason you’ve left at such short notice between ourselves. Should anyone ask, I’ll say you and Quinn have been transferred to another prison.’
The colonel nodded. ‘Any questions, Bradshaw?’
‘Has Quinn agreed to join you?’ asked Harry.
‘He’s sitting in the back seat of my car, probably wondering what’s taking you so long.’
‘But you do know the reason I’m in prison, colonel?’
‘Desertion,’ said Colonel Cleverdon. ‘So I’ll have to keep a close eye on you, won’t I?’ Both men laughed. ‘You’ll be joining my group as a private soldier, but I can assure you, your past record won’t hinder your chances of promotion. However, while we’re on that subject, Bradshaw, a change of name might be appropriate, given the circumstances. We wouldn’t want some smart-ass in records to get their hands on your navy files and start asking embarrassing questions. Any ideas?’
‘Harry Clifton, sir,’ he said a little too quickly.
The warden smiled. ‘I’ve always wondered what your real name was.’
EMMA BARRINGTON
1941
14
EMMA WANTED TO LEAVE Kristin’s apartment as soon as possible, escape from New York and return to England. Once she was back in Bristol she could grieve alone and devote her life to bringing up Harry’s son. But escape wasn’t proving to be that easy.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Kristin, placing an arm around Emma’s shoulders. ‘I had no idea you didn’t know what had happened to Tom.’
Emma smiled weakly.
‘I want you to know,’ continued Kristin, ‘that Richard and I never doubted even for a moment that he was innocent. The man I nursed back to life wasn’t capable of murder.’
‘Thank you,’ said Emma.
‘I have some photographs of Tom while he was with us on the Kansas Star. Would you like to see them?’ asked Kristin.
Emma nodded politely, although she had no interest in seeing any photographs of Lieutenant Thomas Bradshaw. She decided that once Kristin had left the room, she would quietly slip out of the apartment and return to her hotel. She had no desire to continue making such a fool of herself in front of a complete stranger.
As soon as Kristin went out, Emma jumped up. As she did so, she knocked her cup off the table and on to the floor, spilling some coffee on the carpet. She fell to her knees and began weeping again,
When she saw Emma on her knees in tears, she tried to comfort her. ‘Please don’t worry about the carpet, it’s not important. Here, why don’t you look at these, while I find something to clear it up?’ She handed the photographs to Emma and quickly left the room again.
Emma accepted she could no longer make good her escape, so she returned to her chair and reluctantly began to look at the photos of Tom Bradshaw.
‘Oh my God,’ she said out loud. She stared in disbelief at a picture of Harry standing on the deck of a ship with the Statue of Liberty in the background, and then at another with the skyscrapers of Manhattan as the backdrop. Tears came to her eyes once again, even if she was unable to explain how it was possible. She waited impatiently for Kristin to return. It wasn’t long before the conscientious housewife reappeared, knelt down and began to remove the small brown stain with a damp cloth.
‘Do you know what happened to Tom after he was arrested?’ Emma asked anxiously.
‘Didn’t anyone tell you?’ asked Kristin, looking up. ‘Apparently there wasn’t enough evidence to try him for murder, and Jelks got him off. He was charged with desertion from the navy, pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to six years.’
Emma just didn’t understand how Harry could have ended up in jail for a crime he obviously hadn’t committed. ‘Did the trial take place in New York?’
‘Yes,’ Kristin replied. ‘As his lawyer was Sefton Jelks, Richard and I assumed he wasn’t in need of any financial help.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘Sefton Jelks is the senior partner of one of New York’s most prestigious law practices, so at least Tom was being well represented. When he came to see us about Tom, he seemed genuinely concerned. I know he also visited Dr Wallace and the ship’s captain, and he assured all of us that Tom was innocent.’
‘Do you know which prison they sent him to?’ Emma asked quietly.
‘Lavenham, in upstate New York. Richard and I tried to visit him, but Mr Jelks told us he didn’t want to see anyone.’
‘You’ve been so kind,’ said Emma. ‘Perhaps I can ask one more small favour before I leave. May I be allowed to keep one of these photographs?’
‘Keep them all. Richard took dozens, he always does. Photography is his hobby.’
‘I don’t want to waste any more of your time,’ said Emma, rising unsteadily to her feet.
‘You’re not wasting my time,’ Kristin replied. ‘What happened to Tom never made sense to either of us. When you see him, please pass on our best wishes,’ she said as they walked out of the room. ‘And if he’d like us to visit him, we’d be happy to.’
‘Thank you,’ said Emma as the chain was removed once again. As Kristin opened the door she said, ‘We both realized Tom was desperately in love, but he didn’t tell us you were English.’
15
EMMA SWITCHED ON the bedside light and once again studied the photographs of Harry standing on the deck of the Kansas Star. He looked so happy, so relaxed, and clearly unaware what awaited him when he stepped ashore.
She drifted in and out of sleep as she tried to work out why Harry would be willing to face a murder trial, and would plead guilty to desertion from a navy he’d never signed up for. She concluded that only Sefton Jelks could provide the answers. The first thing she needed to do was make an appointment to see him.
She glanced again at the bedside clock: 3.21. She got out of bed, put on a dressing gown, sat down at the little table and filled several sheets of hotel stationery with notes in preparation for her meeting with Sefton Jelks. It felt like prepping for an exam.
At six, she showered and dressed, then went downstairs to breakfast. A copy of the New York Times had been left on her table and she quickly turned the pages, only stopping to read one article. The Americans were becoming pessimistic about Britain being able to survive a German invasion, which was looking increasingly likely. Above a photograph of Winston Churchill standing on the white cliffs of Dover staring defiantly out across the Channel, his trademark cigar in place, was the headline, ‘We will fight them on the beaches’.
Emma felt guilty about being away from her homeland. She must find Harry, get him released from prison and together they would return to Bristol.
The hotel receptionist looked up Jelks, Myers & Abernathy in the Manhattan telephone directory, wrote out an address on Wall Street and handed it to Emma.
The cab dropped her outside a vast steel and glass building that stretched high into the sky. She pushed through the revolving doors and checked a large board on the wall that listed the names of every firm on the forty-eight floors. Jelks, Myers & Abernathy was located on floors 20, 21 and 22; all enquiries at reception on the twentieth floor.
Emma joined a horde of grey-flannel-suited men who filled the first available elevator. When she stepped out on the twentieth floor, she was greeted by the sight of three smart women dressed in open-neck white blouses and black skirts, who sat behind a reception desk, something else she hadn’t seen in Bristol. She marched confidently up to the desk. ‘I’d like to see Mr Jelks.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’ the receptionist asked politely.
‘No,’ admitted Emma, who’d only ever dealt with a local solicitor, who was always available whenever a member of the Barrington family dropped in.
The receptionist looked surprised. Clients didn’t just turn up at the front desk hoping to see the senior partner; they either wrote, or their secretary phoned to make an appointment in Mr Jelks’s crowded diary. ‘If I could take your name, I’ll have a word with his assistant.’
‘Emma Barrington.’
‘Please have a seat, Miss Barrington. Someone will be with you shortly.’
Emma sat alone in a little alcove. ‘Shortly’ turned out to be more than half an hour, when another grey-suited man appeared carrying a yellow pad.
‘My name is Samuel Anscott,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘I understand that you wish to see the senior partner.’
‘That is correct.’
‘I’m his legal assistant,’ said Anscott as he took the seat opposite her. ‘Mr Jelks has asked me to find out why you want to see him.’
‘It’s a private matter,’ said Emma.
‘I’m afraid he won’t agree to see you unless I’m able to tell him what it’s about.’
Emma pursed her lips. ‘I’m a friend of Harry Clifton.’
She watched Anscott closely, but it was obvious that the name meant nothing to him, although he did make a note of it on his yellow pad.
‘I have reason to believe that Harry Clifton was arrested for the murder of Adam Bradshaw, and that Mr Jelks represented him.’
This time the name did register, and the pen moved more swiftly across the pad.
‘I wish to see Mr Jelks, in order to find out how a lawyer of his standing could have allowed my fiancé to take Thomas Bradshaw’s place.’
A deep frown appeared on the young man’s face. He clearly wasn’t used to anyone referring to his boss in this way. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Barrington,’ he said, which Emma suspected was true. ‘But I will brief Mr Jelks, and come back to you. Perhaps you could give me a contact address.’
‘I’m staying at the Mayflower Hotel,’ said Emma, ‘and I’m available to see Mr Jelks at any time.’
Anscott made another note on his pad, stood up, gave a curt nod, but this time didn’t offer to shake hands. Emma felt confident that she wouldn’t have to wait long before the senior partner agreed to see her.
She took a taxi back to the Mayflower Hotel, and could hear the phone ringing in her room even before she’d opened the door. She ran across the room, but by the time she picked up the receiver, the line had gone dead.
She sat down at the desk and began to write to her mother to say she’d arrived safely although she didn’t mention the fact that she was now convinced Harry was alive. Emma would only do
‘Good afternoon, Miss Barrington.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Anscott,’ she said, not needing to be told who it was.
‘I’ve spoken to Mr Jelks concerning your request for a meeting, but I’m afraid he’s unable to see you, because it would create a conflict of interest with another client he represents. He is sorry not to be more helpful.’
The line went dead.
Emma remained at the desk, stunned, still clutching the phone, the words ‘conflict of interest’ ringing in her ears. Was there really another client and, if so, who could it be? Or was that just an excuse not to see her? She placed the receiver back in its cradle and sat still for some time, wondering what her grandfather would have done in these circumstances. She recalled one of his favourite maxims: there’s more than one way to skin a cat.
Emma opened the desk drawer, thankful to find a fresh supply of stationery, and made a list of people who might be able to fill in some of the gaps created by Mr Jelks’s supposed conflict of interest. She then went downstairs to reception, knowing that she was going to be fully occupied for the next few days. The receptionist tried to hide her surprise when the softly spoken young lady from England asked for the address of a courthouse, a police station and a prison.
Before she left the Mayflower, Emma dropped into the hotel’s shop and purchased a yellow pad of her own. She walked out on to the pavement and hailed another cab.
It dropped her in a very different part of town to the one Mr Jelks inhabited. As she climbed the courthouse steps, Emma thought about Harry, and how he must have felt when he’d entered that same building, in very different circumstances. She asked the guard on the door where the reference library was, in the hope of finding out what those circumstances were.
‘If you mean the records room, miss, it’s in the basement,’ the guard said.