Only Time Will Tell

'That is precisely what Barrington is banking on. And now he's broken you, he'll be hell-bent on destroying Harry.'

'But why?' asked Maisie. 'Harry's never done him any harm.'

'Of course he hasn't, but if Harry were able to prove that he is Hugo Barrington's eldest son, he might just be in line to inherit not only the title, but everything that goes with it, and at the same time, Giles would end up with nothing.'

It was Maisie's turn to be speechless.

'So, now we've discovered the real reason Barrington is so keen to have Harry thrown out of the grammar school, perhaps the time has come for me to pay a visit to Sir Walter, and tell him some unpalatable truths about his son.'

'No, please don't do that,' begged Maisie.

'Why not? It might be our one chance of keeping Harry at BGS.'

'Possibly, but it would also guarantee that my brother Stan would get the sack, and God knows what else Barrington is capable of.'

Old Jack didn't reply for some time. Then he said, 'If you won't allow me to tell Sir Walter the truth, I'll have to start crawling around in the sewer that Hugo Barrington currently occupies.'

33

'YOU WANT WHAT?' asked Miss Potts, not sure she'd heard him correctly.

'A private meeting with Mr Hugo,' said Old Jack.

'And am I permitted to enquire what the purpose of this meeting might be?' she said, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

'His son's future.'

'Wait here for a moment. I'll see if Mr Barrington is willing to see you.'

Miss Potts knocked gently on the managing director's door and disappeared inside. She returned a moment later with a surprised look on her face.

'Mr Barrington will see you now,' she said, holding open the door.

Old Jack couldn't resist a smile as he strolled past her. Hugo Barrington looked up from behind his desk. He didn't offer the old man a seat, and made no attempt to shake hands with him.

'What possible interest can you have in Giles's future?' asked Barrington.

'None,' admitted Old Jack. 'It's your other son whose future I'm interested in.'

'What the hell are you talking about?' said Barrington, a little too loudly.

'If you didn't know who I was talking about, you wouldn't have agreed to see me,' replied Old Jack contemptuously.

The colour drained from Barrington's face. Old Jack even wondered if he was going to faint. 'What do you want from me?' he finally said.

'All your life you've been a trader,' said Old Jack. 'I am in possession of something you'll want to trade.'

'And what could that possibly be?'

'The day after Arthur Clifton mysteriously disappeared and Stan Tancock was arrested for a crime he didn't commit, I was asked by Detective Inspector Blakemore to make a statement of everything I'd witnessed that evening. Because you had Blakemore taken off the case, that statement remains in my possession. I have a feeling it would make very interesting reading if it were to fall into the wrong hands.'

'I think you'll find that's blackmail,' said Barrington, spitting out the words, 'for which you can go to prison for a very long time.'

'Some might consider it nothing more than a matter of civic duty for such a document to enter the public domain.'

'And who do you imagine would be interested in the ravings of an old man? Certainly not the press, once my lawyers have explained the libel laws to them. And as the police closed the file some years ago, I can't see the chief constable going to the trouble and expense of reopening it on the word of an old man who might be considered at best eccentric and at worst mad. So I'm bound to ask, who else do you have in mind to share your preposterous allegations with?'

'Your father,' said Old Jack, bluffing, but then Barrington didn't know about his promise to Maisie.

Barrington slumped back in his chair, only too aware of the influence Old Jack had with his father, even if he had never understood why. 'How much do you expect me to pay for this document?'

'Three hundred pounds.'

'That's daylight robbery!'

'It's no more and no less than the amount required to cover the fees and any little extras that will allow Harry Clifton to remain at Bristol Grammar School for the next two years.'

'Why don't I just pay his fees at the beginning of each term, as I do for my own son?'

'Because you would stop paying one of your sons' fees the moment you got your hands on my statement.'

'You'll have to take cash,' said Barrington, taking a key from his pocket.

'No, thank you,' said Old Jack. 'I remember only too well what happened to Stan Tancock after you'd handed him your thirty pieces of silver. And I have no desire to spend the next three years in prison for a crime I didn't commit.'

'Then I'll have to call the bank if I'm to write out a cheque for such a large amount.'

'Be my guest,' said Old Jack, gesturing towards the phone on Barrington's desk.

Barrington hesitated for a moment before picking up the handset. He waited for a voice to come on the line. 'TEM 3731,' he said.

Another wait, before another voice said, 'Yes?'

'Is that you, Prendergast?'

'No, sir,' said the voice.

'Good, you're just the man I need to speak to,' Barrington replied. 'I'll be sending a Mr Tar around to see you in the next hour, with a cheque for three hundred pounds made payable to Bristol Municipal Charities. Would you see that it's processed immediately, and make sure you phone me straight back.'

'If you want me to ring you back, just say "Yes, that's right," and I'll call in a couple of minutes,' the voice said.

'Yes, that's right,' said Barrington, and put the phone down.

He opened the drawer of his desk, took out a cheque book and wrote the words Pay Bristol Municipal Charities and, on a separate line, Three hundred pounds. He then signed the cheque and passed it to Old Jack, who studied it carefully and nodded.

'I'll just put it in an envelope,' said Barrington. He pressed the buzzer under his desk. Old Jack glanced at Miss Potts as she entered the room.

'Yes, sir?'

'Mr Tar is leaving to go to the bank,' said Barrington, placing the cheque in the envelope. He sealed it and addressed it to Mr Prendergast, adding the word PRIVATE in bold letters, then handed it to Old Jack.

'Thank you,' said Jack. 'I'll deliver the document to you personally as soon as I get back.'

Barrington nodded, just as the phone on his desk began to ring. He waited for Old Jack to leave the room before he picked it up.

Old Jack decided to take the tram into Bristol, feeling that the expense was justified on such a special occasion. When he walked into the bank twenty minutes later, he told the young man on the reception that he had a letter for Mr Prendergast. The receptionist didn't seem particularly impressed, until Old Jack added, 'It's from Mr Hugo Barrington.'

The young man immediately deserted his post, led Old Jack across the banking hall and down a long corridor to the manager's office. He knocked on the door, opened it and announced, 'This gentleman has a letter from Mr Barrington, sir.'