Cousin Alistair arrived a few minutes later, dressed in a dinner jacket for a meal with his mother, thus embodying 'the British abroad'.
Emma guessed that he was around fifty, and a good tailor had disguised the fact that he was carrying a few surplus pounds. His humour may have been a little dry, but he was unquestionably bright, fun and well informed, even if he did go on a bit about the case he was currently working on. It came as no surprise when his proud mother told Emma over dinner that Alistair was the youngest partner in his law firm, since the death of her husband. Emma assumed that Phyllis knew why he wasn't married.
She couldn't be sure if it was the delicious food, the excellent wine or simply American hospitality that caused her to relax so much that she ended up telling them everything that had happened to her since Great-aunt Phyllis had last seen her on a hockey field at Red Maids' School.
By the time Emma had explained why she crossed the Atlantic despite the risks involved, they were both staring at her as if she'd just landed from another planet.
Once Alistair had devoured the last morsel of his fruit tart and turned his attention to a large brandy, he spent the next thirty minutes cross-examining their unexpected guest, as if he were opposing counsel and she a hostile witness.
'Well, I must say, Mother,' he said as he folded his napkin, 'this case looks far more promising than Amalgamated Wire versus New York Electric. I can't wait to cross swords with Sefton Jelks.'
'What's the point of wasting our time on Jelks,' Emma said, 'when it's far more important to find Harry and clear his name?'
'I couldn't agree more,' said Alistair. 'But I have a feeling that one will lead to the other.' He picked up Emma's copy of The Diary of a Convict, but didn't open it, just studied the spine.
'Who's the publisher?' asked Phyllis.
'Viking Press,' said Alistair, removing his glasses.
'Harold Guinzburg, no less.'
'Do you think he and Max Lloyd might have collaborated in this deception?' Alistair asked, turning to his mother.
'Certainly not,' she replied. 'Your father once told me he'd come up against Guinzburg in court. I remember he described him as a formidable adversary, but a man who would never consider bending the law, let alone breaking it.'
'Then we're in with a chance,' said Alistair, 'because if that's the case, he won't be pleased to discover what's been perpetrated in his name. However, I'll need to read the book before I arrange a meeting with the publisher.' Alistair looked across the table and smiled at Emma. 'I shall be fascinated to discover what Mr Guinzburg makes of you, young lady.'
'And I,' said Phyllis, 'will be equally fascinated to discover what Emma makes of Harold Guinzburg.'
'Touche, Mama,' Alistair conceded.
After Parker had poured Alistair a second brandy and relit his cigar, Emma ventured to ask him what he thought her chances were of being allowed to visit Harry in Lavenham.
'I'll make an application on your behalf tomorrow,' he promised between puffs. 'Let's see if I can't do a little better than your helpful detective.'
'My helpful detective?' repeated Emma.
'Unusually helpful,' said Alistair. 'Once he realized Jelks was involved, I'm amazed Detective Kolowski even agreed to see you.'
'I'm not at all surprised that he was helpful,' said Phyllis, winking at Emma.
32
'AND YOU SAY your husband wrote this book?'
'No, Mr Guinzburg,' said Emma. 'Harry Clifton and I are not married, although I am the mother of his child. But yes, Harry did write The Diary of a Convict while he was incarcerated at Lavenham.'
Harold Guinzburg removed the half-moon spectacles from the end of his nose and took a closer look at the young woman seated on the opposite side of his desk. 'I do have a slight problem with your claim,' he said, 'and I feel I should point out that every sentence of the diary was written in Mr Lloyd's hand.'
'He copied Harry's manuscript word for word.'
'For that to be possible, Mr Lloyd would have had to share a cell with Tom Bradshaw, which shouldn't be difficult to check.'
'Or they could have worked together in the library,' suggested Alistair.
'If you were able to prove this,' said Guinzburg, 'it would place my company, and by that I mean me, in an invidious position to say the least, and in the circumstances, I might be wise to seek legal advice.'
'We would like to make it clear from the start,' interjected Alistair, who was sitting on Emma's right, 'that we came here in a spirit of goodwill, as we felt you would wish to be acquainted with my cousin's story.'
'It was the only reason I agreed to see you,' said Guinzburg, 'as I was a great admirer of your late father.'
'I didn't realize you knew him.'
'I didn't,' said Guinzburg. 'He appeared for the other side in a dispute my company was involved in, and I left the courtroom wishing he'd been on my side. However, if I am to accept your cousin's story,' he continued, 'I hope you won't mind if I ask Miss Barrington one or two questions.'
'I'm happy to answer any questions you might have, Mr Guinzburg,' said Emma. 'But may I ask if you've read Harry's book?'
'I make a point of reading every book we publish, Miss Barrington. I can't pretend I find all of them enjoyable, or even finish every one, but in the case of The Diary of a Convict, I knew the moment I'd finished the first chapter that it would be a bestseller. I also made a note in the margin on page two-eleven.' Guinzburg picked up the book and flicked through its pages before beginning to read. 'I've always wanted to be an author, and am currently working on an outline plot for the first in a series of detective novels based in Bristol.'
'Bristol,' said Emma, interrupting the old man. 'How could Max Lloyd possibly know anything about Bristol?'
'There is a Bristol in Mr Lloyd's home state of Illinois, Miss Barrington,' said Guinzburg, 'as Max pointed out when I told him I'd be interested in reading the first in the series.'
'You never will,' Emma promised him.
'He's already submitted the opening chapters of Mistaken Identity,' said Guinzburg, 'and I have to say, they're rather good.'
'And were those chapters written in the same style as the diary?'
'Yes. And before you ask, Miss Barrington, they are also written in the same hand, unless you're suggesting that they were also copied.'
'He's got away with it once. Why wouldn't he try it on a second time?'
'But do you have any real proof that Mr Lloyd didn't write The Diary of a Convict?' said Guinzburg, beginning to sound a little irritated.
'Yes, sir. I am the "Emma" in the book.'
'If that is the case, Miss Barrington, I agree with the author's judgement that you are indeed a great beauty, and you have already proved, to quote him, to be both spirited and combative.'
Emma smiled. 'And you're an old flatterer, Mr Guinzburg.'
'As he wrote, spirited and combative,' said Guinzburg, placing his half-moon spectacles back on his nose. 'Nevertheless, I doubt your claim would stand up in a court of law. Sefton Jelks could put half a dozen Emmas on the witness stand who would swear blind they had known Lloyd all their lives. I need something more substantial.'