Jeffrey Archer - Only Time Will Tell

At three minutes to six, a tall, well-built man of military bearing pushed his way through the revolving doors. His dark navy blazer, grey flannels, short hair and highly polished shoes all suggested a life of discipline.

Hugo stood and raised a hand as if he was summoning a waiter. Mitchell walked slowly across the room, making no attempt to disguise a slight limp, an injury which, according to Danvers, was the reason Mitchell had been invalided out of the police service.

Hugo recalled the last occasion he’d come face to face with a police officer, but this time he would be asking the questions.

‘Good evening, sir.’

‘Good evening, Mitchell,’ said Hugo as they shook hands. Once Mitchell had sat down, Hugo took a closer look at his broken nose and cauliflower ears, and also recalled from Colonel Danvers’s notes that he used to play in the second row for Bristol.

‘Let me say from the outset, Mitchell,’ said Hugo, not wasting any time, ‘that what I want to discuss with you is of a highly confidential nature, and must be kept strictly between the two of us.’ Mitchell nodded. ‘It is so confidential, in fact, that even Colonel Danvers has no idea of the real reason I needed to see you, as I am certainly not looking for someone to head up my security operation.’

Mitchell’s face remained inscrutable as he waited to hear what Hugo had in mind.

‘I am looking for someone to act as a private detective. His sole purpose will be to report to me each month on the activities of a woman who lives in this city, and in fact works in this hotel.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘I want to know everything she gets up to, whether professional or personal, however insignificant it might seem. She must never, I repeat, never, become aware of your interest in her. So before I reveal her name, do you consider yourself capable of carrying out such an assignment?’

‘These things are never easy,’ said Mitchell, ‘but they’re not impossible. As a young detective sergeant, I worked on an undercover operation which resulted in a particularly loathsome individual ending up behind bars for sixteen years. If he were to walk into this hotel now, I’m confident he wouldn’t recognize me.’

Hugo smiled for the first time. ‘Before I go any further,’ he continued, ‘I need to know if you would be willing to take on such an assignment?’

‘That would depend on several things, sir.’

‘Such as?’

‘Would it be a full-time position, because I currently have a night security job, working for a bank.’

‘Hand in your notice tomorrow,’ said Hugo. ‘I don’t want you to be working for anyone else.’

‘And what are the hours?’

‘At your discretion.’

‘And my salary?’

‘I will pay you eight pounds a week, a month in advance, and will also cover any legitimate expenses.’

Mitchell nodded. ‘May I suggest you make any payments in cash, sir, so that nothing can be traced back to you?’

‘That seems sensible,’ said Hugo, who’d already made that decision.

‘And would you want the monthly reports to be in writing, or in person?’

‘In person. I want as little committed to paper as possible.’

‘Then we should always meet at a different location and never on the same day of the week. That way it would be unlikely that anyone would come across us more than once.’

‘I have no problem with that,’ said Hugo.

‘When would you want me to start, sir?’

‘You started half an hour ago,’ said Barrington. He removed a slip of paper and an envelope containing £32 from an inside pocket and handed them to Mitchell.

Mitchell studied the name and address written on the piece of paper for a few moments before handing it back to his new boss. ‘I’ll also need your private number, sir, and details of when and where you can be contacted.’

‘At my office any evening between five and six,’ said Hugo. ‘You must never contact me at home unless it’s an emergency,’ he added as he took out a pen.

‘Just tell me the numbers, sir, don’t write them down.’

‘WERE YOU THINKING OF attending Master Giles’s birthday party?’ asked Miss Potts.

Hugo looked at his diary. Giles, 12th birthday , 3 p.m., Manor House was written in bold letters at the top of the page.

‘Do I have time to pick up a present on the way home?’

Miss Potts left the room, and returned a moment later carrying a large parcel wrapped in shiny red paper and tied with a ribbon.

‘What’s inside?’ asked Hugo.

‘The latest Roberts radio; the one he asked for when you visited him in the san last month.’

‘Thank you, Miss Potts,’ said Hugo. He checked his watch. ‘I’d better leave now if I’m going to be in time to see him cut the cake.’

Miss Potts placed a thick file in his briefcase and before he could ask, she said, ‘Your background notes for tomorrow morning’s board meeting. You can go over them after Master Giles has returned to St Bede’s. That way there will be no need for you to come back this evening.’

‘Thank you, Miss Potts,’ said Hugo. ‘You think of everything.’

As he drove through the city on his way home, Hugo couldn’t help noticing how many more cars there seemed to be on the highway than there had been a year ago. Pedestrians were becoming more wary of casually crossing the road since the government had increased the speed limit to 30 miles per hour. A horse reared up as Hugo shot past a hansom cab. He wondered how much longer they could hope to survive now that the city council had authorized its first taxi cab.

Once he had driven out of the city, Hugo sped up, not wanting to be late for his son’s party. How quickly the boy was growing. He was already taller than his mother. Would he end up taller than his father?

When Giles left St Bede’s and took up his place at Eton in a year’s time, Hugo felt confident that his friendship with the Clifton boy would soon be forgotten, although he realized there were other difficulties that needed to be addressed before then.

He slowed down as he passed through the gates of his estate. He always enjoyed the long drive through the avenue of oaks up to the Manor House. Jenkins was standing on the top step as Hugo got out of the car. He held open the front door and said, ‘Mrs Barrington is in the drawing room sir, with Master Giles and two of his school friends.’

As he walked into the hall, Emma came running down the stairs and threw her arms around her father.

‘What’s in the parcel?’ she demanded.

‘A birthday present for your brother.’

‘Yes, but what is it?’

‘You’ll have to wait and see, young lady,’ said her father with a smile before he handed his briefcase to the butler. ‘Would you put that in my study, Jenkins,’ he said as Emma grabbed him by the hand and began to tug him towards the drawing room.

Hugo’s smile evaporated the moment he opened the door and saw who was sitting on the sofa.

Giles leapt up and ran towards his father, who handed him the parcel and said, ‘Happy birthday, my boy.’

‘Thank you, Papa,’ he said, before introducing his friends.

Hugo shook Deakins’s hand, but when Harry offered his, he just said, ‘Good afternoon, Clifton,’ and sat down in his favourite chair.

Hugo watched with interest as Giles undid the ribbon on his parcel and they both saw the present for the first time. Even his son’s unbridled delight with his new radio didn’t bring a smile to Hugo’s lips. He had a question that he needed to ask Clifton, but it mustn’t appear as if the boy’s reply was of any significance.

He remained silent while the three boys took turns tuning into the two stations and listening intently to the strange voices and music that came out of the speaker. This was regularly followed by laughter or applause.