Jeffrey Archer - The Sins of the Father

All Giles wanted to do was to rejoin his regiment and team up with his old comrades, but he knew that wouldn’t be possible, because when he walked off the parade ground that Friday afternoon, the corporals, the sergeants and, yes, even the sergeant major saluted him.

Sixty young second lieutenants left Aldershot that afternoon for every corner of the land, to spend a weekend with their families, some of them for the last time.

Giles spent most of Saturday jumping on and off trains, as he made his way back to the West Country. He arrived at the Manor House just in time to join his mother for dinner.

When she first saw the young lieutenant standing in the hallway, Elizabeth made no attempt to hide her pride.

Giles was disappointed that neither Emma nor Grace was at home to see him in uniform. His mother explained that Grace, who was in her second term at Cambridge, rarely came home, even during the vacation.

Over a one-course meal served by Jenkins – several of the staff were now serving on the frontline, not at the dinner table, his mother explained – Giles told his mother about what they’d got up to in training camp on Dartmoor. When she heard about Terry Bates she sighed, ‘Bates and Son, they used to be the best butchers in Bristol.’

‘Used to be?’

‘Every shop in Broad Street was razed to the ground, so we’ve been deprived of Bates the butcher. Those Germans have a lot to answer for.’

Giles frowned. ‘And Emma?’ he asked.

‘Couldn’t be better… except – ’

‘Except?’ repeated Giles. It was some time before his mother quietly added, ‘How much more convenient it would have been if Emma had produced a daughter, rather than a son.’

‘Why is that important?’ asked Giles, as he refilled his glass.

His mother bowed her head, but said nothing.

‘Oh God,’ said Giles, as the significance of her words sank in. ‘I had assumed that when Harry died, I would inherit-’

‘I’m afraid you can’t assume anything, darling,’ said his mother looking up. ‘That is, not until it can be established that your father is not also Harry’s father. Until then, under the terms of your great-grandfather’s will, it will be Sebastian who eventually inherits the title.’

Giles hardly spoke again during the meal while he tried to take in the significance of his mother’s words. Once coffee had been served, his mother said she felt tired and went to bed.

When Giles climbed the stairs to his room a few moments later, he couldn’t resist dropping into the nursery to see his godson. He sat alone with the heir to the Barrington title. Sebastian gurgled in blissful sleep, clearly untroubled by war, and certainly not giving a thought to his grandfather’s will, or the significance of the words, and all that therein is.

The following day Giles joined his grandfathers for lunch at the Savage Club. It was a very different atmosphere from the weekend they’d shared five months earlier at Mulgelrie Castle. The only thing the two old men seemed keen to find out was where his regiment would be posted.

‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Giles, who would like to have known himself; but he would have given the same response even if he had been briefed, despite the fact that these two venerable old gentlemen were Boer War veterans.

Lieutenant Barrington rose early on the Monday morning and, after breakfast with his mother, was driven by Hudson to the headquarters of the 1st Wessex regiment. He was held up by a steady stream of armoured vehicles and lorries filled with troops pouring out of the main gate. He got out of the car and walked to the guard house.

‘Good morning, sir,’ said a corporal, after giving him a crisp salute; something Giles still hadn’t got used to. ‘The adjutant has requested that you report to his office as soon as you arrive.’

‘I’d be happy to do so, corporal,’ said Giles, returning his salute, ‘if I knew where Major Radcliffe’s office was.’

‘Far side of the square, sir, green door. You can’t miss it.’

Giles marched across the square, returning several more salutes before he reached the adjutant’s office.

Major Radcliffe looked up from behind his desk as Giles entered the room.

‘Ah, Barrington, old chap. Good to see you again,’ he said. ‘We weren’t certain if you’d make it in time.’

‘In time for what, sir?’ asked Giles.

‘The regiment’s been posted abroad, and the colonel felt you should be given the opportunity of joining us, or staying behind and waiting for the next shindig.’

‘Where are we going, sir?’

‘Haven’t a clue, old chap; way above my rank. But I can tell you one thing for certain, it will be a damn sight closer to the Germans than Bristol.’

HARRY WOULD NEVER FORGET the day Lloyd was released from Lavenham and, although he wasn’t disappointed to see him go, he was surprised by Max’s parting words.

‘Would you do me a favour, Tom?’ Lloyd said as they shook hands for the last time. ‘I’m enjoying your diaries so much, I’d like to go on reading them. If you’d send them to this address,’ he said, handing Harry a card as if he were already on the outside, ‘I’ll return them to you within a week.’

Harry was flattered, and agreed to send Max each exercise book once he’d completed it.

The following morning Harry took his place behind the librarian’s desk, but didn’t consider reading the previous day’s newspaper before he’d completed his duties. He continued to update his diaries every evening, and whenever he came to the end of a notebook, he would post his latest efforts to Max Lloyd. He was relieved, and a little surprised, when they were always returned, as promised.

As the months passed, Harry began to accept the fact that prison life was mostly routine and mundane, so when the warden charged into the library one morning brandishing his copy of the New York Times he was taken by surprise. Harry put down the stack of books he had been replacing on the shelves.

‘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?’