Jeffrey Archer - The Sins of the Father

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.’

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 that when she’d seen him in the flesh. She was on the third page of the letter when the phone rang again. She picked it up.

‘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.