Jeffrey Archer - The Sins of the 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.’

‘Don’t you find it a little too much of a coincidence, Mr Guinzburg, that the day Thomas Bradshaw arrives at Lavenham just happens to be the first day of the diary?’

‘Mr Lloyd explained that he didn’t start writing the diary until he became the prison librarian, when he had more time on his hands.’

‘But how do you explain there being no mention of his last night in prison, or the morning he’s released? He just has breakfast in the canteen, and reports to the library for another day’s work.’

‘What explanation do you have?’ asked Guinzburg, peering at her over the top of his glasses.

‘Whoever wrote the diary is still in Lavenham, and probably working on the next volume.’

‘That shouldn’t be difficult for you to verify,’ said Guinzburg, raising an eyebrow.

‘I agree,’ said Alistair, ‘and I’ve already submitted an application for Miss Barrington to visit Mr Bradshaw on compassionate grounds, and am waiting for the warden of Lavenham to give his approval.’

‘May I be allowed to ask a few more questions, Miss Barrington, in the hope of removing any lingering doubts?’ asked Guinzburg.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Emma.

The old man smiled, pulled his waistcoat down, pushed up his spectacles and studied a list of questions on a notepad in front of him. ‘Who is Captain Jack Tarrant, sometimes known as Old Jack?’

‘My grandfather’s oldest friend. They served in the Boer War together.’

‘Which grandfather?’

‘Sir Walter Barrington.’

The publisher nodded. ‘And did you consider Mr Tarrant to be an honourable man?’

‘Like Caesar’s wife, he was beyond reproach. He was probably the single biggest influence in Harry’s life.’

‘But isn’t he to blame for the fact that you and Harry are not married?’

‘Is that question relevant?’ asked Alistair, jumping in.

‘I suspect we’re about to find out,’ said Guinzburg, not taking his eyes off Emma.

‘Jack felt it was his duty to alert the vicar to the possibility that my father, Hugo Barrington, might also be Harry’s father,’ said Emma, her voice breaking.

‘Was that necessary, Mr Guinzburg?’ snapped Alistair.

‘Oh yes,’ said the publisher, picking up the copy of The Diary of a Convict from his desk. ‘I am now convinced that it was Harry Clifton, and not Max Lloyd, who wrote this book.’

Emma smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘even if I’m not sure what I can do about it.’

‘I know exactly what I’m going to do about it,’ said Guinzburg. ‘To start with, I shall release a revised edition as quickly as the presses can print it, with two major changes: Harry Clifton’s name will replace Max Lloyd’s on the front cover, and his photograph will appear on the back cover, assuming you have one, Miss Barrington.’

‘Several,’ said Emma, ‘including one of him on the Kansas Star as it sailed into New York harbour.’

‘Ah, that would also explain-’ began Guinzburg.

‘But if you were to do that,’ interrupted Alistair, ‘all hell will break loose. Jelks will issue a writ on behalf of his client for defamation, and claim punitive damages.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Guinzburg, ‘because if he does, the book will undoubtedly go back to number one on the bestseller lists, and remain there for several months. However, if he does nothing, as I suspect will be the case, it will show that he believes he’s the only person who has seen the missing exercise book Harry Clifton wrote about ending up in Lavenham.’

‘I knew there was another one,’ said Emma.

‘There certainly is,’ said Guinzburg, ‘and it was your mention of the Kansas Star that made me realize the manuscript Mr Lloyd submitted as the opening chapters of Mistaken Identity is nothing more than an account of what happened to Harry Clifton before he was sentenced for a crime he didn’t commit.’

‘May I be allowed to read it?’ said Emma.

The moment Emma walked into Alistair’s office, she knew something had gone badly wrong. The familiar warm welcome and gracious smile had been replaced by a furrowed brow.

‘They’re not going to let me visit Harry, are they,’ she said.

‘No,’ said Alistair. ‘Your application was turned down.’

‘But why? You told me I was well within my rights.’

‘I phoned the warden earlier this morning and asked him exactly the same question.’

‘And what reason did he give?’

‘You can hear for yourself,’ said Alistair, ‘because I made a tape recording of our conversation. Listen carefully, because it gives us three very important clues.’ Without another word, he leant forward and pressed the play button on his Grundig. Two spools began to whirl.

‘Lavenham Correctional Facility.’

‘I’d like to speak to the warden.’

‘Who’s calling?’

‘Alistair Stuart. I’m a New York attorney.’

Silence, followed by another ringing tone. A longer silence, then, ‘I’ll put you through, sir.’