Best Kept Secret

you.’
    ‘I’m sure you can, my dear,’ said Virginia. ‘After all, Giles tells me Harry is quite a successful author.’
    Emma ignored the comment and, turning to her brother, said, ‘How can you be so sure that the Manor House is yours to give away?’
    ‘Because some time ago, Mama took me through her will line by line. I’d be only too happy to share its contents with you and Harry if you think it might help you plan for the
future.’
    ‘I really don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss Mama’s will on the day of her funeral.’
    ‘I don’t want to appear insensitive, my dear,’ said Virginia, ‘but as I’ll be returning to London in the morning, and will be spending most of my time preparing for
the wedding, I think it would be best to sort out these matters while we’re all together.’ She turned to Giles, and gave him the same sweet smile.
    ‘I agree with Virginia,’ said Giles. ‘No time like the present. And I can assure you, Emma, Mother has made more than adequate provision for both you and Grace. She has left
you ten thousand pounds each, and divided her jewellery equally between you. And she’s left Sebastian five thousand, which he’ll inherit when he comes of age.’
    ‘Such a fortunate child,’ said Virginia. ‘She’s also given her Turner of
Lock at Cleveland
to Jessica, but it will remain in the family until she’s
twenty-one.’ In that one sentence, Virginia revealed that Giles had shared the details of his mother’s will with his fiancée, before bothering to tell either Emma or Grace.
‘Most generous,’ continued Virginia, ‘remembering that Jessica is not even a member of the family.’
    ‘We look upon Jessica as our daughter,’ said Harry sharply, ‘and treat her as such.’
    ‘Half-sister, I think would be more accurate,’ said Virginia. ‘And we mustn’t forget that she’s a Barnardo’s orphan, as well as being Jewish. I suppose
it’s because I come from Yorkshire that I have a tendency to call a spade a spade.’
    ‘And I suppose it’s because I come from Gloucestershire,’ said Emma, ‘that I have a tendency to call a scheming bitch a scheming bitch.’
    Emma rose from her place and marched out of the room. For the first time that evening, Giles looked embarrassed. Harry was now certain that neither Giles nor Virginia was aware that Elizabeth
had executed a new will. He chose his words carefully.
    ‘Emma’s a little overwrought following the funeral. I’m sure she’ll have recovered by the morning.’
    He folded his napkin, bade them goodnight and left the room without another word.
    Virginia looked at her fiancé. ‘You were magnificent, Bunny. But I have to say, what a touchy lot your family are, though I suppose that’s only to be expected after all
they’ve been through. However, I fear it doesn’t augur well for the future.’

10
    ‘T HIS IS THE BBC Home Service. Here is the news, and this is Alvar Lidell reading it. At ten o’clock this morning, the prime minister, Mr
Attlee, requested an audience with the King and asked His Majesty’s permission to dissolve Parliament and call a general election. Mr Attlee returned to the House of Commons, and announced
that an election would be held on Thursday, October twenty-fifth.’
    The following day, 622 members packed their bags, cleared their lockers, bade farewell to their colleagues and returned to their constituencies to prepare for battle. Among them was Sir Giles
Barrington, the Labour candidate for Bristol Docklands.

    Over breakfast one morning during the second week of the campaign, Giles told Harry and Emma that Virginia would not be joining him in the run-up to the election. Emma
didn’t attempt to hide her relief.
    ‘Virginia feels she might even lose me votes,’ admitted Giles. ‘After all, no member of her family has ever been known to vote Labour. One or two may have supported the odd
Liberal, but never Labour.’
    Harry laughed. ‘At least we have that in common.’
    ‘If Labour were to win the election,’ said Emma, ‘do you think Mr Attlee might ask you to join the Cabinet?’
    ‘Heaven knows. That man plays his cards so close to his chest even he can’t see them. In any case, if you believe the polls, the election is too close to call, so there’s not
much point in dreaming about red boxes until after we know the result.’
    ‘My bet,’ said Harry, ‘is that Churchill will scrape home this time. Mind you, only the British could kick a