Best Kept Secret

ever seen,’ Harry said, placing his left foot firmly forward while trying to give a demonstration without a bat. He hadn’t noticed how
distracted Giles had become.
    ‘Yes, I was at Headingley when he scored a century against the South Africans in his first Test.’
    ‘I saw that innings as well,’ said an elderly don who had joined them. ‘A quite magnificent knock.’
    Giles slipped away, and wove his way around the crowded room, only stopping to chat to Sebastian about how he was getting on at school. The young man seemed far more relaxed and confident than
he ever remembered him being.
    Giles was beginning to fear she might leave before he got the chance to meet her, and when Sebastian became distracted by a sausage roll, he moved on until he found himself standing by her side.
She was chatting to an older woman and didn’t seem to be aware of him. He stood there, tongue-tied, wondering why Englishmen found it so difficult to introduce themselves to women,
particularly beautiful women. How right Betjeman was, and this wasn’t even a desert island.
    ‘I don’t think Schwarzkopf’s got the range for the part,’ the other woman was saying.
    ‘You may be right, but I’d still give up half my annual grant just to hear her sing.’
    The older woman glanced at Giles and turned to speak to someone else, almost as if she knew. Giles introduced himself, hoping no one else would join them. They shook hands. Just touching her . .
.
    ‘Hello. I’m Giles Barrington.’
    ‘You must be Grace’s brother, the MP I keep reading about who has all those radical views. I’m Gwyneth,’ she said, revealing her ancestry.
    ‘Are you an undergraduate?’
    ‘You flatter me,’ she said, giving him a smile. ‘No, I’m just completing my PhD. Your sister is my supervisor.’
    ‘What’s your thesis on?’
    ‘The links between mathematics and philosophy in Ancient Greece.’
    ‘I can’t wait to read it.’
    ‘I’ll see that you get an early copy.’
    ‘Who’s the girl Giles is chatting to?’ Emma asked her sister.
    Grace turned and looked across the room. ‘Gwyneth Hughes, one of my brighter PhD students. He’ll certainly find her something of a contrast to Lady Virginia. She’s the daughter
of a Welsh miner, up from the valleys, as she likes to remind everyone, and she certainly knows the meaning of
compos mentis
.’
    ‘She’s very attractive,’ Emma said. ‘You don’t think—’
    ‘Good heavens, no, what would they have in common?’
    Emma smiled to herself, before saying, ‘Have you handed over your eleven per cent of the company to Giles?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Grace, ‘along with my rights to Grandfather’s home in Smith Square, as I agreed with Mama, once I was convinced the silly boy was finally free of
Virginia.’
    Emma didn’t speak for some time. ‘So you always knew the contents of Mama’s new will?’
    ‘And what was in the envelope,’ said Grace casually, ‘which was why I couldn’t attend the trial.’
    ‘How well Mother knew you.’
    ‘How well she knew all three of us,’ said Grace as she looked across the room at her brother.

16
    ‘C AN YOU SET the whole thing up?’ asked Giles.
    ‘Yes, sir, just leave it to me.’
    ‘I’d like to get it over with as quickly as possible.’
    ‘Of course, sir.’
    ‘Such a sordid business. I only wish there was a more civilized way of doing these things.’
    ‘It’s the law that needs changing, Sir Giles, and frankly that’s more your department than mine.’
    Giles knew the man was right, and undoubtedly the law would change in time, but Virginia had made it clear she couldn’t wait. After months of not making any contact with him, she’d
rung him out of the blue to tell him why she wanted a divorce. She didn’t need to spell out what was expected of him.
    ‘Thank you, Bunny, I knew you could be relied on,’ she’d said before putting the phone down.
    ‘When will I hear from you?’ Giles asked.
    ‘By the end of the week,’ the man replied, before downing his half pint. He rose, gave a slight bow and limped away.

    Giles was wearing a large red carnation in his buttonhole so she couldn’t miss him. He glanced at every female under the age of thirty who walked in his direction. None of
them even gave him a glance, until a prim young woman came to a halt by his side.
    ‘Mr Brown?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes,’ Giles replied.
    ‘My name is Miss Holt. I’m from the agency.’
    Without another word, she linked her