Best Kept Secret

to keep her head above water. ‘Hardly my field.’
    ‘Or mine, but when he spoke about transport. . .’
    ‘Sounds riveting.’
    ‘It was,’ said Grace, ignoring her sarcasm, ‘especially when he touched on the future of shipping, now that the British Overseas Airways Corporation is planning to start a
regular air service from London to New York.’
    Emma was suddenly aware of why her sister had rung. ‘Any hope of getting a transcript of the lecture?’
    ‘You can do better than that. His next port of call is Bristol, so you can go along and hear him in person.’
    ‘Perhaps I could have a word with him after the lecture. There’s so much I’d like to ask him,’ said Emma.
    ‘Good idea, but if you do, be warned. Although he’s one of those rare men whose brain is bigger than his balls, he’s on his fourth wife, and there was no sign of her last
night.’
    Emma laughed. ‘You’re so crude, sis, but thanks for the advice.’

    Harry took the train from Edinburgh to Manchester the following morning and, after addressing a small gathering in the city’s municipal library, agreed to take
questions.
    The first was inevitably from a member of the press. They rarely announced themselves, and seemed to have little or no interest in his latest book. Today it was the turn of the
Manchester
Guardian.
    ‘How is Mrs Clifton?’
    ‘Well, thank you,’ Harry replied cautiously.
    ‘Is it true you’re both living in the same house as Sir Giles Barrington?’
    ‘It’s quite a big house.’
    ‘Do you feel any resentment about the fact that Sir Giles got everything in his father’s will, and you got nothing?’
    ‘Certainly not. I got Emma, which is all I ever wanted.’
    That seemed to silence the journalist for a moment, allowing a member of the public the chance to jump in.
    ‘When will William Warwick get Chief Inspector Davenport’s job?’
    ‘Not in the next book,’ said Harry with a smile. ‘I can assure you of that.’
    ‘Is it true, Mr Clifton, that you’ve lost seven nannies in less than three years?’
    Manchester clearly had more than one newspaper.
    In the car on the way back to the station, Harry began to grumble about the press, although the Manchester rep pointed out that all the publicity didn’t seem to be harming his sales. But
Harry knew that Emma was becoming concerned about the endless press attention, and the effect it might have on Sebastian once he started school.
    ‘Little boys can be so brutal,’ she’d reminded him.
    ‘Well, at least he won’t be thrashed for licking his porridge bowl,’ said Harry.

    Although Emma was a few minutes early, Mitchell was already seated in the alcove when she walked into the hotel lounge. He stood up the moment she joined him. The first thing
she said, even before she sat down, was, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mr Mitchell?’
    ‘No, thank you, Mrs Clifton.’ Mitchell, not a man for small talk, sat back down and opened his note book. ‘It seems the local authority has placed Jessica
Smith—’
    ‘Smith?’ said Emma. ‘Why not Piotrovska, or even Barrington?’
    ‘Too easy to trace, would be my bet, and I suspect the coroner insisted on anonymity following the inquest. The local authority,’ he continued, ‘sent a Miss J. Smith to a Dr
Barnardo’s home in Bridgwater.’
    ‘Why Bridgwater?’
    ‘Probably the nearest home that had a vacancy at the time.’
    ‘Is she still there?’
    ‘As far as I can make out, yes. But I’ve recently discovered that Barnardo’s is planning to send several of their girls to homes in Australia.’
    ‘Why would they do that?’
    ‘It’s part of Australia’s immigration policy to pay ten pounds to assist young people’s passage to their country, and they’re particularly keen on girls.’
    ‘I would have thought they’d be more interested in boys.’
    ‘It seems they’ve already got enough of them,’ said Mitchell, displaying a rare grin.
    ‘Then we’d better visit Bridgwater as soon as possible.’
    ‘Hold on, Mrs Clifton. If you appear too enthusiastic, they might put two and two together and work out why you’re so interested in Miss J. Smith, and decide you and Mr Clifton
aren’t suitable foster parents.’
    ‘But what reason could they possibly have to deny us?’
    ‘Your name for a start. Not to mention that you and Mr Clifton weren’t married when your son was born.’
    ‘So what do you recommend?’ asked Emma quietly.
    ‘Make an application through the