Read Online Clifton Chronicles 01 - Only Time Will Tell by Jeffrey Archer - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeffrey Archer
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you Alan.’
‘No she doesn’t,’ said Deakins, his head still bowed. The other two boys looked surprised by this revelation, but said nothing. ‘My name’s Algernon,’ he finally spluttered.
Giles burst out laughing.
Mrs Barrington paid no attention to her son’s outburst. ‘Your mother must be an admirer of Oscar Wilde,’ she said.
‘Yes, she is,’ said Deakins. ‘But I wish she’d called me Jack, or even Ernest.’
‘I wouldn’t let it worry you,’ said Mrs Barrington. ‘After all, Giles suffers from a similar indignity.’
‘Mother, you promised you wouldn’t—’
‘You must get him to tell you his middle name,’ she said, ignoring the protest. When Giles didn’t respond, Harry and Deakins looked at Mrs Barrington hopefully. ‘Marmaduke,’ she declared with a sigh. ‘Like his father and grandfather before him.’
‘If either of you tell anyone about this when we get back to school,’ Giles said, looking at his two friends, ‘I swear I’ll kill you, and I mean, kill you.’ Both boys laughed.
‘Do you have a middle name, Harry?’ asked Mrs Barrington.
Harry was about to reply when the drawing-room door flew open and a man who couldn’t have been mistaken for a servant strode into the room carrying a large parcel. Harry looked up at a man who could only have been Mr Hugo. Giles leapt up and ran towards his father, who handed him the parcel and said, ‘Happy birthday, my boy.’
‘Thank you, Papa,’ said Giles, and immediately began to untie the ribbon.
‘Before you open your present, Giles,’ said his mother, ‘perhaps you should first introduce your guests to Papa.’
‘Sorry, Papa. These are my two best friends, Deakins and Harry,’ said Giles, placing the gift on the table. Harry noticed that Giles’s father had the same athletic build and restless energy he’d assumed was uniquely his son’s.
‘Pleased to meet you, Deakins,’ said Mr Barrington, shaking him by the hand. He then turned to Harry. ‘Good afternoon, Clifton,’ he added, before sitting down in the empty chair next to his wife. Harry was puzzled that Mr Barrington didn’t shake hands with him. And how did he know his name was Clifton?
Once the under-butler had served Mr Barrington with a cup of tea, Giles removed the wrapping from his present and let out a yelp of delight when he saw the Roberts radio. He pushed the plug into a wall socket and began to tune the radio to different stations. The boys applauded and laughed with each new sound that was emitted from the large wooden box.
‘Giles tells me that he came second in mathematics this term,’ said Mrs Barrington, turning to her husband.
‘Which doesn’t make up for him being bottom in almost every other subject,’ he retorted. Giles tried not to look embarrassed, as he continued to search for another station on his radio.
‘But you should have seen the goal he scored against Avonhurst,’ said Harry. ‘We’re all expecting him to captain the eleven next year.’
‘Goals aren’t going to get him into Eton,’ said Mr Barrington, not looking at Harry. ‘It’s time the boy buckled down and worked harder.’
No one spoke for some time, until Mrs Barrington broke the silence. ‘Are you the Clifton who sings in the choir at St Mary Redcliffe?’ she asked.
‘Harry’s the treble soloist,’ said Giles. ‘In fact, he’s a choral scholar.’
Harry became aware that Giles’s father was now staring at him.
‘I thought I recognized you,’ said Mrs Barrington. ‘Giles’s grandfather and I attended a performance of the Messiah at St Mary’s, when the choir of St Bede’s joined forces with Bristol Grammar School. Your I Know That My Redeemer Liveth was quite magnificent, Harry.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Barrington,’ said Harry, blushing.
‘Are you hoping to go on to Bristol Grammar School after you leave St Bede’s, Clifton?’ asked Mr Barrington.
Clifton again, thought Harry. ‘Only if I win a scholarship, sir,’ he
‘No she doesn’t,’ said Deakins, his head still bowed. The other two boys looked surprised by this revelation, but said nothing. ‘My name’s Algernon,’ he finally spluttered.
Giles burst out laughing.
Mrs Barrington paid no attention to her son’s outburst. ‘Your mother must be an admirer of Oscar Wilde,’ she said.
‘Yes, she is,’ said Deakins. ‘But I wish she’d called me Jack, or even Ernest.’
‘I wouldn’t let it worry you,’ said Mrs Barrington. ‘After all, Giles suffers from a similar indignity.’
‘Mother, you promised you wouldn’t—’
‘You must get him to tell you his middle name,’ she said, ignoring the protest. When Giles didn’t respond, Harry and Deakins looked at Mrs Barrington hopefully. ‘Marmaduke,’ she declared with a sigh. ‘Like his father and grandfather before him.’
‘If either of you tell anyone about this when we get back to school,’ Giles said, looking at his two friends, ‘I swear I’ll kill you, and I mean, kill you.’ Both boys laughed.
‘Do you have a middle name, Harry?’ asked Mrs Barrington.
Harry was about to reply when the drawing-room door flew open and a man who couldn’t have been mistaken for a servant strode into the room carrying a large parcel. Harry looked up at a man who could only have been Mr Hugo. Giles leapt up and ran towards his father, who handed him the parcel and said, ‘Happy birthday, my boy.’
‘Thank you, Papa,’ said Giles, and immediately began to untie the ribbon.
‘Before you open your present, Giles,’ said his mother, ‘perhaps you should first introduce your guests to Papa.’
‘Sorry, Papa. These are my two best friends, Deakins and Harry,’ said Giles, placing the gift on the table. Harry noticed that Giles’s father had the same athletic build and restless energy he’d assumed was uniquely his son’s.
‘Pleased to meet you, Deakins,’ said Mr Barrington, shaking him by the hand. He then turned to Harry. ‘Good afternoon, Clifton,’ he added, before sitting down in the empty chair next to his wife. Harry was puzzled that Mr Barrington didn’t shake hands with him. And how did he know his name was Clifton?
Once the under-butler had served Mr Barrington with a cup of tea, Giles removed the wrapping from his present and let out a yelp of delight when he saw the Roberts radio. He pushed the plug into a wall socket and began to tune the radio to different stations. The boys applauded and laughed with each new sound that was emitted from the large wooden box.
‘Giles tells me that he came second in mathematics this term,’ said Mrs Barrington, turning to her husband.
‘Which doesn’t make up for him being bottom in almost every other subject,’ he retorted. Giles tried not to look embarrassed, as he continued to search for another station on his radio.
‘But you should have seen the goal he scored against Avonhurst,’ said Harry. ‘We’re all expecting him to captain the eleven next year.’
‘Goals aren’t going to get him into Eton,’ said Mr Barrington, not looking at Harry. ‘It’s time the boy buckled down and worked harder.’
No one spoke for some time, until Mrs Barrington broke the silence. ‘Are you the Clifton who sings in the choir at St Mary Redcliffe?’ she asked.
‘Harry’s the treble soloist,’ said Giles. ‘In fact, he’s a choral scholar.’
Harry became aware that Giles’s father was now staring at him.
‘I thought I recognized you,’ said Mrs Barrington. ‘Giles’s grandfather and I attended a performance of the Messiah at St Mary’s, when the choir of St Bede’s joined forces with Bristol Grammar School. Your I Know That My Redeemer Liveth was quite magnificent, Harry.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Barrington,’ said Harry, blushing.
‘Are you hoping to go on to Bristol Grammar School after you leave St Bede’s, Clifton?’ asked Mr Barrington.
Clifton again, thought Harry. ‘Only if I win a scholarship, sir,’ he
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