Clifton Chronicles 02 - The Sins of the Father by Jeffrey Archer Page B
Authors: Jeffrey Archer
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ship’s medical officer.’ Emma bit her lip. ‘But if you’d like me to arrange a private meeting with the captain, I’d be happy—’
‘No, no,’ said Emma quickly, ‘it’s not that important.’
‘If you change your mind—’ began Sir Walter, suddenly realizing just how important Emma considered it to be.
‘No, thank you, Gramps,’ she said as she rose from her place. ‘Thank you for giving me so much of your time.’
‘Not nearly enough,’ said the old man. ‘I only wish you’d drop in more often. And make sure you bring Sebastian with you next time,’ he added as he accompanied her to the door.
Sir Walter was no longer in any doubt why his granddaughter had come to see him.
In the car on the way back to the Manor House, one sentence remained etched in Emma’s mind. She played the words over and over, like a gramophone needle stuck in a groove.
Once she had returned home, she joined Sebastian in the nursery. He had to be coaxed off his rocking horse, but not before a few tears had been shed. After lunch he curled up like a satisfied cat, and fell into a deep sleep. Nanny put him to bed while Emma rang for the chauffeur.
‘I’d like to be driven back into Bristol, Hudson.’
‘Anywhere in particular, miss?’
‘The Grand Hotel.’
‘You want me to do what?’ said Maisie.
‘Take me on as a waitress.’
‘But why?’
‘I’d prefer not to tell you.’
‘Do you have any idea how hard the work is?’
‘No,’ admitted Emma, ‘but I won’t let you down.’
‘And when do you want to start?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘For how long?’
‘One month.’
‘Now let me try and get this straight,’ said Maisie. ‘You want me to train you as a waitress, starting tomorrow, and you’ll be leaving in a month’s time, but you won’t tell me why?’
‘That’s about it.’
‘Are you expecting to be paid?’
‘No,’ said Emma.
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
‘So when do I start?’
‘Six o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘Six o’clock?’ repeated Emma in disbelief.
‘This may come as a surprise, Emma, but I have customers who need to be fed by seven, and at work by eight, so you’ll have to make sure you’re at your station by six – every morning.’
‘My station?’
‘I’ll explain if you turn up before six.’
Emma wasn’t late for work once in the next twenty-eight days, possibly because Jenkins tapped on her door at 4.30 every morning, and Hudson dropped her off a hundred yards from the staff entrance of the Grand Hotel by 5.45.
Miss Dickens, as she was known by the rest of the staff, took advantage of her acting skills to make sure that no one worked out that she was a Barrington.
Mrs Clifton showed Emma no favours when she spilt some soup over a regular customer, and even less when she dropped a stack of plates that shattered in the middle of the dining room. The cost would normally have been deducted from her pay packet, if she’d had one. And it was some time before Emma got the knack of using her shoulder to barge through the swing doors that led in and out of the kitchen without colliding with another waitress coming from the opposite direction.
Despite this, Maisie quickly discovered that she only had to tell Emma something once, and she never forgot it. She was also impressed how quickly Emma could turn a table round, although she’d never laid one before in her life. And while most trainees took several weeks to master the skill of silver service, some never managing it, Emma didn’t need any further supervision by the end of her second week.
By the end of her third, Maisie wished she wasn’t leaving, and by the end of the fourth, so did several regulars, who were insisting that only Miss Dickens must serve them.
Maisie was becoming anxious about how she was going to explain to the hotel manager that Miss Dickens had given in her notice after only a month.
‘You can tell Mr Hurst that I’ve been offered a
‘No, no,’ said Emma quickly, ‘it’s not that important.’
‘If you change your mind—’ began Sir Walter, suddenly realizing just how important Emma considered it to be.
‘No, thank you, Gramps,’ she said as she rose from her place. ‘Thank you for giving me so much of your time.’
‘Not nearly enough,’ said the old man. ‘I only wish you’d drop in more often. And make sure you bring Sebastian with you next time,’ he added as he accompanied her to the door.
Sir Walter was no longer in any doubt why his granddaughter had come to see him.
In the car on the way back to the Manor House, one sentence remained etched in Emma’s mind. She played the words over and over, like a gramophone needle stuck in a groove.
Once she had returned home, she joined Sebastian in the nursery. He had to be coaxed off his rocking horse, but not before a few tears had been shed. After lunch he curled up like a satisfied cat, and fell into a deep sleep. Nanny put him to bed while Emma rang for the chauffeur.
‘I’d like to be driven back into Bristol, Hudson.’
‘Anywhere in particular, miss?’
‘The Grand Hotel.’
‘You want me to do what?’ said Maisie.
‘Take me on as a waitress.’
‘But why?’
‘I’d prefer not to tell you.’
‘Do you have any idea how hard the work is?’
‘No,’ admitted Emma, ‘but I won’t let you down.’
‘And when do you want to start?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘For how long?’
‘One month.’
‘Now let me try and get this straight,’ said Maisie. ‘You want me to train you as a waitress, starting tomorrow, and you’ll be leaving in a month’s time, but you won’t tell me why?’
‘That’s about it.’
‘Are you expecting to be paid?’
‘No,’ said Emma.
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
‘So when do I start?’
‘Six o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘Six o’clock?’ repeated Emma in disbelief.
‘This may come as a surprise, Emma, but I have customers who need to be fed by seven, and at work by eight, so you’ll have to make sure you’re at your station by six – every morning.’
‘My station?’
‘I’ll explain if you turn up before six.’
Emma wasn’t late for work once in the next twenty-eight days, possibly because Jenkins tapped on her door at 4.30 every morning, and Hudson dropped her off a hundred yards from the staff entrance of the Grand Hotel by 5.45.
Miss Dickens, as she was known by the rest of the staff, took advantage of her acting skills to make sure that no one worked out that she was a Barrington.
Mrs Clifton showed Emma no favours when she spilt some soup over a regular customer, and even less when she dropped a stack of plates that shattered in the middle of the dining room. The cost would normally have been deducted from her pay packet, if she’d had one. And it was some time before Emma got the knack of using her shoulder to barge through the swing doors that led in and out of the kitchen without colliding with another waitress coming from the opposite direction.
Despite this, Maisie quickly discovered that she only had to tell Emma something once, and she never forgot it. She was also impressed how quickly Emma could turn a table round, although she’d never laid one before in her life. And while most trainees took several weeks to master the skill of silver service, some never managing it, Emma didn’t need any further supervision by the end of her second week.
By the end of her third, Maisie wished she wasn’t leaving, and by the end of the fourth, so did several regulars, who were insisting that only Miss Dickens must serve them.
Maisie was becoming anxious about how she was going to explain to the hotel manager that Miss Dickens had given in her notice after only a month.
‘You can tell Mr Hurst that I’ve been offered a
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