JEFFREY ARCHER THE CLIFTON CHRONICLES VOLUME ONE ONLY TIME WILL TELL MACMILLAN ALAN QUILTER 1927-1998 THE BARRINGTONS THE CLIFTONS Contents MAISIE CLIFTON: 1919 PRELUDE HARRY CLIFTON: 1920-1933 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 MAISIE CLIFTON: 1920-1936 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 HUGO BARRINGTON: 1921-1936 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 OLD JACK TAR: 1925-1936 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 GILES BARRINGTON: 1936-1938 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 EMMA BARRINGTON: 1932-1939 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 HARRY CLIFTON: 1939-1940 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 MAISIE CLIFTON 1919 PRELUDE This story would never have been written if I hadn’t become pregnant. Mind you, I had always planned to lose my virginity on the works outing to Weston-super-Mare, just not to that particular man. Arthur Clifton was born in Still House Lane, just like me; even went to the same school, Merrywood Elementary, but as I was two years younger than him he didn’t know I existed. All the girls in my class had a crush on him, and not just because he captained the school football team. Although Arthur had never shown any interest in me while I was at school, that changed soon after he’d returned from the Western Front. I’m not even sure he realized who I was when he asked me for a dance that Saturday night at the Palais but, to be fair, I had to look twice before I recognized him because he’d grown a pencil moustache and had his hair slicked back like Ronald Colman. He didn’t look at another girl that night, and after we’d danced the last waltz I knew it would only be a matter of time before he asked me to marry him. Arthur held my hand as we walked back home, and when we reached my front door he tried to kiss me. I turned away. After all, the Reverend Watts had told me often enough that I had to stay pure until the day I was married, and Miss Monday, our choir mistress, warned me that men only wanted one thing, and once they’d got it, they quickly lost interest. I often wondered if Miss Monday spoke from experience. The following Saturday, Arthur invited me to the flicks to see Lillian Gish in Broken Blossoms, and although I allowed him to put an arm around my shoulder, I still didn’t let him kiss me. He didn’t make a fuss. Truth is, Arthur was rather shy. The next Saturday I did allow him to kiss me, but when he tried to put a hand inside my blouse, I pushed him away. In fact I didn’t let him do that until he’d proposed, bought a ring and the Reverend Watts had read the banns a second time. My brother Stan told me that I was the last known virgin on our side of the River Avon, though I suspect most of his conquests were in his mind. Still, I decided the time had come, and when better than the works outing to Weston-super-Mare with the man I was going to marry in a few weeks’ time? However, as soon as Arthur and Stan got off the charabanc, they headed straight for the nearest pub. But I’d spent the past month planning for this moment, so when I got off the coach, like a good girl guide, I was prepared. I was walking towards the pier feeling pretty fed up when I became aware someone was following me. I looked around and was surprised when I saw who it was. He caught up with me and asked if I was on my own. ‘Yes,’ I said, aware that by now Arthur would be on his third pint. When he put a hand on my bum, I should have slapped his face, but for several reasons I didn’t. To start with, I thought about the advantages of having sex with someone I wasn’t likely to come across again. And I have to admit I was flattered by his advances. By the time Arthur and Stan would have been downing their eighth pints, he’d booked us into a guest house just off the seafront. They seemed to have a special rate for visitors who had no plans to spend the night. He started kissing me even before we’d reached the first landing, and once the bedroom door was closed he quickly undid the buttons of my blouse. It obviously wasn’t his first time. In fact, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the first girl he’d had on a works outing. Otherwise, how did he know about the special rates? I must confess I hadn’t expected it to be all over quite so quickly. Once he’d climbed off me, I disappeared into the bathroom, while he sat on the end of the bed and lit up a fag. Perhaps it would be better the second time, I thought. But when I came back out, he was nowhere to be seen. I have to admit I was disappointed. I might have felt more guilty about being unfaithful to Arthur if he hadn’t been sick all over me on the journey back to Bristol. The next day I told my mum what had happened, without letting on who the bloke was. After all, she hadn’t met him, and was never likely to. Mum told me to keep my mouth shut as she didn’t want to have to cancel the wedding, and even if I did turn out to be pregnant, no one would be any the wiser, as Arthur and I would be married by the time anyone noticed. HARRY CLIFTON 1920-1933