‘You kill the hero in the first chapter?’ said Emma in disbelief.
‘This is going to be a story about the child,’ said Grace, ‘not the father.’
‘And the mother,’ said Harry, ‘because she’s an intelligent, resourceful woman, who’s already worked out that if they don’t escape from the country, it won’t be long before her rebellious son will seek revenge, and inevitably end up suffering the same fate as his father.’
‘So where do they escape to?’ demanded Jessica.
‘The mother can’t decide between America and England.’
‘How do they decide?’ asked Karin.
‘On the toss of a coin.’
The rest of the family continued to stare at the storyteller.
‘And what’s the twist?’ asked Seb.
‘We follow what happens to the mother and child, chapter by chapter. In chapter one, they escape to America. In chapter two, England. So you have two parallel and very different stories taking place at the same time.’
‘Wow,’ said Jessica. ‘Then what happens?’
‘I wish I knew,’ said Harry. ‘But it’s my New Year’s resolution to find out.’
29
‘Ten minutes to go,’ said a voice over the loudspeaker. Karin kept jogging on the spot, attempting to get into what the seasoned runners called ‘the zone’. She’d put in hours of training, even run a half marathon, but suddenly she felt very alone on the starting line.
‘Five minutes,’ said the voice of doom.
Karin checked her stopwatch, a recent gift from Giles. 0.00. Get as close to the front as you can, Freddie had told her. Why add unnecessary time or distance to the race? Karin had never considered the marathon to be a race, she just hoped to finish in under four hours. Right now, she just hoped to finish.
‘One minute,’ boomed the starter’s voice.
Karin was about eleven rows back, but as there were over 8,000 runners, she considered that was near enough to the front.
‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one!’ the runners all shouted in unison, before a klaxon blared ominously. Karen pressed the button on her stopwatch and set off, swept along by an enthusiastic tide of runners.
Each mile was marked with a thick blue line stretching across the road, and Karin completed the first mile in under eight minutes. As she settled into a steady rhythm, she became more aware of the crowds lining both sides of the course, some cheering, some clapping, while others just stared in disbelief at the mass of human flesh, of all shapes and sizes, which was passing them at different speeds.
Her mind began to drift. She thought about Giles, who’d driven her to the little village of tents earlier that morning to register, and who would now be out there somewhere standing in the cold, waiting for her to appear among the also-rans. Her thoughts turned next to her recent visit to the House of Lords to hear the health minister answering questions from the despatch box. Emma had coped well, and in Giles’s opinion had quickly got into her stride. As Karin passed the halfway mark, she hoped she was also in her stride, although she accepted the winner would already be crossing the finishing line.
Giles had warned them that Karin was unlikely to complete the course in under four hours, so the family had all risen early that morning to make sure they could find a spot where she was certain to see them. The previous evening Freddie had been on his knees preparing a placard that he hoped would make Karin laugh as she staggered past them.
Once Giles had returned to Smith Square after dropping his wife off at the A — D registration tent in Greenwich Park, he led her little band of supporters to the back of the Treasury building and found a front-row place behind the barriers on Parliament Square, opposite the statue of Winston Churchill.
Karin was now approaching what was known by all marathon runners as the wall. It usually came at around 17 to 20 miles, and she’d heard so often about the temptation to try and convince yourself that if you dropped out, no one would notice. Everyone would notice. They might not say anything, but Sebastian had made it clear that he wouldn’t be parting with a penny unless she crossed the finishing line. A deal’s a deal, he’d reminded her. But she seemed to be going slower and slower, and it didn’t help when she spotted a 30 miles per hour road sign ahead of her.
But something, possibly the fear of failure, kept her going, and she pretended not to notice when she was overtaken by a letter box, and a few minutes later by a camel. Go, go, go, she told herself. Stop, stop, stop, her legs insisted. As she passed the 20-mile mark, the crowd cheered loudly, not for her, but for a caterpillar who strolled past her.
When Karin spotted the Tower of London in the distance, she began to believe she just might make it. She checked her watch: 3 hours 32 minutes. Could she still complete the course in under four hours?
As she turned off the Embankment and passed Big Ben, a loud, sustained cheer went up. She looked across to see Giles, Harry and Emma waving frantically. Jessica never stopped drawing, while Freddie held up a placard that declared KEEP GOING, I THINK YOU’RE IN THIRD PLACE!
Karin somehow managed to raise an arm in acknowledgement, but by the time she turned into the Mall, she could barely place one foot in front of the other. With a quarter of a mile to go, she became aware of the packed stands on both sides of the road, the crowds cheering more loudly than ever and a BBC television crew who were filming her while running backwards faster than she was running forwards.
She looked up to see the digital clock above the finishing line ticking relentlessly away. Three hours 57 minutes, and she suddenly began to take an interest in the seconds, 31, 32, 33... With one last herculean effort, she tried to speed up. When she finally crossed the line, she raised her arms high in the air as if she were an Olympic champion. After a few more strides, she collapsed in a heap on the ground.
Within a moment, a race official in a Red Cross smock was kneeling beside her, a bottle of water in one hand, a shiny silver cape in the other.
‘Try to keep moving,’ he said as he placed a medal round her neck.
Karin began walking slowly, very slowly, but her spirits were lifted when in the distance she spotted Freddie running towards her, arms outstretched, with Giles only a few paces behind.
‘Congratulations!’ Freddie shouted, even before he’d reached her. ‘Three hours, fifty-nine minutes and eleven seconds. I’m sure you’ll do better next year.’
‘There isn’t going to be a next year,’ said Karin with considerable feeling. ‘Even if Sebastian offers me a million pounds.’
Lady Virginia Fenwick
1983–1986
30
Virginia had moved out of her flat in Chelsea and into the duke’s Eaton Square townhouse the day after his chauffeur drove Clarence and Alice to Heathrow to go their separate ways; one flying east, the other west.
Although still a little apprehensive, she became more and more confident that she’d got away with it, until they travelled up to the country together to spend a long weekend at Castle Hertford.
It was while the duke was out shooting that Mr Moxton, the estate manager, had dropped her a handwritten note requesting a private meeting with her.
‘I apologize for raising the subject,’ he said after Virginia had summoned him to join her in the drawing room, ‘but may I ask if the £185,000 the duke gave you was a gift or a loan?’
‘Does it make any difference?’ asked Virginia sharply.
‘Only for tax purposes, my lady.’
‘Which would be more convenient?’ she asked, her tone softening.