The Sins of the Father - By Jeffrey Archer Page 0,61

went out to celebrate, and arrived home as drunk as a lord.

When Hugo first migrated to London following his daughter's aborted wedding, he rented a basement flat in Cadogan Gardens for a pound a week. The only good thing about the three-roomed accommodation was the address, which created the impression that he was a man of means.

Although he still had a few bob in the bank, it soon dwindled, while he had time on his hands and no regular source of income. It wasn't long before he had to let go of the Bugatti, which kept him solvent for a few more weeks, but only until the first cheque bounced. He couldn't turn to his father for help, because he'd cut him off, and frankly Sir Walter would have given Maisie Clifton a helping hand before he'd lift a finger to assist his son.

After a fruitless few months in London, Hugo tried to find a job. But it wasn't easy; if any potential employer knew his father, he never even got an interview, and when he did, his new boss expected him to work hours he hadn't realized existed, and for a wage that wouldn't have covered his bar bill at the club.

Hugo began to dabble what little he had left on the stock exchange. He listened to too many old school chums telling him about deals that couldn't fail, and even got involved in one or two more shady enterprises that brought him into contact with what the press described as spivs, and his father would have considered crooks.

Within a year, Hugo had resorted to borrowing money from friends, and even friends of friends. But when you don't have any means of repaying your debts, you are quickly dropped from most dinner-party guest lists, and are no longer invited to join country-house shooting parties at the weekend.

Whenever he was desperate, Hugo would ring his mother, but not until he was sure his father was at the office. Mama could always be relied on for a tenner, just as she'd been for ten bob when he was at school.

An old school chum, Archie Fenwick, was also good for the occasional lunch at his club or an invitation to one of his fashionable Chelsea cocktail parties. And that was where Hugo first met Olga. It wasn't her face or figure that immediately attracted his attention, but the pearls, three rows of them, that were draped around her neck. Hugo cornered Archie and asked if they were real.

'They most certainly are,' he said. 'But be warned, you're not the only person hoping to dip your paw into that honey pot.'

Olga Piotrovska, Archie told him, had recently arrived in London, having escaped from Poland after the German invasion. Her parents had been taken away by the Gestapo, for no other reason than that they were Jewish. Hugo frowned. Archie wasn't able to tell Hugo much more about her, except that she lived in a magnificent townhouse on Lowndes Square and possessed a fine art collection. Hugo had never taken a great deal of interest in art, but even he'd heard of Picasso and Matisse.

Hugo strolled across the room and introduced himself to Miss Piotrovska. When Olga told him why she'd had to leave Germany, he expressed outrage and assured her that his family had been proud to do business with the Jews for over a hundred years. After all, his father, Sir Walter Barrington, was a friend of the Rothschilds and the Hambros. Long before the party was over, he had invited Olga to join him for lunch at the Ritz the following day, but as he was no longer allowed to sign the bill, he had to cadge another fiver from Archie.

The lunch went well, and for the next few weeks Hugo courted Olga assiduously, within the limits of his resources. He told her that he'd left his wife after she'd admitted having an affair with his best friend, and he'd asked his lawyer to instigate divorce proceedings. In fact, Elizabeth had already divorced him, and the judge had awarded her the Manor House, and everything Hugo hadn't removed after he'd left in such a hurry.

Olga was very understanding, and Hugo promised her that the moment he was free, he would ask her to marry him. He never stopped telling her how beautiful she was and how her rather lifeless efforts in bed were so exciting compared to Elizabeth. He continually reminded her that when his father died, she would become Lady