As the Crow Flies (25 page)

“Beg
pardon, miss.”

Becky
swung round to find a policeman rattling the doorknob of 133, to be certain the
premises were locked.

“Oh,
good evening, Constable,” said Becky sheepishly, feeling guilty without any
reason.

“It’s
nearly two in the morning, miss. You just said ‘Good evening.’”

“Oh,
is it?” said Becky, looking at her watch. “Oh, yes, so it is. How silly of me.
You see I live at 97.” Feeling some explanation was necessary she added, “I
couldn’t sleep, so I decided to take a walk.”

“Better
join the force then. They’ll be happy to keep you walking all night.”

Becky
laughed. “No, thank you, Constable. I think I’ll just go back to my flat and
try and get some sleep. Good night.”

“Good
night, miss,” said the policeman, touching his helmet in a half salute before
checking that the empty antiques shop was also safely locked up.

Becky
turnd and walked determinedly back down Chelsea Terrace, opened the front door
of 97, climbed the staircase to the flat, took ok her coat and resumed
immediately to the little writing desk. She paused only for a moment before
picking up her pen and starting to write.

For
once the words flowed easily because she now knew exactly what needed to be
said.

97
Chelsea Terrace London SW3

May 20, 1920

Dear Guy:

I have tried to think of 2 hundred different ways of
letting you know what has happened to me since you left for India, and finally
came to the conclusion that only the simple truth makes any sense.

I am now some fourteen weeks pregnant with your
child, the idea of which fills me with great happiness but I confess more than
a little apprehension. Happiness because you are the only man I have ever
loved, and apprehension because of the implications such a piece of news might have
on you future with the regiment.

I must tell you from the outset that I have no
desire to harm that career in any way by forcing you into marriage. A
commitment honoured only out of some feeling of guilt, which then caused you to
spend the rest of your life participating in a sham after what happened between
us on one occasion, must surely be unacceptable to either of us.

For my part. I make no secret of my total devotion
to you, but if it is not reciprocated, I can never be a party to sacrificing
such a promising career on the altar of hypocrisy.

But, my darling, be left in no doubt of my complete
love for you and my abiding interest in your future and well-being, even to he
point of denying your involvement in this affair, should that be the course you
with me to follow.

Guy, I will always adore you, and be assured of my
utmost loyalty whatever decision you should come to.

With all my love, Becky

She
was unable to control her tears as she read her words through a second time. As
she folded the notepaper the bedroom door swung open and a sleepy Daphne
appeared in front of her.

“You
all right, darling?”

“Yes.
Just felt a little queasy,” explained Becky. “I decided that I needed a breath
of fresh air.” She deftly slipped the letter into an unmarked envelope.

“Now
I’m up,” said Daphne, “would you care for a cup of tea?”

“No,
thank you. I’ve already had two cups.”

“Well,
I think I will “ Daphne disappeared into the kitchen. Becky immediately picked
up her pen again and wrote on the envelope:

Captain
Guy Trenthorn, M.C. 2nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers, Wellington Barracks Pouna,
India She had left the flat, posted the letter in the pillar box on the corner
of Chelsea Terrace and returned to Number 97 even before the kettle had boiled.

Although
Charlie received the occasional letter from Sal in Canada to tell him of the
arrival of his latest nephew or niece, and the odd infrequent call from Grace
whenever she could get away from her hospital duties, a visit from Kitty was
rare indeed. But when she came to the flat it was always with the same purpose.

“I
only need a couple of quid, Charlie, just to see me through,” explained Kitty
as she lowered herself into the one comfortable chair only moments after she
had entered the room.

Charlie
stared at his sister. Although she was only eighteen months older than he she
already looked like a woman well into her thirties. Under the baggy shapeless
cardigan there was no longer any sign of the figure that had attracted every
wandering eye in the East End, and without makeup her face was already
beginning to look splotchy and lined.

“It
was only a pound last time,” Charlie reminded her. “And that wasn’t so long
ago. “

“But
my man’s left me since then, Charlie. I’m on my own again, without even a roof
over my head. Come on, do us a favor.”

He
continued to stare at her, thankful that Becky was not yet back from her
afternoon lecture, although he suspected Kitty only came when she could be sure
the till was full and Becky was safely out of the way.

“I
won’t be a moment,” he said after a long period of silence. He slipped out of
the room and headed off downstairs to the shop. Once he was sure the assistants
weren’t looking, he removed two pounds ten shillings from the till. He walked
resignedly back upstairs to the net.

Kitty
was already waiting by the door. Charlie handed over the four notes. She almost
snatched the money before tucking the notes in her glove and leaving without
another word.

Charlie
followed her down the stairs and watched her remove a peach from the top of a
neat pyramid in the corner of the shop before taking a bite, stepping out onto
the pavement and hurrying off down the road.

Charlie
would have to take responsibility for checking the till that night; no one must
find out the exact amount he had given her.

“You’ll
end up having to buy this bench, Charlie Trumper,” said Becky as she lowered
herself down beside him.

“Not
until I own every shop in the block, my lovely,” he said, turning to look at
her. “And how about you? When’s the baby due?”

“About
another five weeks, the doctor thinks. “

“Got
the flat all ready for the new arrival, have you?”

“Yes,
thanks to Daphne letting me stay on.”

“I
miss her,” said Charlie.

“So
do I, although I’ve never seen her happier since Percy was discharged from the
Scots guards.”

“Bet
it won’t be long before they’re engaged.”

“Let’s
hope not,” said Becky, looking across the road.

Three
Trumper signs, all in gold on blue, shone back at her. The fruit and vegetable
shop continued to make an excellent return and Bob Makins seemed to have grown
in stature since returning from his spell of National Service. The butchers had
lost a tilde custom after Mr. Kendrick retired, but had picked up again since
Charlie had employed Mike Parker to take his place.

“Let’s
hope he’s a better butcher than a dancer,” Becky had remarked when Charlie told
her the news of Sergeant Parker’s appointment.

As
for the grocer’s, Charlie’s new pride and joy, it had flourished from the first
day, although as far as his staff could tell, their master seemed to be in all
three shops at once.

“Stroke
of genius,” said Charlie, “turning that old antiques shop into a grocer’s.”

“So
now you consider yourself to be a grocer, do you?”

“Certainly
not. I’m a plain fruit and vegetable man, and always will be.”

“I
wonder if that’s what you’ll tell the girls when you own the whole block.”

“That
could take some time yet. So how’s the balance sheet shaping up for the new
shops?”

“They’re
both in the books to show a loss during their first year.”

“But
they could still make a profit, certainly break even.” Charlie’s voice rose in
protest. “And the grocer’s shop is set to... “

“Not
so loud. I want Mr. Hadlow and his colleagues at the bank to discover that we’ve
done far better than we originally predicted.”

“You’re
an evil woman, Rebecca Salmon, that’s no mistake.”

“You
won’t be saying that, Charlie Trumper, when you need me to go begging for your
next loan.”

“If
you’re so clever, then explain to me why I can’t get hold of the bookshop,”
said Charlie, pointing across the road at Number 141, where a single light was
the only proof the building was still inhabited. “The place hasn’t seen a
customer in weeks from what I can tell, and even when they do it’s only because
someone had gone in to find directions back to Brompton Road.”

“I’ve
no idea,” said Becky, laughing. “I’ve already had a long chat with Mr. Sneddles
about buying the premises, but he just wasn’t interested. You see, since his
wife died, running the shop has become the only reason for him to carry on.”

“But
carry on doing what?” asked Charlie. “Dusting old books and stacking up ancient
manuscripts?”

“He’s
happy just to sit around and read William Blake and his beloved war poets. As
long as he sells a couple of books every month he’s quite content to keep the
shop open. Not everyone wants to be a millionaire, you know as Daphne never
stops reminding me.

“Possibly.
So why not offer Mr. Sneddles one hundred and fifty guineas for the freehold,
then charge him a rent of say ten guineas a year? That way it’ll automatically
fall into our hands the moment he dies.”

“You’re
a hard man to please, Charlie Trumper, but if that’s what you want, I’ll give
it a try.”

“That
is what I want, Rebecca Salmon, so get on with it.”

“I’ll
do my best, although it may have slipped your notice that I’m about to have a
baby while also trying to sit a bachelor’s degree.”

“That
combination doesn’t sound quite right to me. However, I still may need you to
pull off another coup.”

“Another
coup?”

“Fothergill’s.”

“The
corner shop.”

“No
less,” said Charlie. “And you know how I feel about corner shops, Miss Salmon.”

“I
certainly do, Mr. Trumper. I am also aware that you know nothing about the fine
art business, let alone being an auctioneer.”

“Not
a lot, I admit,” said Charlie. “But after a couple of visits to Bond Street
where I watched how they earn a living at Sotheby’s, followed by a short walk
down the road to St. James’s to study their only real rivals, Christie’s, I
came to the conclusion that we might eventually be able to put that art degree
of yours to some use.”

Becky
raised her eyebrows. “I can’t wait to learn what you have planned for the rest
of my life.”

“Once
you’ve finished that degree of yours,” continued Charlie, ignoring the comment,
“I want you to apply for a job at Sotheby’s or Christie’s, I don’t mind which,
where you can spend three to five years reaming everything they’re up to. The
moment you consider that you’re good and ready to leave, you could then poach
anyone you felt was worth employing and return to run Number 1 Chelsea Terrace
and open up a genuine rival to those two establishments.”

“I’m
still listening, Charlie Trumper.”

“You
see, Rebecca Salmon, you’ve got your father’s business acumen. I hope you like
that word. Combine that with the one thing you’ve always loved and also have a
natural talent for, how can you fail?”

“Thank
you for the compliment, but may I, while we’re on the subject, ask where Mr.
Fothergill fits into your master plan?”

“He
doesn’t.”

“What
do you mean?”

“He’s
been losing money hand over fist for the past three years,” said Charlie. “At
the moment the value of the property and sale of his best stock would just
about cover his losses, but that state of affairs can’t last too much longer.
So now you know what’s expected of you,”

“I
certainly do, Mr. Trumper.”

When
September had come and gone, even Becky began to accept that Guy had no
intention of responding to her letter.

As
late as August Daphne reported to them that she had bumped into Mrs. Trentham
at Goodwood. Guy’s mother had claimed that her son was not only reveling in his
duties in India but had every reason to expect an imminent announcement
concerning his promotion to major. Daphne found herself only just able to keep
her promise and remain silent about Becky’s condition.

As
the day of the birth drew nearer, Charlie made sure that Becky didn’t waste any
time shopping for food and even detailed one of the girls at Number 147 to help
her keep the flat clean, so much so that Becky began to accuse them both of
pampering her.

By
the ninth month Becky didn’t even bother to check the morning post, as Daphne’s
long-held view of Captain Trentham began to gain more credibility. Becky was
surprised to find how quickly he faded from her memory, despite the fact that
it was his child she was about to give birth to.