As the Crow Flies (34 page)

“Namely?”
queried the colonel.

“On
page nine of his report, Crowther points out that Numbers 25 to 99, a block of
thirty-eight flats bang in the middle of Chelsea Terrace one of which Daphne
and Becky shared until a couple of years ago may well come on the market in the
not too distant future. They’re currently owned by a charitable trust who are
no longer satisfied with the return they receive on their investment, and
Crowther says they’re considering disposing of them. Now, remembering our
longterm plan, it might be wise to purchase the block as soon as possible
rather than risk waiting for years when we would have to pay a far higher price
or, worse, never be able to get hold of them at all.”

“Thirty-eight
flats,” said the colonel. “Hm, how much is Crowther expecting them to fetch?”

“His
guess would be around the two-thousand pound mark; they’re currently only
showing an income of two hundred and ten pounds a year and what with repairs
and maintenance they’re probably not even declaring a profit. If the property
does come on the market, and we’re able to afford them, Crowther also recommends
that we only issue ten-year leases in future, and try to place any empty flats
with staff from embassies or foreign visitors, who never make any fuss about
having to move at a moment’s notice.”

“So
the profit on the shops would end up having to pay for the flats,” said Becky.

“I’m
afraid so,” said Charlie. “But with any luck it would only take me a couple of
years, three at the outside, before I could have them showing a profit. Mind
you, if the charity commissioners are involved, the paperwork could take that
long.”

“Nevertheless,
remembering our current overdraft limit, a demand on our resources like that
may well require another lunch with Hadlow,” said the colonel. “Still, I can
see if we need to get hold of those flats I’m left with little choice. Might
even take the opportunity to bump into Chubby Duckworth at the club and drop a
word in his ear.” The colonel paused. “To be fair to Hadlow, he’s also come up
with a couple of good ideas himself, both of which I feel are worthy of our consideration,
and accordingly I have placed them next on the agenda.”

Becky
stopped writing and looked up.

“Let
me begin by saying that Hadlow is most satisfied with the way our first two
years’ figures have worked out, but nevertheless he feels strongly that because
of the state of our overdraft and for taxation reasons we should stop being a
partnership and form ourselves into a company.”

“Why?”
asked Charlie. “What advantage could there possibly be in that?”

“It’s
the new finance bill that has just gone through the Commons,” explained Becky. “The
change in the tax laws could well be used to our advantage, because at the
moment we’re trading as seven different businesses and taxed accordingly,
whereas if we were to put all our shops into one company we could run the
losses of, say, the tailor’s shop and hardware against any gains made by the
grocery store and the butcher’s, and thus reduce our tax burden. It could be
especially beneficial in a bad year.”

“That
all makes good sense to me,” said Charlie. “So let’s go ahead and do it.”

“Well,
it’s not quite that easy,” said the colonel, placing his monocle to his good
eye. “To start with, if we were to become a company Mr. Hadlow is advising us
to appoint some new directors to cover those areas in which we currently have
little or no professional experience.”

“Why
would Hadlow expect us to do that?” asked Charlie sharply. “We’ve never needed
anyone else to interfere with our business before.”

“Because
we’re growing so rapidly, Charlie. We may need other people to advise us in the
future who can offer expertise we simply don’t at present possess. The
purchasing of the flats is a good example.”

“But
we have Mr. Crowther for that.”

“And
perhaps he would feel a greater commitment to our cause if he were on the
board.” Charlie frowned. “I can well understand how you feel,” continued the
colonel. “It’s your show, and you believe you don’t need any outsiders to tell
you how to run Trumper’s. Well, even if we did form a company it would still be
your show, because all the shares would be lodged in the names of you and
Becky, and any assets would therefore remain totally under your control. But
you would have the added advantage of non-executive directors to call on for
advice.”

“And
to spend our money and overrule our decisions,” said Charlie. “I just don’t
like the idea of outsiders telling me what to do.”

“It
wouldn’t necessarily work like that,” said Becky.

“I’m
not convinced it will work at all.”

“Charlie,
you should listen to yourself sometimes. You’re beginning to sound like a
Luddite.”

“Perhaps
we should take a vote,” said the colonel, trying to calm things down. “Just to
see where we all stand.”

“Vote?
What on? Why? The shops belong to me.”

Becky
looked up. “To both of us, Charlie, and the colonel has more than earned his
right to give an opinion.”

“I’m
sorry, Colonel, I didn’t mean... “

“I
know you didn’t, Charlie, but Becky’s right. If you want to realize your
long-term aims you’ll undoubtedly need some outside help. It just won’t be
possible to achieve such a dream all on your own.”

“And
it will with outside interferers?”

“Think
of them as inside helpers,” said the colonel.

“So
what are we voting on?” asked Charlie touchily.

“Well,”
began Becky, “someone should propose a resolution that we turn ourselves into a
company. If that is passed we could then invite the colonel to be chairman, who
can in turn appoint you as managing director and myself as secretary. I think
Mr. Crowther should also be invited to join the board, along with a
representative from the bank... “

“I
can see you’ve given this a lot of thought,” said Charlie.

“That
was my side of the bargain, if you remember our original deal correctly,
Mr.Trumper,” Becky replied.

“We’re
not Marshall Field’s, you know.”

“Not
yet,” said the colonel, with a smile. “Remember it’s you, Charlie, who has
taught us to think like this.”

“I
knew somehow it would all end up being my fault.”

“So
I propose the resolution that we form a company,” said Beckv. “Those in favor?”

Becky
and the colonel each placed a hand in the air, and a few seconds later Charlie
reluctantly raised his and added, “Now what?”

“My
second proposal,” said Becky, “is that Colonel Sir Danvers Hamilton should be
our first chairman.”

This
time Charlie’s hand shot straight up.

“Thank
you,” said the colonel. “And my first action as chairman is to appoint Mr.
Trumper as managing director and Mrs. Trumper as company secretary. And with
your permission I shall approach Mr. Crowther, and I think also Mr. Hadlow,
with a view to asking them to join the board.”

“Agreed,”
said Becky, who was scribbling furiously in the minutes book as she tried to
keep up.

“Any
other business?” asked the colonel.

“May
I suggest, Mr. Chairman,” said Becky the colonel couldn’t resist a smile “that
we fix a date for our first monthly meeting of the full board.”

“Any
time suits me,” said Charlie. “Because one thing’s for certain, we won’t be
able to get them all round this table at any one time, unless of course you
propose to hold the meetings at four-thirty in the morning. At least that way
we might find out who the real workers are.”

The
colonel laughed. “Well, that’s another way you could guarantee that all your
own resolutions are passed without us ever finding out, Charlie. But I must
warn you, one will no longer constitute a quorum.”

“A
quorum?”

“The
minimum number of people needed to pass a resolution,” explained Becky.

“That
used to be just me,” said Charlie wistfully.

“That
was probably true of Mr. Marks before he met Mr. Spencer,” said the colonel, “so
let’s settle on our next meeting being a month today.”

Becky
and Charlie nodded.

“Now
if there is no other business I will declare the meeting closed.”

“There
is,” said Becky, “but I don’t think such information should be minuted.”

“The
floor’s all yours,” said the chairman, looking puzzled.

Becky
stretched across the table and took Charlie’s hand. “It comes under
miscellaneous expenses,” she said. “You see, I’m going to have another baby.”

For
once Charlie was speechless. It was the colonel who eventually asked if there
were a bottle of champagne anywhere near at hand.

“I’m
afraid not,” said Becky. “Charlie won’t let me buy anything from wine and
spirits until we own the shop... “

“Quite
understandably,” said the colonel. “Then we shall just have to walk round to my
place,” he added, rising from his seat and picking up his umbrella. “That way
Elizabeth can join the celebration. I declare the meeting closed.”

A
few moments later the three of them stepped out onto Chelsea Terrace just as
the postman was entering the shop. Seeing Becky he handed her a letter.

“It
can only have come from Daphne with all those stamps,” she told them as she ripped
the envelope open and began reading its contents.

“Come
on, then, what’s she been up to?” asked Charlie, as they walked towards
Tregunter Road.

“She’s
covered America and China, and as far as I can tell India’s next,” Becky
announced. “She’s also put on half a stone and met a Mr. Calvin Coolidge,
whoever he is.”

“The
vice-president of the United States,” said Charlie.

“Is
that so? And they still hope to be home sometime in August, so it won’t be that
long before we are able to team everything firsthand. Becky looked up to
discover that only the colonel was still by her side. “Where’s Charlie?” They
both turned round to see him staring up at a small town house that had a “For
Sale” sign attached to the wall.

They
walked back towards him. “What do you think?” he asked, continuing to stare at
the property.

“What
do you mean, ‘What do I think?’”

“I
suspect, my dear, what Charlie is inquiring of you is your opinion of the
house.”

Becky
stared up at the little house that was on three floors, its front covered in
Virginia creeper.

“It’s
wonderful, quite wonderful.”

“It’s
better than that,” said Charlie placing his thumbs in his waistcoat pocket. “It’s
ours, and also ideal for someone with a wife and three children who is the
managing director of an expanding business in Chelsea.”

“But
I don’t have a second child yet, let alone a third.”

“Just
planning ahead,” said Charlie. “Something you taught me.”

“But
can we afford it?”

“No,
of course we can’t,” he said. “But I’m confident that the value of property
will soon be going up in this area, once people realize they will have their
own department store within walking distance. In any case, it’s too late now,
because I put down the deposit this morning.” He placed a hand in his jacket
pocket and removed a key.

“But
why didn’t you consult me first?” asked Becky.

“Because
I knew you’d only say we couldn’t afford it, as you did with the second, third,
fourth, fifth and every subsequent shop.”

He
walked towards the front door with Becky still a yard behind him.

“But...
“

“I’ll
leave you two to sort things out,” said the colonel. “Come over to my place and
have that glass of champagne just as soon as you’ve finished looking over your
new home.”

The
colonel continued on down Tregunter Road, swinging his umbrella in the morning
sun, pleased with himself and the world, arriving back just in time for his
first whisky of the day.

He
imparted all his news to Elizabeth, who had many more questions about the baby
and the house than about the present state of the company accounts or her
husband’s appointment as chairman. Having acquitted himself as best he could,
the colonel asked his manservant to place a bottle of champagne in a bucket of
ice. He then retired to his study to check through the morning mail while he
awaited the Trampers’ arrival.

There
were three letters unopened on his desk: a bill from his tailor which reminded
him of Becky’s strictures on such matters an invitation to the Ashburton Shield
to be held at Bisley, an annual event he always enjoyed, and a letter from
Daphne, which he rather expected might simply repeat the news that Becky had
already relayed to him.

The
envelope was postmarked Delhi. The colonel slit it open in anticipation. Daphne
dutifully repeated how much she was enjoying the trip, but failed to mention
her weight problem. She did, however, go on to say that she had some
distressing news to impart concerning Guy Trentham. She wrote that while they
were staying in Poona, Percy had come across him one evening at the officers’
club dressed in civilian clothes. He had lost so much weight that her husband
hardly recognized him. He informed Percy that he had been forced to resign his
commission and there was only one person to blame for his downfall: a sergeant
who had lied about him in the past, and was happy to associate with known
criminals. Guy was claiming that he had even caught the man stealing himself.
Once he was back in England Trentham intended to The front doorbell rang.