As the Crow Flies (35 page)

“Can
you answer it, Danvers?” Elizabeth said, leaning over the banister. “I’m
upstairs arranging the flowers. “

The
colonel was still seething with anger when he opened the front door to find
Charlie and Becky waiting on the top step in anticipation. He must have looked
surprised to see them because Becky had to say, “Champagne, Chairman. Or have
you already forgotten my physical state?”

“Ah,
yes, sorry. My thoughts were some distance away.” The colonel stuffed Daphne’s
letter into his jacket pocket. “The champagne should be at the perfect
temperature by now,” he added, as he ushered his guests through to the drawing
room.

“Two
and a quarter Trumpers have arrived,” he barked back up the stairs to his wife.

I
t always
amused the colonel to watch Charlie spending so much of his time running from
shop to shop, trying to keep a dose eye on all his staff, while also attempting
to concentrate his energy on any establishment that wasn’t showing a worthwhile
return. But whatever the various problems he faced, the colonel was only too
aware that Charlie couldn’t resist a spell of serving at the fruit and
vegetable shop, which remained his pride and joy. Coat off, sleeves rolled up
and cockney accent at its broadest, Charlie was allowed an hour a day by Bob
Makins to pretend he was back on the corner of Whitechapel Road peddling his
wares from his granpa’s barrow.

“‘Alf
a pound of tomatoes, some runner beans, and your usual pound of carrots, Mrs.
Symonds, if I remember correctly.”

“Thank
you so much, Mr. Trumper. And how’s Mrs. Trumper?”

“Never
better.”

“And
when’s the baby expected?”

“In
about three months, the doctor think... “

“Don’t
see you serving in the shop so much nowadays.”

“Only
when I know the important customers are around, my luv,” said Charlie. “After
all, you were one of my first.”

“I
was indeed. So have you signed the deal on the flats yet, Mr. Trumper?”

Charlie
stared at Mrs. Symonds as he handed back her change, unable to hide his
surprise. “The flats?”

“Yes,
you know, Mr. Trumper. Numbers 25 to 99.”

“Why
do you ask, Mrs. Symonds?”

“Because
you’re not the only person who’s showing an interest in them.”

“How
do you know that?”

“I
know because I saw a young man holding a bunch of keys, waiting outside the
building for a client last Sunday morning.”

Charlie
recalled that the Symondses lived in a house on the far side of the Terrace
immediately opposite the main entrance to the flats.

“And
did you recognize them?”

“No.
I watched a car draw up but then my husband seemed to think his breakfast was
more important than me being nosy, so I didn’t see who it was who got out.

Charlie
continued to stare at Mrs. Symonds as she picked up her bag, waved a cheery
goodbye and walked out of the shop.

Despite
Mrs. Symonds’ bombshell and Syd Wrexall’s efforts to contain him, Charlie went
about plotting his next acquisition. Through the combination of Major Arnold’s
diligence, Mr. Crowther’s inside knowledge and Mr. Hadlow’s loans, by late July
Charlie had secured the freehold on two more shops in the Terrace Number 133,
women’s clothes, and Number 101, wine and spirits. At the August board meeting
Becky recommended that Major Arnold be promoted to deputy managing director of
the company, with the task of keeping a watching brief on everything that was
taking place in Chelsea Terrace.

Charlie
had desperately needed an extra pair of eyes and ears for some time, and with
Becky still working at Sotheby’s during the day Arnold had begun to fill that
role to perfection. The colonel was delighted to ask Becky to minute the
confirmation of the major’s appointment. The monthly meeting continued very
smoothly until the colonel asked, “Any other business?”

“Yes,”
said Charlie. “What’s happening about the flats?”

“I
put in a bid of two thousand pounds as instructed,” said Crowther. “The agent
said he would recommend his clients should accept the offer, but to date I’ve
been unable to close the deal.”

“Why?”
asked Charlie.

“Because
Savill’s rang back this morning to let me know that they have received another
offer far in excess of what they had anticipated for this particular piece of
property. They thought I might want to alert the board of the present
situation.”

“They
were right about that,” said Charlie. “But how much is this other offer? That’s
what I want to know.”

“Two
thousand five hundred pounds,” said Crowther.

It
was several moments before anyone round the boardroom table offered an opinion.

“How
on earth can they hope to show a return on that kind of investment?” Hadlow
eventually asked.

“They
can’t,” said Crowther.

“Offer
them three thousand pounds.”

“What
did you say?” said the chairman, as they all turned to face Charlie.

“Offer
them three thousand,” Charlie repeated.

“But
Charlie, we agreed that two thousand was a high enough price only a few weeks
ago,” Becky pointed out. “How can the flats suddenly be worth so much more?”

“They’re
worth whatever someone is willing to pay for them,” Charlie replied. “So we’ve
been left with no choice.”

“But
Mr. Trumper... “ began Hadlow.

“If
we end up with the rest of the block but then fail to get our hands on those
flats, everything I have worked for will go up the spout. I’m not willing to
risk that for three thousand pounds or, as I see it, five hundred.”

“Yes,
but can we afford such a large outlay just at this moment?” asked the colonel.

“Five
of the shops are now showing a profit,” said Becky, checking her inventory. “Two
are breaking even and only one is actually losing money consistency.”

“We
must have the courage to go ahead,” said Charlie. “Buy the flees knock ‘em down
and then we can build half a dozen shops in their place. We’ll be making a
return on them before anyone can say ‘Bob’s your uncle.’”

Crowther
gave them all a moment to allow Charlie’s strategy to sink in, then asked, “So
what are the board’s instructions?”

“I
propose that we offer Three thousand pounds,” said the colonel. “As the
managing director has pointed out, we must take the long view, but only if the
bank feels able to back us on this one. Mr. Hadlow?”

“You
can just about afford three thousand pounds at the moment,” said the bank
manager, checking over the figures. “But that would stretch your overdraft
facility to the limit. It would also mean that you couldn’t consider buying any
more shops for the foreseeable future.”

“We
don’t have a choice,” said Charlie, looking straight at Crowther. “Someone else
is after those flats and we can’t at this stage allow a rival to get their
hands on them.”

“Well,
if those are the board’s instructions I shall attempt to close the deal later
today, at three thousand pounds.”

“I
think that’s precisely what the board would wish you to do,” confirmed the
chairman, as he checked around the table. “Well, if there’s no other business,
I declare the meeting closed.”

Once
the meeting had broken up, the colonel took Crowther and Hadlow on one side. “I
don’t like the sound of this flats business at all. An offer coming out of the
blue like that requires a little more explanation.”

“I
agree,” said Crowther. “My instinct tells me that it’s Syd Wrexall and his
Shops Committee trying to stop Charlie taking over the whole block before it’s
too late.”

“No,”
said Charlie as he joined them. “It can’t be Syd because he doesn’t have a car,”
he added mystery ously. “In any case, Wrexall and his cronies would have
reached their limit long before two thousand five hundred pounds.”

“So
do you think it’s an outside contractor?” asked Hadlow, “who has his own plans
for developing Chelsea Terrace?”

“More
likely to be an investor who’s worked out your long-term plan and is willing to
hang on until we have no choice but to pay the earth for them,” said Crowther.

“I
don’t know who or what it is,” said Charlie. “All I’m certain of is that we’ve
made the right decision to outbid them.”

“Agreed,”
said the colonel. “And Crowther, let me know the moment you’ve closed the deal.
Afraid I can’t hang about now. I’m taking a rather special lady to lunch at my
club.”

“Anyone
we know?” asked Charlie.

“Daphne
Wiltshire.”

“Do
give her my love,” said Becky. “Tell her we’re both looking forward to having
dinner with them next Wednesday.”

The
colonel raised his hat to Becky, and left his four colleagues to continue
discussing their different theories as to who else could possibly be interested
in the flats.

Because
the board meeting had run on later than he anticipated the colonel only managed
one whisky before Daphne was ushered through to join him in the Ladies’ Room.
She had, indeed, put on a few pounds, but he didn’t consider she looked any the
worse for that.

He
ordered a gin and tonic for his guest from the club steward, while she chatted
about the gaiety of America and the heat of Africa, but he suspected that it
was another continent entirely that Daphne really wanted to talk about.

“And
how was India?” he eventually asked.

“Not
so good, I’m afraid,” said Daphne before pausing to sip her gin and tonic. “In
fact, awful.”

“Funny,
I always found the natives rather friendly,” said the colonel.

“It
wasn’t the natives who turnd out to be the problem,” replied Daphne.

“Trentham?”

“I
fear so.”

“Hadn’t
he received your letter?”

“Oh,
yes, but events had long superseded that, Colonel. Now I only wish I had taken
your advice and copied out your letter word for word warning him that if the
question were ever put to me directly I would have to tell anyone who asked
that Trentham was Daniel’s father.”

“Why?
What has caused this change of heart?”

Daphne
drained her glass in one gulp. “Sorry Colonel, but I needed that. Well, when
Percy and I arrived in Poona the first thing we were told by Ralph Forbes, the
Colonel of the Regiment, was that Trentham had resigned his commission.”

“Yes,
you mentioned as much in your letter.” The colonel put his knife and fork down.
“What I want to know is why?”

“Some
problem with the adjutant’s wife, Percy later discovered, but no one was
willing to go into any detail. Evidently the subject’s taboo not the sort of
thing they care to discuss in the officers’ mess.”

“The
unmitigated bastard. If only I... “

“I
couldn’t agree with you more, Colonel, but I must warn you that there’s worse
to come.”

The
colonel ordered another gin and tonic for his guest and a whisky for himself
before Daphne continued.

“When
I visited Ashurst last weekend, Major Trentham showed me the letter that Guy
had sent to his mother explaining why he had been forced to resign his
commission with the Fusiliers. He claimed this had come about because you had
written to Colonel Forbes informing him that Guy had been responsible for
putting ‘a tart from Whitechapel’ in the family way. I saw the exact wording of
the sentence.”

The
colonel’s cheeks suffused with rage.

“‘Whereas
time has proved conclusively that Trumper was the father of the child all
along.’ Anyway, that’s the story Trentham is putting about.”

“Has
the man no morals?”

“None,
it would seem,” said Daphne. “You see, the letter went on to suggest that
Charlie Trumper is now employing you in order to make sure that you keep your
mouth shut. ‘Thirty pieces of silver’ was the precise expression he used.”

“He
deserves to be horsewhipped.”

“Even
Major Trentham might add ‘Hear, hear’ to that. But my greatest fear isn’t for
you or even Becky for that matter, but for Charlie himself.”

“What
are you getting at?”

“Before
we left India, Trentham warned Percy when they were on their own at the
Overseas Club that Trumper would regret this for the rest of his life.”

“But
why blame Charlie?”

“Percy
asked the same question, and Guy informed him that it was obvious that Trumper
had put you up to it in the first place simply to settle an old score.”

“But
that’s not true.

“Percy
explained as much, but he just wouldn’t listen. “

“And
in any case what did he mean by ‘to settle an old score’?”

“No
idea, except that later that evening Guy kept asking me about a painting of the
Virgin Mother and...