As the Crow Flies (49 page)

“Ah,
but will they let you build on twenty-one floors, Mr. Tramper?”

“Twenty-two,”
countered Charlie, without the slightest idea of what the London County Council
was likely to permit.

The
next day Charlie added to his growing knowledge of a major store by seeing
Marshall Field’s from the inside. He particularly admired the way the staff
appeared to work as a team, all the girls dressed in smart green outfits with a
gold “MF” on their lapels and all the floor walkers in gray suits, while the
managers wore dark blue double-breasted blazers.

“Makes
it easy for customers to spot a member of my staff when they’re in need of
someone to help them, especially when the store becomes overcrowded,” explained
Mr. Field.

While
Charlie became engrossed in the workings of Marshall Field, Becky spent
countless hours at the Chicago Art Institute, and came away particularly
admiring the works of Wyeth and Remington, whom she felt should be given
exhibitions in London. She was to return to England with one example of each
artist tucked into newly acquired suitcases, but the British public never saw
either the oil or the sculpture until years later, because once they had been
unpacked Charlie wouldn’t let them out of the house.

By
the end of the month they were both exhausted, and sure of only one thing: they
wanted to return to America again and again, though they feared they could
never match the hospitality they had received, should either the Fields or the
Bloomingdales ever decide to turn up in Chelsea Terrace. However, Joseph Field
requested a small favor of Charlie, which he promised he would deal with
personally the moment he got back to London.

The
rumors of the King’s affair with Mrs. Simpson that Charlie had seen chronicled
in such detail by the American press were now beginning to reach the ears of
the English, and Charlie was saddened when the King finally felt it necessary
to announce his abdication. The unexpected responsibility was suddenly placed
on the unprepared shoulders of the Duke of York, who became King George Vl.

The
ocher piece of news that Charlie followed on the front pages was the rise to
power of Adolf Hider in Nazi Germany. He could never understand why the Prime
Minister, Mr. Chamberlain, didn’t use a little street sense and give the man a
good thump on the nose.

“Neville
Chamberlain’s not a barrow boy from the East End,” Becky explained to her
husband over breakfast. “He’s the Prime Minister.”

“More’s
the pity,” said Charlie. “Because that’s exactly what would happen to Herr
Hitler if he ever dared show his face in Whitechapel.”

Tom
Arnold didn’t have a great deal to report to Charlie on his return, but he
quickly became aware of the effect that the visit to America had had on his
chairman, by the ceaseless rat-tat-tat of orders and ideas that came flying at
him from all directions during the days that followed.

“The
Shops Committee,” Arnold warned the chairman at their Monday morning meeting,
after Charlie had finished extolling the virtues of America yet again, “is now
talking seriously of the effect a war with Germany might have on business.”

“That
lot would,” said Charlie, taking a seat behind his desk. “Appeasers to a man.
In any case, Germany won’t declare war on any of Britain’s allies they wouldn’t
dare. After all, they can’t have forgotten the hiding we gave them last time.
So what other problems are we facing?”

“At
a more mundane level,” replied Tom from the other side of the desk, “I still
haven’t found the right person to manage the jewelry shop since Jack Slade’s
retirement.”

“Then
start advertising in the trade magazines and let me see anyone who appears
suitable. Anything else?”

“Yes,
a Mr. Ben Schubert has been asking to see you.”

“And
what does he want?”

“He’s
a Jewish refugee from Germany, but he refused to say why he needed to see you.”

“Then
make an appointment for him when he gets back in touch with you.”

“But
he’s sitting in the waiting room outside your office right now.”

“In
the waiting room?” said Charlie in disbelief.

“Yes.
He turns up every morning and just sits there in silence.”

“But
didn’t you explain to him I was in America?”

“Yes,
I did,” said Tom. “But it didn’t seem to make a blind bit of difference.”

“Sufferance
is the badge of all our tribe,” murmured Charlie. “Show the man in.”

A
small, bent, tired-looking figure whom Charlie suspected was not much older
than himself entered the office and waited to be offered a seat. Charlie rose
from behind his desk and ushered his visitor into an ammchair near the
fireplace before asking him how he could help.

Mr.
Schubert spent some time explaining to Charlie how he had escaped from Hamburg
with his wife and two daughters, after so many of his friends had been sent off
to concentration camps, never to be heard of again.

Charlie
listened to Mr. Schubert’s account of his experiences at the hands of the Nazis
without uttering a word. The man’s escape and his description of what was
taking place in Germany could have come straight off the pages of a John Buchan
novel and was far more vivid than any newspaper report of recent months.

“How
can I help?” asked Charlie when Mr. Schubert appeared to have finished his sad
tale.

The
refugee smiled for the first time, revealing two gold teeth. He picked up the
little briefcase by his side, placed it on Charlie’s desk and then slowly
opened it. Charlie stared down at the finest array of stones he had ever seen,
diamonds and amethysts, some of them in the most magnificent settings. His visitor
then removed what turnd out to be nothing more than a thin tray to reveal loose
stones, more rubies, topaz, diamonds, pearls and jade filling every inch of the
deep box.

“They
are but a tiny sample of what I had to leave behind, in a business that was
built up by my father and his father before him. Now I must sell everything
that is left to be sure that my family doesn’t starve.”

“You
were in the jewelry business?”

“Twenty-six
years,” replied Mr. Schubert. “Man and boy.”

“And
how much are you hoping to get for this lot?” Charlie pointed to the open case.

“Three
thousand pounds,” Mr. Schubert said without hesitation. “That is far less than
they are worth, but I am no longer left with the time or the will to bargain.”

Charlie
pulled open the drawer by his right hand, removed a checkbook and wrote out the
words “Pay Mr. Schubert three thousand pounds.” He pushed it across the desk.

“But
you have not checked their value,” said Mr. Schubert.

“Not
necessary,” said Charlie, as he rose from his chair. “Because you’re going to
sell them as the new manager of my jewelry shop. Which also means that you’ll
have to explain to me personally if they don’t fetch the price you claim they
are worth. Once you’ve repaid the advance, then we’ll discuss your commission.”

A
smile came over Mr. Schubert’s face. “They teach you well in the East End, Mr.
Trumper.”

“There
are a lot of you down there to keep us on our toes,” replied Charlie with a
gun. “And don’t forget, my father-in-law was one.”

Ben
Schubert stood up and hugged his new boss.

What
Charlie hadn’t anticipated was just how many Jewish refugees would find their
way to Trumper’s the Jeweler, closing deals with Mr. Schubert that ensured
Charlie never had to worry about the jewelry side of his business again.

It
must have been about a week later that Tom Arnold entered the chairman’s office
without knocking. Charlie could see what an agitated state his managing
director was in so he simply asked, “What’s the problem, Tom?”

“Shoplifting.”

“Where?”

“Number
133 women’s clothes.”

“What’s
been stolen?”

“Two
pairs of shoes and a skirt.”

“Then
follow the standard procedure as laid down in company regulations. First thing
you do is call in the police.”

“It’s
not that easy.”

“Of
course it’s that easy. A thief is a thief.”

“But
she’s claiming... “

“That
her mother is ninety and dying of cancer, not to mention the fact that her
children are all crippled?”

“No,
that she’s your sister.”

Charlie
rocked back in his chair, paused for a moment and then sighed heavily. “What
have you done?”

“Nothing
yet. I told the manager to hold on to her while I had a word with you.”

“Then
let’s get on with it,” said Charlie. He rose from behind his desk and began to
march towards the door.

Neither
man spoke again until they had reached Number 133, where an agitated manager
was waiting for them by the front door.

“Sorry,
Chairman,” were Jim Grey’s opening words.

“There’s
nothing for you to be sorry about, Jim,” said Charlie as he was led through to
the back room where they found Kitty sitting at a table, compact in hand,
checking her lipstick in a hand mirror.

The
moment she saw Charlie she clicked the compact lid closed and dropped it into
her bag. On the table in front of her lay two pairs of fashionable leather
shoes and a purple pleated skirt. Kitty clearly still liked the best, as her
selection was all from the top price range. She smiled up at her brother. The
lipstick didn’t help.

“Now
that the big boss himself has arrived you’ll find out exactly who I am,” said
Kitty, glaring at Jim Grey.

“You’re
a thief,” said Charlie. “That’s what you are.”

“Come
on, Charlie, you can afford it.” Her voice showed no sign of remorse.

“That’s
not the point, Kitty. If I... “

“If
you put me up in front of the beak claimin’ I’m a tea leaf the press’ll ‘ave a
field day. You wouldn’t dare ‘ave me arrested, Charlie, and you know it.”

“Not
this time, perhaps,” said Charlie, “but it’s the last occasion, that I promise
you.” He turnd to the manager and added, “If this lady ever tries to leave
again without paying for something, call in the police and see that she is
charged without any reference to me. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Grey?”

“Yes,
sir.”

“Yes,
sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir. Don’t worry yourself, Charlie, I won’t be
botherin’ you again.”

Charlie
looked unconvinced.

“You
see, I’m off to Canada next week where it seems there’s at least one member of
our family who actually cares about what happens to me.”

Charlie
was about to protest when Kitty picked up the skirt and both pairs of shoes and
dropped them in the bag. She walked straight past the three men.

“Just
a moment,” said Tom Arnold.

“Bugger
off,” said Kitty over her shoulder as she marched through the shop.

Tom
turnd towards the chaimman, who stood and watched his sister as she stepped out
onto the pavement without even looking back.

“Don’t
bother yourself, Tom. It’s cheap at the price.”

On
30 September 1938 the Prime Minister resumed from Munich where he had been in
talks with the German Chancellor. Charlie remained unconvinced by the “peace in
our time, peace with honor” document that Chamberlain kept waving in front of
the cameras, because after listening to Ben Schubert’s firsthand description of
what was taking place in the Third Reich, he had become convinced that war with
Germany was inevitable. Introducing conscription for those over twenty had
already been debated in Parliament, and with Daniel in his last year at St. Paul’s
waiting to sit his university entrance papers, Charlie couldn’t bear the
thought of losing a son to another war with the Germans. When a few weeks later
Daniel was awarded a scholarship to Trinity College, Cambridge, it only added
to his fears.

Hitler
marched into Poland on 1 September 1939, and Charlie realized that Ben Schubert’s
stories had not been exaggerated. Two days later Britain was at war.

For
the first few weeks after the declaration of hostilities there was a lull,
almost an anticlimax, and if it hadn’t been for the increased number of men in
uniforms marching up and down Chelsea Terrace and a drop in sales Charlie might
have been forgiven for not realizing Britain was engaged in a war at all.

During
this time only the restaurant came up for sale. Charlie offered Mr. Scallini a
fair price, which he accepted without question before fleeing back to his
native Florence. He was luckier than some, who were interned for no more reason
than that they possessed a German or an Italian name. Charlie immediately
locked up the restaurant because he wasn’t sure what he could do with the
premises eating out was hardly a top priority for Londoners in 1940. Once the
Scallini lease had been transferred only the antiquarian bookshop and the
syndicate chaired by Mr. Wrexall still remained in other traders’ hands; but
the significance of Mrs. Trentham’s large block of unoccupied flats became more
obvious for all to see as each day went by.