As the Crow Flies (37 page)

The
following week my old commanding officer appeared on the premises with a
shopping list to complete for his wife. I’ll never forget the moment he took a
purse from his jacket pocket and fumbled around for some loose change. Until
then it had never occurred to me that a colonel might actually live in the real
world. However, he left with a promise to put me down for two ten-bob tickets
at the regimental ball; he turned out to be as good as his word.

My
euphoria another Harcourt-Browne word at meeting up with the colonel again
lasted for about twenty-four hours. Then Daphne told me Becky was expecting. My
first reaction was to wish I’d killed Trentham on the Western Front instead of
helping to save the bloody man’s life. I assumed that he would return
immediately from India in order to marry her before the child was born. I hated
the idea of his coming back into our lives, but I had to agree with the colonel
that it was the only course of action a gentleman could possibly consider,
otherwise the rest of Becky’s life would be spent as a social outcast.

It
was around this time that Daphne explained that if we hoped to raise some real
money from the banks then we were definitely in need of a front man. Becky’s
sex was now militating another of Daphne’s words against her, although she was
kind enough not to mention my accent “militating” against me.

On
the way home from the regimental ball Becky breezily informed Daphne that she
had decided that the colonel was the obvious man to represent us whenever we
had to go cap in hand seeking loans from one of the banks. I wasn’t optimistic,
but Becky insisted after her conversation with the colonel’s wife that we at
least go round to see him and present our case.

I
fell in line and to my surprise we received a letter ten days later saying that
he was our man.

A
few days after that Becky admitted she was going to have a baby. From that
moment on my consuming interest became finding out what news Becky had of
Trentham’s intentions. I was horrified to discover that she hadn’t even written
to tell him her news, although she was almost four months pregnant. I made her
swear that she would send a letter that night, even if she did refuse to
consider threatening him with a breach of promise suit. The following day
Daphne assured me that she had watched from the kitchen window as Becky posted
the letter.

I
made an appointment to see the colonel and briefed him on Becky’s state before
the whole world knew. He said somewhat mysteriously, “Leave Trentham to me.”

Six
weeks later Becky told me that she had still heard nothing from the man, and I
sensed for the first time that her feelings for him were beginning to wane.

I
had even asked her to marry me, but she didn’t take my proposal at all
seriously although I had never been more sincere about anything in my life. I
lay awake at night wondering what else I could possibly do to make her feel I
was worthy of her.

As
the weeks passed Daphne and I began to take more and more care of Becky, as
daily she increasingly resembled a beached whale. There was still no word from
India but long before the child was due she had stopped referring to Trentham
by name.

When
I first saw Daniel I wanted to be his father and was overjoyed when Becky said
she hoped I still loved her.

Hoped
I still loved her!

We
were married a week later with the colonel, Bob Makins and Daphne agreeing to
be godparents.

The
following summer Daphne and Percy were themselves married, not at Chelsea
Register Office but at St. Margaret’s, Westminster. I watched out for Mrs.
Trentham just to see what she looked like, but then I remembered that Percy had
said she hadn’t been invited.

Daniel
grew like a weed, and I was touched that one of the first words he repeated
again and again was “Dad.” Despite this I could only wonder how long it would
be before we had to sit down and tell the boy the truth. “Bastard” is such a
vicious slur for an innocent child to have to live with.

“We
don’t have to worry about that for some time yet,” Becky kept insisting, but it
didn’t stop me being fearful of the eventual outcome if we remained silent on
the subject for much longer, after all some people in the Terrace already knew
the truth.

Sal
wrote from Toronto to congratulate me, as well as to inform me that she herself
had stopped having babies. Twin girls Maureen and Babs and two boys David and
Rex seemed to her quite enough, even for a good Catholic. Her husband, she
wrote, had been promoted to area sales rep for E.P. Taylor so altogether they
seemed to be doing rather well. She never made mention of England in her
letters or of any desire to return to the country of her birth. As her only
real memories of home must have been sleeping three to a bed, a drunken father
and never having enough food for a second helping I couldn’t really blame her.

She
went on to chastise me for allowing Grace to be a far better letter-writer than
I was. I couldn’t claim the excuse of work, she added, as being a ward sister
in a London teaching hospital left my sister with even less time than I had.
After Becky had read the letter and nodded her agreement I made more of an
effort over the next few months.

Kitty
made periodic visits to Chelsea Terrace, but only with the purpose of talking
me out of more money, her demands rising on each occasion. However, she always
made certain that Becky was not around whenever she turned up. The sums she
extracted, although exorbitant, were always just possible.

I
begged Kitty to find a job, even offered her one myself, but she simply
explained that she and work didn’t seem to get along together. Our
conversations rarely lasted for more than a few minutes because as soon as I’d
handed over the cash she immediately sloped off. I realized that with every
shop I opened it would become harder and harder to convince Kitty that she
should settle down, and once Becky and I had moved into our new home on Gilston
Road her visits only became more frequent.

Despite
Syd Wrexall’s efforts to thwart my ambition of trying to buy up every shop that
became available in the terrace I was able to get hold of seven before I came
across any real opposition I now had my eyes on Numbers 25 to 99, a block of
flats which I intended to purchase without Wrexall ever finding out what I was
up to; not to mention my desire to get my hands on Number 1 Chelsea Terrace,
which, given its position on the street, remained crucial as part of my
long-term plan to own the entire block.

During
1922 everything seemed to be falling neatly into place and I began to look
forward to Daphne’s return from her honeymoon so I could tell her exactly what
I had been up to in her absence.

The
week after Daphne arrived back in England she invited us both to dinner at her
new home in Eaton Square. I couldn’t wait to hear all her news, knowing that
she would be impressed to learn that we now owned nine shops, a new home in
Gilston Road and at any moment would be adding a block of flats to the Trumper
portfolio. However, I knew the question she would ask me as soon as I walked in
their front door, so I had my reply ready... “It will take me about another ten
years before I own the entire block as long as you can guarantee no floods,
pestilence or the outbreak of war.”

Just
before Becky and I set out for our reunion dinner an envelope was dropped
through the letter box of 11 Gilston Road.

Even
as it lay on the mat I could recognize the bold hand. I ripped it open and
began to read the colonel’s words. When I had finished the letter I suddenly
felt sick and could only wonder why he should want to resign.

C
harlie stood
alone in the hall and decided not to mention the colonel’s letter to Becky
until after they had returned from their dinner with Daphne. Becky had been
looking forward to the occasion for such a long time that he feared the colonel’s
unexplained resignation could only put a blight on the rest of the evening.

“You
all right, darling?” asked Becky when she reached the bottom of the stairs. “You
look a bit pale.”

“I’m
just fine,” said Charlie, nervously tucking the letter into an inside pocket. “Come
on or we’ll be late, and that would never do.” Charlie looked at his wife and
noticed that she was wearing the pink dress with a massive bow on the front. He
remembered helping her choose it. “You look ravishing,” he told her. “That gown
will make Daphne green with envy.”

“You
don’t look so bad yourself.”

“When
I put on one of these penguin suits I always feel like the head waiter of the
Ritz,” admitted Charlie as Becky straightened his white tie.

“How
could you possibly know when you’ve never been to the Ritz?” she said,
laughing.

“At
least the outfit came from my own shop this time,” Charlie replied as he opened
the front door for his wife.

“Ah,
but have you paid the bill yet?”

As
they drove over to Eaton Square Charlie found it difficult to concentrate on
his wife’s chatty conversation while he tried to fathom why the colonel could
possibly want to resign just at the point when everything was going so well.

“So
how do you feel I should go about it?” asked Becky.

“Whichever
way you think best,” began Charlie.

“You
haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said since we left the house, Charlie
Trumper. And to think we’ve been married for less than two years.”

“Sorry,”
said Charlie, as he parked his little Austin Seven behind the Silver Ghost that
stood directly in front of 14 Eaton Square. “Wouldn’t mind living here,”
Charlie added, as he opened the car door for his wife.

“Not
quite yet,” suggested Becky.

“Why
not?”

“I’ve
a feeling that Mr. Hadlow might not feel able to sanction the necessary loan.”

A
butler opened the door for them even before they had reached the top step. “Wouldn’t
mind one of those either,” said Charlie.

“Behave
yourself,” said Becky.

“Of
course,” he said. “I must remember my place.”

The
louder ushered them through to the drawing room where they found Daphne sipping
a dry martini.

“Darlings,”
she said. Becky ran forward and threw her arms around her and they bumped into
each other.

“Why
didn’t you tell me?” said Becky.

“My
little secret.” Daphne patted her stomach. “Still, you seem to be well ahead of
me, as usual.”

“Not
by that much,” said Becky. “So when’s yours

“Dr.
Gould is predicting some time in January. Clarence if it’s a boy, Clarissa if
it’s a girl.”

Her
guests both laughed.

“Don’t
you two dare snigger. Those are the names of Percy’s most distinguished
ancestors,” she told them, just as her husband entered the room.

“True,
byJove,” said Percy, “though I’m damned if I can remember what they actually
did.”

“Welcome
home,” said Charlie, shaking him by the hand.

“Thank
you, Charlie,” said Percy, who then kissed Becky on both cheeks. “I don’t mind
telling you I’m damned pleased to see you again.” A servant handed him a whisky
and soda. “Now, Becky, tell me everything you’ve been up to and don’t spare me
any details.”

They
sat down together on the sofa as Daphne joined Charlie, who was slowly circling
the room studying the large portraits that hung on every wall.

“Percy’s
ancestors,” said Daphne. “All painted by second-rate artists. I’d swap the lot
of them for that picture of the Virgin Mary you have in your drawing room.”

“Not
this one, you wouldn’t,” said Charlie, as he stopped in front of the second
Marquess of Wiltshire.

“Ah,
yes, the Holbein,” said Daphne. “You’re right. But since then I’m afraid it’s
been downhill all the way.”

“I
wouldn’t begin to know, m’lady,” said Charlie with a grin. “You see, my
ancestors didn’t go a bundle on portraits. Come to think of it, I don’t suppose
Holbein was commissioned by that many costermongers from the East End.”

Daphne
laughed. “That reminds me, Charlie, what’s happened to your cockney accent?”

“What
was you ‘aping for, Marchioness, a pound of tomatoes and ‘elf a grapefruit, or
just a night on the rawle?”

“That’s
more like it. Mustn’t let a few night classes go to our head.”

“Shhh,”
said Charlie, looking over to his wife, who was seated on the sofa. “Becky
still doesn’t know and I’m not saying anything until... “

“I
understand,” said Daphne. “And I promise you that she won’t hear a thing from
me. I haven’t even told Percy.” She glanced towards Becky, who was still deep
in conversation with her husband. “By the way, how long before thwart?”

“Ten
years would be my guess,” said Charlie, delivering his prepared answer.

“Oh,
I thought that these things usually took about nine months,” said Daphne. “Unless
of course you’re an elephant.”

Charlie
smiled, realizing his mistake. “Another two months would be my guess. Tommy if
it’s a boy and Debbie if it’s a girl. So with a bit of luck whatever Becky
delivers let’s hope turns out to be the ideal partner for Clarence or Clarissa.”