As the Crow Flies (48 page)

“Now,”
the colonel continued, “we have twentyfour shops and a staff of one hundred and
seveny-two. I told my wife all those years ago that I hoped I would live to see
Charlie” there was a ripple of laughter “Mr. Trumper, own the whole block, and
build the biggest barrow in the world. Now I’m convinced I will.” Turning to
Charlie he raised his glass and said, “And I wish you luck, sir.”

They
cheered when he resumed his seat as chairman for the last time.

Charlie
rose to reply. “Chairman,” he began, “let no one in this room be in any doubt
that Becky and I could not have built up Trumper’s to the position it enjoys
today without your support. In fact, if the truth be known, we wouldn’t even
have been able to purchase shops numbers 2 and 3. I am proud to follow you and
be the company’s second chairman, and whenever I make a decision of any real
importance I shall always imagine you are looking over my shoulder. The last
proposal you made as chairman of the company will take effect tomorrow. Tom
Arnold will become managing director and Ned Denning and Bob Makins will join
the board. Because it will always be Trumper’s policy to promote from within.

“You
are the new generation,” said Charlie as he looked out into the ballroom at his
staff, “and this is the first occasion at which we have all been together under
the same roof. So let us set a date tonight for when we will all work under one
roof, Trumper’s of Chelsea Terrace. I give you 1940.”

The
entire staff rose as one and all cried “1940” and cheered their new chairman.
As Charlie sat down the conductor raised his baton to indicate that the dancing
would begin.

The
colonel rose from his place and invited Becky to join him for the opening
waltz. He accompanied her onto an empty dance floor.

“Do
you remember when you first asked me to dance?” said Becky.

“I
certainly do,” said the colonel. “And to quote Mr. Hardy, ‘That’s another fine
mess you’ve got us into.’”

“Blame
him,” said Becky as Charlie glided by leading Elizabeth Hamilton around the
dance floor.

The
colonel smiled. “What a speech they’ll make when Charlie retires,” he said
wistfully to Becky. “And I can’t imagine who will dare follow him.”

“A
woman, perhaps?”

T
he Silver
Jubilee of King George V and Queen Mary in 1935 was celebrated by everyone at
Trumper’s. There were colored posters and pictures of the royal couple in every
shop window, and Tom Arnold ran a competition to see which shop could come up
with the most imaginative display to commemorate the occasion.

Charlie
took charge of Number 147, which he still looked upon as his personal fiefdom,
and with the help of Bob Makins’ daughter, who was in her first year at the
Chelsea School of Art, they produced a model of the King and Queen made up of
every fruit and vegetable that hailed from the British Empire.

Charlie
was livid when the judges the colonel and the Marquess and Marchioness of
Wiltshire, awarded Number 147 second place behind the flower shop which was
doing a roaring trade selling bunches of red, white and blue chrysanthemums;
what had put them in first place was a vast map of the world made up entirely
of flowers, with the British Empire set in red roses.

Charlie
gave all the staff the day off and he escorted Becky and Daniel up to the mall
at four-thirty in the morning so that they could find a good vantage point to
watch the King and Queen proceed from Buckingham Palace to St. Paul’s
Cathedral, where a service of thanksgiving was to be conducted.

They
arrived at the mall only to discover that thousands of people were already
covering every inch of the pavements with sleeping bags, blankets and even
tents, some having already begun their breakfast or simply fixed themselves to
the spot.

The
hours of waiting passed quickly as Charlie made friends with visitors who had
traveled from all over the Empire. When the procession finally began, Daniel
was speechless with delight as he watched the different soldiers from India,
Africa, Australia, Canada and thirty-six other nations march past him. When the
King and Queen drove by in the royal carriage Charlie stood to attention and
removed his hat, an action he repeated when the Royal Fusiliers marched past
playing their regimental anthem. Once they had all disappeared out of sight, he
thought enviously of Daphne and Percy, who had been invited to attend the
service at St. Paul’s.

After
the King and Queen had returned to Buckingham Palace well in time for their
lunch, as Daniel explained to those around him the Trumpers began their journey
home. On the way back they passed Chelsea Terrace, where Daniel spotted the big
“2nd Place” in the window of Number 147.

“Why’s
that there, Dad?” he immediately demanded. His mother took great delight in
explaining to her son how the competition had worked.

“Where
did you come, Mum?”

“Sixteenth
out of twenty-six,” said Charlie. “And then only because all three judges were
longstanding friends.”

Eight
months later the King was dead.

Charlie
hoped that with the accession of Edward VIII a new era would begin, and decided
that the time was well overdue for him to make a pilgrimage to America.

He
warned the board of his proposed trip at their next meeting.

“Any
real problems for me to worry about while I’m away?” the chairman asked his
managing director.

“I’m
still looking for a new manager at jewelry and a couple of assistants for women’s
clothes,” replied Arnold.”Otherwise it’s fairly peaceful at the moment.”

Confident
that Tom Arnold and the board could hold the fort for the month they planned to
be away, Charlie was finally convinced he should go when he read of the
preparation for the launching of the queen Mary. He booked a cabin for two on
her maiden voyage.

Becky
spent five glorious days on the Queen during the journey over, and was
delighted to find that even her husband began to relax once he realized he had
no way of getting in touch with Tom Arnold, or even Daniel, who was serding
into his first boarding school. In fact, once Charlie accepted that he couldn’t
bother anyone he seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself as he discovered the
various facilities that the liner had to offer a slightly overweight, unfit,
middle-aged man.

The
great Queen sailed into the Port of New York on a Monday morning to be greeted
by a crowd of thousands; Charlie could only wonder how different it must have
been for the Pilgrim Fathers bobbing along in the Mayflower with no welcoming
party and unsure of what to expect from the natives. In truth, Charlie wasn’t
quite sure what to expect from the natives either.

Charlie
had booked into the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, on the recommendation of Daphne, but
once he and Becky had unpacked their suitcases, there was no longer any
necessity to sit around and relax. He rose the following morning- at
four-thirty and, browsing through the New York Times, learned of the name of
Mrs. Wallis Simpson for the first time. Once he had devoured the newspapers,
Charlie left the Waldorf Astoria and strolled up and down Fifth Avenue studying
the different displays in the shop windows. He quickly became absorbed by how
inventive and original the Manhattanites were compared with his opposite
numbers in Oxford Street.

As
soon as the shops opened at nine, he was able to explore everything in greater
detail. This time he walked up and down the aisles of the fashionable stores
that made up most street corners. He checked their stock watched the assistants
and even followed certain customers around the store to see what they
purchased. After each of those first two days in New York he arrived back at the
hotel in the evening exhausted.

It
was not until the third morning that Charlie, having completed Fifth Avenue and
Madison, moved on to Lexington, where he discovered Bloomingdale’s, and from
that moment Becky realized that she had lost her husband for the rest of their
stay in New York.

Throughout
the first two hours Charlie did nothing more than travel up and down the
escalators until he had completely mastered the layout of the building. He then
began to study each floor, department by department, making copious notes. On
the ground floor they sold perfume, leather goods, jewelry; on the first floor,
scarves, hats, gloves, stationery; on the second floor were men’s clothes and
on the third floor women’s clothes on the fourth floor, household goods and on
up and up until he discovered that the company offices were on the twelfth
floor, discreetly hidden behind a “No Entry” sign. Charlie longed to discover
how that floor was laid out, but had no means of finding out.

On
the fourth day he made a close study of how each of the counters was
positioned, and began to draw their individual layouts. As he proceeded up the
escalator to the third floor that morning, he found two athletic young men
blocking his way. Charlie had no choice but to stop or try to go back down the
escalator the wrong way.

“Something
wrong?”

“We’re
not sure, sir,” said one of the thickset men. “We are store detectives and
wondered if you would be kind enough to come along with us.”

“Delighted,”
said Charlie, unable to work out what their problem might be.

He
was whisked up in a lift to the one floor he’d never had a chance to look round
and led down a long corridor through an unmarked door and on into a bare room.
There were no pictures on the wall, no carpet on the floor, and the only
furniture consisted of three wooden chairs and a table. They left him alone.
Moments later two older men came in to join him.

“I
wonder if you would mind answering a few questions for us, sir?” began the
taller of the two.

“Certainly,”
said Charlie, puzzled by the strange treatment he was receiving.

“Where
do you come from?” asked the first.

“England.”

“And
how did you get here?” asked the second.

“On
the maiden voyage of the Queen Mary.” He could see that they both showed signs
of nervousness when they learned this piece of information.

“Then
why, sir, have you been walking all over the store for two days, making notes,
but not attempted to purchase a single item?”

Charlie
burst out laughing. “Because I own twenty-six shops of my own in London,” he
explained. “I was simply comparing the way you do things in America to the way
I conduct my business in England.”

The
two men began to whisper to each other nervously.

“May
I ask your name, sir?”

“Trumper,
Charlie Trumper.”

One
of the men rose to his feet and left. Charlie had the distinct feeling that
they found his story hard to believe. It brought beck memories of when he had
told Tommy about his first shop. The man who remained seated opposite him still
did not offer an opinion, so the two of them sat silently opposite each other
for several minutes before the door burst open and in walked a tall, elegantly
dressed gentleman in a dark brown suit, brown shoes and a golden cravat. He
almost ran forward, arms outstretched to engulf Charlie.

“I
must apologize, Mr. Trumper,” were his opening words. “We had no idea you were
in New York, let alone on the premises. My name is John Bloomingdale, and this
is my little store which I hear you’ve been checking out.”

“I
certainly have,” said Charlie.

Before
he could say another word, Mr. Bloomingdale added, “That’s only fair, because I
also checked over your famous barrows in Chelsea Terrace, and took one or two
great ideas away with me.”

“From
Trumper’s?” said Charlie in disbelief.

“Oh,
certainly. Didn’t you see the flag of America in our front window with all
forty-eight states represented by different colored flowers?”

“Well,
yes,” began Charlie, “but... “

“Stolen
from you when my wife and I made a trip to see the SilverJubilee. So consider
me at your service, sir.”

The
two detectives were now smiling.

That
night Becky and Charlie joined the Bloomingdales at their brownstone house on
Sixty-first and Madison for dinner, and John Bloomingdale answered all Charlie’s
many questions until the early hours.

The
following day Charlie was given an official tour of “my little store” by its
owner while Paty Bloomingdale introduced Becky to the Metropolitan Museum of
Art and the Frick, pumping her with endless questions about Mrs. Simpson, to
which Becky was unable to offer any answers as she had never heard of the lady
before they’d set foot in America.

The
Trumpers were sorry to say goodbye to the Bloomingdales before they continued
their journey on to Chicago by train, where they had been booked into the
Stevens. On their arrival in the windy city they found their room had been
upgraded to a suite and Mr. Joseph Field, of Marshall Field, had left a
handwritten note expressing the hope that they would be able to join him and
his wife for a meal the following evening.

Over
dinner in The Fields’ home on Lake Shore Drive, Charlie reminded Mr. Field of
his advertisement describing his store as one of the biggest in the world, and
warned him that Chelsea Terrace was seven feet longer.