As the Crow Flies (72 page)

“Oh,
I’m so sorry,” said Cathy, half rising from her seat.

“No,
no,” said Charlie, waving her back down. “Don’t be silly, it wasn’t that
important. Our news can wait until later.”

“They’re
very hot, so watch it,” said Daniel, dropping a crumpet onto Cathy’s plate. “Well,
if my inheritance is of such monumental insignificance then I shall have to
impart my own little piece of news first. Roll of drums, curtain up opening
line” Daniel raised the toasting fork as if it were a baton “Cathy and I are
engaged to be married.”

“I
don’t believe it,” said Becky, immediately springing up from her chair to hug
Cathy in delight. “What wonderful news.”

“How
long has this been going on?” asked Charlie. “I must have been blind.”

“Nearly
two years,” admitted Daniel. “And to be fair, Dad, even you couldn’t expect to
have a telescope capable of focusing on Cambridge every weekend. I’ll let you
into another little secret: Cathy wouldn’t allow me to tell you until Mum had
invited her to join the management committee.”

“As
someone who’s always been a dealer, my boy,” said Charlie, beaming, “I can tell
you you’ve got the better of this bargain.” Daniel grinned. “In fact, I think
Cathy’s probably been shortchanged. But when did all this happen?

“We
met at your housewarming party. You won’t remember Sir Charles, but we bumped
into each other on the stairs,” Cathy said, nervously fingering the little
cross that hung around her neck.

“Of
course I remember and please call me Charlie. Everyone else does.”

“So
have you decided on a date?” asked Becky.

“We
were planning to be married during the Easter vacation,” said Daniel. “If that
suits you?”

“Next
week suits me,” said Charlie. “I couldn’t be happier. And where do you plan to
hold the wedding?”

“The
College Chapel,” said Daniel without hesitation. “You see, both Cathy’s parents
are dead so we thought down here in Cambridge might be best, in the
circumstances.”

“And
where will you live?” asked Becky.

“Ah,
that all depends,” said Daniel mysteriously.

“On
what?” asked Charlie.

“I’ve
applied for a chair in mathematics at King’s London and I’m reliably informed
that their choice will be announced to the world in two weeks’ time.”

“Are
you at all hopeful?” asked Becky.

“Well,
let me put it this way,” said Daniel. “The provost has asked me to have dinner
with him next Thursday at his lodgings, and as I’ve never set eyes on the
gentleman in question before... “ He broke off as the telephone interrupted his
flow.

“Now,
whoever can that be?” he asked rhetorically. “The monsters don’t usually bother
me on a Sunday.” He picked up the receiver and listened for a moment.

“Yes,
she is,” he said after a few more seconds. “May I say who’s calling? I’ll let
her know.” He turned to face his mother. “Mr. Baverstock for you, Mum. “

Becky
pushed herself out of her chair and took the telephone from Daniel as Charlie
looked on apprehensively.

“Is
that you, Lady Trumper?”

“Yes,
it is.”

“Baverstock
here. I’ll be brief. But first, have you informed Daniel about the details of
Sir Raymond’s will?”

“No.
My husband was just about to do so.”

“Then
please don’t mention the subject to him until I have had the chance to see you
again.”

“But
why not?” Becky realized it was now going to be necessary to conduct a
one-sided conversation.

“It
isn’t something I feel comfortable about discussing over the telephone, Lady
Trumper. When are you expecting to be back in town?”

“Later
this evening.”

“I
think we should meet as soon as possible.”

“Do
you consider it’s that important?” said Becky, still mystified.

“I
do. Would seven o’clock this evening suit you?”

“Yes,
I feel sure we’ll be back by then.”

“In
that case I’ll come round to Eaton Square at seven. And please, whatever you
do, don’t mention anything about Sir Raymond’s will to Daniel. I apologize
about the mystery but I fear I have been left with little choice. Goodbye, dear
lady.”

“Goodbye,”
said Becky and put the receiver down.

“Problem?”
asked Charlie, raising an eyebrow.

“I
don’t know.” Becky looked her husband straight in the eye. “It’s just that Mr.
Baverstock wants to see us about those papers he briefed me on last week.”
Charlie grimaced. “And he doesn’t wish us to discuss the detains with anyone
else for the time being.”

“Now
that does sound mysterious,” said Daniel, turning to Cathy. “Mr. Baverstock, my
darling, is on the board of the barrow, a man who would consider phoning his
wife during of lice hours a breach of contract.”

“That
sounds like the right qualifications for a place on the board of a public
company.”

“You’ve
met him once before, as a matter of fact,” said Daniel. “He and his wife were
also at Mum’s housewarming party, but I fear he isn’t exactly memorable.”

“Who
painted that picture?” said Charlie suddenly, staring at a watercolor of the
Cam that hung above Daniel’s desk.

Becky
only hoped the change of subject hadn’t been too obvious.

*
* *

On
the journey back to London Becky was torn between delight at the thought of
having Cathy as a daughter-in-law and anxiety over what Mr. Baverstock could
possibly went to see them about.

When
Charlie asked yet again for details, Becky tried to repeat the conversation she’d
conducted with Baverstock word for word, but it left neither of them any the
wiser.

“We’ll
know soon enough,” said Charlie as they left the A10 to go through Whitechapel
and on into the Ciy. It always gave Charlie a thrill whenever he passed all the
different barrows displaying their colorful wares and heard the cries of the
merchants shouting their outrageous claims.

“I
don’t offer you these for...”

Suddenly
Charlie brought the car to a halt, turnd off the engine and stared out of the
window.

“Why
are you stopping?” asked Becky. “We haven’t any time to spare.”

Charlie
pointed at the Whitechapel Boys’ Club: it looked even more run-down and
dilapidated than usual.

“You’ve
seen the club a thousand times before, Charlie. And you know we mustn’t be late
for Mr. Baverstock.”

He
took out his diary and began unscrewing the top of his fountain pen.

“What
am you up to?”

“When
will you ream, Becky, to look more carefully?” Charlie was busy scribbling down
the number of the estate agent on the “For Sale” sign.

“You
surely don’t want to open a second Trumper’s in Whitechapel.”

“No,
but I do want to find out why they’re closing my old boys’ club,” said Charlie.
He resumed the pen to his inside pocket and pressed the button to start up the engine.

The
Trumpers arrived back at 17 Eaton Square with just over half an hour to spare
before Mr. Baverstock was due to visit them; and Mr. Baverstock, they both were
painfully aware, was never late.

Becky
immediately set about dusting the tables and plumping up the cushions in the
drawing room.

“Everything
looks fine to me,” said Charlie. “Do stop fussing. In any case, that’s what we
employ a housekeeper for.”

“But
it’s a Sunday night,” Becky reminded him. She continued to check under objects
she hadn’t touched for months and finally put a match to the well-laid fire.

At
exactly seven the front doorbell rang and Charlie left to greet his guest.

“Good
evening, Sir Charles,” said Mr. Baverstock, removing his hat.

Ah,
yes, thought Charlie, there is someone I know who never calls me Charlie. He
took Mr. Baverstock’s coat, scarf and hat and hung them on the hallstand.

“I
am sorry to bother you on a Sunday evening,” Mr. Baverstock said as he followed
his host into the drawing room carrying his Gladstone bag. “But I hope when you
learn my news, you will feel I came to the rift decision.”

“I’m
sure we will. We were naturally both intrigued by your call. But first let me
offer you a drink. Whisky?”

“No,
thank you,” said Mr. Baverstock. “But a dry sherry would be most acceptable.”

Becky
poured Mr. Baverstock a Tio Pepe and her husband a whisky before she joined the
two men round the fire and waited for the lawyer to explain his
uncharacteristic interruption.

“This
isn’t easy for me, Sir Charles.”

Charlie
nodded. “I understand. Just take your time.”

“Can
I first confirm with you that you did not reveal to your son any details of Sir
Raymond’s will?”

“We
did not. We were saved that embarrassment first by the announcement of Daniel’s
engagement to be married and then by your fortuitous telephone call.”

“Oh,
that is good news,” said Mr. Baverstock. “To the charming Miss Ross, no doubt.
Please do pass on my congratulations. “

“You
knew all along?” said Becky.

“Oh,
yes,” said Mr. Baverstock. “It was obvious for everyone to see, wasn’t it?”

“Everyone
except us,” said Charlie.

Mr.
Baverstock permitted himself a wry smile before he removed a file from his
Gladstone bag.

“I’ll
waste no more words,” continued Mr. Baverstock. “Having talked to the other
side’s solicitors during the past few days, I have reamed that at some time in
the past Daniel paid a visit to Mrs. Trentham at her home in Chester Square.”

Charlie
and Becky were unable to hide their astonishment.

“Just
as I thought,” said Baverstock. “Like myself, you were both obviously quite
unaware that such a meeting had taken place.”

“But
how could they have met when ?” asked Charlie.

“That
we may never get to the bottom of, Sir Charles. However, what I do know is that
at that meeting Daniel came to an agreement with Mrs. Trentham.”

“And
what was the nature of this agreement?” asked Charlie.

The
old solicitor extracted yet another piece of paper from the file in front of
him and reread Mrs. Trentham’s handwritten words: “‘In exchange for Mrs.
Trentham’s withdrawing her opposition to any planning permission for the
building to be known as Trumper Towers, and in addition for agreeing not to
proceed with her own scheme for the rebuilding of a block of flats in Chelsea
Terrace, Daniel Trumper will waive any rights he might be enticed to now or at
any time in the future from the Hardcastle estate.’ At that time, of course,
Daniel had no idea that he was the main beneficiary of Sir Raymond’s will.”

“So
that’s why she gave in without putting up a fight?” said Charlie eventually.

“It
would seem so.”

“He
did all that without even letting us know,” said Becky as her husband began to
read Through the document.

“That
would appear to be the case, Lady Trumper.”

“And
is it legally binding?” were Charlie’s first words after he had finished
reading the page of Mrs. Trentham’s handwriting.

“Yes,
I’m afraid it is, Sir Charles.”

“But
if he didn’t know the full extent of the inheritance ?”

“This
is a contract between two people. The courts would have to assume Daniel had
relinquished his interest to any claim in the Hardcastle estate, once Mrs.
Trentham had kept her part of the bargain.”

“But
what about coercion?”

“Of
a twenty-six-year-old man by a woman over seventy when he went to visit her?
Hardly, Sir Charles.”

“But
how did they ever meet?”

“I
have no idea,” replied the lawyer. “It seems that she didn’t confide the full
circumstances of the meeting even to her own solicitors. However, I’m sure you
now understand why I considered tills wasn’t the most appropriate time to raise
the subject of Sir Raymond’s will with Daniel.”

“You
made the right decision,” said Charlie.

“And
now the subject must be closed forever,” said Becky, barely louder Than a
whisper.

“But
why?” asked Charlie, placing an arm around his wife’s shoulder.

“Because
I don’t want Daniel to spend the rest of his life feeling he betrayed his
great-grandfather when his only purpose in signing that agreement must have
been to help us.” The tears flowed down Becky’s cheeks as she turned to face
her husband.

“Perhaps
I should have a word with Daniel, man to man.”

“Charlie,
you will never even consider raising the subject of Guy Trentham with my son
again. I forbid.”

Charlie
removed his arm from around his wife and looked at her like a child who has
been unfairly scolded.