As the Crow Flies (78 page)

The
three of them chatted about life at Cambridge until the Marchioness of
Wiltshire banged a spoon on the table, to attract everyone’s attention, then
made a seemingly impromptu speech. When she finally called for a toast they all
stood and raised their glasses to Trumper’s. The marchioness then presented Sir
Charles with a silver cigar case in the form of a scale model of Trumper’s and
from the expression on his face it obviously brought their host considerable
delight. After a witty, and Cathy suspected not impromptu, speech, Sir Charles
resumed his place.

“I
ought to be going,” Cathy said a few minutes later. “I have an early start in
the morning. It was nice to have met you, Daniel,” she added, sounding suddenly
formal. They shook hands like strangers.

“Talk
to you soon,” he said as Cathy went over to thank her hosts for what she told
them had been a memorable evening. She left on her own, but not before she had
checked that Simon was deep in conversation with a fair-haired young man who
had recently come to work in rugs and carpets.

She
walked slowly back from Eaton Square to Chelsea Terrace, savoring every moment
of the evening, and was upstairs in her little flat above Number 135 a few
minutes after midnight, feeling not unlike Cinderella.

As
she began to undress, Cathy mused over how much she had enjoyed the party,
especially Daniel’s company and the joy of seeing so many of her favorite
artists. She wondered if... Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a
phone ringing.

As
the time was now well past midnight she picked up the receiver assuming the
caller must have dialed a wrong number.

“Said
I’d talk to you soon,” said a voice.

“Go
to bed, you chump.”

“I’m
already in bed. Talk to you again in the morning,” he added. She heard a click.

Daniel
telephoned a little after eight the following morning.

“I’ve
only just got out of the bath,” she told him.

“Then
you must be looking like Michelle. I’d better come over and select a towel for
you.”

“I
already have a towel safely wrapped round me, thank you.”

“Pity,”
said Daniel. “I’m rather good at drying up. But failing that,” he added before
she could reply, “would you join me at Trinity on Saturday? They’re holding a
college feast. We only have a couple a term, so if you turn the invitation down
there’s no hope of seeing me again for another three months.”

“In
which case I’ll accept. But only because I haven’t had a feast since I left
school.”

The
following Friday Cathy traveled up to Cambridge by train to find Daniel
standing on the platform waiting for her. Although Trinity High Table has been
known to intimidate the most confident of guests, Cathy felt quite at ease as
she sat among the dons. Nevertheless she couldn’t help wondering how so many
survived to old age if they ate and drank like this regularly.

“Man
cannot live by bread alone,” was Daniel’s only explanation during the
seven-course meal. She imagined that the orgy must have ended when they were
invited back to the master’s lodge only to find she was being offered even more
savories, accompanied by a port decanter that circled endlessly and never
seemed to settle or empty. She eventually escaped, but not before the clock on
Trinity tower had struck midnight. Daniel escorted her to a guest room on the
far side of the Great Court and suggested that they might attend matins at King’s
the following morning.

“I’m
so glad you didn’t recommend I make an appearance at breakfast,” said Cathy as
Daniel gave her a kiss on the cheek before saying good night.

The
little guest room that Daniel had booked Cathy into was even smaller than her
digs above 135, but she fell asleep the moment she placed her head on the
pillow and was woken only by a peal of bells that she assumed must be coming
from King’s College Chapel.

Daniel
and Cathy reached the chapel door only moments before the choristers began
their crocodile procession down the nave. The singing seemed even more moving
than on the gramophone record that Cathy possessed, with only the choristers’
pictures on the sleeve to hint what the real experience might be like.

Once
the blessing had been Riven Daniel suggested a walk along the Backs “to get rid
of any leftover cobwebs.” He took her hand, not releasing it again until they
had returned to Trinity an hour later for a modest lunch.

During
the afternoon he showed her round the Fitzwilliam Museum, where Cathy was
mesmerized by Goya’s Devil Eating His Children. “Bit like Trinity High Table,”
suggested Daniel before they walked over to Queens, where they listened to a
student string quartet give a recital of a Bach fugue. By the time they left,
the Bights along Silver Street had started flickering.

“No
supper, please,” begged Cathy in mock protest as they strolled back across the
Mathematical Bridge.

Daniel
chuckled and, after they had collected her case from Trinity, drove her slowly
back to London in his little MG.

“Thank
you for a wonderful weekend,” said Cathy once Daniel had parked outside 135. “In
fact, ‘wonderful’ is quite inadequate to describe the last two days.”

Daniel
kissed her gently on the cheek. “Let’s do it again next weekend,” he suggested.

“Not
a hope,” said Cathy. “That is, if you meant it when you claimed you liked thin
women.”

“All
right, let’s try the whole thing without the food and perhaps even have a game
of tennis this time. It may be the only way I’ll ever find out the standard of
the Melbourne University second six.”

Cathy
laughed. “And would you also thank your mother for that superb party last
Monday? It’s been a truly memorable week.”

“I
would, but you’ll probably see her before I do.”

“Aren’t
you staying overnight with your parents?”

“No.
I must get back to Cambridge got supervisions to give at nine tomorrow.”

“But
I could have taken the train.”

“And
I would have had two hours less of your company,” he said as he waved goodbye.

T
he first time
they slept together, in his uncomfortable single bed in his comfortable little
room, Cathy knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Daniel. She just
wished he wasn’t the son of Sir Charles Trumper.

She
begged him not to tell his parents that they were seeing each other so
regularly. She was determined to prove herself at Trumper’s, she explained, and
didn’t want any favors because she was going out with the boss’s son.

When
Daniel spotted the little cross that hung around Cathy’s neck she immediately
told him its history.

After
the silver sale, her coup over the man in the yellow tie and later her tipoff
to the journalist from the Telegraph, she began to feel more confident about
letting the Trumpers know she had fallen in love with their only child.

On
the Monday following the silver sale, Becky invited Cathy to join the
management board of the auction house, which up until then had consisted of
only Simon, Peter Fellowes the head of research and Becky herself.

Becky
also asked Cathy to prepare the catalogue for the autumn Impressionist sale and
take on several other responsibilities, including overall supervision of the
front counter. “Next stop, a place on the main board,” teased Simon.

She
phoned Daniel to tell him the news later that morning.

“Does
that mean we can at last stop fooling my parents?”

When
Daniel’s father telephoned him some weeks later to say he and his mother wanted
to come down to Cambridge, as they needed to discuss something “rather
important” with him, Daniel invited them both to have tea in his rooms on the
following Sunday, warning them he too had something “rather important” to tell
them.

Daniel
and Cathy spoke to each other on the telephone every day that week and she
began to wonder if it might not be wise at least to warn Daniel’s parents that
she would also be present when they came to tea. Daniel wouldn’t hear of it,
claiming that it was not often he had the chance of stealing a march on his
father and he had no intention of letting the moment pass without the full
satisfaction of seeing their surprised faces.

“And
I’ll let you into another secret,” said Daniel. “I’ve applied for a post of
professor of mathematics at King’s College, London.”

“That’s
some sacrifice you’re making, Dr. Trumper,” said Cathy, “because once you come
to live in London I’m never going to be able to feed you the way they do at
Trinity.”

“Good
news. That can only mean fewer visits to my tailor.”

The
tea that Daniel held in his rooms could not have been a happier occasion, Cathy
felt, although at first Becky seemed on edge and, if anything, became even more
anxious following an unexplained telephone call from someone called Mr.
Baverstock.

Sir
Charles’ delight at the news that she and Daniel planned to be married during
the Easter vacation was so obviously genuine and Becky was positively overjoyed
at the whole idea of having Cathy as a dau,ehterin-law. Charlie surprised Cathy
when he suddenly changed the subject and inquired who had painted the
watercolor that hung above Daniel’s desk.

“Cathy,”
Daniel told him. “An artist in the family at last.”

“You
can paint as well, young lady?” Charlie asked in disbelief.

“She
certainly can,” said Daniel, looking towards the watercolor. “My engagement
present,” he explained. “What’s more, it’s the only original Cathy has Fainted
since she came to England, so it’s priceless.”

“Will
you paint one for me?” asked Charlie, after he had studied the little
watercolor more carefully.

“I’d
be delighted to,” Cathy replied. “But where would you hang it? In the garage?”

After
tea the four of them all walked along the Backs and Cathy was disappointed that
Daniel’s parents seemed quite anxious to return to London and felt unable to
join them for evening chapel.

When
they had returned from evensong they made love in Daniel’s little bed and Cathy
warned him that Easter might not be a moment too soon.

“What
do you mean?” he asked.

“I
think my period’s already a week overdue.”

Daniel
was so overjoyed by the news he wanted to phone his parents immediately and
share his excitement with them.

“Don’t
be silly,” said Cathy. “Nothing’s confirmed yet. I only hope that your mother
and father won’t be too appalled when they find out.”

“Appalled?
They’re hardly in a position to be. They didn’t even get married until the week
after I was loom.”

“How
do you know that?”

“Checked
the date on my birth certificate in Somerset House against the date of their
marriage certificate. Fairly simple really. It seems, to begin with, no one was
willing to admit I belonged to anyone.”

That
one statement convinced Cathy that she must finally clear up any possibility of
her being related to Mrs. Trentham before they were married. Although Daniel
had taken her mind off the problem of her parentage for over a year, she couldn’t
face the Trumpers thinking at some later date that she had set out to deceive
them or worse, was somehow related to the woman they loathed above all others.
Now that Cathy had unwittingly discovered where Mrs. Trentham lived she
resolved to write a letter to the lady just as soon as she was back in London.

She
scribbled out a rough copy on Sunday evening and rose early the following
morning to pen a final draft:

Dear
Mrs. Trenthom, I write to you as a complete stranger in the hope that you might
be able to help me to clear up up a dilemma that I have been facing for several
years.

I
was born in Melbourne, Australia and have never known who my parents are as I
was abandoned at an early age. I was in fact brought up in an orphange called
St. Hilda’s. The only momento that I have of my father’s existance is a
miniature Military Cross which he gave me when I was a small child. The
initials “G.F.T.” are inscribed down one arm.

The
curator of the Royal Fusiliers museum at Hounslow has confirmed that the medal
was awarded to a Captain Guy Francis Trentham on July 22nd 1918 following his
brave action at the second battle of the Masne.

Are
you by any chance related to Guy and could he be my father? I would appreciate
any information you may be able to give me on this matter and I apologize for
intruding on your privacy.

I
look forward to hearing from you.

Yours
sincerely, Cathy Ross Cathy dropped the envelope in the postbox on the corner
of Chelsea Terrace before going in to work. After years of hoping to find
someone to whom she was related, Cathy found it ironic that she now wanted that
same person to deny her.

The
announcement of Cathy’s engagement to Daniel Trumper was on the court and
social page of The Times the following morning. Everyone at Number 1 seemed
delighted by the news. Simon toasted Cathy’s health with champagne during the
lunch break and told everyone, “It’s a Trumper plot to be certain we don’t lose
her to Sotheby’s or Christie’s.” Everyone clapped except Simon, who whispered
in her ear, “And you’re exactly the right person to put us in the same league.”
Funny how some people think of possibilities for you, Cathy thought, even
before you consider them for yourself.