AS THE CROW FLIES
by
JEFFREY ARCHER


         Harper Paperbacks
 A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers

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This is a work of fiction. The characters incidents and
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events or persona living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright O 1991 by Jeffrey Archer All rights reserved. No
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A hardcover edition of this book was published in 1991 by
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Cover illustration by George Angelini Cover background
illustration by Mitzura Salgian

First HarperPaperbacks printing May 1992
Printed in the United States of America

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TO FRANKAND KATHY

Contents

     Charlie
1900-1919
       Becky
1918-1920
      Daphne
1918-1921
Colonel Hamilton
1920-1922
     Charlie
1919-1926
Mrs. Trentham
1919-1927
     Charlie
1926-1945
      Daniel
1931-1947
Mrs. Trentham
1938-1948
       Becky
1947-1950
       Cathy
1947-1950
     Charlie
1950-1964
       Becky
1964-1970

granpa thought it could well have been a saturday, felt it most likely
the month had been january, was confident the year was 1900, and knew it
was in the reign of queen victoria. so we settled on saturday, 20
january 1900.

i never knew my mother because, as i explained, she died on the day i
was born. uchildbirth,'' our local priest called it, but i didn't really
understand what he was on about until several years later when i came up
against the problem again. father o'malley never stopped telling me that
she was a saint if ever he'd seen one. my father who couldn't have been
described as a saint by anyone worked on the docks by day, lived in the
pub at night and came home in the early morning because it was the only
place he could fall asleep without being disturbed.

the rest of my family was made up of three sisters sal, the eldest, who
was five and knew when she was born because it was in the middle of the
night and had kept the old man awake; grace who was three and didn't
cause anyone to lose sleep; and redheaded kitty who was eighteen months
and never stopped bawling.

the head of the family was granpa charlie, who i was named after. he
slept in his own room on the ground floor of our home in whitechapel
road, not only because he was the oldest but because he paid the rent
always. the rest of us were herded all together in the room opposite. we
had two other rooms on the ground floor, a sort of kitchen and what most
people would have called a large cupboard, but which grace liked to
describe as the parlor.

there was a lavatory in the garden no grass which we shared with an
irish family who lived on the floor above us. they always seemed to go
at three o'clock in the morning.

granpa who was a costermonger by trade worked the pitch on the corner of
whitechapel road. once i was able to escape from my orange box and
ferret around among the other barrows i quickly discovered that he was
reckoned by the locals to be the finest trader in the east end.

my dad, who as i have already told you was a docker by trade, never
seemed to take that much interest in any of us and though he could
sometimes earn as much as a pound a week, the money always seemed to end
up in the black bull, where it was spent on pint after pint of ale and
gambled away on games of cribbage or dominoes in the company of our
next-door neighbor, bert shorrocks, a man who never seemed to speak,
just grunt.

in fact, if it hadn't been for granpa i wouldn't even have been made to
attend the local elementary school in jubilee street, and "attend" was
the right word, because i didn't do a lot once i'd got there, other than
bang the lid of my little desk and occasionally pull the pigtails of
"posh porky," the girl who sat in front of me. her real name was rebecca
salmon and she was the daughter of dan salmon who owned the baker's shop
on the corner of brick lane. posh porky knew exactly when and where she
was born and never stopped reminding us all that she was nearly a year
younger than anyone else in the class.

i couldn't wait for the bell to ring at four in the afternoon when class
would end and i could bang my lid for the last time before running all
the way down the whitechapel road to help out on the barrow.

on saturdays as a special treat granpa would allow me to go along with
him to the early morn ing market in covent garden, where he would select
the fruit and vegetables that we would later sell from his pitch, just
opposite mr. salmon's and dunkley's, the fish and chippy that stood next
to the baker's.

although i couldn't wait to leave school once and for all so i could
loin granpa permanently, if i ever played truant for as much as an hour
he wouldn't take me to watch west ham, our local soccer team, on
saturday afternoon or, worse, he'd stop me selling on the barrow in the
morning.

"i 'aped you'd grow up to be more like rebecca salmon," he used to say.
"that girl will go a long way "

"the further the better," i would tell him, but he never laughed, just
reminded me that she was always top in every subject.

"'cept 'rithmetic," i replied with bravado, "where i beat her silly."
you see, i could do any sum in my head that rebecca salmon had to write
out in longhand; it used to drive her potty.

my father never visited jubilee street elementary in all the years i was
there, but granpa used to pop along at least once a term and have a word
with mr. cartwright my teacher. mr. cartwright told granpa that with my
head for figures i could end up an accountant or a clerk. he once said
that he might even be able to "find me a position in the city." which
was a waste of time really, because all i wanted to do was join granpa
on the barrow.

i was seven before i worked out that the name down the side of granpa's
barrow "charlie trumper, the honest trader, founded in 1823" was the
same as mine. dad's first name was george, and he had already made it
clear on several occasions that when granpa retired he had

no intention of taking over from him as he didn't want to leave his
mates on the docks.

i couldn't have been more pleased by his decision, and told granpa that
when i finally took over the barrow, we wouldn't even have to change the
name.

granpa just groaned and said, "i don't want you to end up workin' in the
east end, young 'un. you're far too good to be a barrow boy for the rest
of your life." it made me sad to hear him speak like that; he didn't
seem to understand that was all i wanted to do.

school dragged on for month after month, year after year, with rebecca
salmon going up to collect prize after prize on speech day. what made
the annual gathering even worse was we always had to listen to her
recite the twenty-third psalm, standing up there on the stage in her
white dress, white socks, black shoes. she even had a white bow in her
long black hair.

"and i expect she wears a new pair of knickers every day," little kitty
whispered in my ear.

"and i'll bet you a guinea to a farthin' she's still a virgin," said
sal.

i burst out laughing because all the costermongers in the whitechapel
road always did whenever they heard that word, although i admit that at
the time i didn't have a clue what a virgin was. granpa told me to
"shhh" and didn't smile again until i went up to get the arithmetic
prize, a box of colored crayons that were damned-all use to anyone.
still, it was them or a book.

granpa clapped so loud as i returned to my place that some of the mums
looked round and smiled, which made the old fellow even more determined
to see that i stayed on at school until i was fourteen.

by the time i was ten, granpa allowed me to lay out the morning wares on
the barrow before going off to school for the day. potatoes on the
front, greens in the middle and soft fruits at the back was his golden
rule.

"never let 'em touch the fruit until they've 'ended over their money,"
he used to say. "'arc to bruise a tato, but even 'arder to sell a bunch
of grapes that's been picked up and dropped a few times."

by the age of eleven i was collecting the money from the customers and
handing them the change they were due. that's when i first learned about
palming. sometimes, after i'd given them back their money, the customers
would open the palm of their hand and i would discover that one of the
coins i had passed over had suddenly disappeared so i ended up having to
give them even more bees and honey. i lost granpa quite a bit of our
weekly profit that way, until he taught me to say, "tuppence change,
mrs. smith," then hold up the coins for all to see before handing them
over.

by twelve, i had learned how to bargain with the suppliers at covent
garden while displaying a poker face, later to sell the same produce to
the customers back in whitechapel with a grin that stretched from ear to
ear. i also discovered that granpa used to switch suppliers regularly,
"just to be sure no one takes me for granted."

by thirteen, i had become his eyes and ears as i already knew the name
of every worthwhile trader of fruit and vegetables in covent garden. i
quickly sussed out which sellers just piled good fruit on top of bad,
which dealers would attempt to hide a bruised apple and which suppliers
would always try to short-measure you. most important of all, back on
the pitch i learned which customers didn't pay their debts and so could
never be allowed to have their names chalked up on the slate.

i remember that my chest swelled with pride the day mrs. smelley, who
owned a boardinghouse in the commercial road, told me that i was a chip
off the old block and that in her opinion one day i might even be as
good as my granpa. i celebrated that night by ordering my first pint of
beer and lighting up my first woodbine. i didn't finish either of them.

i'll never forget that saturday morning when granpa first let me run the
barrow on my own. for five hours he didn't once open his mouth to offer
advice or even give an opinion. and when he checked the takings at the
end of the day, although we were two shillings and fivepence light from
a usual saturday, he still handed over the sixpenny piece he always gave
me at the end of the week.

i knew granpa wanted me to stay on at school and improve my readin' and
writin', but on the last friday of term in december 1913, i walked out
of the gates of jubilee street elementary with my father's blessing. he
had always told me that education was a waste of time and he couldn't
see the point of it. i agreed with him, even if posh porky had won a
scholarship to someplace called st. paul's, which in any case was miles
away in hammersn~ith. and who wants to go to school in hammersmith when
you can live in the east end?

mrs. salmon obviously wanted her to because she told everyone who was
held up in the bread queue of her daughter's "interlectual prowess,"
whatever that meant.

"stuck-up snob," granpa used to whisper in my ear. "she's the sort of
person who 'as a bowl of fruit in the 'ouse when no one's ill."

i felt much the same way about posh porky as granpa did about mrs.
salmon. mr. salmon was all right, though. you see, he'd once been a
costermonger himself, but that was before he married miss. roach, the
baker's daughter.

every saturday morning, while i was setting up the barrow, mr. salmon
used to disappear off to the whitechapel synagogue, leaving his wife to
run the shop. while he was away, she never stopped reminding us at the
top of her voice that she wasn't a five by two.

posh porky seemed to be torn between going along with her old man to the
synagogue and staying put at the shop, where she'd sit by the window and
start scoffing cream buns the moment he was out of sight.

"always a problem, a mixed marriage," granpa would tell me. it was years
before i worked out that he wasn't talking about the cream buns.

the day i left school i told granpa he could lie in while i went off to
covent garden to fill up the barrow, but he wouldn't hear of it. when we
got to the market, for the first time he allowed me to bargain with the
dealers. i quickly found one who agreed to supply me with a dozen apples
for threepence as long as i could guarantee the same order every day for
the next month. as granpa charlie and i always had an apple for
breakfast, the arrangement sorted out our own needs and also gave me the
chance to sample what we were selling to the customers.

from that moment on, every day was a saturday and between us we could
sometimes manage to put the profits up by as much as fourteen shillings
a week.

after that, i was put on a weekly wage of five shillings a veritable
fortune. four of them i kept locked in a tin box under granpa's bed
until i had saved up my first guinea: a man what's got a guinea got
security, mr. salmon once told me as he stood outside his shop, thumbs
in his waistcoat pockets, displaying a shiny gold watch and chain.

in the evenings, after granpa had come home for supper and the old man
had gone off to the pub i soon became bored just sitting around
listening to what my sisters had been up to all day; so i joined the
whitechapel boys' club. table tennis mondays, wednesdays and fridays,
boxing tuesdays, thursdays and saturdays. i never did get the hang of
table tennis, but i became quite a useful bantamweight and once even
represented the club against bethnal green.

unlike my old man i didn't go much on pubs, the dogs or cribbage but i
still went on supporting west ham most saturday afternoons. i even made
the occasional trip into the west end of an evening to see the latest
music hall star.

when granpa asked me what i wanted for my fifteenth birthday i replied
without a moment's hesitation, "my own barrow," and added that i'd
nearly saved enough to get one. he just laughed and told me that his old
one was good enough for whenever the time came for me to take over. in
any case, he warned me, it's what a rich man calls an asset and, he
added for good measure, never invest in something new, especially when
there's a war on.

although mr. salmon had already told me that we had declared war against
the germans almost a year before none of us having heard of archduke
franz ferdinand we only found out how serious it was when a lot of young
lads who had worked in the market began to disappear off to "the front"
to be replaced by their younger brothers and sometimes even sisters. on
a saturday morning there were often more lads down the east end dressed
in khaki than in civvies.

my only other memory of that period was of schultz's, the sausage maker
a saturday night treat for us, especially when he gave us a toothless
grin and slipped an extra sausage in free. lately he had always seemed
to start the day with a broken windowpane, and then suddenly one morning
the front of his shop was boarded up and we never saw mr. schultz again.
"internment," my granpa whispered mysteriously.

my old man occasionally joined us on a saturday morning, but only to get
some cash off granpa so that he could go to the black bull and spend it
all with his mate bert shorrocks.

week after week granpa would fork out a bob, sometimes even a florin,
which we both knew he couldn't afford. and what really annoyed me was
that he never drank and certainly didn't go a bundle on gambling. that
didn't stop my old man pocketing the money, touching his cap and then
heading off towards the black bull.

this routine went on week after week and might never have changed, until
one saturday morning a toffee-nosed lady who i had noticed standing on
the corner for the past week, wearing a long black dress and carrying a
parasol, strode over to our barrow, stopped and placed a white feather
in dad's lapel.

i've never seen him go so mad, far worse than the usual saturday night
when he had lost all his money gambling and came home so drunk that we
all had to hide under the bed. he raised his clenched fist to the lady
but she didn't flinch and even called him "coward" to his face. he
screamed back at her some choice words that he usually saved for the
rent collector. he then grabbed all her feathers and threw them in the
gutter before storming off in the direction of the black bull. what's
more, he didn't come home at midday, when sal served us up a dinner of
fish and chips. i never complained as i went off to watch west ham that
afternoon, having scoffed his portion of chips. he still wasn't back
when i returned that night, and when i woke the next morning his side of
the bed hadn't been slept in. when granpa-brought us all home from
midday mass there was still no sign of dad, so i had a second night with
the double bed all to myself.

"'e's probably spent another night in jail," said granpa on monday
morning as i pushed our barrow down the middle of the road, trying to
avoid the horse shit from the buses that were dragged backwards and
forwards, to and from the city along the metropolitan line.

as we passed number 110, i spotted mrs. shorrocks staring at me out of
the window, sporting her usual black eye and a mass of different colored
bruises which she collected from bert most saturday nights.

"you can go and bail 'im out round noon," said granpa. "'e should have
sobered up by then."

i scowled at the thought of having to fork out the half-crown to cover
his fine, which simply meant another day's profits down the drain.

a few minutes after twelve o'clock i reported to the police station. the
duty sergeant told me that bert shorrocks was still in the cells and due
up in front of the beak that afternoon, but they hadn't set eyes on my
old man the whole weekend.

"like a bad penny, you can be sure 'e'll turn up again," said granpa
with a chuckle.

but it was to be over a month before dad "turned up" again. when i first
saw him i couldn't believe my eyes he was dressed from head to toe in
khaki. you see, he had signed up with the second battalion of the royal
fusiliers. he told us that he expected to be posted to the front at some
time in the next few weeks but he would still be home by christmas; an
officer had told him that the bloody huns would have been sent packing
long before then.

granpa shook his head and frowned, but i was so proud of my dad that for
the rest of the day i just strutted around the market by his side. even
the lady who stood on the corner handing out white feathers gave him an
approving nod. i scowled at her and promised dad that if the germans
hadn't been sent packing by christmas  i would leave the market and join
up myself to help him finish off the job. i even went with him to the
black bull that night, determined to spend my weekly wages on whatever
he wanted. but no one would let him buy a drink so l ended up not
spending a ha'penny. the next morning he had left us to rejoin his
regiment, even before granpa and i started out for the market.

the old man never wrote because he couldn't write, but everyone in the
east end knew that if you didn't get one of those brown envelopes pushed
under your door the member of your family who was away at the war must
still be alive.

from time to time mr. salmon used to read to me from his morning paper,
but as he could never find a mention of the royal fusiliers i didn't
discover what the old man was up to. i only prayed that he wasn't at
someplace called ypres where, the paper warned us, casualties were
heavy.

christmas day was fairly quiet for the family that year on account of
the fact that the old man hadn't returned from the front as the officer
had promised.

sal, who was working shifts in a cafe on the commercial road, went back
to work on boxing day, and grace remained on duty at the london hospital
throughout the so-called holiday, while kitty mooched around checking on
everyone else's presents before going back to bed. kitty never seemed to
be able to hold down a job for more than a week at a time, but somehow,
she was still better dressed than any of us. i suppose it must have been
because a string of boyfriends seemed quite willing to spend their last
penny on her before going off to the front. i couldn't imagine what she
expected to tell them if they all came back on the same day.

now and then, kitty would volunteer to do a couple of hours' work on the
barrow, but once she had eaten her way through the day's profits she
would soon disappear. "couldn't describe that one as an asset," granpa
used to say. still, i didn't complain. i was sixteen without a care in
the world and my only thoughts at that time were on how soon i could get
hold of my own barrow.

mr. salmon told me that he'd heard the best barrows were being sold off
in the old kent road, on account of the fact that so many young lads
were heeding kitchener's cry and joining up to fight for king and
country. he felt sure there wouldn't be a better time to make what he
called a good metsieh. i thanked the baker and begged him not to let
granpa know what i was about, as i wanted to close the "metsieh" before
he found out.

the following saturday morning i asked granpa for a couple of hours off.

"found yourself a girl, 'ave you? because i only 'ope it's not the
boozer."

"neither," i told him with a grin. "but you'll be the first to find out,
granpa. i promise you." i touched my cap and strolled off in the
direction of the old kent road.

i crossed the thames at tower bridge and walked farther south than i had
ever been before, and when i arrived at the rival market i couldn't
believe my eyes. i'd never seen so many barrows. lined up in rows, they
were. long ones, short ones, stubby ones, in all the colors of the
rainbow and some of them displaying names that went back generations in
the east end. i spent over an hour checking out all those that were for
sale but the only one i kept coming back to had displayed in blue and
gold down its sides, "the biggest barrow in the world."

the woman who was selling the magnificent object told me that it was
only a month old and her old man, who had been killed by the huns, had
paid three quid for it: she wasn't going to let it go for anything less.

i explained to her that i only had a couple of quid to my name, but i'd
be willing to pay off the rest before six months were up.

"we could all be dead in six months," she replied, shaking her head with
an air of someone who'd heard those sorts of stories before.

"then i'll let you 'ave two quid and sixpence, with my granpa's barrow
thrown in," i said without thinking.

"who's your granpa?"

"charlie trumper," i told her with pride, though if the truth be known i
hadn't expected her to have heard of him.

"charlie trumper's your granpa?"

"what of it?" i said defiantly.

hthen two quid and sixpence will do just fine for now, young 'un," she
said. "and see you pay the rest back before christmas."

that was the first time i discovered what the word "reputation" meant. i
handed over my life's savings and promised that i would give her the
other nineteen and six before the year was up.

we shook hands on the deal and i grabbed the handles and began to push
my first cock sparrow back over the bridge towards the whitechapel road.
when sal and kitty first set eyes on my prize, they couldn't stop
jumping up and down with excitement and even helped me to paint down one
side, hcharlie trumper, the honest trader, founded in 1823." i felt
confident that granpa would be proud of me.

once we had finished our efforts and long before the paint was dry, i
wheeled the barrow triumphantly off towards the market. by the time i
was in sight of granpa's pitch my grin already stretched from ear to
ear.

the crowd around the old fellow's barrow seemed larger than usual for a
saturday morning and i couldn't work out why there was such a hush the
moment i showed up. "there's young charlie," shouted a voice and several
faces turned to stare at me. sensing trouble, i let go of the handles of
my new barrow and ran into the crowd. they quickly stood aside, making a
path for me. when i had reached the front, the first thing i saw was
granpa lying on the pavement, his head propped up on a box of apples and
his face as white as a sheet.

i ran to his side and fell on my knees. "it's charlie, granpa, it's me,
i'm 'ere," i cried. "what do you want me to do? just tell me what and
i'll do it."

his tired eyelids blinked slowly. "listen to me careful, lad," he said,
between gasps for breath. "the barrow now belongs to you, so never let
it or the pitch out of your sight for more than a few hours at a time."

"but it's your barrow and your pitch, granpa. 'ow will you work without
a barrow and a pitch?" i asked. but he was no longer listening.

until that moment i never realized anyone i knew could die.

t~lranpa charlie's funeral was held on a cloudless morning in early
february at the church of st. mary's and st. michael's on jubilee
street. once the choir had filed into their places there was standing
room only, and even mr. salmon, wearing a long black coat and
deep-brimmed black hat, was among those who were to be found huddled at
the back.

when charlie wheeled the brand-new barrow on to his granpa's pitch the
following morning, mr. dunkley came out of the fish and chip shop to
admire the new acquisition.

"it can carry almost twice as much as my granpa's old barrow," charlie
told him. "what's more, i only owe nineteen and six on it." but by the
end of the week charlie had discovered that his barrow was still
halfull of stale food that nobody wanted. even sal and kitty fumed up
their noses when he offered them such delicacies as black bananas and
bruised peaches. it took several weeks before the new trader was able to
work out roughly the quantities he needed each morning to satisfy his
customers' needs, and still longer to realize that those needs would
vary from day to day.

it was a saturday morning, after charlie had collected his produce from
the market and was on his way back to whitechapel, that he heard the
raucous cry.

"british troops slain on the somme," shouted out the boy who stood on
the corner of covent garden waving a paper high above his head.

charlie parted with a halfpenny in exchange for the daily chronicle,
then sat on the pavement and started to read, picking out the words he
recognized. he learned of the death of thousands of british troops who
had been involved in a combined operation with the french against kaiser
bill's army. the ill-fated exchange had ended in disaster. general haig
had predicted an advance of four thousand yards a day, but it had ended
in retreat. the cry of "we'll all be home for christmas" now seemed an
idle boast.

charlie threw the paper in the gutter. no german would kill his dad, of
that he felt certain, though lately he had begun to feel gully about his
own war efforts since grace had signed up for a spell in the hospital
tents, a mere half mile behind the front line.

although grace wrote to charlie every month, she was unable to supply
any news on the whereabouts of their father. "there are half a million
soldiers out here," she explained, "and cold, wet and hungry they all
look alike." sal continued her job as a waitress in the commercial road
and spent all her spare time looking for a husband, while kitty had no
trouble in finding any number of men who were happy to satisfy her every
need. in fact, kitty was the only one of the three who had enough time
off during the day to help out on the barrow, but as she never got up
until the sun rose and slipped away long before it had set, she still
wasn't what granpa would have called an asset.

al as the crow peies

it was to be weeks before young charlie would stop fuming his head to
ask: "'ow many, granpa?"

"'ow much, granpa?"

"is mrs. ruggles good for credit, granpa?" and only after he had paid
back every penny of his debt on the new barrow and been left with hardly
any spare cash to talk of did he begin to realize just how good a
costermonger the old fellow must have been.

for the first few months they earned only a few pennies a week between
them and sal became convinced they would all end up in the workhouse if
they kept failing to cough up the rent. she begged charlie to sell
granpa's old barrow to raise another pound, but charlie's reply was
always the same "never" before he added that he would rather starve and
leave the relic to rot in the backyard than let another hand wheel it
away.

by autumn 1916 business began to look up, and the biggest barrow in the
world even resumed enough of a profit to allow sal to buy a second-hand
dress, kitty a pair of shoes and charlie a third-hand suit.

although charlie was still thin now a flyweight  and not all that tall,
once his seventeenth birthday had come and gone he noticed that the
ladies on the comer of the whitechapel road, who were still placing
white feathers on anyone wearing civilian clothes who looked as if he
might be between the ages of eighteen and forty, were beginning to eye
him like impatient vultures.

charlie wasn't frightened of any germans, but he still hoped that the
war might come to an end quickly and that his father would return to
whitechapel and his routine of working at the docks during the day and
drinking in the black bull at night. but with no letters and only
restricted news in the paper, even mr. salmon couldn't tell him what was
really happening at the front.

as the months passed, charlie became more and more aware of his
customers' needs and in turn they jepprby archer

were discovering that his barrow was now offering better value for money
than many of its rivals. even charlie felt things were on the up when
mrs. smelley's smiling face appeared, to buy more potatoes for her
boardinghouse in one morning than he would normally have hoped to sell a
regular customer in a month.

"i could deliver your order, mrs. smelley, you know," he said, raising
his cap. "direct to your boardingtouse every monday momin'."

"no, thank you, charlie," she replied. "i always like to see what i'm
buyin'."

"give me a chance to prove myself, mrs. smelley, and then you wouldn't
'ave to come out in all weathers, when you suddenly discover you've
taken more bookie's than you expected."

she stared directly at him. "well, i'll give it a go for a couple of
weeks," she said. "but if you ever let me down, charlie trumper "

"you've got yourself a deal," said charlie with a grin, and from that
day mrs. smelley was never seen shopping for fruit or vegetables in the
market again.

charlie decided that following this initial success he should extend his
delivery service to other customers in the east end. perhaps that way,
he thought, he might even be able to double his income. the following
moming, he wheeled out his granpa's old barrow from the backyard,
removed the cobwebs, gave it a lick of paint and put kitty on to
house-to-house calls taking orders while he remained back on his pitch
in whitechapel.

within days charlie had lost all the profit he had made in the past year
and suddenly found himself back to square one. kitty, it turned out, had
no head for figures and, worse, fell for every sob story she was told,
often ending up giving the food away. by the end of that month charlie
was almost wiped out and once again unable to pay the rent.

"so what you learn from such a bold step?" asked dan salmon as he stood
on the doorstep of his shop, skullcap on the back of his head, thumbs
lodged in the black waistcoat pocket that proudly displayed his half
hunter watch.

"think twice before you employ members of your own family and never
assume that anyone will pay their debts."

"good," said mr. salmon. "you learn fast. so how much you need to clear
rent and see yourself past next month?"

"what are you getting at?" asked charlie.

"how much?" repeated mr. salmon.

"five quid,') said charlie, lowering his head.

on friday night after he had pulled down the blind dan salmon handed
over five sovereigns to charlie along with several wafers of matzos.
"pay back when possible, boychik, and don't ever tell the misses or we
both end up in big trouble."

charlie paid back his loan at a rate of five shillings a week and twenty
weeks later he had resumed the full amount. he would always remember
handing over the final payment, because it was on the same day as the
first big airplane raid over london and he spent most of that night
hiding under his father's bed, with both sal and kitty clinging to him
for dear life.

the following morning charlie read an account of the bombing in the
daily chronicle and reamed that over a hundred londoners had been killed
and some four hundred injured in the raid.

he dug his teeth into a morning apple before he dropped off mrs.
smelley's weekly order and resumed to his pitch in the whitechapel road.
monday was always busy with everybody stocking up after the weekend and
by the time he arrived back home at number 112 for his afternoon tea he
was exhausted. charlie was sticking a fork into his third of a pork pie
when he heard a knock on the door.

"who can that be?" said kitty, as sal served charlie a second potato.

"there's only one way we're going to find out, my girl," said charlie,
not budging an inch.

kitty reluctantly left the table only to return a moment later with her
nose held high in the air. "it's that becky salmon. says she 'desires to
have a word with you."'

"does she now? then you had better show miss. salmon into the parlor,"
said charlie with a gun.

kitty slouched off again while charlie got up from the kitchen table
carrying the remainder of the pie in his fingers. he strolled into the
only other room that wasn't a bedroom. he lowered himself into an old
leather chair and continued to chew while he waited. a moment later posh
porky marched into the middle of the room and stood right in front of
him. she didn't speak. he was slightly taken aback by the sheer size of
the girl. although she was two or three inches shorter than charlie, she
must have weighed at least a stone more than he did, a genuine
heavyweight. she so obviously hadn't given up stuffing herself with
salmon's cream buns. charlie stared at her gleaming white blouse and
dark blue pleated skirt. her smart blue blazer sported a golden eagle
surrounded by words he had never seen before. a red ribbon sat uneasily
in her short dark hair and charlie noticed that her little black shoes
and white socks were as spotless as ever.

he would have asked her to sit down but as he was occupying the only
chair in the room, he couldn't. he ordered kitty to leave them alone.
for a moment she stared defiantly at charlie, but then left without
another word.

"so what do you want?" asked charlie once he heard the door close.

rebecca salmon began to tremble as she tried to get the words out. "i've
come to see you because of what has happened to my parents." she
enunciated each word slowly and carefully and, to charlie's disgust,
without any trace of an east end accent.

"so what 'as 'appened to your parents?" asked charlie gruffly, hoping
she wouldn't realize that his voice had only recently broken. becky
burst into tears. charlie's only reaction was to stare out of the window
because he wasn't quite sure what else to do.

becky continued shaking as she began to speak again. "tata was killed in
the raid last night and mummy has been taken to the london hospital."
she stopped abruptly, adding no further explanation.

charlie jumped out of his chair. "no one told me," he said, as he began
pacing round the room.

"there's no way that you could possibly have known," said becky. "i
haven't even told the assistants at the shop yet. they think he's off
sick for the day."

"do you want me to tell them?" asked charlie. "is that why you came
round?"

"no," she said, raising her head slowly and pausing for a moment. "i
want you to take over the shop."

charlie was so stunned by this suggestion that although he stopped
pacing he made no attempt to reply.

"my father always used to say that it wouldn't be that long before you
had your own shop, so i thought .. ."

"but i don't know the first thing about baking," stammered charlie as he
fell back into his chair.

"tata's two assistants know everything there is to know about the trade,
and i suspect you'll know even more than they do within a few months.
what that shop needs at this particular moment is a salesman. my father
always considered that you were as good as old granpa charlie and
everyone knows he was the best."

ubut what about my barrow?"

"it's only a few yards away from the shop, so you could easily keep an
eye on both." she hesitated before adding, "unlike your delivery
service."

"you knew about that?"

"even know you tried to pay back the last five shillings a few minutes
before my father went to the synagogue one saturday. we had no secrets."

"so 'ow would it work?" asked charlie, beginning to feel he was always a
yard behind the girl.

"you run the barrow and the shop and we'll be fifty-fifty partners."

"and what will you do to cam your share?"

"i'll check the books every month and make sure that we pay our tax on
time and don't break any council regulations."

"i've never paid any taxes before," said charlie "and who in 'elf's name
cares about the council and their sappy regulations?"

becky's dark eyes fixed on him for the first time. "people who one day
hope to be running a serious business enterprise, charlie trumper,
that's who."

"fifty-fifty doesn't seem all that fair to me," said charlie, still
trying to get the upper hand.

"my shop is considerably more valuable than your barrow and it also
derives a far larger income."

"did, until your father died," said charlie, regretting the words
immediately after he had spoken them.

becky bowed her head again. "are we to be partners or not?" she
muttered.

"sixty-forty," said charlie.

she hesitated for a long moment, then suddenly thrust out her amm.
charlie rose from the chair and shook her hand vigorously to confirm
that his first deal was closed.

after dan salmon's funeral charlie tried to read the daily chronicle
every morning in the hope of discovering what the second battalion,
royal fusiliers was up to and where his father might be, he knew the
regiment was fighting somewhere in france, but its exact loca tion was
never recorded in the paper, so charlie was none the wiser.

the daily broadsheet began to have a double fascination for charlie, as
he started to take an interest in the advertisements displayed on almost
every page. he couldn't believe that those notes in the west end were
willing to pay good money for things that seemed to him to be nothing
more than unnecessary luxuries. however, it didn't stop charlie wanting
to taste cocacola, the latest drink from america, at a cost of a penny a
bottle; or to try the new safety razor from gillette despite the fact
that he hadn't even started shaving at sixpence for the holder and
tuppence for six blades: he felt sure his father, who had only ever used
a cutthroat, would consider the very idea sissy. and a woman's girdle at
two guineas struck charlie as quite ridiculous. neither sal nor kitty
would ever need one of those although posh porky might soon enough, the
way she was going.

so intrigued did charlie become by these seemingly endless selling
opportunities that he started to take a tram up to the west end on a
sunday morning just to see for himself. having ridden on a horse-drawn
vehicle to chelsea, he would then walk slowly back east towards mayfair,
studying all the goods in the shop windows on the way. he also noted how
people dressed and admired the motor vehicles that belched out fumes but
didn't drop shit as they traveled down the middle of the road. he even
began to wonder just how much it cost to rent a shop in chelsea.

on the first sunday in october 1917 charlie took sal up west with him to
show her the sights, he explained.

charlie and his sister walked slowly from shop window to shop window,
and he was unable to hide his excitement at every new discovery he came
across. men's clothes, hats, shoes, women's dresses, perfume,
undergarments, even cakes and pastries could hold his attention for
minutes on end.

"for gawd's sake, let's get ourselves back to whitechapel where we
belong," said sal. "because one thing's for sure i'm never going to feel
at 'ome 'ere."

"but don't you understand?" said charlie. "one day i'm going to own a
shop in chelsea."

"don't talk daft," said sal. "even dan salmon couldn't 'ave afforded one
of these."

charlie didn't bother to reply.

when it came to how long charlie would take to master the baking trade,
becky's judgment proved accurate. within a month he knew almost as much
about oven temperatures, controls, rising yeast and the correct mixture
of flour to water as either of the two assistants, and as they were
dealing with the same customers as charlie was on his barrow, sales on
both dropped only slightly during the first quarter.

becky turned out to be as good as her word, keeping the accounts in what
she described as "apple-pie order" and even opening a set of books for
trumper's barrow. by the end of their first three months as partners
they declared a profit of four pounds eleven shillings, despite having a
gas oven refitted at salmon's and allowing charlie to buy his first
second-hand suit.

sal continued working as a waitress in a cafe on the commercial road,
but charlie knew she couldn't wait to find someone willing to marry her
whatever physical shape he was in just as long as i can sleep in a room
of my own, she explained.

grace never failed to send a letter on the first of every month, and
somehow managed to sound cheerful despite being surrounded by death.
she's just like her mother, father o'malley would tell his parishioners.
kitty still came and went as she pleased, borrowing money from both her
sisters as well as charlie, and as as the chow fetes never paying them
back. just like her father, the priest told the same parishioners.

"like your new suit," said mrs. smelley, when charlie dropped off her
weekly order that monday afternoon. he blushed, raised his cap and
pretended not to hear the compliment, as he dashed off to the baker's
shop.

the second quarter promised to show a further profit on both charlie's
enterprises, and he warned becky that he had his eye on the butcher's
shop, since the owner's only boy had lost his life at passchendaele.
becky cautioned him against rushing into another venture before they had
discovered what their profit margins were like, and then only if the
rather elderly assistants knew what they were up to. "because one
thing's for certain, charlie trumper," she told him as they sat down in
the little room at the back of salmon's shop to check the monthly
accounts, "you don't know the first thing about butchery. 'trumper, the
honest trader, founded in 1823' still appeals to me," she added.
"'trumper, the foolish bankrupt, folded in 1917'doesn't."

becky also commented on the new suit, but not until she had finished
checking a lengthy column of figures. he was about to return the
compliment by suggesting that she might have lost a little weight when
she leaned across and helped herself to another jam tart.

she ran a sticky finger down the monthly balance sheet, then checked dhe
figures against the handwritten bank statement. a profit of eight pounds
and fourteen shillings, she wrote in click black ink needy on dhe bottom
line.

"at this rate we'll be millionaires by the time i'm forty," said charlie
with a grin.

"forty, charlie trumper?" becky repeated disdainfully. "not exactly in a
hurry, are you?"

"what do you mean?" asked charlie.

"just that i was rather hoping we might have achieved that long before
then."

charlie laughed loudly to cover the fact that he wasn't quite certain
whether or not she was joking. once becky felt sure the ink was day she
closed the books and put them back in her satchel while charlie prepared
to lock up the baker's shop. as they stepped out onto the pavement
charlie bade his partner good night with an exaggerated bow. he then
fumed the key in the lock before starting his journey home. he whistled
the "lambeth walk" out of tune as he pushed the few remains left over
from the day towards the setting sun. could he really make a million
before he was forty, or had becky just been teasing him?

as he reached bert shorrocks' place charlie came to a sudden halt.
outside the front door of 112, dressed in a long black cassock, black
hat, and with black bible in hand, stood father o'malley.

chap tee charlie sat in the carriage of a train bound for edinburgh and
thought about the actions he had taken during the past four days. becky
had described his decision as foolhardy. sal hadn't bothered with the
"hardy." mrs. smelley didn't think he should have gone until he had been
called up, while grace was still tending the wounded on the western
front, so she didn't even know what he had done. as for kitty, she just
sulked and asked how she was expected to survive without him.

private george trumper had been killed on 2 november 1917 at
passchendaele, the letter had informed him: bravely, while charging the
enemy lines at polygon wood. over a thousand men had died that day
attacking a ten-mile front from messines to passchendaele, so it wasn't
surprising that the lieutenant's letter was short and to the point.

after a sleepless night, charlie was the first to be found the following
morning standing outside the recruiting office in great scotland yard.
the poster on the wall called for volunteers between the ages of
eighteen and forty to join up and serve in "general haig's" army.

although not yet eighteen, charlie prayed that they wouldn't reject him.

when the recruiting sergeant barked, "name?" charlie threw out his chest
and almost shouted "trumper." he waited anxiously.

"date of birth?" said the man with three white stripes on his arm.

"twentieth of january, 1899," replied charlie without hesitation, but
his cheeks flushed as he delivered the words.

the recruiting sergeant looked up at him and winked. the letters and
numbers were written on a buff form without comment. "remove your cap,
lad, and report to the medical officer."

a nurse led charlie through to a cubicle where an elderly man in a long
white coat made him strip to the waist, cough, stick out his tongue and
breathe heavily before prodding him all over with a cold rubber object
he then proceeded to stare into charlie's ears and eyes before going on
to hit his kneecaps with a rubber stick. after taking his trousers and
underpants off for the first time ever in front of someone who wasn't a
member of his family he was told he had no transmittable diseases
whatever they were, thought charlie.

he stared at himself in the mirror as they measured him. "five feet nine
and a quarter," said the orderly.

and still growing, charlie wanted to add, as he pushed a mop of dark
hair out of his eyes.

"teeth in good condition, eyes brown," stated the elderly doctor. "not
much wrong with you," he added. the old man made a series of ticks down
the right-hand side of the buff form before telling charlie to report
back to the chap with the three white stripes.

charlie found himself waiting in another queue before coming face to
face with the sergeant again.

"right, lad, sign up here and we'll issue you with a travel warrant."

charlie scrawled his signature on the spot above where the sergeant's
finger rested. he couldn't help noticing that the man didn't have a
thumb.

"the honourable artillery company or royal fusiliers?" the sergeant
asked.

"royal fusiliers," said charlie. "that was my old man's regiment."

"royal fusiliers it is then," said the sergeant without a second
thought, and put a tick in yet another box.

"when do i get my uniform?"

"not until you get to edinburgh, lad. report to king's cross at zero
eight hundred hours tomorrow morning. next."

charlie returned to 112 whitechapel road to spend another sleepless
night. his thoughts darted from sal to grace and then on to kity and how
two of his sisters would survive in his absence. he also began thinking
about rebecca salmon and their bargain, but in the end his thoughts
always returned to his father's grave on a foreign battlefield and the
revenge he intended to inflict on any german who dared to cross his
path. these sentiments remained with him until the morning light came
shining through the windows.

charlie put on his new suit, the one mrs. smelley had commented on, his
best shirt, his father's tie, a flat cap and his only pair of leather
shoes. i'm meant to be fighting the germans, not going to a wedding, he
said out loud as he looked at himself in the cracked mirror above the
washbasin. he had already written a note to becky with a little help
from father o'malley instructing her to sell the shop along with the two
barrows if she possibly could and to hold on to his share of the money
until he came back to whitechapel. no one talked about christmas any
longer.

"and if you don't retum?" father o'malley had asked, head slightly
bowed. "what's to happen to your possessions then?"

"divide anything that's left over equally between my three sisters,"
charlie said.

father o'malley wrote out his former pupil's instructions and for the
second time in as many days charlie signed his name to an official
document.

after charlie had finished dressing, he found sal and kitty waiting for
him by the front door, but he refused to allow them to accompany him to
the station, despite their tearful protest. both his sisters kissed him
another first and kitty had to have her hand prised out of his before
charlie was able to pick up the brown paper parcel that contained all
his worldly goods.

alone, he walked to the market and entered the baker's shop for the last
time. the two assistants swore that nothing would have changed by the
time he resumed. he left the shop only to find another barrow boy, who
looked about a year younger than himself was already selling chestnuts
from his pitch. he walked slowly through the market in the direction of
king's cross, never once looking back.

he arrived at the great northem station half an hour earlier than he had
been instructed and immediately reported to the sergeant who had signed
him up on the previous day. "right, trumper, get yourself a cup of char,
then 'any about on platform three." charlie couldn't remember when he
had last been given an order, let alone obeyed one. certainly not since
his grandfather's death.

platfomm three was already crowded with men in unifomms and civilian
clothes, some chatting noisily, others standing silent and alone, each
displaying his own particular sense of insecurity.

at eleven, three hours after they had been ordered to report, they were
finally given instructions to board a train. charlie grabbed a seat in
the corner of an unlit carriage and stared out of the grimy window at a
passing english countryside he had never seen before. a mouth organ was
being played in the corridor, all the popular melodies of the day
slightly out of tune. as they traveled through city stations, some he
hadn't even heard of  peterborough, grantham, newark, york crowds waved
and cheered their heroes. in durham the engine came to a halt to take on
more coal and water. the recruiting sergeant told them all to disembark,
stretch their legs and grab another cup of char, and added that if they
were lucky they might even get something to eat.

charlie walked along the platform munching a sticky bun to the sound of
a military band playing "land of hope and glory." the war was
everywhere. once they were back on the train there was yet more waving
of handkerchiefs from pin-hatted ladies who would remain spinsters for
the rest of their lives.

the train chugged on northwards, farther and farther away from the
enemy, until it finally came to a halt at waverly station in edinburgh.
as they stepped from the carriage, a captain, three ncos and a thousand
women were waiting on the platform to welcome them.

charlie heard the words, "carry on, sergeant major," and a moment later
a man who must have been six feet six inches in height, and whose
beer-barrel chest was covered in medal ribbons took a pace forward.

"let's 'ave you in line then," the giant shouted in an unintelligible
accent. he quickly but, charlie was to learn later, by his own standards
slowly organized the men into ranks of three before reporting back to
someone who charlie assumed must have been an officer. he saluted the
man. "all present and correct, sir," he said and the smartest-dressed
man charlie had ever seen in his life returned the salute. he appeared
slight standing next to dhe sergeant major, although he must have been a
shade over six feet himself. his uniform was immaculate but paraded no
medals, and the creases on his trousers were so sharp that charlie
wondered if they had ever been worn before. the young officer held a
short leacher stick in a gloved hand and occasionally dhumped dhe side
of his leg widh it, as if he thought he were on horseback. charlie's
eyes settled on the officer's sam browne belt and brown leather shoes.
they shone so brightly they reminded him of rebecca salmon.

"my name is captain trentham," the man informed dhe expectant band of
untrained warriors in an accent that charlie suspected would have
sounded more in place in mayfair than at a railway station in scotland.
"i'm the battalion adjutant," he went on to explain as he swayed from
foot to foot, "and will be responsible for this intake for the period
that you are billeted in edinburgh. first we will march to the barracks,
where you will be issued supplies so that you can get yourselves bedded
down. supper will be served at eighteen hundred hours and lights out
will be at twenty-one hundred hours. tomorrow morning reveille will be
sounded at zero five hundred, when you will rise and breakfast before
you begin your basic training at zero six hundred. this routine will
last for the next twelve weeks. and i can promise you that it will be
twelve weeks of absolute hell," he added, sounding as if the idea didn't
altogedher displease him. "during this period sergeant major philpott
will be the senior warrant officer in charge of the unit. the sergeant
major fought on the somme, where he was awarded dhe military medal, so
he knows exacdy what you can expect when we eventually end up in france
and have to face the enemy. listen to his every word carefully, because
it might be the one thing chat saves your life. carry on, sergeant
major."

"thank you, sir," said sergeant major philpott in a clipped bark.

the motley band stared in awe at the figure who would be in charge of
their lives for the next three months. he was, after all, a man who had
seen the enemy and come home to tell the tale.

"right, let's be having you then," he said, and proceeded to lead his
recruits carrying everything from battered suitcases to brown paper
parcels through the streets of edinburgh at the double, only to be sure
that the locals didn't realize just how undisciplined this rabble really
was. despite their amateur appearance, passersby still stopped to cheer
and clap. out of the corner of one eye charlie couldn't help noticing
that one of them was resting his only hand against his only leg. some
twenty minutes later, after a climb up the biggest hill charlie had ever
seen, one that literally took his breath away, they entered the barracks
of edinburgh castle.

that evening charlie hardly opened his mouth as he listened to the
different accents of the men babbling around him. after a supper of pea
soup "one pea each," the duty corporal quipped and bully beef, he was
quartered and learning new words by the minute in a large gymnasium that
temporarily housed four hundred beds, each a mere two feet in width and
set only a foot apart. on a thin horsehair mattress rested one sheet,
one pillow and one blanket. king's regulations.

it was the first time charlie had thought that 112 whitechapel road
might be considered luxurious. exhausted, he collapsed onto the unmade
bed, fell asleep, but still woke the next morning at four-thirty. this
time, however, there was no market to go to, and certainly no choice as
to whether he should select a cox's or a granny smith for breakfast.

at five a lone bugle woke his companions from their drowsy slumber.
charlie was already up, washed and dressed when a man with two stripes
on his sleeve

marched in. he slammed the door behind him and shouted, "up, up, up," as
he kicked the end of any bed that still had a body supine on it. the raw
recruits leaned up and formed a queue to wash in basins half full of
freezing water, changed only after every third man. some then went off
to the latrines behind the back of the hall, which charlie thought
smelled worse than the middle of whitechapel road on a steaming summer's
day.

breakfast consisted of one ladle of porridge, half a cup of milk and a
dry biscuit, but no one complained. the cheerful noise that emanated
from that hall wouldn't have left any german in doubt that these
recruits were all united against a common enemy.

at six after their beds had been made and inspected, they ah trudged out
into the dark cold air and onto the parade ground, its surface covered
in a thin film of snow.

"if this is bonny scotland," charlie heard a cockney accent declare,
"then i'm a bloody dutchman." charlie laughed for the first time since
he had left whitechapel and strolled over to a youth far smaller than
himself who was rubbing his hands between his legs as he tried to keep
warm.

"where you from?" charlie asked.

"poplar, mate. and you?"

"whitechapel."

"bloody foreigner."

charlie stared at his new companion. the youth couldn't have been an
inch over five feet three, skinny, with dark curly hair and flashing
eyes that never seemed to be still, as if he were always on the lookout
for trouble. his shiny, elbow-patched suit hung on him, making his
shoulders look like a coathanger.

"charlie trumper's the name."

"tommy prescott," came back the reply. he stopped his exercises and
thrust out a warm hand. charlie shook it vigorously.

"quiet in the ranks," hollered the sergeant major. "now let's get you
formed up in columns of three. tallest on the right, shortest on the
left. move." they parted.

for the next two hours they carried out what the sergeant major
described as "drill." the snow continued to drop unceasingly from the
sky, but the sergeant major showed no inclination to allow one flake to
settle on his parade ground. they marched in three ranks of ten, which
charlie later learned were called sections, arms swinging to waist
height, heads held high, one hundred and twenty paces to the minute.
"look lively, lads" and "keep in step" were the words charlie had
shouted at him again and again. "the boche are also marching out there
somewhere, and they can't wait to have a crack at you lot," the sergeant
major assured them as the snow continued to fall.

had he been in whitechapel, charlie would have been happy to run up and
down the market from five in the morning to seven at night and still box
a few rounds at the club, drink a couple of pints of beer and carry out
the same routine the next day without a second thought, but when at nine
o'clock the sergeant major gave them a ten-minute break for cocoa, he
collapsed onto the grass verge exhausted. looking up, he found tommy
prescott peering at him. "fag?"

"no, thanks," said charlie. "i don't smoke."

"what's your trade then?" asked tommy, lighting up.

"i own a baker's shop on the corner of whitechapel road," replied
charlie, "and a "

"ring the other one, it's got bells on," interrupted tommy. "next you'll
be telling me your dad's lord mayor of london."

charlie laughed. "not exactly. so what do you do?"

"work for a brewery, don't i? whitbread and company, chiswell street,
ec1. i'm the one who puts the barrels on the carts, and then the shire
'orses pulls me round the east end so that i can deliver my wares. pay's
not good, but you can always drink yourself silly before you get back
each night."

"so what made you join up?"

"now that's a long story, that is," replied tommy. "you see, to start
with "

"right. back on parade, you lot," shouted sergeant major philpott, and
neither man had the breath to speak another word for the next two hours
as they were marched up and down, up and down, until charlie felt that
when they eventually stopped his feet must surely fall off.

lunch consisted of bread and cheese, neither of which charlie would have
dared to offer for sale to mrs. smelley. as they munched hungrily, he
reamed how tommy at the age of eighteen had been given the choice of two
years at his majesty's pleasure or volunteering to fight for king and
country. he tossed a coin and the king's head landed face up.

"two years?" said charlie. "but what for?"

"nicking the odd barrel 'ere and there and making a side deal with one
or two of the more crafty landlords. i'd been getting away with it for
ages. an 'undred years ago they would 'ave 'anged me on the spot or sent
me off to australia, so i can't complain. after all, that's what i'm
trained for, ain't it?"

"what do you mean?" asked charlie.

"well, my father was a professional pickpocket, wasn't 'e? and 'is
father before 'im. you should have seen captain trentham's face when'e
found out that i had chosen a spell in the fusiliers rather than going
back to jail."

twenty minutes was the time allocated for lunch and then the afternoon
was taken up with being fitted with a uniform. charlie, who fumed out to
be a regular size, was dealt with fairly quickly, but it took almost an
hour to find anything that didn't make tommy look as if he were entering
a sack race.

once they were back in the billet charlie folded up his best suit and
placed it under the bed next to the one tommy had setded on, then
swaggered around the room in his new uniform.

"dead men's clothes," warned tommy, as he looked up and studied
charlie's khaki jacket.

"what do you mean?"

"been sent back from the front, 'asn't it? cleaned and sewn up," said
tommy, pointing to a two-inch mend just above charlie's heart. "about
wide enough to thrust a bayonet through, i reckon," he added.

after another two-hour session on the now freezing parade ground they
were released for supper.

"more bloody stale bread and cheese," said tommy morosely, but charlie
was far too hungry to complain as he scooped up every last crumb with a
wet finger. for the second night running he collapsed on his bed.

"enjoyed our first day serving king and country, 'ave we?" asked the
duty corporal of his charges, when at twenty-one hundred hours he turned
down the gaslights in the barracks room.

"yes, thank you, corp," came back the sarcastic cry.

"good," said the corporal, "because we're always gentle with you on the
first day."

a groan went up that charlie reckoned must have been heard in the middle
of edinburgh. above the nervous chatter that continued once the corporal
had left charlie could hear the last post being played on a bugle from
the castle battlements. he fell asleep.

when charlie woke the next morning he jumped out of bed immediately and
was washed and dressed before anyone else had stirred. he had folded up
his sheets and blankets and was polishing his boots by the time reveille
sounded.

"aren't we the early bird?" said tommy, as he turned over. "but why
bother, i ask myself, when all you're goin' to get for breakfast is a
worm."

"if you're first in the queue at least it's an 'of worm," said charlie.
"and in any case "

"feet on the floor. on the door," the corporal bellowed, as he entered
the billet and banged the frame on the end of every bed he passed with
his cane.

"of course," suggested tommy, as he tried to stifle a yawn, "a man of
property like yourself would need to be up early of a mornin', to make
sure 'is workers were already on parade and not shirkin'."

"stop talking you two and look sharpish," said the corporal. "and get
yourselves dressed or you'll find yourself on fatigues."

"i am dressed, corp," insisted charlie.

"don't answer me back, laddie, and don't call me 'carp' unless you want
a spell cleaning out the latrines." that threat was even enough to get
tommy's feet on the floor.

the second morning consisted of more drill accompanied by the
ever-falling snow, which this time had a twoinch start on them, followed
by another lunch of bread and cheese. the afternoon, however, was
designated on company orders as "games and recreation." so it was a
change of clothes before jogging in step over to the gymnasium for
physical jerks followed by boxing instruction.

charlie, now a light middleweight, couldn't wait to get in the ring
while tommy somehow managed to keep himself out of the firing line,
although both of them became aware of captain trentham's menacing
presence as his swagger stick continually struck the side of his leg. he
always seemed to be hanging about, keeping a watchful eye on them. the
only smile that crossed his lips all afternoon was when he saw someone
knocked out. and every time he came across tommy he just scowled.

"i'm one of nature's seconds," tommy told charlie later that evening.
"you've no doubt 'card the expression 'seconds out.' well, that's me,"
he explained as his friend lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"do we ever escape from this place, corp?" tommy asked when the duty
corporal entered the barracks a few minutes before lights out. "you
know, for like good behavior?"

"you'll be allowed out on saturday night," said the corporal. "three
hours restricted leave from six to nine when you can do what you please.
however, you will go no farther than two miles from the barracks, you
will behave in a manner that befits a royal fusilier and you will report
back to the guardroom sober as a judge at one minute before nine. sleep
well, my lovelies." these were the corporal's final words before he went
round the barracks fuming down every one of the gaslights.

when saturday night eventually came, two swollen-footed, limb-aching,
shattered soldiers covered as much of the city as they possibly could in
three hours with only five shillings each to spend, a problem that
limited their discussions on which pub to select.

despite this, tommy seemed to know how to get more beer per penny out of
any landlord than charlie had ever dreamed possible, even when he
couldn't understand what they were saying or make himself understood.
while they were in their last port of call, the volunteer, tommy even
disappeared out of the pub followed by the barmaid, a pert, slightly
plump girl called rose. ten minutes later he was back.

"what were you coin' out there?" asked charlie.

"what do you think, idiot?"

"but you were only away for ten minutes."

"quite enough time," said tommy. "only officers need more than ten
minutes for what i was up to."

during the following week they had their first rifle lesson, bayonet
practice and even a session of map read ing. while charlie quickly
mastered the art of map reading it was tommy who took only a day to find
his way round a rifle. by their third lesson he could strip the barrel
and put the pieces back together again faster than the instructor.

on wednesday morning of the second week captain trentham gave them their
first lecture on the history of the royal fusiliers. charlie might have
quite enjoyed the lesson if trentham hadn't left the impression that
none of them was worthy of being in the same regiment as himself.

"those of us who selected the royal fusiliers because of historic links
or family ties may feel that allowing criminals to join our ranks simply
because we're at war is hardly likely to advance the re~iment's
reputation," he said, looking pointedly in the direction of tommy.

"stuck-up snob," declared tommy, just loud enough to reach every ear in
the lecture theater except the captain's. the ripple of laughter that
followed brought a scowl to trentham's face.

on thursday afternoon captain trentham returned to the gym, but this
time he was not striking the side of his leg with a swayer stick. he was
killed up in a white m singlet, dark blue shorts and a thick white
sweater; the new outfit was just as neat and tidy as his uniform. he
walked around watching the instructors putting the men through their
paces and, as on his last visit, seemed to take a particular interest in
what was going on in the boxing ring. for an hour the men were placed in
pairs while they received basic instructions, first in defense and then
in attack. "hold your guard up, laddie," were the words barked out again
and again whenever fists reached chins.

by the time charlie and tommy climbed through the ropes, tommy had made
it clear to his friend that he hoped to get away with three minutes'
shadowboxing.

"get stuck into each other, you two," shouted trentham, but although
charlie started to lab away at tommy's chest he made no attempt to
inflict any real pain.

"if you don't get on with it, i'll take on both of you, one after the
other," shouted trentham.

"i'll bet'e couldn't knock the cream off a custard puddin'," said tommy,
but this time his voice did carry, and to the instructor's dismay,
trentham immediately leaped up into the ring and said, "we'll see about
that." he asked the coach to fit him up with a pair of boxing gloves.

"i'll have three rounds with each of these two men," trentham said as a
reluctant instructor laced up the captain's gloves. everyone else in the
gymnasium stopped to watch what was going on.

"you first. what's your name?" asked the captain, pointing to tommy.

"prescott, sir," said tommy, with a grin.

"ah yes, the convict," said trentham, and removed the grin in the first
minute, as tommy danced around him trying to stay out of trouble. in the
second round trentham began to land the odd punch, but never hard enough
to allow tommy to go down. he saved that humiliation for the third
round, when he knocked tommy out with an uppercut that the lad from
poplar never saw. tommy was carried out of the ring as charlie was
having his gloves laced up.

"now it's your turn, private," said trentham. "what's your name?"

"trumper, sir."

"well. let's get on with it, trumper," was all the captain said before
advancing towards him.

for the first two minutes charlie defended himself well, using the ropes
and the corner as he ducked and dived, remembering every skill he had
learned at the whitechapel boys' club. he felt he might even have given
the captain a good run for his money if it hadn't been for the damned
man's obvious advantage of height and weight.

by the third minute charlie had begun to gain confidence and even landed
a punch or two, to the delight of the onlookers. as the round ticked to
an end, he felt he had acquitted himself rather well. when the bell
sounded he dropped his gloves and turned to go back to his corner. a
second later the captain's clenched fist landed on the side of charlie's
nose. everyone in that gymnasium heard the break as charlie staggered
against the ropes. no one mummured as the captain unlaced his gloves and
climbed out of the ring. "never let your guard down" was the only solace
he offered.

when tommy studied the state of his friend's face that night as charlie
lay on his bed, all he said was, "sorry, mate, all my fault. bloody
man's a sadist. but don't worry, if the gemmans don't get the bastard, i
will."

charlie could only manage a thin smile.

by saturday they had both recovered sufficiently to fall in with the
rest of the company for pay parade, waiting in a long queue to collect
five shillings each from the paymaster. during their three hours off
duly that night the pennies disappeared more quickly than the queue, but
tommy somehow continued to get better value for money than any other
recruit.

by the beginning of the third week, charlie could only just fit his
swollen toes into the heavy leather boots the ammy had supplied him
with, but looking down the rows of feet that adorned the barracks room
floor each morning he could see that none of his comrades was any better
off.

"fatigues for you, my lad, that's for sure," shouted the corporal.
charlie shot him a glance, but the words were being directed at tommy in
the next bed.

"what for, corp?" asked tommy.

"for the state of your sheets. just look at them. you might have had
three women in there with you during the night."

"only two, to be 'onest with you, corp."

"less of your lip, prescott, and see that you report for latrine duty
straight after breakfast."

"i've already been this moming, thank you, corp."

"shut up, tommy," said charlie. "you're only makin' things more
difficult for yourself."

"i see you're gettin' to understand my problem," whispered tommy. "it's
just that the corp's worse than the bloody germans."

"i can only 'ope so, lad, for your sake," came back the corporal's
reply. "because that's the one chance you've got of coming through this
whole thing alive. now get yourself off to the latrines at the double."

tommy disappeared, only to return an hour later smelling like a manure
heap.

"you could kill off the entire gemman ammy without any of us having to
fire a shot," said charlie. "all you'd 'ave to do is stand in front of
'em and 'ape the wind was blowin' in the right direction."

it was during the fifth week christmas and the new year having passed
with little to celebrate that charlie was put in charge of the duty
roster for his own section.

"they'll be makin' you a bleedin' colonel before you've finished," said
tommy.

"don't be stupid," replied charlie. "everyone gets a chance at runnin'
the section at some time durin' the twelve weeks."

"can't see them takin' that risk with me," said tommy. "i'd turn the
rifles on the officers and my first shot would be aimed at that bastard
trentham."

charlie found that he enjoyed the responsibility of 4b having to
organize the section for seven days and was only sorry when his week was
up and the task was handed on to someone else.

by the sixth week, charlie could strip and clean a rifle almost as
quickly as tommy, but it was his friend who turned out to be a crack
shot and seemed to be able to hit anything that moved at two hundred
yards. even the sergeant major was impressed.

"all those hours spent on rifle ranges at fairs might 'ave somethin' to
do with it," admitted tommy. "but what i want to know is, when do i get
a crack at the huns?"

"sooner than you think, lad," promised the corporal.

"must complete twelve weeks' trainin'," said charlie. "that's king's
regulations. so we won't get the chance for at least another month."

"king's regulations be damned," said tommy. "i'm told this war could be
all over before i even get a shot at them."

"not much 'ope of that," said the corporal, as charlie reloaded and took
aim.

"trumper," barked a voice.

"yes, sir," said charlie, surprised to find the duly sergeant standing
by his side.

"the adjutant wants to see you. follow me."

"but sergeant, i haven't done anythin' "

"don't argue, lad, just follow me."

"it 'as to be the firin' squad," said tommy. "and just because you wet
your bed. tell 'im i'll volunteer to be the one who pulls the trigger.
that way at least you can be certain it'd be over quick."

charlie unloaded his magazine, grounded his rifle and chased after the
sergeant.

"don't forget, you can insist on a blindfold. just a pity you don't
smoke," were tommy's last words as charlie disappeared across the parade
ground at the double.

the sergeant came to a halt outside the adjutant's hut, and an
out-of-breath charlie caught up with him just as the door was opened by
a color sergeant who turned to charlie and said, "stand to attention,
lad, remain one pace behind me and don't speak unless you're spoken to.
understood?"

"yes, color sergeant."

charlie followed the color sergeant through the outer office until they
reached another door marked "capt. trentham, adj." charlie could feel
his heart pumping away as the color sergeant knocked quietly on the
door.

"enter," said a bored voice and the two men marched in, took four paces
forward and came to a halt in front of captain trentham.

the color sergeant saluted.

"private trumper, 7312087, reporting as ordered, sir," he bellowed,
despite neither of them being more than a yard away from captain
trentham.

the adjutant looked up from behind his desk.

"ah yes, trumper. i remember, you're the baker's lad from whitechapel."
charlie was about to correct him when trentham turned away to stare out
of the window, obviously not anticipating a reply. "the sergeant major
has had his eye on you for several weeks," trentham continued, "and
feels you'd be a good candidate for promotion to lance corporal. i have
my doubts, i must confess. however, i do accept that occasionally it's
necessary to promote a volunteer in order to keep up morale in the
ranks. i presume you will take on this responsibility, trumper?" he
added still not bothering to look in charlie's direction.

charlie didn't know what to say.

"yes, sir, thank you, sir," offered the color sergeant before bellowing,
"about turn, quick march, left, right, left, right."

ten seconds later lance corporal charlie trumper so lepfrey anchen of
the royal fusiliers found himself back out on the parade ground.

"lance corporal trumper," said tommy in disbelief after he had been told
the news. "does that mean i 'ave to call you 'sir'?"

"don't be daft, tommy. 'corp' will do," charlie said with a gun, as he
sat on the end of the bed sewing a single stripe onto an arm of his
unifomm.

the following day charlie's section of ten began to wish that he hadn't
spent the previous fourteen years of his life visiting the early morning
market. their drill, their boots, their turnout and their weapons
training became the benchmark for the whole company, as charlie drove
them harder and harder. the highlight for charlie, however, came in the
eleventh week, when they left the barracks to travel to glasgow where
tommy won the king's prize for rifle shooting, beating all the officers
and men from seven other regiments.

"you're a genius," said charlie, after the colonel had presented his
friend with the silver cup.

"wonder if there's an 'elf good fence to be found in glasgow,' was all
tommy had to say on the subject.

the passing out parade was held on saturday, 23 february 1918, which
ended with charlie marching his section up and down the parade ground
keeping step with the regimental band, and for the first time feeling
like a soldier even if tommy still resembled a sack of potatoes.

when the parade finally came to an end, sergeant major philpott
congratulated them all and before dismissing the parade told the troops
they could take the rest of the day off, but they must return to
barracks and be tucked up in bed before midnight.

the assembled company was let loose on edinburgh for the last time.
tommy took charge again as the lads of number 11 platoon lurched from
pub to pub becoming drunker and drunker, before finally ending up in
their established local, the volunteer, on leith walk.

ten happy soldiers stood around the piano sinking pint after pint as
they sang, "pack up your troubles in your old kit bag" and repeating
every other item in their limited repertoire. tommy, who was
accompanying them on the mouth organ, noticed that charlie couldn't take
his eyes off rose the barmaid who, although on the wrong side of thirty,
never stopped flirting with the young recruits. tommy broke away from
the group to join his friend at the bar. "fancy 'er, mate, do you?"

"yep, but she's your girl," said charlie as he continued to stare at the
long-haired blonde who pretended to ignore their attentions. he noticed
that she had one button of her blouse more than usual undone.

"i wouldn't say that," said tommy. "in any case, i owe you one for that
broken nose."

charlie laughed when tommy added, "so we'll 'ave to see what i can do
about it." tommy winked at rose, then left charlie to join her at the
far end of the bar.

charlie found that he couldn't get himself to look at them, although he
was still able to see from their reflection in the mirror behind the bar
that they were deep in conversation. rose on a couple of occasions
turned to look in his direction. a moment later tommy was standing by
his side.

"it's all fixed, charlie," he said.

"what do you mean, 'fixed'?"

"exactly what i said. all you 'ave to do is go out to the shed at the
back of the pub where they pile up them empty crates, and rose should be
with you in a jiffy."

charlie sat glued to the bar stool.

"well, get on with it," said tommy, "before the bleedin' woman changes
her mind."

charlie slipped off his stool and out of a side door without looking
back. he only hoped that no one was watching him, as he almost ran down
the unlit passage and out of the back door. he stood alone in the comer
of the yard feeling more than a little stupid as he stamped up and down
to keep wamm. a shiver went through him and he began to wish he were
back in the bar. a few moments later he shivered again, sneezed and
decided the time had come to return to his mates and forget it. he was
walking towards the door just as rose came bushing out.

"'ello, i'm rose. sorry i took so long, but a customer came in just as
you darted off." he stared at her in the poor light that filtered
through a tiny window above the door. yet another button was undone,
revealing the top of a black girdle.

"charlie trumper," said charlie, offering her his hand.

"i know." she giggled. "tommy told me all about you, said you were
probably the best lay in the platoon. "

"i think'e might 'ave been exaggeratin'," said charlie fuming bright
red, as rose reached out with both her hands, taking him in her arms.
she kissed him first on his neck, then his face and finally his mouth.
she then parted charlie's lips expertly before her tongue began to play
with his.

to begin with charlie was not quite sure what was happening, but he
liked the sensation so much that he just continued to hold on to her,
and after a time even began to press his tongue against hers. it was
rose who was the first to break away.

"not so hard, charlie. relax. prizes are awarded for endurance, not for
strength."

charlie began to kiss her again, this time more gently as he felt the
comer of a beer crate jab into his buttocks. he tentatively placed a
hand on her left breast, and let it remain there, not quite sure what to
do next as he tried to make himself slightly more comfortable. it didn't
seem to matter that much, because rose knew exactly what was expected of
her and quickly undid the remaining buttons of her blouse, revealing
ample breasts well worthy of her name. she lifted a leg up onto a pile
of old beer crates, leaving charlie faced with an expanse of bare pink
thigh. he placed his free hand tentatively on the soft flesh. he wanted
to run his fingers up as far as they would go, but he remained
motionless, like a frozen frame in a black and white film.

once again rose took the lead, and removing her arms from around his
neck started to undo the buttons on the front of his trousers. a moment
later she slid her hand inside his underpants and started to rub.
charlie couldn't believe what was happening although he felt it was well
worth getting a broken nose for.

rose began to rub faster and faster and started to pull down her
knickers with her free hand. charlie felt more and more out of control
until suddenly rose stopped, pulled herself away and stared down the
front of her dress. "if you're the best lay the platoon has to offer, i
can only hope the germans win this bloody war."

the following morning battalion orders were posted on the board in the
duty officers' mess. the new battalion of fusiliers was now considered
to be of fighting strength and were expected to join the allies on the
western front. charlie wondered if the comradeship that had bound such a
disparate bunch of lads together during the past three months was quite
enough to make them capable of joining combat with the elite of the
german army.

on the train journey back south they were cheered once again as they
passed through every station, and this time charlie felt they were more
worthy of the hat ted ladies' respect. finally that evening the engine
pulled into maidstone, where they disembarked, and were put up for the
night at the local barracks of the royal west kents.

at zero six hundred hours the following morning captain trentham gave
them a full briefing: they were to be transported by ship to boulogne,
they learned' and after ten days' further training they would be
expected to march on to etaples, where they would join their regiment
under the command of lieutentantcolonel sir danvers hamilton, dso, who,
they were assured, was preparing for a massive assault on the german
defenses. they spent the rest of the morning checking over their
equipment before being herded up a gangplank and onto the waiting troop
carrier.

after the ship's foghorn had blasted out six times they set sail from
dover, one thousand men huddled together on the deck of hms resolution,
singing, "it's a long way to tipperary."

"ever been abroad before, corp?" tommy asked.

"no, not unless you count scotland," replied charlie.

"neither 'ave i," said tommy nervously. after a few more minutes he
mumbled, "you frightened?"

"no, of course not," said charlie. "bleedin' terrified. "

"me too," said tommy.

"goodbye piccadilly, farewell leicester square. it's a long, long way to
..."

charlie felt seasick only a few minutes after the english coast was out
of sight. "i've never been on a boat before," he admitted to tommy,
"unless you count the paddle steamer at brighton." over half the men
around him spent the crossing bringing up what little food they had
eaten for breakfast.

"no officers coughin' up as far as i can see," said tommy.

"perhaps that lot are used to sailin,."

"or doing it in their cabins."

when at last the french coast came in sight, a cheer went up from the
soldiers on deck. by then all they wanted to do was set foot on dry
land. and dry it would have been if the heavens hadn't opened the moment
the ship docked and the troops set foot on french soil. once everyone
had disembarked, the sergeant major warned them to prepare for a
fifteenm~le route-march.

charlie kept his section squelching forward through the mud with songs
from the music halls, accompanied by tommy on the mouth organ. when they
reached etaples and had set up camp for the night, charlie decided that
perhaps the gymnasium in edinburgh had been luxury after all.

once the last post had been played, two thousand eyes closed, as
soldiers under canvas for the first time tried to sleep. each platoon
had placed two men on guard duty, with orders to change them every two
hours, to ensure that no one went without rest. charlie drew the four
o'clock watch with tommy.

after a restless night of tossing and turning on lumpy, wet french soil,
charlie was woken at four, and in turn kicked tommy, who simply fumed
over and went straight back to sleep. minutes later charlie was outside
the tent, buttoning up his jacket before continually slapping himself on
the back in an effort to keep warm. as his eyes slowly became accustomed
to the half light, he began to make out row upon row of brown tents
stretching as far as the eye could see.

"momin', corp," said tommy, when he appeared a little after four-twenty.
"got a lucifer, by any chance?"

"no, i 'aven't. and what i need is an 'or cocoa, or an 'ot somethin'."

"whatever your command, corp."

tommy wandered off to the cookhouse tent and resumed half an hour later
with two hot cocoas and two dry biscuits.

"no sugar, i'm afraid," he told charlie. "that's only for sergeants and
above. i told them you were a general in disguise but they said that all
the generals were back in lundon sound asleep in their beds."

charlie smiled as he placed his frozen fingers round the hot mug and
sipped slowly to be sure that the simple pleasure lasted.

tommy surveyed the skyline. "so where are all these bleedin' germans
we've been told so much about?"

"'eaven knows," said charlie. "but you can be sure they're out there
somewhere, probably askin' each other where we are."

at six o'clock charlie woke the rest of his section. they were up and
ready for inspection, with the tent down and folded back into a small
square by six-thirry.

another bugle signaled breakfast, and the men took their places in a
queue that charlie reckoned would have gladdened the heart of any barrow
boy in the whitechapel road.

when charlie eventually reached the front of the queue, he held out his
biltycan to receive a ladle of lumpy porridge and a stale piece of
bread. tommy winked at the boy in his long white jacket and blue check
trousers. "and to think i've waited all these years to sample french
cookie'."

"it gets worse the nearer you get to the front line," the cook promised
him.

for the next ten days they set up camp at etaples, spending their
mornings being marched over dunes, their afternoons being instructed in
gas warfare and their evenings being told by captain trentham the
different ways they could die.

on the eleventh day they gathered up their belongings, packed up their
tents and were formed into companies so they could be addressed by the
commanding officer of the regiment.

over a thousand men stood in a formed square on a muddy field somewhere
in france, wondering if twelve weeks of training and ten days of
uacclimatization" could possibly have made them ready to face the might
of the german forces.

"p'raps they've only 'ad twelve weeks' training as well," said tommy,
hopefully.

at exactly zero nine hundred hours lieutenant colonel sir danvers
hamilton, dso, trotted in on a jetblack mare and brought his charge to a
halt in the middle of the man-made square. he began to address the
troops. charlie's abiding memory of the speech was that for fifteen
minutes the horse never moved.

"welcome to france," colonel hamilton began, placing a monocle over his
left eye. "i only wish it were a day trip you were on." a little
laughter trickled out of the ranks. "however, i'm afraid we're not going
to be given much time off until we've sent the huns back to germany
where they belong, with their tails between their legs." this time
cheering broke out in the ranks. "and never forget, it's an away match,
and we're on a sticky wicket. worse, the germans don't understand the
laws of cricket." more laughter, although charlie suspected the colonel
meant every word he said.

"today," the colonel continued, "we march towards ypres where we will
set up camp before beginning a new and i believe final assault on the
german front. this time i'm convinced we will break through the german
lines, and the glorious fusiliers will surely carry the honors of the
day. fortune be with you all, and god save the king."

more cheers were followed by a rendering of the national anthem from the
regimental band. the troops joined in lustily with heart and voice.

it took another five days of route marching before they heard the first
sound of artillery fire, could smell the trenches and therefore knew
they must be approaching the battlefront. another day and they passed
the large green tents of the red cross. just before eleven that morning
charlie saw his first dead soldier, a lieutenant from the east yorkshire
regiment.

"well, i'll be damned," said tommy. "bullets can't tell the difference
between officers and enlisted men."

within another mile they had both witnessed so many stretchers, so many
bodies and so many limbs no longer attached to bodies that no one had
the stomach for jokes. the battalion, it became clear, had arrived at
what the newspapers called the "western front." no war correspondent,
however, could have described the gloom that pervaded the air, or the
look of hopelessness ingrained on the faces of anyone who had been there
for more than a few days.

charlie stared out at the open fields that must once have been
productive farmland. all that remained was the odd burned-out farmhouse
to mark the spot where civilization had once existed. there was still no
sign of the enemy. he tried to take in the surrounding countryside that
was to be his home during the months that lay ahead if he lived that
long. every soldier knew that average life expectancy at the front was
seventeen days.

charlie left his men resting in their tents while he set out to do his
own private tour. first he came across the reserve trenches a few
hundred yards in front of the hospital tents, known as the "hotel area"
as they were a quarter of a mile behind the front line, where each
soldier spent four days without a break before being allowed four days
of rest in the reserve trenches. charlie strolled on up to the front
like some visiting tourist who was not involved in a war. he listened to
the few men who had survived for more than a few weeks and talked of
"blighty" and prayed only for a "cushy wound" so they could be moved to
the nearest hospital tent and, if they were among the lucky ones,
eventually be sent home to england.

as the stray bullets whistled across no man's land, charlie fell on his
knees and crawled back to the reserve trenches, to brief his platoon on
what they might expect once they were pushed forward another hundred
yards.

the trenches, he told his men, stretched from hori zon to horizon and at
any one time could be occupied by ten thousand troops. in front of them,
about twenty yards away, he had seen a barbed-wire fence some three feet
high which an old corporal told him had already cost a thousand lives of
those who had done nothing more than erect it. beyond that lay no man's
land, consisting of five hundred acres once owned by an innocent family
caught in the center of someone else's war. beyond that lay the germans'
barbed wire, and beyond that still the germans, waiting for them in
their trenches.

each army, it seemed, lay in its own sodden, ratinfested dugouts for
days, sometimes months, waiting for the other side to make a move. less
than a mile separated them. if a head popped up to study the terrain, a
bullet followed from the other side. if the order was to advance, a
man's chances of completing twenty yards would not have been considered
worth chalking up on a bookie's blackboard. if you reached the wire
there were two ways of dying; if you reached the german trenches, a
dozen.

if you stayed still, you could die of cholera, chlorine gas, gangrene,
typhoid or trench foot that soldiers stuck bayonets through to take away
the pain. almost as many men died behind the lines as did from going
over the top, an old sergeant told charlie, and it didn't help to know
that the germans were suffering the same problems a few hundred yards
away.

charlie tried to settle his ten men into a routine. they carried out
their daily duties, bailed water out of their trenches, cleaned
equipment even played football to fill the hours of boredom and waiting.
charlie picked up rumors and counter-rumors of what the future might
hold for them. he suspected that only the colonel seated in hq, a mile
behind the lines, really had much idea of what was going on.

whenever it was charlie's turn to spend four days in the advance
trenches, his section seemed to occupy most of their time filling their
billycans with pints of water, as they struggled to bail out the gallons
that dropped daily from the heavens. sometimes the water in the trenches
would reach charlie's kneecaps.

"the only reason i didn't sign up for the navy was because i couldn't
swim," tommy grumbled. "and no one warned me i could drown just as
easily in the army., even soaked, frozen and hungry, they somehow
remained cheerful. for seven weeks charlie and his section endured such
conditions, waiting for fresh orders that would allow them to advance.
the only advance they learned of during that time was von ludendorff's
the german general had caused the allies to retreat some forty miles,
losing four hundred thousand men while another eighty thousand were
captured. captain trentham was generally the bearer of such news, and
what annoyed charlie even more was that he always looked so smart, clean
and worse  warm and well fed.

two men from his own section had already died without even seeing the
enemy. most soldiers would have been only too happy to go over the top,
as they no longer believed they would survive a war some were saying
would last forever. the boredom was broken only by bayoneting rats,
bailing more water out of the trench or having to fisten to tommy repeat
the same old melodies on a now rusty mouth organ.

it wasn't until the ninth week that orders finally came through and they
were called back to the manmade square. the colonel, monocle in place,
once again briefed them from his motionless horse. the royal fusiliers
were to advance on the german lines the following moming, having been
given the responsibility for breaking through their northern flank. the
irish guards would give them support from the right flank, while the
welsh would advance from the left.

"tomorrow will be a day of glory for the fusiliers," colonel hamilton
assured them. "now you must rest as the battle will commence at first
light."

on returning to the trenches, charlie was surprised to find that the
thought of at last being involved in a real fight had put the men in
better humor. every rifle was stripped, cleaned, greased, checked and
then checked again, every bullet placed carefully into its magazine,
every lewis gun tested, oiled and retested and then the men finally
shaved before they faced the enemy. charlie's first experience of a
razor was in nearfreezing water.

no man finds it easy to sleep the night before a battle, charlie had
been told, and many used the time to write long letters to their loved
ones at home, some even had the courage to make a will. charlie wrote to
posh porky he wasn't sure why asking her to take care of sal, grace and
kitty if he didn't return. tommy wrote to no one, and not simply because
he couldn't write. at midnight charlie collected all the section's
efforts and handed them in a bundle to the orderly of ficer.

bayonets were carefully sharpened, then fixed; hearts began to beat
faster as the minutes passed, and they waited in silence for the command
to advance. charlie's own feelings raced between terror and
exhilaration, as he watched captain trentham strolling from platoon to
platoon to deliver his final briefing. charlie downed in one gulp the
tot of rum that was handed out to all the men up and down the trenches
just before a battle.

a second lieutenant makepeace took his place behind charlie's trench,
another officer he had never met. he looked like a fresh-faced schoolboy
and introduced himself to charlie as one might do to a casual
acquaintance at a cocktail parry. he asked charlie to gather the section
together a few yards behind the line so he could address them. ten cold,
frightened men climbed out of their trench and listened to the young
officer in cynical silence. the day had been specially chosen because
dhe meteorologists had assured them chat dhe sun would rise at five
fifty-three and there would be no rain. the meteorologists would prove
to be right about dhe sun, but as if to show their fallibility at
four-eleven a steady drizzle began. "a german drizzle," charlie
suggested to his comrades. "and whose side is god on, anyway?"

lieutenant makepeace smiled thinly. they waited for a verey pistol to be
fired, like some referee blowing a whistle before hostilities could
officially commence.

"and don't forget, 'bangers and mash' is the password," said lieutenant
makepeace. "send it down the line."

at five fifty-three, as a blood-red sun peeped over the horizon, a verey
pistol was fired and charlie looked back to see the sky lit up behind
him.

lieutenant makepeace leaped out of the trench and cried, "follow me,
men. "

charlie climbed out after him and, screaming at the top of his voice
more out of fear than bravado  charged towards the barbed wire.

the lieutenant hadn't gone fifteen yards before the first bullet hit
him, but somehow he still managed to carry on until he reached the wire.
charlie watched in horror as makepeace fell across the barbed barrier
and another burst of enemy bullets peppered his motionless body. two
brave men changed direction to rush to his aid, but neither of them even
reached the wire. charlie was only a yard behind them, and was about to
charge through a gap in the barrier when tommy overtook him. charlie
turned, smiled, and that was the last dining

he remembered of the battle of the lys.

two days later charlie woke up in a hospital tent, some three hundred
yards behind the line, to find a young girl in a dark blue uniform with
a royal crest above her heart hovering over him. she was talking to him.
he knew only because her lips were moving: but he couldn't hear a word
she said. thank god, charlie thought, i'm still alive, and surely now
i'll be sent back to england. once a soldier had been certified
medically deaf he was always shipped home. king's regulations.

but charlie's hearing was fully restored within a week and a smile
appeared on his lips for the first time when he saw grace standing by
his side pouring him a cup of tea. they had granted her pemmission to
move tents once she'd heard that an unconscious soldier named trumper
was lying down the line. she told her brother that he had been one of
the lucky ones, blown up by a land mine, and only lost a toe not even a
big one, she teased. he was disappointed by her news, as the loss of the
big one also meant you could go home.

"otherwise only a few grazes and cuts. nothing serious and very much
alive. ought to have you back at the front in a matter of days," she
added sadly.

he slept. he woke. he wondered if tommy had survived.

"any news of private prescott?" charlie asked, after he had completed
his rounds.

the lieutenant checked his clipboard and a frown came over his face.
"he's been arrested. looks as if he might have to face a court-martial."

"what? why?"

"no idea," replied the young lieutenant, and moved on to the next bed.

the following day charlie managed a little food, took a few painful
steps the day after, and could run a week later. he was sent back to the
front only twentyone days after lieutenant makepeace had leaped up and
shouted, "follow me."

once charlie had resumed to the relief trenches he quickly discovered
that only three men in his section of ten had survived the charge, and
there was no sign of tommy. a new batch of soldiers had arrived from
england that morning to take their places and begin the routine of four
days on, four days off. they treated charlie as if he were a veteran.

he had only been back for a few hours when company orders were posted
showing that colonel hamilton wished to see lance corporal trumper at
eleven hundred hours the following morning.

"why would the commanding officer want to see me?" charlie inquired of
the duty sergeant.

"it usually means a court-martial or a decoration  the governor hasn't
time for anything else. and never forget that he also means trouble, so
watch your tongue when you're in his presence. i can tell you, he's got
a very short fuse."

at ten fifty-five hours sharp lance corporal trumper stood trembling
outside the colonel's tent almost as fearful of his commanding officer
as of going over the top. a few minutes later the company sergeant major
marched out of the tent to collect him.

"stand to attention, salute and give your name, rank and serial number,"
barked csm philpott. "and remember, don't speak unless you're spoken
to," he added sharply.

charlie marched into the tent and came to a halt in front of the
colonel's desk. he saluted and said, "lance corporal trumper, 7312087,
reporting, sir." it was the first time he had seen the colonel sitting
on a chair, not on a horse.

"ah, trumper," said colonel hamilton, looking up. "good to have you
back. delighted by your speedy recovery."

"thank you, sir," said charlie, aware for the first time that only one
of the colonel's eyes actually moved.

"however, there's been a problem involving a pri vate from your section
that i'm hoping you might be able to throw some light on."

"i'll 'elp if i can, sir."

"good, because it seems," said the colonel, placing his monocle up to
his left eye, "that prescott" he studied a buff form on the desk in
front of him before continuing "yes, private prescott, may have shot
himself in the hand in order to avoid facing the enemy. according to
captain trentham's report, he was picked up with a single bullet wound
in his left hand while lying in the mud only a few yards in front of his
own trench. on the face of it such an action appears to be a simple case
of cowardice in the face of the enemy. however, i was not willing to
order the setting up of a court-martial before i had heard your version
of what took place that morning. after all, he was in your section. so i
felt you might have something of substance to add to captain trentham's
report."

"yes, sir, i certainly do," charlie said. he tried to compose himself
and go over in his mind the details of what had taken place almost a
month before. "once the verey pistol 'ad been fired lieutenant makepeace
led the charge and i went over the top after 'im followed by the rest of
my section. the lieutenant was the first to reach the wire but was
immediately 'it by several bullets, and there were only two men ahead of
me at the time. they bravely went to 'is aid, but fell even before they
could reach 'im. as soon as i got to the wire i spotted a gap and ran
through it, only to see private prescott overtake me as he charged on
towards the enemy lines. it must have been then that i was blown up by
the land mine, which may well have knocked out private prescott as well.
"

"can you be certain it was private prescott who overtook you?" asked the
colonel, looking puzzled.

"in the 'eat of a battle, it's 'arc to remember every detail, sir, but i
will never forget prescott overtakin' me."

"why's that?" asked the colonel.

"because 'e's my mate, and it annoyed me at the time to see 'im get
ahead of me."

charlie thought he saw a faint smile come over the colonel's face.

"is prescott a close friend of yours?" the colonel asked, fixing his
monocle on him.

"yes, sir,'e is, but that would not affect my judgment, and no one 'as
the right to suggest it would."

"do you realize who you are talkie' to?" bellowed the sergeant major.

"yes, sergeant major," said charlie. "a man interested in finding out
the truth, and therefore seeing that justice is done. i'm not an
educated man, sir, but i am an 'onest one."

"corporal, you will report " began the sergeant major.

"thank you, sergeant major, that will be all," said the colonel. "and
thank you, corporal trumper, for your clear and concise evidence. i
shall not need to trouble you any further. you may now return to your
platoon."

"thank you, sir," said charlie. he took a pace backwards, saluted, did
an about-turn and marched out of the tent.

"would you like me to 'andle this matter in my own way?" asked the
sergeant major.

"yes, i would," replied colonel hamilton. "promote trumper to full
corporal and release private prescott from custody immediately."

tommy returned to his platoon that afternoon, his left hand bandaged.

"you saved my life, charlie."

"i only told the truth."

"i know, so did 1. but the difference is, they believed you."

charlie lay in his tent that night wondering why captain trentham was so
determined to be rid of tommy. could any man believe he had the right to
send another to his death simply because he had once been to jail?

another month passed while they continued the old routines before
company orders revealed that they were to march south to the mame and
prepare for a counterattack against general van ludendorff. charlie's
heart sank when he read the orders; he knew the odds against surviving
two attacks were virtually unknown. he managed to spend the odd hour
alone with grace, who told him she had fallen for a welsh corporal who
had stood on a land mine and ended up blind in one eye.

love at first sight, quipped charlie.

midnight on wednesday, 17 july 1918, and an eerie silence fell over no
man's land. charlie let those who could sleep, and didn't attempt to
wake anyone until three o'clock the next morning. now an acting
sergeant, he had a platoon of forty men to prepare for battle, all of
whom still came under the overall command of captain trentham, who
hadn't been seen since the day tommy had been released.

at three-thirty, a lieutenant harvey joined them behind the trenches, by
which time they were all on full battle alert. harvey, it turned out,
had arrived at the front the previous friday.

"this is a mad war," said charlie after they had been introduced.

uoh, i don't know," said harvey lightly. "i can't wait to have a go at
the hun myself."

"the gemmans 'aven't an 'ope in 'elf, as long as we can go on producin'
nutcases like 'im," whispered tommy.

uby the way, sir, what's the password this time?" asked charlie.

"oh, sorry, quite forgot. 'little red riding hood,"' said the
lieutenant.

they all waited. at zero four hundred hours they fixed bayonets and at
four tweny-one the verey pistol shot a red flame into the sky somewhere
behind the lines and the air was filled with whistles blowing.

"tally ho," cried lieutenant harvey. he fired his pistol in the air and
charged over the top as if he were chasing some errant fox. once again,
charlie scrambled up and out of the trench only yards behind. the rest
of the platoon followed as he stumbled through mud over barren land that
no longer bore a single tree to protect them. to the left charlie could
see another platoon ahead of him. the unmistakable figure of the
immaculate captain trentham brought up the rear. but it was lieutenant
harvey who was still leading the charge as he hurdled elegantly over the
wire and into no man's land. it made charlie feel curiously confident
that anyone could survive such stupidly. on and on harvey went, as if
somehow indestructible, or charmed. charlie assumed that he must fall
with every pace he took, as he watched the lieutenant treat the german
wire as just another hurdle, before running on towards the enemy
trenches as if they were the finishing line in some race being held at
his public school. the man got within twenty yards of the tape before a
hail of bullets finally brought him down. charlie now found himself in
front and began firing at the germans as their heads popped up from
behind the dugouts.

he had never heard of anyone actually reaching the german trenches, so
he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next, and despite all the
training he still found it hard to shoot on the run. when four germans
and their rifles came up at once he knew that he was never going to find
out. he shot straight at the first one, who fell back into the trench,
but by then he could only watch the other three take aim. he suddenly
became aware of a volley of shots from behind him, and all three bodies
fell back like tin ducks on a rifle range. he realized then that the
winner of the king's prize must still be on his feet.

suddenly he was in the enemy's trench and staring down into a young
german's eyes, a terrified boy even younger than himself. he hesitated
only for a moment before thrusting his bayonet down the middle of the
german's mouth. he pulled the blade out and drove it home once again,
this time into the boy's heart, then ran on. three of his men were now
ahead of him, chasing a retreating enemy. at that moment charlie spotted
tommy on his right flank pursuing two germans up a hill. he disappeared
into some trees and charlie distinctly heard a single shot somewhere
above the noise of battle. he fumed and charged quickly off into the
forest to rescue his friend, only to find a german splayed out on the
ground and tommy still running on up the hill. a breathless charlie
managed to catch up with him when he finally came to a halt behind a
tree.

"you were bloody magnificent, tommy," said charlie, throwing himself
down by his side.

"not 'elf as good as that officer, what was 'is name?"

"'arvey, lieutenant 'arvey."

"in the end we were both saved by 'is pistol,"said tommy, brandishing
the weapon. "more than can be said for that bastard trentham."

"what do you mean?" said charlie.

"he funked the german trenches, didn't 'e? bolted off into the forest.
two germans saw the coward and chased after 'im, so i followed. finished
off one of them, didn't 1."

"so where's trentham now?"

"somewhere up there," said tommy, pointing over the brow to the hill.
"'e'll be 'icing from that lone german, no doubt."

charlie stared into the distance.

"so what now, corp?"

"we 'ave to go after that german and kill 'im before he catches up with
the captain."

"why don't we just go 'ome, and 'ape he finds the captain before i do?"
said tommy.

but charlie was already on his feet advancing up the hill.

slowly they moved on up the slope, using the trees for protection,
watching and listening until they had reached the top, and open ground.

"no sign of either of them n whispered charlie.

"agreed. so we'd better get back behind our lines, because if the
germans catch us i can't believe they'll invite us to join 'em for tea
and crumpets."

charlie took his bearings. ahead of them was a little church not unlike
the many they had passed on the long route march from etaples to the
front.

"maybe we'd better check that church first," he said, as tommy reloaded
lieutenant harvey's pistol. "but don't let's take any unnecessary
risks."

"what the 'elf do you think we've been coin' for the last hour?" asked
tommy.

inch by inch, foot by foot, they crawled across the open ground until
they reached the vestry door. charlie pushed it open slowly, expecting a
volley of bullets to follow, but the loudest sound they heard was the
screech of the hinges. once inside, charlie crossed himself the way his
grandfather always had when entering st. mary's and st. michael's on
jubilee street. tommy lit a cigarette.

charlie remained cautious as he began to study the layout of the little
church. it had already lost half its roof, courtesy of a german or
english shell, while the rest of the nave and porch remained intact.

charlie found himself mesmerized by the mosaic patterns that covered the
inner walls, their tiny squares making up life-size portraits. he moved
slowly round the perimeter, staring at the seven disciples who had so
far survived the ungodly war.

when he reached the altar he fell on his knees and bowed his head, a
vision of father o'malley coming into his mind. it was then that the
bullet flew past him, hitting the brass cross and sending the crucifix
crashing to the ground. as charlie dived for cover behind the altar, a
second shot went off. he glanced round the corner of the altar and
watched a german officer who had been hit in the side of the head slump
through the curtains and out of a wooden box onto the stone floor. he
must have died instantly.

"i only 'ape he 'ad time to make a full confession," said tommy.

charlie crawled out from behind the altar.

"for gawd's sake, stay put, you fool, because someone else is in this
church and i've got a funny feelin' it isn't just the almighty." they
both heard a movement in the pulpit above them and charlie quickly
scurried back behind the altar.

"it's only me," said a voice they immediately recognized.

"who's me?" said tommy, trying not to laugh.

"captain trentham. so whatever you do, don't fire.

"then show yourself, and come down with your 'ends above your 'ead so
that we can be certain you're who you say you are," tommy said, enjoying
every moment of his tormentor's embarrassment.

trentham rose slowly from the top of the pulpit and began to descend the
stone steps with his hands held high above his head. he proceeded down
the aisle towards the fallen cross that now lay in front of the altar,
before stepping over the dead german officer and continuing until he
came face to face with tommy, who was still holding a pistol pointing
straight at his heart.

"sorry, sir," said tommy, lowering the pistol. "i 'ad to be sure you
weren't a german."

"who spoke the king's english," said trentham sarcastically.

"you did warn us against being taken in by that in one of your lectures,
sir," said tommy.

"less of your lip, prescott. and how did you get hold of an officer's
pistol?"

"it belonged to lieutenant 'arvey," interjected charlie, "who dropped it
when "

"you bolted off into the forest," said tommy, his eyes never leaving
trentham.

"i was pursuing two gemmans who were attempting to escape."

"it looked the other way round to me," said tommy. "and when we get
back, i intend to let anyone know who cares to listen."

"it would be your word against mine," said trentham. "in any case, both
gemmans are dead."

"only thanks to me and try not to forget that the corp 'ere also
witnessed everything what 'appened."

"then you know my version of the events is the accurate one," said
trentham, fuming directly to face charlie.

"all i know is that we ought to be up in that tower, plannin' how we get
back to our own lines, and not wastin' any more time quarrelin' down
'ere."

the captain nodded his agreement, fumed, ran to the back of the church
and up the stone stairs to the safety of the tower. charlie quickly
followed him. they both took lookout positions on opposite sides of the
roof, and although charlie could still hear the sound of the battle he
was quite unable to make out who was getting the better of it on the
other side of the forest.

"where's prescott?" asked trentham after a few minutes had passed.

"don't know, sir," said charlie. "i thought he was just behind me." it
was several minutes before tommy, wearing the dead german's spiked
pickelhaube, appeared at the top of the stone steps.

"where have you been?" asked trentham suspiciously.

"searchin' the place from top to bottom in the 'ope that there might
'ave been some grub to be found, but i couldn't even find any communion
wine."

"take your position over there," said the captain, pointing to an arch
that was not yet covered, "and keep a lookout. we'll stay put until it's
pitch dark. by then i'll have worked out a plan to get us back behind
our own lines."

the three men stared out across the french countryside as the light
fumed first murky, then gray and finally black.

"shouldn't we be thinkin' of moving soon, captain?" asked charlie, after
they had sat in pitch darkness for over an hour.

"we'll go when i'm good and ready," said trentham, "and not before."

"yes, sir," said charlie, and sat shivering as he continued to stare out
into the darkness for another forty minutes.

"right, follow me," said trentham without waming. he rose and led them
both down the stone steps, coming to a halt at the entrance to the
vestry door. he pulled the door open slowly. the noise of the hinges
sounded to charlie like a magazine emptying on a machine-gun. the three
of them stared into the night and charlie wondered if there was yet
another gemman out there with rifle cocked, waiting. the captain checked
his compass.

"first we must try to reach the safety of those trees at the top of the
ridge," trentham whispered. "then i'll work out a route for getting us
back behind our own lines."

by the time charlie's eyes had become accustomed to the darkness he
began to study the moon and, more important, the movement of the clouds.

"it's open ground to those trees," the captain continued, "so we can't
risk a crossing until the moon disappears behind some cover. then we'll
each make a dash for the ridge separately. so prescott, when i give the
order, you'll go first."

"me?" said tommy.

"yes, you, prescott. then corporal trumper will follow the moment you've
reached the trees."

"and i suppose you'll bring up the rear, if we're lucky enough to
survive?" said tommy.

"don't be insubordinate with me," said trentham. "or you'll find this
time that you will be court-martialed and end up in the jail you were
originally intended for."

"not without a witness, i won't," said tommy. "that much of king's
regulations i do understand."

"shut up, tommy," said charlie.

they all waited in silence behind the vestry door until a large shadow
moved slowly across the path and finally enveloped the church all the
way to the trees.

"go!" said the captain, tapping prescott on the shoulder. tommy bolted
off like a greyhound released from the slips, and the two other men
watched as he scampered across the open ground, until some twenty
seconds later he reached the safety of the trees.

the same hand tapped charlie on the shoulder a moment later, and off he
ran, faster than he had ever run before, despite having to carry a rifle
in one hand and a pack on his back. the grin didn't reappear on his face
until he had reached tommy's side.

they both turned to stare in the direction of the captain.

"what the 'elf's he waitin' for?" said charlie.

"to see if we get ourselves killed would be my guess," said tommy as the
moon came back out.

they both waited but said nothing until the circular glow had
disappeared behind another cloud, when finally the captain came
scurrying towards them.

he stopped by their side, leaned against a tree and rested until he had
got his breath back.

"right," he eventually whispered, "we'll advance slowly down through the
forest, stopping every few yards to listen for the enemy, while at the
same time using the trees for cover. remember, never move as much as a
muscle if the moon is out, and never speak unless it's to answer a
question put by me."

the three of them began to creep slowly down the hill, moving from tree
to tree, but no more than a few yards at a time. charlie had no idea he
could be so alert to the slightest unfamiliar sound. it took the three
of them over an hour to reach the bottom of the slope, where they came
to a halt. all they could see in front of them was a vast mass of barren
open ground.

"no man's land," whispered trentham. "that means we'll have to spend the
rest of our time flat on our bellies." he immediately sank down into the
mud. "i'll lead," he said. "trumper, you'll follow, and prescott will
bring up the rear."

"well, at least that proves 'e knows where 'e's gain'," whispered tommy.
"because'e must 'ave worked out exactly where the bullets will be comin'
from, and who they're likely to 'it first."

slowly, inch by inch, the three men advanced the half mile across no
man's land, towards the allied front line, pressing their faces back
down into the mud whenever the moon reappeared from behind its
unreliable screen.

although charlie could always see trentham in front of him, tommy was so
silent in his wake that from time to time he had to look back just to be
certain his friend was still there. a grin of flashing white teeth was
all he got for his trouble.

during the first hour the three of them covered a mere hundred yards.
charlie could have wished for a more cloudy night. stray bullets flying
across their heads from both trenches ensured that they kept themselves
low to the ground. charlie found he was continually spitting out mud and
once even came face to face with a german who couldn't blink.

another inch, another foot, another yard on they crawled through the
wet, cold mud across a terrain that still belonged to no man. suddenly
charlie heard a loud squeal from behind him. he turned angrily to
remonstrate with tommy, only to see a rat the size of a rabbit lying
between his legs. tommy had thrust a bayonet right through its belly.

"i think it fancied you, corp. couldn't have been for the sex if rose is
to be believed, so it must have wanted you for dinner."

charlie covered his mouth with his hands for fear the germans might hear
him laughing.

the moon slid out from behind a cloud and again lit up the open land.
once more the three men buried themselves in the mud and waited until
another passing cloud allowed them to advance a few more yards. it was
two more hours before they reached the barbedwire perimeter that had
been erected to stop the germans breaking through.

once they had reached the spiky barrier trentham changed direction and
began to crawl along the german side of the fence searching for a breach
in the wire between them and safety. another eighty yards had to be
traversed to charlie it felt more like a mile before the captain
eventually found a tiny gap which he was able to crawl through. they
were now only fifty yards from the safety of their own lines.

charlie was surprised to find the captain hanging back, even allowing
him to crawl past.

"damn," said charlie under his breath, as the moon made another entrance
onto the center of the stage and left them lying motionless only a
street's length away from safety. once the light had been turned out
again, slowly, again inch by inch, charlie continued his crablike
advance, now more fearful of a stray bullet from his own side than from
the enemy's. at last he could hear voices, english voices. he never
thought the day would come when he would welcome the sight of those
trenches.

"we've made it," shouted tommy, in a voice that might even have been
heard by the germans. once again charlie buried his face in the mud.

"who goes there?" came back the report. charlie could hear rifles being
cocked up and down the trenches as sleepy men quickly came to life.

"captain trentham, corporal trumper and private prescott of the royal
fusiliers," called out charlie firmly.

"password?" demanded the voice.

"oh, god, what's the pass ?"

"little red riding hood," shouted trentham from behind them.

"advance and be recognized."

"prescott first," said trentham, and tommy pushed himself up onto his
knees and began to crawl slowly towards his own trenches. charlie heard
the sound of a bullet that came from behind him and a moment later
watched in horror as tommy collapsed on his stomach and lay motionless
in the mud.

charlie looked quickly back through the half-light towards trentham who
said, "bloody huns. keep down or the same thing might happen to you."

charlie ignored the order and crawled quickly forward until he came to
the prostrate body of his friend. once he had reached his side he placed
an arm around tommy's shoulder. "there's only about twenty yards to go,"
he told him. "man wounded," said charlie in a loud whisper as he looked
up towards the trenches.

"prescott, don't move while the moon's out," ordered trentham from
behind them.

"how you feelin', mate?" asked charlie as he tried to fathom the
expression on his friend's face.

"felt better, to be 'ones"," said tommy.

"quiet, you two," said trentham.

"by the way, that was no german bullet," choked tommy as a trickle of
blood began to run out of his mouth. "so just make sure you get the
bastard if i'm not given the chance to do the job myself."

"you'll be all right," said charlie. "nothin' and nobody could kill
tommy prescott."

as a large black cloud covered the moon, a group of men including two
red cross orderlies who were carrying a stretcher jumped over the top
and ran towards them. they dropped the stretcher by tommy's side and
dragged him onto the canvas before jogging back towards the trench.
another volley of bullets came flying across from the german lines.

once they had reached the safety of the dugout, the orderlies dumped the
stretcher unceremoniously on the ground. charlie shouted at them, "get
'im to the 'ospital tent quickly for god's sake, quickly."

"not much point, corp," said the medical orderly. "'e's dead."

i:1q is still waiting for your report, trumper."

"i know, sarge, i know."

"any problems, lad?" asked the color sergeant, which charlie recognized
as a coded message for "can you write?"

"no problems, sarge."

for the next hour he wrote out his thoughts slowly, then rewrote the
simple account of what had taken place on 18 july 1918 during the second
battle of the mame.

charlie read and reread his banal offering, aware that although he
extolled tommy's courage during the battle he made no mention of
trentham fleeing from the enemy. the plain truth was that he hadn't
witnessed what was going on behind him. he might well have formed his
own opinion but he knew that would not bear cross-examination at some
later date. and as for tommy's death, what proof had he that one stray
bullet

among so many had come from the pistol of captain trentham? even if
tommy had been right on both counts and charlie voiced those opinions,
it would only be his word against that of an officer and a gentleman.

the only thing he could do was make sure that trentham received no
praise from his pen for what had taken place on the battlefield that
day. feeling like a traitor, charlie scribbled his signature on the
bottom of the second page before handing in his report to the orderly
officer.

later that afternoon the duty sergeant allowed him an hour off to dig
the grave in which they would bury private prescott. as he knelt by its
head he cursed the men on either side who could have been responsible
for such a war.

charlie listened to the chaplain intone the words "ashes to ashes, dust
to dust," before the last post was played yet again. then the burial
party took a pace to the right and began digging the grave of another
known soldier. a hundred thousand men sacrificed their lives on the
mame. charlie could no longer accept that any victory was worth such a
price.

he sat cross-legged at the foot of the grave, unaware of the passing of
time as he hewed out a cross with his bayonet. finally he stood and
placed it at the head of the mound. on the center of the cross he had
carved the words, "private tommy prescott."

a neutral moon resumed that night to shine on a thousand freshly dug
graves' and charlie swore to whatever god cared to listen that he would
not forget his father or tommy or, for that matter, captain trentham.

he fell asleep among his comrades. reveille stirred him at first light,
and after one last look at tommy's grave he resumed to his platoon, to
be infommed that the colonel of the regiment would be addressing the
troops at zero nine hundred hours.

an hour later he was standing to attention in a depleted square of those
who had survived the battle. colonel hamilton told his men that the
prime minister had described the second battle of the marne as the
greatest victory in the history of the war. charlie found himself unable
to raise a voice to join his cheering comrades.

"it was a proud and honorable day to be a royal fusilier," continued the
colonel, his monocle still firmly in place. the regiment had won a vc,
six mcs and nine mms in the battle. charlie felt indifferent as each of
the decorated men was announced and his citation read out until he heard
the name of lieutenant arthur harvey who, the colonel told them, had led
a charge of number 11 platoon all the way up to the german trench es,
thus allowing those behind him to carry on and break through the enemy's
defenses. for this he was posthumously awarded the military cross.

a moment later charfie heard the colonel utter the name of captain guy
trentham. this gallant officer, the colonel assured the regiment,
careless of his own safely, continued the attack after lieutenant harvey
had fallen, killing several german soldiers before reaching their
dugouts, where he wiped out a complete enemy unit single-handed. having
crossed the enemy's lines, he proceeded to chase two germans into a
nearby forest. he succeeded in killing both enemy soldiers before
rescuing two fusiliers from german hands. he then led them back to the
safely of the allied trenches. for this supreme act of courage captain
trentham was also awarded the military cross.

trentham stepped forward and the troops cheered as the colonel removed a
silver cross from a leather case before pinning the medal on his chest.

one sergeant major, three sergeants, two corporals and four privates
then had their citations read out, each one named and his acts of
heroism recalled in turn. but only one of them stepped forward to
receive his medal.

"among those unable to be with us today," continued the colonel, "is a
yourrg man who followed lieutenant harvey into the enemy trenches and
then killed four, perhaps five german soldiers before later stalking and
shooting another, finally killing a german officer before being
tragically killed himself by a stray bullet when only yards from the
safety of his own trenches." once again the assembled gathering cheered.

moments later the parade was dismissed and while others returned to
their tents, charlie walked slowly back behind the lines until he
reached the mass burial ground.

he knelt down by a familiar mound and after a moment's hesitation yanked
out the cross that he had placed at the head of the grave.

charlie unclipped a knife that hung from his belt and beside the name
"tommy prescott" he carved the letters "mm."

a fortnight later one thousand men, with a thousand legs, a thousand
arms and a thousand eyes between them, were ordered home. sergeant
charles trumper of the royal fusiliers was detailed to accompany them,
perhaps because no man had been known to survive three charges on the
enemy's lines.

their cheerfulness and delight at still being alive only made charlie
feel more guilty. after all, he had only lost one toe. on the journey
back by land, sea and land, he helped the men dress, wash, eat and be
led without complaint or remonstration.

at dover they were greeted on the quayside by cheering crowds welcoming
their heroes home. trains had been laid on to dispatch them to all parts
of the country, so that for the rest of their lives they would be able
to recall a few moments of honor, even glory. but not for charlie. his
papers only instructed him to travel on to edinburgh where he was to
help train the next group of recruits who would take their places on the
westem front.

on 11 november 191s, at eleven hundred hours, hostilities ceased and a
grateful nation stood in silence for three minutes when on a railway
carriage in the forest of compiegne, the armistice was signed. when
charlie heard the news of victory he was training some raw recruits on a
rifle range in edinburgh. some of them were unable to hide their
disappointment at being cheated out of the chance to face the enemy.

the war was over and the empire had won or that is how the politicians
presented the result of the match between britain and germany.

more than nine million men have died for their country, and some even
before they had finished growing," charlie wrote in a letter to his
sister sal. "and what has either side to show for such camage?"

sal wrote back to let him know how thankful she was he was still alive
and went on to say that she had become engaged to a pilot from canada.
"we plan to marry in the next few weeks and go to live with his parents
in toronto. next time you get a letter from me it will be from the other
side of the world.

"grace is still in france but expects to return to the london hospital
some time in the new year. she's been made a ward sister. i expect you
know her welsh corporal caught pneumonia. he died a few days after peace
had been declared.

"kitty disappeared off the face of the earth and then without warning
fumed up in whitechapel with a man in a motorcar, neither of them seemed
to be hers but she looked very pleased with life."

charlie couldn't understand his sister's p.s.: "where will you live when
you get back to the east end?n * * *

sergeant charles trumper was discharged from active service on 20
february 1919, one of the early ones: the missing toe had at last
counted for something. he folded up his unifomm, placed his helmet on
top7 boots by the side, marched across the parade ground and handed them
in to the quartemmaster.

"i hardly recognized you7 sarge in that old suit and cap. don't fit any
longer7 do they? you must have grown during your time with the fussies."

charlie looked down and checked the length of his trousers: they now
hung a good inch above the laces of his boots.

"must have grown durin7 my time with the fussies777 he repeated
pondering the words.

"bet your family will be glad to see you when you get back to civvy
street."

"whatever's left of them," said charlie as he fumed to go. his final
task was to report to the paymaster's office and receive his last pay
packet and travel voucher before relinquishing the king's shilling.

"trumper, the dory officer would like a word with you," said the
sergeant major, after charlie had completed what he had assumed was his
last duty.

lieutenant makepeace and lieutenant harvey would always be his duty
officers, thought charlie as he made his way back across the parade
ground in the direction of the company offices. some fresh-faced youth,
who had not been properly introduced to the enemy, now had the nerve to
try and take their place.

charlie was about to salute the lieutenant when he remembered he was no
longer in uniform, so he simply removed his cap.

"you wanted to see me, sir?"

"yes7 trumper, a personal matter .7' the young officer touched a large
box that lay on his desk. charlie couldn't quite see what was inside.

"it appears, trumper, that your friend private prescott made a will in
which he left everything to you."

charlie was unable to hide his surprise as the lieutenant pushed the box
across the table.

"would you be kind enough to check through its contents and then sign
for them?"

another buff form was placed in front of him. above the typed name of
private thomas prescott was a paragraph written in a bold large hand. an
"x" was scrawled below it, witnessed by sergeant major philpott.

charlie began to remove the objects from the box one by one. tommy's
mouth organ, rusty and falling apart, seven pounds eleven shillings and
sixpence in back pay, followed by a german officer's helmet. next
charlie took out a small leather box and opened the lid to discover
tommy's military medal and the simple words "for bravery in the field"
printed across the back. he removed the medal and held it in the palm of
his hand.

"must have been a jolly brave chan, prescott," said the lieutenant.
"salt of the earth and all that."

"and all that," agreed charlie.

"a religious man as well?"

"no, can't pretend'e was," said charlie, allowing himself a smile. "why
do you ask?"

"the picture," said the lieutenant, pointing back into the box. charlie
leaned forward and stared down in disbelief at a painting of the virgin
mary and child. it was about eight inches square and framed in black
teak. he took the portrait out and held it in his hands.

he gazed at the deep reds, purples and blues that dominated the central
figure in the painting, feeling certain he'd seen the image somewhere
before. it was several moments before he replaced the little oil in the
box along with tommy's other possessions.

charlie put his cap back on and turned to go, the as the crow plies box
under one arm, a brown paper parcel under the other and a ticket to
london in his top pocket.

as he marched out of the barracks to make his way to the station he
wondered how long it would be before he could walk at a normal pace when
he reached the guardroom he stopped and turned round for one last look
at the parade ground. a set of raw recruits was marching up and down
with a new drill instructor who sounded every bit as determined as the
late sergeant major philpott had been to see that the snow was never
allowed to settle.

charlie turned his back on the parade ground and began his journey to
london. he was nineteen years of age and had only just qualified to
receive the king's shilling; but now he was a couple of inches taller,
shaved and had even come near to losing his virginity.

he'd done his bit, and at least felt able to agree with the prime
minister on one matter. he had surely taken part in the war to end all
wars.

the night sleeper from edinburgh was full of men in uniform who eyed the
civilian-clad charlie with suspicion, as a man who hadn't yet served his
country or, worse, was a conscientious objector.

"they'll be calling him up soon enough," said a corporal to his mate in
a loud whisper from the far side of the carriage. charlie smiled but
didn't comment.

he slept intermittently, amused by the thought that he might have found
it easier to rest in a damp muddy trench with rats and cockroaches for
companions. by the time the train pulled into king's cross station at
seven the following morning, he had a stiff neck and an aching back. he
stretched himself before he picked up his large paper parcel along with
tommy's life possessions.

at the station he bought a sandwich and a cup of tea. he was surprised
when the girl asked him for three pence. "tuppence for those what are in
uniform," he was told with undisguised disdain. charlie downed the tea
and left the station without another word.

the roads were busier and more hectic than he remembered, but he still
jumped confidently on a tram that had "city" printed across the front.
he sat alone on a trestled wooden bench, wondering what changes he would
find on his return to the east end. did his shop flounsh, was it simply
ticking over, had it been sold or even gone bankrupt? and what of the
biggest barrow in the world?

he jumped off the tram at poultry, deciding to walk the final mile. his
pace quickened as the accents changed, city gents in long black coats
and bowlers gave way to professional men in dark suits and trilbies, to
be taken over by rough lads in ill-fitting clothes and caps, until
charlie finally arrived in the east end, where even the boaters had been
abandoned by those under thirty.

as charlie approached the whitechapel road, he stopped and stared at the
frantic bustle taking place all around him. hooks of meat, barrows of
vegetables, trays of pies, urns of tea passed him in every direction.

but what of the baker's shop, and his grandfather's pitch? would they be
"all present and correct"? he pulled his cap down over his forehead and
slipped quietly into the market.

when he reached the corner of the whitechapel road he wasn't sure he had
come to the right place. the baker's shop was no longer there but had
been replaced by a bespoke tailor who traded under the name of jacob
cohen. charlie pressed his nose against the window but couldn't
recognize anyone who was working inside. he swung round to stare at the
spot where the barrow of "charlie trumper, the honest trader" had stood
for nearly a century, only to find a gaggle of youths warming themselves
round a charcoal fire where a man was selling chestnuts at a penny a
bag.

charlie parted with a penny and was handed a bagful, but no one even
gave him a second glance. perhaps becky had sold everything as he
instructed, he thought, as he left the market to carry on down
whitechapel road where at least he would have a chance to catch up with
one of his sisters, rest and gather his thoughts.

when he arrived outside number 112, he was pleased to find that the
front door had been repainted. god bless sal. he pushed the door open
and walked straight into the parlor, where he came face lo face with an
overweight, half-shaven man dressed in a vest and trousers who was
brandishing an open razor.

uwhat's your game then?" asked the man, holding up the razor hmmly.

ul live 'ere," said charlie.

ulike 'elf you do. i took over this dump six months ago. n ubut "

uno buts," said the man and without warning gave charlie a shove in the
chest which propelled him back into the street. the door slammed behind
him, and charlie heard a key turn in the lock. not certain what to do
next, he was beginning to wish he had never come home.

"'ella, charlie. it is charlie, isn't it?" said a voice from behind him.
"so you're not dead after all."

he swung round to see mrs. shorrocks standing by her front door.

"dead?" said charlie.

"yes," replied mrs. shorrocks. "kitty told us you'd been killed on the
westem front and that was why she 'ad to sell 112. that was months ago
'aven't seen 'er since. didn't anyone tell you?"

uno, no one told me," said charlie, at least glad to find someone who
recognized him. he stared at his old neighbor trying to puzzle out why
she looked so different.

"'ow about some lunch, lov? you look starved."

go 1epprey arched "thanks, mrs. shorrocks."

"i've just got myself a packet of fish and chips from dunkley's. you
won't 'ave forgotten how good they are. a threepenny lot, a nice piece
of cod soaked in vinegar and a bag full of chips."

charlie followed mrs. shorrocks into number 110 joined her in the tiny
kitchen and collapsed onto a wooden chair.

"don't suppose you know what 'appened to my barrow or even dan salmon's
shop?"

"young miss. rebecca sold 'em both. must 'ave been a good nine months
back, not that long after you left for the front, come to think of it."
mrs. shorrocks placed the bag of chips and the fish on a piece of paper
in the middle of the table. "to be fair, kitty told us you were listed
as killed on the marne and by the time anyone found out the truth it was
too late."

"may as well 'ave been," said charlie, "for all there is to come 'ome
to."

"oh, i don't know," said mrs. shorrocks as she flicked the top off a
bottle of ale, took a swig and then pushed it over to charlie. "i 'ear
there's a lot of barrows up for sale nowadays and some still gain' for
bargain prices."

"glad to 'ear it," said charlie. "but first i must catch up with posh
porky as i don't 'ave much capital left of my own." he paused to take
his first mouthful of fish. "any idea where she's got to?"

"never see her round these parts nowadays charlie. she always was a bit
'igh and mighty for the likes of us, but i did 'ear mention that kitty
had been to see her at london university."

"london university, eh? well, she's about to discover charlie trumper's
very much alive, however 'igh and mighty she's become. and she'd better
'ave a pretty convincing story as to what 'appened to my share of our
money." he rose from the table and gathered up his belongings, leaving
the last two chips for mrs. shorrocks.

"shall i open another bottle, charlie?"

"can't stop now, mrs. shorrocks. but thanks for the beer and grub and
give my best to mr. shorrocks."

"bert?" she said. "'aven't you 'card? 'e died of an 'earl attack over
six months ago, poor man. i do miss 'im." it was then that charlie
realized what was different about his old neighbor: no black eye and no
bruises.

he left the house and set out to find london university, and see if he
could track down rebecca salmon. had she, as he'd instructed if he were
listed as dead, divided the proceeds of the sale between his three
sisters sal, now in canada; grace, still somewhere in france; and kitty,
god knows where? in which case there would be no capital for him to
start up again other than tommy's back pay and a few pounds he'd managed
to save himself. he asked the first policeman he saw the way to london
university and was pointed in the direction of the strand. he walked
another half mile until he reached an archway that had chiseled in the
stone above it: "king's college." he strolled through the opening and
knocked on a door marked "inquiries," walked in and asked the man behind
the counter if they had a rebecca salmon registered at the college. the
man checked a list and shook his head. "not 'ere," he said "but you
could try the university registry in malet street."

after another penny tram ride charlie was beginning to wonder where he
would end up spending the mght.

"rebecca salmon?" said a man who stood behind the desk of the university
registry dressed in a corporal's uniform. "doesn't ring no bells with
me." he checked her name in a large directory he pulled out from under
the desk. "oh, yes, 'ere she is. bedford college, 'istory of art." he
was unable to hide the scom in his voice.

"don't have an address for 'er, do you, corp?" asked charlie.

"get some service in, lad, before you call me 'carp,"' said the older
man. "in fact the sooner you join up the better."

charlie felt he had suffered enough insults for one day and suddenly let
rip, "sergeant trumper, 7312087. i'll call you 'corp' and you'll call me
'sergeant'. do i make myself clear?"

"yes, sergeant," said the corporal, springing to attention.

"now, what's that address?"

"she's in digs at 97 chelsea terrace, sergeant."

"thank you," said charlie, and left the startled exserviceman staring
after him as he began yet another journey across london.

a weary charlie finally stepped off a tram on the corner of chelsea
terrace a little after four o'clock. had becky got there before him, he
wondered, even if she were only living in digs?

he walked slowly up the familiar road admiring the shops he had once
dreamed of owning. number 131 antiques, full of mahogany furniture,
tables and chairs all beautifully polished. number 133, women's clothes
and hosiery from paris, with garments displayed in the window that
charlie didn't consider it was right for a man to be looking at. on to
number 135 meat and poultry hanging from the rods at the back of the
shop that looked so delicious charlie almost forgot there was a food
shortage. his eyes settled on a restaurant called "mr. scallini" which
had opened at 139. charlie wondered if italian food would ever catch on
in london.

number 141 an old bookshop, musty, cobwebbed and with not a single
customer to be seen. then 143 a bespoke tailor. suits, waistcoats,
shirts and collars could, the message painted on the window assured him,
be purchased by the discerning gentleman. number 145 freshly baked
bread, the smell of which was almost enough to draw one inside. he
stared up and down the street in incredulity as he watched the finely
dressed women going about their daily tasks, as if a world war had never
taken place. no one seemed to have told them about ration books.

charlie came to a halt outside 147 chelsea terrace. he gasped with
delight at the sight that met his tired eyes rows and rows of fresh
fruit and vegetables that he would have been proud to sell. two
well-fumed-out girls in green aprons and an even smarter-looking youth
waited to serve a customer who was picking up a bunch of grapes.

charlie took a pace backwards and stared up at the name above the shop.
he was greeted by a sign printed in gold and blue which read: "charlie
trumper, the honest trader, founded in 1823."

beck to cda p try =3=

prom 1480 to 1532," he said. i checked through my notes to make sure i
had the correct dates, aware i had been finding it hard to concentrate.
it was the last lecture of the day, and all i could think about was
getting back to chelsea terrace.

the artist under discussion that afternoon was bernardino luini. i had
already decided that my degree thesis would be on the life of this
underrated painter from milan. milan ... just another reason to be
thankful that the war was finally over. now i could plan excursions to
rome, florence, venice and yes, milan, and study luini's work at first
hand. michelangelo, leonardo da vinci, bellini, caravaggio, bernini half
the world's art treasures in one country, and i hadn't been able to
travel beyond the walls of the victoria and albert.

at four-thirty a bell rang to mark the end of lectures for the day. i
closed my books and watched professor tilsey as he pattered towards the
door. i felt a little sorry for the old fellow. he had only been dragged
out of retirement because so many young dons had left to fight on the
western front. the death of matthew makepeace, the man who should have
been lecturing that afternoon hone of the most promising scholars of his
generation," the old professor used to tell us was han inestimable loss
to the department and the university as a whole." i had to agree with
him: makepeace was one of the few men in england acknowledged as an
authority on luini. i had only attended three of his lectures before he
had signed up to go to france ... the irony of such a man being riddled
with german bullets while stretched over a barbed-wire fence somewhere
in the middle of france was not lost on me.

i was in my first year at bedford. it seemed there was never enough time
to catch up, and i badly needed charlie to return and take the shop off
my hands. i had written to him in edinburgh when he was in belgium, to
belgium when he was in france and to france the very moment he arrived
back in edinburgh. the king's mail never seemed to catch up with him,
and now i didn't want charlie to find out what i had been up to until i
had the chance to witness his reaction for myself.

jacob cohen had promised to send charlie over to chelsea the moment he
reappeared in the whitechapel road. it couldn't be too soon for me.

i picked up my books and stuffed them away in my old school satchel, the
one my father tata had given me when i won my open scholarship to st.
paul's. the "rsh he had had so proudly stamped on the front was fading
now, and the leather strap had almost worn through, so lately i had been
carrying the satchel under my arm: tata would never have considered
buying me a new one while the old one still had a day's life left in it.

how strict tata had always been with me; even taken the strap to me on a
couple of occasions, once for pinching hfress,h or buns as mother called
them, behind his back he didn't mind how much i took from the shop as
long as i asked and once for saying hdamnh when i cut my finger peeling
an apple. although i wasn't brought up in the jewish faith my mother
wouldn't hear of it he still passed on to me all those standards that
were part of his own upbringing and would never tolerate what he from
time to time described as my hunacceptable behavior."

it was to be many years later that i learned of the strictures tata had
accepted once he had proposed marriage to my mother, a roman catholic.
he adored her and never once complained in my presence of the fact that
he always had to attend shul on his own. hmixed marriages seems such an
outdated expression nowadays but at the turn of the century it must have
been quite a sacrifice for both of them to make.

i loved st. paul's from the first day i walked through the gates, i
suppose partly because no one told me off for working too hard. the only
thing i didn't like was being called hporky." it was a girl from the
class above me, daphne harcourt-browne, who later explained its double
connotation. daphne was a curlyheaded blonde known as hsnooty" and
although we were not natural friends, our predilection for cream buns
brought us together especially when she discovered that i had a
never-ending source of supply. daphne would happily have paid for them
but i wouldn't consider it as i wanted my classmates to think we were
pals. on one occasion she even invited me to her home in chelsea, but i
didn't accept as i knew if i did i would only have to ask her back to my
place in whitechapel.

it was daphne who gave me my first art book, the treasures of italy, in
exchange for several cream wafers, and from that day on i knew i had
stumbled across a subject i wanted to study for the rest of my life. i
never asked daphne but it always puzzled me why one of the pages at the
front of the book had been torn out.

daphne came from one of the best families in london, certainly from what
i understood to be the upper classes, so once i left st. paul's i
assumed we would never come across each other again. after all, lowndes
square was hardly a natural habitat for me. although to be fair neither
was the east end while it remained full of such people as the trumpers
and the shorrocks.

and when it came to those trumpers i could only agree with my father's
judgment. mary trumper, by all accounts, must have been a saint. george
trumper was a man whose behavior was unacceptable, not in the same class
as his father, whom tata used to describe as a "mensch." young charlie
who was always up to no good as far as i could see nevertheless had what
tata called ha future." the magic must have skipped a generation, he
suggested.

"the boy's not bad for a gay," he would tell me. "he'll run his own shop
one day, maybe even more than one, believe me." i didn't give this
observation a lot of thought until my father's death left me with no one
else to whom i could turn.

tata had complained often enough that he couldn't leave his two
assistants at the shop for more than an hour before something was
certain to go wrong. hno saychel," he would complain of those unwilling
to take responsibility. hcan't think what would happen to the shop if i
take one day off. h as rabbi glikstein read out the last rites at his
levoyah, those words rang in my ears. my mother was still unconscious in
hospital and they couldn't tell me when or if she might recover.
meanwhile i was to be foisted on my reluctant aunt harriet, whom i had
only previ ously met at family gatherings. it turned out that she lived
in someplace called romford and as she was due to take me back there the
day after the funeral i had only been left with a few hours to make a
decision. i tried to work out what my father would have done in the same
circumstances and came to the conclusion that he would have taken what
he so often called "a bold step."

by the time i got up the next morning, i had determined to sell the
baker's shop to the highest bidder  unless charlie trumper was willing
to take on the responsibility himself. looking back, i certainly had my
doubts about whether charlie was capable of doing the job but in the end
they were outweighed by tata's high opinion of him.

during my lessons that morning i prepared a plan of action. as soon as
school was over i took the train from hammersmith to whitechapel, then
continued the rest of the journey on foot to charlie's home.

once at number 112 i banged on the door with the palm of my hand and
waited i remember being surprised that the trumpers didn't have a
knocker. my call was eventually answered by one of those awful sisters,
but i wasn't quite sure which one it was. i told her i needed to speak
to charlie, and wasn't surprised to be left standing on the doorstep
while she disappeared back into the house. she returned a few minutes
later and somewhat grudgingly led me into a little room at the back.

when i left twenty minutes later i felt i had come off with rather the
worst of the bargain but another of my father's aphorisms came to mind:
"shnorrers no choosers. h the following day i signed up for an
accountancy course as an "extra option." the lessons took place during
the evening and then only after i had finished my regular schoolwork for
the day. to begin with i found the subject somewhat tedious, but as the
weeks passed i became fascinated by how meticulously recording each
transaction could prove to be so beneficial even to our little business.
i had no idea so much money could be saved by simply understanding a
balance sheet, debt repayments and how to make claims against tax. my
only worry was that i suspected charlie had never bothered to pay any
tax in the first place.

i even began to enjoy my weekly visits to whitechapel, where i would be
given the chance to show off my newfound skills. although i remained
resolute that my partnership with charlie would come to an end the
moment i was offered a place at university, i still believed that with
his energy and drive, combined with my levelheaded approach in all
matters financial, we would surely have impressed my father and perhaps
even granpa charlie.

as the time approached for me to concentrate on my matriculation, i
decided to offer charlie the opportunity to buy out my share of the
partnership and even arranged for a qualified accountant to replace me
in order that they could take over the bookkeeping. then, yet again,
those germans upset my best laid plans.

this time they killed charlie's father, which was a silly mistake
because it only made the young fool sign up to fight the lot of them on
his own. typically he didn't even bother to consult anyone. off he went
to great scotland yard, in that frightful double-breasted suit, silly
flat cap and flashy green tie, carrying ail the worries of the empire on
his shoulders, leaving me to pick up the pieces. it was little wonder i
lost so much weight over the next year, which my mother considered a
small compensation for having to associate with the likes of charlie
trumper.

to make matters worse, a few weeks after charlie had boarded the train
for edinburgh i was offered a place at london university.

charlie had left me with only two choices: i could try to run the
baker's shop myself and give up any thought of taking a degree, or i
could sell out to the highest bidder. he had dropped me a note the day
he left advising me to sell, so sell i did, but despite many hours spent
traipsing round the east end i could only find one interested party: mr.
cohen, who had for some years conducted his tailor's business from above
my father's shop and wanted to expand. he made me a fair offer in the
circumstances and i even picked up another two pounds from one of the
street traders for charlie's huge barrow; but hard though i tried i
couldn't find a buyer for granpa charlie's dreadful old
nineteenth-century relic.

i immediately placed all the money i had collected on deposit in the bow
building society at 102 cheapside for a period of one year at a rate of
four percent. i had had no intention of touching it while charlie
trumper was still away at war, until some five months later kitty
trumper visited me in romford. she burst into tears and told me that
charlie had been killed on the western front. she added that she didn't
know what would become of the family now that her brother was no longer
around to take care of them. i immediately explained to her what my
arrangement with charlie had been, and that at least brought a smile to
her face. she agreed to accompany me to the building society the next
day so that we could withdraw charlie's share of the money.

it was my intention to carry out charlie's wishes and see that his share
of the money was distributed equally between his three sisters. however,
the manager of the society pointed out to us both in the politest
possible terms that i was unable to withdraw one penny of the deposit
until the first full year had been completed. he even produced the
document i had signed to that effect, bringing to my attention the
relevant clause. on learning this kitty immediately leaped up, let out a
stream of obscenities that caused the under-manager to turn scarlet, and
then flounced out.

later, i had cause to be grateful for that clause. i could so easily
have divided charlie's sixty percent between sal, grace, and that awful
kitty, who had so obviously lied about her brother's death. i only
became aware of the truth when in july grace wrote from the front to let
me know that charlie was being sent to edinburgh following the second
battle of the marne. i vowed there and then to give him his share of the
money the day he set foot in england; i wanted to be rid of all those
trumpers and their distracting problems once and for all.

i only wish tata had lived to see me take up my place at bedford
college. his daughter at london university whitechapel would never have
heard the end of it. but a german zeppelin had put paid to that and
crippled my mother into the bargain. as it turned out, mother was still
delighted to remind all her friends that i had been among the first
women from the east end to sign the register.

after i had written my letter of acceptance to bedford i began to look
for digs nearer the university: i was determined to show some
independence. my mother, whose heart had never fully recovered from the
shock of losing tata, retired to the suburbs to live with aunt harriet
in romford. she couldn't understand why i needed to lodge in london at
all, but insisted that any accommodation i settled on had to be approved
by the university authorities. she emphasized that i could only share
rooms with someone tata would have considered "acceptable." mother never
stopped telling me she didn't care for the lax morals that had become so
fashionable since the outbreak of the war.

los as the cr~ow plates although i had kept in contact with several
school friends from st. paul's, i knew only one who was likely to have
surplus accommodation in london, and i considered she might well turn
out to be my one hope of not having to spend the rest of my life on a
train somewhere between romford and regent's park. i wrote to daphne
harcourt-browne the following day.

she replied inviting me round to tea at her little flat in chelsea. when
i first saw her again i was surprised to find that i was now a little
taller than daphne but that she had lost almost as much weight as i had.
daphne not only welcomed me with open arms but to my surprise expressed
delight at the thought of my occupying one of her spare rooms. i
insisted that i should pay her rent of five shillings a week and also
asked her, somewhat tentatively, if she felt able to come and have tea
with my mother in romford. daphne seemed amused by the thought and
traveled down to essex with me on the following tuesday.

my mother and aunt hardly uttered a word the entire afternoon. a
monologue that centered on hunt balls, riding to hounds, polo and the
disgraceful decline of the manners of guards officers were hardly
subjects about which they were often invited to give an opinion. by the
time aunt harriet had served a second round of muffins i wasn't at all
surprised to see my mother happily nodding her approval.

in fact, the only embarrassing moment the entire afternoon came when
daphne carried the tray out into the kitchen something i suspected she
had not done often before and spotted my final school report pinned to
the pantry door. mother smiled and added to my humiliation by reading
its contents out loud: "miss. salmon displays an uncommon capacity for
hard work which, combined with an inquiring and intuitive mind, should
augur well for her future at bedford college. signed miss. potter,
headmistress."

hma certainly didn't bother to display my final report anywhere" was all
daphne had to say on the subject.

after i had moved into chelsea terrace, life for both of us quickly
settled into a routine. daphne flitted from party to party while i
walked at a slightly faster pace from lecture hall to lecture hall, our
two paths rarely crossing.

despite my apprehension, daphne turned out to be a wonderful companion
to share digs with. although she showed little interest in my academic
life her energies were spent in the pursuit of foxes and guards officers
she was always brimful of common sense on every subject under the sun,
not to mention having constant contact with a string of eligible young
men who seemed to arrive in a never-ending convoy at the front door of
97 chelsea terrace.

daphne treated them all with the same disdain, confiding in me that her
one true love was still serving on the western front not that she once
mentioned his name in my presence.

whenever i found time to break away from my books, she could always
manage to supply a spare young officer to escort me to a concert, a
play, even the occasional regimental dance. although she never showed
any interest in what i was up to at university, she often asked
questions about the east end and seemed fascinated by my stories of
charlie trumper and his barrow.

it might have continued like this indefinitely if i hadn't picked up a
copy of the kensington news, a paper daphne took so she could find out
what was showing at the local picture house.

as i flicked through the pages one friday evening an advertisement
caught my eye. i studied the wording closely to be sure the shop was
exactly where i thought it was, folded up the paper and left the flat to
check for myself. i strolled down chelsea terrace to find the sign in
the window of the local greengrocer's. i must have walked past it for
days without noticing: hfor sale. apply john d. wood, 6 mount street,
london w1."

i remembered that charlie had always wanted to know how prices in
chelsea compared with those in whitechapel so i decided to find out for
him.

the following morning, having asked some leading questions of our local
news agent mr. bales always seemed to know exactly what was going on in
the terrace and was only too happy to share his knowledge with anyone
who wanted to pass the time of day i presented myself at the offices of
john d. wood in mount street. for some time i was left standing at the
counter but eventually one of four assistants came over, introduced
himself to me as mr. palmer and asked how he could help.

after a closer inspection of the young man, i doubted that he could help
anyone. he must have been about seventeen and was so pale and thin he
looked as if a gust of wind might blow him away.

"i'd like to know some more details concerning number 147 chelsea
terrace," i said.

he managed to look both surprised and baffled at the same time.

"number 147 chelsea terrace?"

hnumber 147 chelsea terrace."

hwould madam please excuse me?" he said and walked over to a filing
cabinet, shrugging exaggeratedly as he passed one of his colleagues. i
could see him thumb through several papers before returning to the
counter with a single sheet; he made no attempt to invite me in or even
to offer me a chair.

he placed the single sheet on the countertop and studied it closely.

na greengrocer's shop," he said.

"yes."

hthe shop frontage," the young man went on to explain in a tired voice,
"is twenty-two feet. the shop itself is a little under one thousand
square feet, which includes a small flat on the first floor overlooking
the park."

hwhat park?h i asked, not certain we were discussing the same property.

"princess gardens, madam," he said.

"that's a patch of grass a few feet by a few feet," i informed him,
suddenly aware that mr. palmer had never visited chelsea terrace in his
life.

"the premises are freehold," he continued, not responding to my comment,
but at least no longer leaning on the counter. "and the owner would
allow vacant possession within thirty days of contracts being signed."

"what price is the owner asking for the property?" i asked. i was
becoming more and more annoyed by being so obviously patronized.

hour client, a mrs. chapman " continued the assistant.

"wife of able seaman chapman, late of hms boxer," i informed him.
"killed in action on 8 february 1918, leaving a daughter aged seven and
a son aged five."

mr. palmer had the grace to turn white.

hi also know that mrs. chapman has arthritis which makes it almost
impossible for her to climb those stairs to the little flat," i added
for good measure.

he now looked considerably perplexed. "yes," he said. "well, yes."

"so how much is mrs. chapman hoping the property will fetch?" i
insisted. by now mr. palmer's three colleagues had stopped what they
were doing in order to follow our conversation.

stone hundred and fifty guineas is being asked for the freehold," stated
the assistant, his eyes fixed on the bottom line of the schedule.

tog as the crow flies "one hundred and fifty guineas," i repeated in
mock disbelief, without a clue as to what the property was really worth.
"she must be living in cloud cuckoo land. has she forgotten there's a
war on? offer her one hundred, mr. palmer, and don't bother me again if
she expects a penny more. h hguineas?" he said hopefully.

hpounds," i replied as i wrote out my name and address on the back of
the particulars and left it on the counter. mr. palmer seemed incapable
of speech, and his mouth remained wide open as i turned and walked out
of the office.

i made my way back to chelsea only too aware that i had no intention of
buying a shop in the terrace. in any case, i hadn't got one hundred
pounds, or anything like it. i had just over forty pounds in the bank
and not much prospect of raising another bean, but the silly man's
attitude had made me so angry. still, i decided, there wasn't much fear
of mrs. chapman accepting so insulting an offer.

mrs. chapman accepted my offer the following morning. blissfully unaware
that i had no obligation to sign any agreement, i put down a ten-pound
deposit the same afternoon. mr. palmer explained that the money was not
returnable, should i fail to complete the contract within thirty days.

"that won't be a problem,n i told him with bravado, though i hadn't a
clue how i would get hold of the balance of the cash.

for the following twenty-seven days i approached everyone i knew, from
the bow building society to distant aunts, even fellow students, but
none of them showed the slightest interest in backing a young woman
undergraduate to the tune of sixty pounds in order that she could buy a
fruit and vegetable shop.

"but it's a wonderful investment," i tried to explain to anyone who
would listen. "what's more, charlie trumper comes with the deal, the
finest fruit and vegetable man the east end has ever seen." i rarely got
beyond this point in my sales patter before expressions of incredulity
replaced polite disinterest.

after the first week i came to the reluctant conclusion that charlie
trumper wasn't going to be pleased that i had sacrificed ten pounds of
our money six of his and four of mine just to appease my female vanity.
i decided i would carry the six-pound loss myself rather than admit to
him i'd made such a fool of myself.

hbut why didn't you talk it over with your mother or your aunt before
you went ahead with something quite so drastic?h inquired daphne on the
twenty-sixth day. hafter all, they both seemed so sensible to me. h hand
be killed for my trouble? no, thank you," i told her sharply. hln any
case, i'm not that sure they have sixty pounds between them. even if
they did, i don't think they'd be willing to invest a penny in charlie
trumper."

at the end of the month i crept back round to john d. wood to explain
that the ninety pounds would not be forthcoming and they should feel
free to place the property back on the market. i dreaded the hi knew as
muchh smirk that would appear on mr. palmer's face once he learned my
news.

hbut your representative completed the transaction yesterday," mr.
palmer assured me, looking as if he would never understand what made me
tick.

hmy representative?" i said.

the assistant checked the file. hyes, a miss. daphne harcourt-browne of
"

hbut why?h i asked.

hi hardly feel that i'm the person to answer that particular question,h
offered mr. palmer, has i've never set eyes on the lady before
yesterday. h *  **

hquite simple really," daphne replied when i put the same question to
her that evening. elf charlie trumper is half as good as you claim then
i'll have made a very sound investment."

" i nvestment?"

"yes. you see, i require that my capital plus four percent interest
should be returned within three years."

hfour percent?"

"correct. after all, that's the amount i am receiving on my war loan
stock. on the other hand, should you fail to return my capital plus
interest in full, i will require ten percent of the profits from the
fourth year onwards."

-  hbut there may not be any profits."

"in which case i will automatically take over sixty percent of the
assets. charlie will then own twenty-four percent and you sixteen.
everything you need to know is in this document." she handed over
several pages of tightly worded copy, the last page of which had a seven
on the top. haii it now requires is your signature on the bottom line."

i read through the papers slowly while daphne poured herself a sherry.
she or her advisers seemed to have considered every eventuality.

"there's only one difference between you and charlie trumper," i told
her, penning my signature between two penciled crosses.

hand what's that?"

"you were born in a four-poster bed. h as i was quite unable to organize
the shop myself and continue with my studies at the university, i
quickly came to the conclusion that i would have to appoint a temporary
manager. the fact that the three girls who were already employed at
number 147 just giggled whenever i gave any instructions only made the
appointment more pressing.

the following saturday i began a tour of chelsea, fulham and kensington,
staring into shop windows up and down the three boroughs and watching
young men going about their business in the hope of eventually finding
the right person to run trumper's.

after keeping an eye on several possible candidates who were working in
local shops, i finally selected a young man who was an assistant at a
fruiterer's in kensington. one evening in november i waited for him to
finish his day's work. i then followed him as he began his journey home.

the ginger-haired lad was heading towards the nearest bus stop when i
managed to catch up with him.

"good evening, mr. makins," i said.

"hello?" he looked round startled and was obviously surprised to
discover that an unintroduced young woman knew his name. he carried on
walking.

"i own a greengrocer's shop in chelsea terrace ... h i said, keeping up
with him stride for stride as he continued on towards the bus stop. he
showed even more surprise but didn't say anything, only quickened his
pace. "and i'm looking for a new manager. h this piece of information
caused makins to slow down for the first time and look at me more
carefully.

"chapman's," he said. "was it you who bought chapman's?"

hyes, but it's trumper's now," i told him. "and i'm offering you the job
as manager at a pound a week more than your present salary." not that i
had any idea what his present salary was.

it took several miles on the bus and a lot of questions still to be
answered outside his front door before he invited me in to meet his
mother. bob makins joined us two weeks later as manager of trumper's.

despite this coup i was disappointed to find at the end of our first
month that the shop had made a loss of over three pounds which meant i
wasn't able to return a penny piece to daphne.

hdon't be despondent," she told me. "just keep going and there must
still be an outside chance the penalty clause will never come into
force, especially if on mr. trumper's return he proves half as good as
you claim he is."

during the previous six months i had been able to keep a more watchful
eye on the whereabouts of the elusive charlie, thanks to the help of a
young officer daphne had introduced me to who worked in the war office.
he always seemed to know exactly where sergeant charles trumper of the
royal fusiliers could be located at any time of the day or night. but i
still remained determined to have trumper's running smoothly and
declaring a profit long before charlie set foot in the premises.

however i learned from daphne's friend that my errant partner was to be
discharged on 20 february 1919, leaving me with little or no time to
balance the books. and worse, we had recently found it necessary to
replace two of the three giggling girls who had sadly fallen victim to
the spanish flu epidemic, and sack the third for incompetence.

i tried to recall all the lessons tata had taught me when i was a child.
if a queue was long then you must serve the customers quickly, but if
short you had to take your time: that way the shop would never be empty.
people don't like to go into empty shops, he explained; it makes them
feel insecure.

"on your awning," he would insist, "should be printed in bold lettering
the words 'dan salmon, freshly baked bread, founded in 1879.' repeat
name and date at every opportunity; the sort of people who live in the
east end like to know you've been around for some time. queues and
history: the british have always appreciated the value of both."

i tried to implement this philosophy, as i suspected chelsea was no
different from the east end. but in our case the blue awning read,
"charlie trumper, the honest trader, founded in 1823." for a few days i
had even considered calling the shop "trumper and salmon,h but dropped
that idea when i realized it would only tie me in with charlie for life.

one of the big differences i discovered between the east and the west
end was that in whitechapel the names of debtors were chalked up on a
slate, whereas in chelsea they opened an account. to my surprise, bad
debts turned out to be more common in chelsea than in whitechapel. by
the following month i was still unable to pay anything back to daphne.
it was becoming daily more apparent that my only hope now rested with
charlie.

on the day he was due back i had lunch in the college dining hall with
two friends from my year. i munched away at my apple and toyed with a
piece of cheese as i tried to concentrate on their views on karl marx.
once i had sucked my third of a pint of milk dry i picked up my books
and returned to the lecture then ater. despite being normally mesmerized
by the subject of the early renaissance artists, on this occasion i was
grateful to see the professor stacking up his papers a few minutes
before the lecture was scheduled to end.

the tram back to chelsea seemed to take forever, but at last it came to
a halt on the corner of chelsea terrace.

i always enjoyed walking the full length of the street to check how the
other shops were faring. first i had to pass the antiques shop where mr.
rutherford resided. he always raised his hat when he saw me. then there
was the women's clothes shop at number 133 with its dresses in the
window that i felt i would never be able to afford. next came
kendrick's, the butcher's, where daphne kept an account; and a few doors
on from them was the italian restaurant with its empty cloth-covered
tables. i knew the proprietor must be struggling to make a living,
because we could no longer afford to extend him any credit. finally came
the bookshop where dear mr. sneddles tried to eke out a living. although
he hadn't sold a book in weeks he would happily sit at the counter
engrossed in his beloved william blake until it was time to turn the
sign on the front door from "open" to "closed." i smiled as i passed by
but he didn't see me.

i calculated that if charlie's train had arrived at king's cross on time
that morning, he should have already reached chelsea by now, even if he
had had to cover the entire journey on foot.

i hesitated only for a moment as i approached the shop, then walked
straight in. to my chagrin, charlie was nowhere to be seen. i
immediately asked bob makins if anyone had called in asking for me.

"no one, miss. becky," bob confirmed. "don't worry, we all remember
exactly what was expected of us if mr. trumper shows up. h his two new
assistants, patsy and gladys, nodded their agreement.

i checked my watch a few minutes past five  and decided that if charlie
hadn't turned up by now he was unlikely to appear before the next day. i
frowned and told bob he could start closing up. when six chimed on the
clock above the door, i reluctantly asked him to push the blind back in
and to lock up while i checked over the day's takings.

hstrange that," said bob as he arrived by my side at the front door
clutching the shop door keys.

hstrange?h hyes. that man over there. he's been sitting on the bench for
the last hour and has never once taken his eyes off the shop. i only
hope there's nothing wrong with the poor fellow."

i glanced across the road. charlie was sitting, arms folded, staring
directly at me. when our eyes met he unfolded his arms, stood up and
walked slowly over to join me.

neither of us spoke for some time until he said, hso what's the deal?h
camp tee [low do you do, mr. trumper? pleased to make your acquaintance,
i'm sure," said bob makins, rubbing his palm down a green apron before
shaking his new master's outstretched hand.

gladys and patsy both stepped forward and gave charlie a half curtsy,
which brought a smile to becky's lips.

"there'll be no need for anything like that," said charlie. "i'm up from
whitechapel and the only bowing and scraping you'll be doing in future
will be for the customers."

"yes, sir," said the girls in unison, which left charlie speechless.

"bob, will you take mr. trumper's things up to his room?" becky asked.
"while i show him round the shop "

"certainly, miss," said bob, looking down at the brown paper parcel and
the little box that charlie had left on the floor by his side. "is that
all there is, mr. trumper?" he asked in disbelief.

charlie nodded.

he stared at the two assistants in their smart white blouses and green
aprons. they were both standing behind the counter looking as if they
weren't quite sure what to do next. "off you go, both of you," said
becly. "but be sure you're in first thing tomorrow moming. mr. trumper's
a stickler when it comes to timekeeping."

the two girls collected their little felt bags and scurried away as
charlie sat himself down on a stool next to a box of plums.

"now we're alone," he said, ayou can tell me 'ow all this came about."

"well," replied becky, "foolish pride was how it all began but ...

long before she had come to the end of her story charlie was saying,
"you're a wonder, becky salmon, a positive wonder.

she continued to tell charlie everything that had taken place during the
past year and the only frown to appear on his forehead came when charlie
reamed the details of daphne's investment.

"so i've got just about two and a half years to pay back the full sixty
pounds plus interest?"

"plus the first six months' losses," said becky sheepishly.

"i repeat, rebecca salmon, you're a wonder. if i can't do something that
simple then i'm not worthy to be called your partner."

a smile of relief crossed becky's face.

"and do you live 'ere as well?" charlie asked as he looked up the
stairs.

"certainly not. i share digs with an old school friend of mine, daphne
harcourt-browne. we're just up the road at 97."

"the girl who supplied you with the money?"

becky nodded.

"she must be a good friend," said charlie.

bob reappeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"i've put mr. trumper's things in the bedroom and checked over the flat.
everything seems to be in order."

"thank you, bob," said becky. "as there's nothing else you can do today,
i'll see you in the moming.n "will mr. trumper be coming to the market,
miss?"

"i doubt it," said becky. "so why don't you do the ordering for tomorrow
as usual? i'm sure mr. trumper will join you some time later in the
week."

"covent garden?" asked charlie.

"yes, sir," said bob.

"well, if they 'aven't moved it i'll see you there at four-thirty
tomorrow moming."

becky watched bob turn white. "i don't suppose mr. trumper will expect
you to be there every morning at four-thirty." she laughed. "just until
he's got back in the swing of things. good night, bob."

"good night, miss, good night, sir," said bob, who left the shop with a
perplexed look on his face.

"what's all this 'sir' and 'miss' nonsense?" asked charlie. "i'm only
about a year older than bob."

"so were many of the officers on the westem front that you called
'sir."'

"but that's the point. i'm not an officer."

"no, but you are the boss. what's more, you're no longer in whitechapel,
charlie. come on, it's time you saw your rooms."

"rooms?" said charlie. "i've never had 'rooms' in my life. it's been
just trenches, tents and gymnasiums lately."

"well, you have now." becky led her partner up the wooden staircase to
the first floor and began a guided tour. "kitchen," she said. "small,
but ought to serve your purposes. by the way, i've seen to it that there
are enough knives, forks and crockery for three and i've told gladys
that it's also her responsibility to keep the flat clean and tidy. the
front room," she announced opening a door, "if one has the nerve to
describe something quite this small as a front room."

charlie stared at a sofa and three chairs, all obviously new. "what
happened to all my old things?"

"most of them were burned on armistice day," admitted becky. "but i
managed to get a shilling for the horsehair chair, with the bed thrown
in."

"and what about my granpa's barrow? you didn't bum that as well?"

"certainly not. i tried to sell it, but no one was willing to offer me
more than five shillings, so bob uses it for picking up the produce from
the market every morning. "

"good," said charlie, with a look of relief.

becky fumed and moved on to the bathroom.

"sorry about the stain below the cold water tap," she said. "none of us
could find anything that would shift it however much elbow grease we
used. and i must warn you, the lavatory doesn't always flush."

"i've never 'ad a toilet inside the 'ouse before," said charlie. "very
posh."

becky continued on into the bedroom.

charlie tried to take in everything at once, but his eyes settled on a
colored picture that had hung above his bed in whitechapel road and had
once belonged to his mother. he felt there was something familiar about
it. his eyes moved on to a chest of drawers, two chairs and a bed he had
never seen before. he desperately wanted to show becky how much he
appreciated all she had done, and he settled for bouncing up and down on
the corner of the bed.

"another first," said charlie.

"another first?"

"yes, curtains. granpa wouldn't allow them, you know. he used to say "

"yes, i remember," said becky. "kept you asleep in the morning and
prevented you from doing a proper day's work."

"well, somethin' like that, except i'm not sure my granpa would 'ave
known what the word prevented meant," said charlie as he began to unpack
tommy's little box. becky's eyes fell on the picture of the virgin mary
and child the moment charlie placed the little painting on the bed. she
picked up the oil and began to study it more closely.

"where did you get this, charlie? it's exquisite."

ua friend of mine who died at the front left it to me," he replied
matter-of-factly.

"your friend had taste." becky kept holding on to the picture. "any idea
who painted it?"

"no, i 'aven't." charlie stared up at his mother's framed photo that
becky had hung on the wall. "blimey," he said, "it's exactly the same
picture."

"not quite," said becky, studying the magazine picture above his bed.
"you see, your mother's is a photograph of a masterpiece by bronzino,
while your fnend's painting, although it looks similar, is actually a
damned good copy of the onginal." she checked her watch. "i must be
off," she said without waming. "i've promised i'd be at the queen's hall
by eight o'clock. mozart."

"mozart. do i know 'im?"

"i'll arrange an introduction in the near future."

"so you won't be 'angina around to cook my first dinner then?" asked
charlie. "you see, i've still got so many questions i need to 'ave
answered. so many things i want to find out about. to start with "

"sorry, charlie. i mustn't be late. see you in the morning though when i
promise i'll answer all your questions."

"first thing?"

"yes, but not by your standards," laughed becky. "some time round eight
would be my guess."

"do you like this fellow mozart?" charlie asked, as becky felt his eyes
studying her more closely.

"well, to be honest i don't know a lot about him myself, but guy likes
him."

"guy?" said charlie.

"yes, guy. he's the young man who's taking me to the concert and i
haven't known him long enough to be late. i'll tell you more about both
of them tomorrow. bye, charlie."

on the walk back to daphne's flat becky couldn't help feeling a lithe
gully about deserting charlie on his first night home and began to chink
perhaps it had been selfish of her to accept an invitation to go to a
concert with guy that night. but dhe battalion didn't give him dial many
evenings off during dhe week, and if she didn't see him when he was free
it often turned out to be several days before they could spend anodher
evening togedher.

as she opened the front door of 97, becky could hear daphne splashing
around in the bath.

"has he changed?" her friend shouted on hearing dhe door close.

"who?" asked becky, walking through to the bedroom.

"charlie, of course," said daphne, pushing open the badhroom door. she
stood leaning against dhe tiled wall with a towel wrapped around her
body. she was almost enveloped in a cloud of steam.

becky considered dhe question for a moment. "he's changed, yes; a lot,
in fact, except for his clodhes and voice.

"what do you mean?"

"well, the voice is the same i'd recognize it anywhere. the clothes are
the same i'd recognize them anywhere. but he's not the same."

"am i meant to understand all that?" asked daphne, as she began to rub
her hair vigorously.

"well, as he pointed out to me, bob makins is only a year younger than
he is, but charlie seems about ten years older than either of us. it
must be something that happens to men once they've served on the westem
front."

"you shouldn't be surprised by that, but what i want to know is: did the
shop come as a surprise to him?"

"yes, i think i can honestly say it did." becky slipped out of her
dress. "don't suppose you've got a pair of stockings i could borrow,
have you?"

"third drawer down," said daphne. "but in exchange i'd like to borrow
your legs."

becky laughed.

what's he like to look at?" daphne continued as she threw her wet towel
on the bathroom floor.

becky considered the question. "an inch, perhaps two, under six feet,
every bit as large as his father, only in his case it's muscle, not fat.
he's not exactly douglas fairbanks, but some might consider him
handsome."

"he's beginning to sound my type," said daphne as she rummaged around
among her clothes to find something suitable.

"hardly, my dear," said becky. "i can't see brigadier harcourt-browne
welcoming charlie trumper to morning sherry before the cottenham hunt."

"you're such a snob, rebecca salmon," said daphne, laughing. "we may
share rooms, but don't forget you and charlie originate from the same
stable. come to think of it, you only met guy because of me."

"too true," becky said, "but surely i get a little credit for st. paul's
and london university?"

"not where i come from, you don't," said daphne, as she checked her
nails. "can't stop and chatter with the working class now, darling," she
continued. "must be off. henry bromsgrove is taking me to a flapper
dance in chelsea. and wet as our henry is, i do enjoy an invitation to
stalk at his country home in scotland every august. tootle pip!"

as becky drew her bath, she thought about daphne's words, delivered with
humor and affection but still highlighting the problems she faced when
trying to cross the established social barriers for more than a ew
momenta.

daphne had indeed introduced her to guy, only a few weeks before, when
daphne had persuaded her to make up a party to see la boheme at covent
garden. becky could still recall that first meeting clearly. she had
tried so hard not to like him as they shared a drink at the crush bar,
especially after daphne's warning about his reputation. she had tried
not to stare too obviously at the slim young man who stood before her.
his thick blond hair, deep blue eyes and effortless chamm had probably
captivated the hearts of a host of women that evening, but as becky
assumed that every girl received exactly the same treatment, she avoided
allowing herself to be flattered by him. she regretted her offhand
attitude the moment he had resumed to his box, and found that during the
second act she spent a considerable amount of her time just staring
across at him, then fuming her attention quickly back to the stage
whenever their eyes met.

the following evening daphne asked her what she had thought of the young
of ricer she had met at the opera.

"remind me of his name," said becky.

"oh, i see," said daphne. "affected you that badly, did he?"

"yes," she admitted. "but so what? can you see a young man with a
background like his taking any interest in a girl from whitechapel?"

"yes, i can actually, although i suspect he's only after one thing."

"then you'd better warn him i'm not that sort of girl," said becky.

"i don't think that's ever put him off in the past," replied daphne.
"however, to start with he's asking if you would care to accompany him
to the theater along with some friends from his regiment. how does that
strike you?"

"i'd love to."

"i thought you might," said daphne. "so i told him 'yes' without
bothering to consult you."

becky laughed but had to wait another five days before she actually saw
the young officer again. after he had come to collect her at the flat
they joined a party of junior officers and debutantes at the haymarket
theatre to see pygmalion' by the fashionable playwright george bernard
shawl becky enjoyed the new play despite a girl called amanda giggling
all the way through the first act and then refusing to hold a
conversation with her during the interval.

over dinner at the cafe royal, she sat next to guy and told him
everything about herself from her birth in whitechapel through to
winning a place at bedford college the previous year.

after becky had bade her farewells to the rest of the party guy drove
her back to chelsea and having said, "good night, miss. salmon," shook
her by the hand.

becky assumed that she would not be seeing the young officer again.

but guy dropped her a note the next day, inviting her to a reception at
the mess. this was followed a week later by a dinner, then a ball, and
after that regular outings took place culminating in an invitation to
spend the weekend with his parents in berkshire.

daphne did her best to brief becky fully on the family. the major, guy's
father, was a sweetie, she assured her, farmed seven hundred acres of
dairy land in berkshire, and was also master of the buckhurst hunt.

it took daphne several attempts to explain what "riding to hounds"
actually meant, though she had to admit that even eliza doolitde would
have been hard pushed to understand fully why they bothered with the
exercise in dhe first place.

"guy's mother, however, is not graced with the same generous instincts
as the major," daphne warned. "she is a snob of the first order."
becky's heart sank. "second daughter of a baronet, who was created by
lloyd george for making things they stick on the end of tanks. probably
gave large donations to the liberal party at the same time, i'll be
bound. second generation, of course. they're always the worst." daphne
checked the seams on her stockings. "my family have been around for
seventeen generations, don't you know, so we feel we haven't an awful
lot to prove. we're quite aware that we don't possess a modicum of brain
between us, but by god we're rich, and by harry we're ancient. however,
i fear the same cannot be said for captain guy trendham."

becky woke the next morning before her alarm went off, and was up,
dressed and had left the flat long before daphne had even stirred. she
couldn't wait to find out how charlie was coping on his first day. as
she walked towards 147 she noticed that the shop was already open, and a
lone customer was receiving charlie's undivided attention.

"good mornin', partner," shouted charlie from behind the counter as
becky stepped into the shop.

"good morning," becky replied. "i see you're determined to spend your
first day just sitting back and watching how it all works."

charlie, she was to discover, had begun serving customers before gladys
and patsy had arrived, while poor bob makins looked as if he had already
completed a full day's work.

"'aven't the time to chatter to the idle classes at the moment," said
charlie, his cockney accent seeming broader than ever. "any 'ope of
catching up with you later this evening?7'

"of coursed said becky.

she checked her watch7 waved goodbye and departed for her first lecture
of the moming. she found it hard to concentrate on the history of the
renaissance era7 and even slides of raphaelts work reflected from a
magic lantern onto a white sheet7 couldn't fully arouse her interest.
her mind kept switching from the anxiety of eventually having to spend a
weekend with guy7s parents to the problems of charlie making enough of a
profit to clear their debt with daphne. becky admitted to herself that
she felt more confident of the latter. she was relieved to see the black
hand of the clock pass four-thiry. once again she ran to catch the tram
on the comer of portland place and continued to run after the trudging
vehicle had deposited her in chelsea terrace.

a little queue had fommed at trumperts and becky could hear charliets
familiar old catchphrases even before she reached the front door.

"7alf a pound of your king edward7s7 a juicy grapefruit from south
africa7 and why don't i throw in a nice cox7s orange pippin7 all for a
bob7 my lov?77 grand dames7 ladies-in-waiting and nannies all who would
have fumed their noses up had anyone else called them "luv777 seemed to
melt when charlie uttered the word. it was only after the last customer
had left that becky was able to take in properly the changes charlie had
already made to the shop.

"up all night7 wasn't i?77 he told her. "removin7 7alf-empy boxes and
unsaleable items. ended up with all the colorful vegetables7 your
tomatoes your greens, your peas7 all soft7 placed at the back; while all
your tardy unattractive variety you put up front. potatoes7 sweden and
tumips. it's a golden rule .77

"granpa charlie 77 she began with a smile7 but stopped herself just in
time.

becky began to study the rearranged counters and had to agree that it
was far more practical the way charlie had insisted they should be laid
out. and she certainly couldn't argue with the smiles on the faces of
the customers.

within a month, a queue stretching out onto the pavement became part of
charlie's daily routine and within two he was already talking to becky
of expanding.

"where to?" she asked. "your bedroom?"

"no room for vegetables up there," he replied with a grin. "not since
we've 'ad longer queues at trumper's than what they 'ave outside
13g~nalion. what's more, we re gain' to run forever."

after she had checked and rechecked the takings for the quarter, becky
couldn't believe how much they had turned over; she decided perhaps the
time had come for a little celebration.

"why don't we all have dinner at that italian restaurant?" suggested
daphne, after she had received a far larger check for the past three
months than she had anticipated.

becky thought it a wonderful idea, but was surprised to find how
reluctant guy was to fall in with her plans, and also how much trouble
daphne took getting herself ready for the occasion.

"we're not expecting to spend all the profits in one evening," becky
assured her.

"more's the pity," said daphne. "because it's beginning to look as if it
might be the one chance i'm given to enforce the penalty clause. not
that i'm complaining. after all, charlie will be quite a change from the
usual chinless vicars' sons and stableboys with no legs that i have to
endure most weekends."

"be careful he doesn't end up eating you for dessert."

becky had warned charlie that the table had been booked for eight
o'clock and made him promise he would wear his best suit. "my only
suit," he reminded her.

guy collected the two girls from number 97 on dhe dot of eight, but
seemed unusually morose as he accompanied them to the restaurant,
arriving a few minutes after the appointed hour. they found charlie
sitting alone in the corner fidgeting and looking as if it might be the
first time he had ever been to a restaurant.

becky introduced first daphne to charlie and then charlie to guy. the
two men just stood and stared at each other like prizefighters.

"of course, you were both in the same regiment," said daphne. "but i
don't suppose you ever came across each other," she added, staring at
charlie. neither man commented on her observation.

if the evening started badly, it was only to become worse, as the four
of them were quite unable to settle on any subject with which they had
something in common. charlie, far from being witty and sharp as he was
with the customers in the shop, became surly and uncommunicative. if
becky could have reached his ankle she would have kicked him, and not
simply because he kept putting a knife covered with peas in his mouhh.

guy's particular brand of sullen silence didn't help matters either,
despite daphne laughing away, bubbly as ever, whatever anyone said. by
the time the bill was finally presented, becky was only too relieved
that the evening was coming to an end. she even had discreedy to leave a
tip, because charlie didn't seem to realize it was expected of him.

she left the restaurant at guy's side and the two of them lost contact
with daphne and charlie as they strolled back towards 97. she assumed
that her companions were only a few paces behind, but stopped thinking
about where they might be when guy took her in his arms, kissed her
gently and said, "good night, my darling. and don't forget, we're going
down to ashurst for the weekend." how could she forget? becky watched
guy look back furtively in the direction that daphne and charlie had
been walking, but then without another word he hailed a hansom and
instructed the cabbie to take him to the fusiliers' barracks in
hounslow.

becky unlocked the front door and sat down on the sofa to consider
whether or not she should return to 147 and tell charlie exactly what
she thought of him. a few minutes later daphne breezed into the room.

"sorry about this evening," said becky before her friend had had the
chance to offer an opinion. "charlie's usually a little more
communicative than that. i can't think what came over him."

"not easy for him to have dinner with an of fleer from his old regiment,
i suspect," said daphne.

"i'm sure you're right," said becky. "but they'll end up friends. i feel
sure of that."

daphne stared at becky thoughtfully.

the following saturday moming, after he had completed guard duty, guy
arrived at 97 chelsea terrace to collect becky and drive her down to
ashurst. the moment he saw her in one of daphne's stylish red dresses he
remarked on how beautiful she looked, and he was so cheerful and chatty
on the tourney down to berkshire that becky even began to relax. they
arrived in the village of ashurst just before three and guy fumed to
wink at her as he swung the car into the mile-long drive that led up to
the hall.

becky hadn't expected the house to be quite that large.

a butler, under butler and two footmen were waiting on the top step to
greet them. guy brought the car to a halt on the "raveled drive and the
butler stepped forward to remove becky's two small cases from the boot,
before handing them over to a footman who whisked them away. the butler
then led captain guy and becky at a sedate pace up the stone steps, into
the front hall and on up the wide wooden staircase to a bedroom on the
first floor landing.

"the wellington room, madam," he intoned as he opened the door for her.

"he's meant to have spent the night here once," explained guy, as he
strolled up the stairs beside her. "by the way, no need for you to feel
lonely. i'm only next door, and much more alive than the late general."

becky walked into a large comfortable room where she found a young girl
in a long black dress with a white collar and cuffs unpacking her bags.
the girl turned, curtsied and announced, "i'm nellie, your maid. please
let me know if you need anything, ma'am."

becky thanked her, walked over to the bay window and stared out at the
green acres that stretched as far as her eye could see. there was a
knock on the door and becky fumed to find guy entering the room even
before she had been given the chance to say "come in."

"room all right, darling?"

"just perfect," said becky as the maid curtsied once again. becky
thought she detected a slight look of apprehension in the young girl's
eyes as guy walked across the room.

"ready to meet pa?" he asked.

"as ready as i'm ever likely to be," becky admitted as she accompanied
guy back downstairs to the moming room where a man in his early fifties
stood in front of a blazing log fire waiting to greet them.

"welcome to ashurst hall," said major trentham.

becky smiled at her host and said, "thank you."

the major was slightly shorter than his son, but had the same slim build
and fair hair, though there were some strands of gray appearing at the
sides. but that was where the likeness ended. whereas guy's complexion
was fresh and pale, major trentham's skin had the ruddiness of a man who
had spent most of his life outdoors, and when becky shook his hand she
felt the roughness of someone who obviously worked on the land.

"those fine london shoes won't be much good for what i have in mind,"
declared the major. "you'll have to borrow a pair of my wife's riding
boots, or perhaps nigel's wellingtons."

"niger?" becky inquired.

"trentham minor. hasn't guy told you about him? he's in his last year at
harrow, hoping to go on to sandhurst and outshine his brother, i'm
told."

"i didn't know you had a "

"the little brat isn't worthy of a mention," guy interrupted with a half
smile, as his father guided them back through the hall to a cupboard
below the stairs. becky stared at the row of leather riding boots that
were even more highly polished than her shoes.

"take your pick m'dear," said major trentham.

after a couple of attempts becky found a pair that fitted perfectly,
then followed guy and his father out into the garden. it took the best
part of the afternoon for major trentham to show his young guest round
the seven-hundred-acre estate, and by the time becky resumed she was
more than ready for the hot punch that awaited them in a large silver
tureen in the moming room.

the butler infommed them that mrs. trentham had phoned to say that she
had been held up at the vicarage and would be unable to join them for
tea.

by the time becky resumed to her room in the early evening to take a
bath and change for dinner, mrs. trentham still hadn't made an
appearance.

daphne had loaned becky two dresses for the occasion, and even an
exquisite semicircular diamond brooch about which becky had felt a
little apprehen sive. but when she looked at herself in the mirror all
her fears were quickly forgotten.

when becky heard eight o'clock chiming in chorus from the numerous
clocks around the house she returned to the drawing room. the dress and
the brooch had a perceptible and immediate effect on both men. there was
still no sign of guy's mother.

"what a charming dress, miss. salmon," said the major.

"thank you, major trentham," said becky, as she warmed her hands by the
fire before glancing around the room.

"my wife will be joining us in a moment," the major assured becky, as
the butler proffered a glass of sherry on a silver tray.

"i did enjoy being shown round the estate."

"hardly warrants that description, my dear," the major replied with a
warm smile. "but i'm glad you enjoyed the walk," he added as his
attention was diverted over her shoulder.

becky swung round to see a tall, elegant lady, dressed in black from the
nape of her neck to her ankles, enter the room. she walked slowly and
sedately towards them.

"mother," said guy, stepping forward to give her a kiss on the cheek, "i
should like you to meet becky salmon."

"how do you do?" said becky.

"may i be permitted to inquire who removed my best riding boots from the
hall cupboard?" asked mrs. trentham, ignoring becky's outstretched hand.
"and then saw fit to return them covered in mud?"

"i did," said the major. "otherwise miss. salmon would have had to walk
round the farm in a pair of high heels. which might have proved unwise
in the circumstances. "

"it might have proved wiser for miss. salmon to have come ipropenrly
equipped with the right footwear in the first p e.

"i'm so sorry ..." began becky.

"where have you been all day, mother?" asked guy, jumping in. "we had
rather hoped to see you earlier."

"trying to sort out some of the problems that our new vicar seems quite
unable to cope with," replied mrs. trentham. "he has absolutely no idea
of how to go about organizing a harvest festival. i can't imagine what
they are teaching them at oxford nowadays."

"theology, perhaps," suggested major trentham.

the butler cleared his throat. "dinner is served, "

mactam.

mrs. trentham fumed without another word and led them through into the
dining room at a brisk pace. she placed becky on the right of the major
and opposite herself. three knives, four forks and two spoons shone up
at becky from the large square table. she had no trouble in selecting
which one she should start with, as the first course was soup, but, from
then on she knew she would simply have to follow mrs. trentham's lead.

her hostess didn't address a word to becky until the main course had
been served. instead she spoke to her husband of nigel's efforts at
harrow not very impressive; the new vicar almost as bad; and lady
lavinia malim a judge's widow who had recently taken residence in the
village and had been causing even more trouble than usual.

becky's mouth was full of pheasant when mrs. trentham suddenly asked,
"and which of the professions is your father associated with, miss.
salmon?"

"he's dead," becky spluttered.

"oh, i am sorry to hear that," she said indifferently. "am i to presume
he died serving with his regiment at the front?"

"no, he didn't."

"oh, so what did he do during the war?"

"he ran a baker's shop. in whitechapel," added becky, mindful of her
father's warning: "if you ever try to disguise your background, it will
only end in tears."

"whitechapel?" mrs. trentham queried. "if i'm not mistaken, isn't that a
sweet little village, just outside worcester?"

"no, mrs. trentham, it's in the heart of the east end of london," said
becky, hoping that guy would come to her rescue, but he seemed more
preoccupied with sipping his glass of claret.

"oh," said mrs. trentham, her lips remaining in a straight line. "i
remember once visiting the bishop of worcester's wife in a place called
whitechapel, but i confess i have never found it necessary to travel as
far as the east end. i don't suppose they have a bishop there." she put
down her knife and fork. "however," she continued, "my father, sir
raymond hardcastle you may have heard of him, miss. salmon "

"no, i haven't actually," said becky honestly.

another disdainful look appeared on the face of mrs. trentham, although
it failed to stop her flow "  who was created a baronet for his services
to king george v "

"and what were those services?" asked becky innocently, which caused
mrs. trentham to pause for a moment before explaining, "he played a
small part in his majesy's efforts to see that we were not overrun by
the germans."

"he's an arms dealer," said major trentham under his breath.

if mrs. trentham heard the comment she chose to ignore it.

"did you come out this year, miss. salmon?" she asked italy.

"no, i didn't," said becky. "i went up to university instead."

"i don't approve of such goings-on myself. ladies shouldn't be educated
beyond the three 'rs' plus an adequate understanding of how to manage
servants and survive having to watch a cricket match."

"but if you don't have servants " began becky, and would have continued
if mrs. trentham hadn't rung a silver bell that was by her right hand.

when the butler reappeared she said curtly, "we'll take coffee in the
drawing room, gibson." the butler's face registered a hint of surprise
as mrs. trentham rose and led everyone out of the dining room, down a
long corridor and back into the drawing room where the fire no longer
burned so vigorously.

"care for some port or brandy, miss. salmon?" asked major trentham, as
gibson poured out the coffee.

"no, thank you," said becky quietly.

"please excuse me," said mrs. trentham, rising from the chair in which
she had just sat down. "i seem to have developed a slight headache and
will therefore retire to my room, if you'll forgive me."

"yes, of course, my dear," said the major flady.

as soon as his mother had left the room guy walked quickly over to
becky, sat down and took her hand. "she'll be better in the morning,
when her migraine has cleared up, you'll see."

"i doubt it," replied becky in a whisper, and tuming to major trentham
said, "perhaps you'll excuse me as well. it's been a long day, and in
any case i'm sure the two of you have a lot to catch up on."

both men rose as becky left the room and climbed the long staircase to
her bedroom. she undressed quickly and after washing in a basin of near
freezing water crept across the unheated room to slide between the
sheets of her cold bed.

becky was already half asleep when she heard the door handle fuming. she
blinked a few times and tried to focus on the far side of the room. the
door opened slowly, but all she could make out was the figure of a man
entering, then the door closing silently behind him.

"who's that?" she whispered sharply.

"only me,'' murmured guy. "thought i'd pop in and see how you were."

becky pulled her top sheet up to her chin. "good night, guy," she said
briskly.

"that's not very friendly," said guy, who had already crossed the room
and was now sitting on the end of her bed. "just wanted to check that
everything was all right. felt you had rather a rough time of it
tonight."

"i'm just fine, thank you," said becky flatly. as he leaned over to kiss
her she slid away from him, so he ended up brushing her left ear.

"perhaps this isn't the right time?"

"or place," added becky, sliding even farther away so that she was
nearly falling out of the far side of the bed.

"i only wanted to kiss you good night."

becky reluctantly allowed him to take her in his arms and kiss her on
the lips, but he held on to her far longer than she had anticipated and
eventually she had to push him away.

"good night, guy," she said firmly.

at first guy didn't move, but then he rose slowly and said, "perhaps
another time." a moment later she heard the door close behind him.

becky waited for a few moments before getting out of bed. she walked
over to the door, burned the key in the lock and removed it before going
back to bed. it was some time before she was able to sleep.

when becky came down for breakfast the following morning she quickly
discovered from major trentham that a restless night had not improved
his wife's migraine: she had therefore decided to remain in bed until
the pain had completely cleared.

later, when the major and guy went off to church, leaving becky to read
the sunday newspapers in the drawing room, she couldn't help noticing
that the servants were whispering among themselves whenever she caught
their eye.

mrs. trentham appeared for lunch, but made no attempt to join in the
conversation that was taking place at the other end of the table.
unexpectedly, just as the custard was being poured onto the summer
pudding, she asked, "and what was the vicar's text this morning?"

"do unto others as you expect them to do unto you," the major replied
with a slight edge to his voice.

"and how did you find the service at our local church, miss. salmon?"
asked mrs. trentham, addressing becky for the first time.

"i didn't " began becky.

"ah, yes, of course, you are one of the chosen brethren."

"no, actually if anything i'm a roman catholic," said becky.

"oh," said mrs. trentham, feigning surprise, "l assumed, with the name
of salmon ... in any case you wouldn't have enjoyed st. michael's. you
see, it's very down to earth."

becky wondered if every word mrs. trentham uttered and every action she
took was rehearsed in advance.

once lunch had been cleared away mrs. trentham disappeared again and guy
suggested that he and becky should take a brisk walk. becky went up to
her room and changed into her oldest shoes, far too terrified to suggest
she might borrow a pair of mrs. trentham's wellingtons.

"anything to get away from the house," becky told him when she returned
downstairs and she didn't open her mouth again until she felt certain
that mrs. trendham was well out of earshot.

"what does she expect of me?" becky finally asked.

"oh, it's not that bad," guy insisted, taking her hand. "you're
overreacting. pa's convinced she'll come round given time and in any
case, if i have to choose between you and her i know exacdy which one of
you is more important to me."

becky squeezed his hand. "thank you, darling, but i'm still not certain
i can go through anodher evening like the last one."

"we could always leave early and spend the rest of the day at your
place," guy said. becky turned to look at him, unsure what he meant. he
added quickly, "better get back to dhe house or she'll only grumble chat
we left her alone all afternoon." they both quickened dheir pace.

a few minutes later they were climbing dhe stone steps at the front of
the hall. as soon as becky had changed back into her house shoes and
checked her hair in the mirror on the hallstand, she rejoined guy in the
drawing room. she was surprised to find a large tea already laid out.
she checked her watch: it was only dhree-fifteen.

"i'm sorry you felt it necessary to keep everyone waiting, guy," were
the first words chat becky heard as she entered the room.

unever known us to have tea this early before," offered dhe major, from
the ocher side of dhe fireplace.

"do you take tea, miss. salmon?" mrs. trentham asked, even managing to
make her name sound like a petty offense.

"yes, thank you," replied becky.

"perhaps you could call becky by her first name," guy suggeste .

mrs. trentham's eyes came to rest on her son. "i cannot abide this
modern-day custom of addressing everyone by their christian name
especially when one has only just been introduced. darjeeling, lapsang
or earl grey, miss. salmon?" she asked before anyone had a chance to
react. she looked up expectantly for becky's reply, but no answer was
immediately {orthcoming because becky still hadn't quite recovered from
the previous jibe. "obviously you're not given that much choice in
whitechapel," mrs. trentham added.

becky considered picking up the pot and pouring the contents all over
the woman but somehow she managed to hold her temper, if only because
she knew that making her lose it was exactly what mrs. trentham was
hoping to achieve.

after a further silence mrs. trentham asked, "do you have any brothers
or sisters, miss. salmon?"

"no, i'm an only child," replied becky.

"surprising, really."

"why's that?" asked becky innocently.

"i always thought the lower classes bred like ram bits," said mrs.
trentham, dropping another lump of sugar into her tea.

"mother, really_ n began guy.

"just my little joke," she said quickly. "guy will take me so seriously
at times, miss. salmon. however, i well remember my father, sir raymond,
once saying "

"not again," said the major.

" that the classes were not unlike water and wine. under no
circumstances should one attempt to mix them."

"but i thought it was christ who managed to rum water into wine," said
becky.

mrs. trentham chose to ignore this observation. "that's exactly why we
have officers and other ranks in the first place; because god planned it
that way."

uand do you think that god planned that there should be a war, in order
that those same officers and other ranks could then slaughter each other
indiscriminately?" asked becky.

"i'm sure i don't know, miss. salmon," mrs. trentham replied. "you see,
i don't have the advantage of being an intellectual like yourself. i am
just a plain, simple woman who speaks her mind. but what i do know is
that we all made sacrifices during the war."

"and what sacrifices did you make, mrs. trentham?" becky inquired.

"a considerable number, young lady," mrs. trentham replied, stretching
to her full height. "for a start, i had to go without a lot of things
that were quite fundamental to one's very existence."

"like an arm or a leg?" said becky, quickly regretting her words the
moment she realized that she had fallen into mrs. trentham's trap.

guy's mother rose from her chair and walked slowly over to the
fireplace, where she tugged violently on the servants' bellpull. "i do
not have to sit around and be insulted in my own home," she said. as
soon as gibson reappeared she turned to him and added, "see that alfred
collects miss. salmon's belongings from her room. she will be returning
to london earlier than planned."

becky remained silently by the fire, not sure what she should do next.
mrs. trentham stood coolly staring at her until finally becky walked
over to the major, shook him by the hand and said, "i'll say goodbye,
major trentham. i have a feeling we won't be seeing each other again."

"my loss, miss. salmon," he said graciously before kissing her hand.
then becky turned and walked slowly out of the drawing room without
giving mrs. trentham a second look. guy followed becky into the hall.

on their journey back to london guy made every excuse he could think of
for his mother's behavior, but becky knew he didn't really believe his
own words. when the car came to a halt outside number 97 guy jumped out
and opened the passenger door.

"may i come up?" he asked. "there's something i still have to tell you."

"not tonight," said becky. "i need to think and i'd rather like to be on
my own.''

guy sighed. "it's just that i wanted to tell you how much i love you and
perhaps talk about our plans for the future."

"plans that include your mother?"

"to hell with my mother," he replied. "don't you realize how much i love
you?"

becky hesitated.

"let's announce our engagement in the times as soon as possible, and to
hell with what she thinks. what do you say?"

she turned and threw her arms around him. "oh, guy, i do love you too,
but you'd better not come up tonight. not while daphne is expected back
at any moment. another time perhaps?"

a look of disappointment crossed guy's face. he kissed her before saying
good night. she opened the front door and ran up the stairs.

becky unlocked the flat door to find that daphne had not returned from
the country. she sat alone on the sofa, not bothering to turn the gas up
when the light faded. it was to be a further two hours before daphne
sailed in.

"how did it all go?" were the first words daphne uttered as she entered
the drawing room, a little surprised to find her friend sitting in the
dark.

"a disaster."

"so it's all over?"

"no, not exactly," said becky. "in fact i have a feelmg guy proposed to
me."

"but did you accept?" asked daphne.

"i rather think i did."

"and what do you intend to do about india?"

the following morning when becky unpacked her overnight case, she was
horrified to discover that the delicate brooch daphne had lent her for
the weekend was missing. she assumed she must have left it at ashurst
hall.

as she had no desire to make contact with mrs. trentham again, she
dropped a note to guy at his regimental mess to alert him of her
anxiety. he replied the next day to assure her that he would check on
sunday when he planned to have lunch with his parents at ashurst.

becky spent the next five days worrying about whether guy would be able
to find the missing piece: thankfully daphne didn't seem to have noticed
its absence. becky only hoped she could get the brooch back before her
friend felt the desire to wear it again.

guy wrote on monday to say that despite an extensive search of the guest
bedroom he had been unable to locate the missing brooch, and in any case
nellie had informed him that she distinctly remembered packing all of
becky's jewelry.

this piece of news puzzled becky because she remembered packing her own
case following her summary dismissal from ashurst hall. with
considerable trepidation she sat up late into the night, waiting for
daphne to return from her long weekend in the country so that she could
explain to her friend what had happened. she feared that it might be
months, even years before she could save enough to replace what was
probably a family heirloom.

by the time her flatmate breezed into chelsea terrace a few minutes
after midnight, becky had already drunk several cups of black coffee and
almost lit one of daphne's du maunes.

"you're up late, my darling," were daphne's opening words. "are exams
that close?"

"no," said becky, then blurted out the whole story of the missing
diamond brooch. she finished by asking daphne how long she thought it
might take to repay her.

"about a week would be my guess," said daphne.

"a week?" said becky, looking puzzled.

"yes. it was only stage jewelry all the rage at the moment. if i
remember correctly, it cost me every penny of three shillings."

a relieved becky told guy over dinner on tuesday why finding the missing
piece of jewelry was no longer of such importance.

the following monday guy brought the piece round to chelsea terrace,
explaining that nellie had found it under the bed in the wellington
room.

becky began to notice small changes in charlie's manner, at first subde
and then more obvious.

daphne made no attempt to hide her involvement in what she described as
"the social discovery of the decade, my very own charlie doolittle. why,
only this weekend," she declared, "i took him down to harcourt hall,
don't you know, and he was a wow. even mother thought he was fantastic."

"your mother approves of charlie trumper?" said becky in disbelief.

"oh, yes, darling, but then you see mummy realizes that i have no
intention of marrying charlie."

"be careful, i had no intention of marrying guy."

"my darling, never forget you spring from dhe romantic classes, whereas
i come from a more practical background, which is exactly why the
aristocracy have survived for so long. no, i shall end up manying a
certain percy wiltshire and it's got nodhing to do widh destiny or the
stars, it's just good old-fashioned common sense."

"but is mr. wiltshire aware of your plans for his future?"

"of course the marquise of wiltshire isn't. even his mother hasn't told
him yet."

"but what if charlie were to fall in love with you?"

"that's not possible. you see, there's another woman in his life."

"good heavens," said becky. "and to think i've never met her."

the shop's six-month and nine-month figures showed a considerable
improvement on the first quarter's, as daphne discovered to her cost
when she received her next dividends. she told becky that at this rate
she couldn't hope to make any long-term profit from her loan. as for
becky herself, she spent less and less of her time thinking about
daphne, charlie or the shop as the hour drew nearer for guy's departure
to india.

india ... becky hadn't slept the night she had learned of guy's
three-year posting and she certainly might have wished to discover
something that would so disrupt their future from his lips and not
daphne's. in the past becky had accepted, without question, that because
of guy's duties with the regiment it would not be possible for them to
see each other on a regular basis, but as the time of his departure drew
nearer she began to resent guard duty, night exercises and most of all,
any weekend operations in which the fusiliers were expected to take
part.

becky had feared that guy's attentions would cool after her distressing
visit to ashurst hall, but if anything he became even more ardent and
kept repeating how different it would all be once they were married.

but then, as if without warning, the months became weeks, the weeks
days, until the dreaded circle becky had penciled around 3 februa 1920
on the calendar by the side of her bed was suddenly upon them.

"let's have dinner at the cafe royal, where we spent our first evening
together," guy suggested, the monday before he was due to leave.

"no," said becky. "i don't want to share you with a hundred strangers on
our last evening." she hesitated before adding, "if you can face the
thought of my cooking, i'd rather give you dinner at the flat. at least
that way we can be on our own."

guy smiled.

once the shop seemed to be running smoothly becky didn't drop in every
day, but she couldn't resist a glance through the window whenever she
passed number 147. she was surprised to find at eight o'clock that
particular monday morning that charlie wasn't to be seen behind the
counter.

"over here," she heard a voice cry and turned to find charlie sitting on
the same bench opposite the shop where she had first spotted him the day
he returned to london. she crossed the road to join him.

"what's this, taking early retirement before we've repaid the loan?"

"certainly not. i'm working."

"working? please explain, mr. trumper, how lounging about on a park
bench on a monday morning can be described as work?"

"it was henry ford who taught us that 'for every minute of action, there
should be an hour of thought,"' said charlie, with only a slight trace
of his old cockney accent; becky also couldn't help noticing how he had
pronounced "henry."

"and where are those fordian-like thoughts taking you at this particular
moment?" she asked.

"to that row of shops opposite."

uaii of them?" becky looked over at the block.

"and what conclusion would mr. ford have come to had he been sitting on
this bench, pray?"

"that they represent thirty-six different ways of making money."

"i've never counted them, but i'll take your word for it."

"but what else do you see when you look across the road?"

becky's eyes returned to chelsea terrace. "lots of people walking up and
down the pavement, mainly ladies with parasols, nannies pushing prams,
and the odd child with a skipping rope or hoop." she paused. "why, what
do you see?"

"two 'for sale' signs."

"i confess i hadn't noticed them." once again she looked across the
road.

"that's because you're looking with a different pair of eyes," charlie
explained.

"first there's kendrick's the butcher. well, we all know about him,
don't we? heart attack, been advised by his doctor to retire early or he
can't hope to live much longer."

"and then there's mr. rutherford," said becky, spotting the second "for
sale" sign.

"the antiques dealer. oh, yes, dear julian wants to sell up and join his
friend in new york, where society is a little more sympathetic when it
comes to his particular proclivities like that word?"

"how did you find ?"

"information," said charlie, touching his nose. "the life blood of any
business."

"another fordian principle?"

"no, much nearer home than that," admitted charlie. "daphne
harcourt-browne."

becky smiled. "so what are you going to do about it?"

"i'm going to get hold of them both, aren't 1?"

"and how do you intend to do that?"

"with my cunning and your diligence."

"are you being serious, charlie trumper?"

'never more." charlie turned to face her once again. "after all, why
should chelsea terrace be any different from whitechapel?"

"just the odd decimal point, perhaps," suggested becky.

"then let's move that decimal point, miss. salmon. because the time has
come for you to stop being a sleeping partner and start fulfilling your
end of the bargain."

"but what about my exams?"

"use the extra time you'll have now that your boyfriend has departed for
india."

"he goes tomorrow, actually."

"then i'll grant you a further day's leave. isn't that how officers
describe a day off? because tomorrow i want you to return to john d.
wood and make an appointment to see that pimply young assistant what was
his name?"

"palmer," said becky.

"yes, palmer," said charlie. "instruct him to negotiate a price on our
behalf for both those shops, and warn him that we're also interested in
anything else that might come up in chelsea terrace."

"anything else in chelsea terrace?" said becky, who had begun making
notes on the back of her textbook.

"yes, and we'll also need to raise nearly all the money it's going to
cost to purchase the freeholds, so visit several banks and see that you
get good terms. don't consider anything above four percent."

"nothing above four percent," repeated becky. looking up, she added,
"but thirty-six shops, charlie?"

"i know, it could take an awful long time."

* * *

in the bedford college library, becky tried to push charlie's dreams of
being the next mr. selfridge to one side as she attempted to complete an
essay on the influence of bemini on seventeenth-century sculpture. but
her mind kept switching from bemini to charlie and then back to guy.
unable to grapple with the modem, becky felt she was having even less
success with the ancient so she came to the conclusion that her essay
would have to be postponed until she could find more time to concentrate
on the past.

during her lunch break she sat on the red brick wall outside the
library, munching a cox's orange pippin while continuing to think. she
took one last bite before tossing the core into a nearby wastepaper
basket and everything else back into her satchel before beginning her
journey westward to chelsea.

once she had reached the terrace her first stop was the butcher's shop,
where she picked up a leg of lamb and told mrs. kendrick how sorry she
was to hear about her husband. when she paid the bill she noted that the
assistants, though well trained, didn't show a great deal of initiative.
customers escaped with only what they had come in for, which charlie
would never have allowed them to do. she then joined the queue at
trumper's and drew charlie to serve her.

,-"something special, madam?"

"two pounds of potatoes, one pound of button mushrooms, a cabbage and a
cantaloupe melon."

"it's your lucky day, madam. the melon should be eaten this very
evening," he said, just pressing the top -  lightly. "can i interest
madam in anything else? a few oranges, a grapefruit perhaps?"

"no, thank you, my good man."

"then that'll be three shillings and fourpence, madam."

"but don't i get a cox's orange pippin thrown in like all the other
girls?"

"no, sorry, madam, such privileges are reserved only for our regular
customers. mind you, 1 could be persuaded, if i was asked to share that
melon with you tonight. which would give me the chance to explain in
detail my master plan for chelsea terrace, london, the world "

"can't tonight, charlie. guy's leaving for india in the moming."

"of course, 'ow silly of me, sorry. i forgot." he sounded
uncharacteristically flustered. "tomorrow, perhaps?"

"yes, why not?"

"then as a special treat i'll take you out to dinner. pick you up at
eight."

"it's a deal, partner," said becky, hoping she sounded like mae west.

charlie was suddenly distracted by a large lady who had taken her place
at the front of the queue.

"ah, lady nourse," said charlie, returning to his cockney accent, "your
usual swedes and turnips, or are we going to be a little more
adventurous today, m'lady?"

becky looked back to watch lady nourse, who wasn't a day under sixty,
blush as her ample breast swelled with satisfaction.

once she had returned to her flat, becky quickly checked the drawing
room over to be sure that it was clean and tidy. the maid had done a
thorough job and as daphne hadn't yet returned from one of her long
weekends at harcourt hall there was little for her to do other than
plumping up the odd cushion and drawing the curtains.

becky decided to prepare as much of the evening meal as possible before
having a bath. she was already regretting turning down daphne's offer of
the use of a cook and a couple of maids from lowndes square to help her
out, but she was determined to have guy to herself for a change,
although she knew her mother wouldn't approve of having dinner with a
male friend without daphne or a chaperone to keep an eye on them.

melon, followed by leg of lamb with potatoes, cabbage and some button
mushrooms: surely that would have met with her mother's approval. but
she suspected that approval would not have been extended to wasting
hard-earned money on the bottle of nuits st. george that she had
purchased from mr. cuthbert at number 101. becky peeled the potatoes,
basted the lamb and checked she had some mint before removing the stalk
on the cabbage.

as she uncorked the wine she decided that in future she would have to
purchase all her goods locally, to be sure that her information on what
was taking place in the terrace was as up to date as charlie's. before
going to undress she also checked there was still some brandy left over
in the botde she had been given the previous christmas.

she lay soaking in a hot bath for some time as she thought through which
banks she would approach and, more important, how she would present her
case. the detailed figures both of trumper's income and a time schedule
required for the repayment of any loan ... her mind drifted back from
charlie to guy, and why it was that neither of them would ever talk
about the other.

when becky heard the bedroom clock chime the half hour she leaped out of
the bath in a panic, suddenly realizing how much time her thoughts must
have occupied and only too aware that guy was certain to appear on the
doorstep as the clock struck eight. the one thing you could guarantee
with a soldier, daphne had warned her, was that he always turned up on
time.

clothes were strewn all over both their bedroom floors as becky emptied
half daphne's wardrobe and most of her own in a desperate attempt to
find something to wear. in the end she chose the dress daphne had worn
at the fusiliers ball, and never worn since. once she had managed to do
up the top button she checked herself in the mirror. becky felt
confident she would "pass muster." the clock on the mantelpiece struck
eight and the doorbell rang.

guy, wearing a double-breasted regimental blazer and cavalry twills,
entered the room carrying another bottle of red wine as well as a dozen
red roses. once he had placed both offerings on the table, he took becky
in his arms.

"what a beautiful dress," he said. "i don't think i've seen it before."

no, it's the first time i've worn it," said becky, feeling guilty about
not asking daphne's permission to borrow it.

uno one to help you?" asked guy, looking around.

"to be honest, daphne volunteered to act as chaperone, but i didn't
accept as i hadn't wanted to share you with anyone on our last evening
together."

guy smiled. "can i do anything?"

"yes, you could uncork the wine while i put the potatoes on."

"trumper's potatoes?"

"of course," replied becky, as she walked back through into the kitchen
and dropped the cabbage into a pot of boiling water. she hesitated for a
moment before calling back, "you don't like charlie, do you?"

guy poured out a glass of wine for each of them but either hadn't heard
what she had said or made no attempt to respond.

"what's your day been like?" becky asked when she resumed to the drawing
room and took the grass of wine he handed her.

"packing endless trunks in preparation for tomorrow's journey," he
replied. "they expect you to have four of everything in that bloody
country."

"everything?" becky sipped the wine. "um, good."

"everything. and you, what have you been up to?"

"talked to charlie about his plans for taking over london without
actually declaring war; dismissed caravaggio as second-rate; and
selected some button mushrooms, not to mention trumper's deal of the
day." as she finished speaking, becky placed half a melon on guy's mat
and the other half at her place as he refilled their glasses.

over a lingering dinner, becky became more and more conscious that this
would probably be their last evening together for the next three years.
they talked of the theater, the regiment, the problems in ireland,
daphne, even the price of melons, but never india.

"you could always come and visit me," he said finally, bringing up the
taboo subject himself as he poured her another glass of wine, nearly
emptying the bottle.

"a day trip, perhaps?" she suggested, removing the empty dinner plates
from the table and taking them back to the kitchen.

"l suspect even that will be possible at some time in the future."

guy filled his own glass once again, then opened the bottle he had
brought with him.

"what do you mean?"

"by airplane. after all, alcock and brown have crossed the atlantic
nonstop, so india must be any pioneer's next ambition."

"perhaps i could sit on a wing," said becky when she resumed from the
kitchen.

guy laughed. "don't worry. i'm sure three years will pass by in a [lash,
and then we can be married just as soon as i retum." he raised his glass
and watched her take another drink. for some time they didn't speak.

becky rose from the table feeling a little giddy. "must put the kettle
on," she explained.

when she returned becky didn't notice that her glass had been refilled.
"thank you for a wonderful evening," guy said, and for a moment becker
was 'anxious that he might be thinking of leaving.

"now i fear the time has come to do the washing up, as you don't seem to
have any staff around tonight and i left my barman back at barracks."

"no, don't let's bother with that." becky hiccupped. "after all, i can
spend a year on the washing up, followed by a year on the drying and
still put aside a year for stackin,, guy's own augh was interrupted by
the rising whistle of the kettle.

"won't be a minute. why don't you pour yourself some brandy?" becky
added, as she disappeared back into the kitchen and selected two cups
that didn't have chips in them. she returned with them full of strong
hot coffee, and thought for a moment that the gaslight might have been
fumed down whittle. she placed the two cups on the table next to the
'sofa. "the coffee's so hot that it will be a couple of minutes before
we can drink it," she warned.

he passed her a brandy balloon that was half full. he raised his glass
and waited. she hesitated, then took a sip before sitting down beside
him. for some time again neither of them spoke and then suddenlr he put
down his glass, took her in his arms and't is time began kissing her
passionately, first on her lips, then on her neck and then on her bare
shoulders. becky only began to resist when she felt a hand move from her
back on to one of her breasts.

guy broke away and said, "i have a special surprise for you, darling,
which i've been saving for tonight."

"what's that?"

"our engagement is to be announced in the times tomorrow."

for a moment becky was so stunned she could only stare at guy. "oh,
darling, how wonderful." she took him back in her arms and made no
effort to resist when his hand resumed to her breast. she broke away
again. "but how will your mother react?"

"i don't give a damn how she reacts," said guy, and once more began to
kiss her neck. his hand moved to her other breast as her lips parted and
their tongues touched.

she began to feel the buttons on the back of her dress being undone,
slowly at first, then with more confidence before guy released her
again. she blushed as he removed his regimental blazer and tie and threw
them over the back of the sofa, and began to wonder if she shouldn't
make it clear they had already gone too far.

when guy started to undo the front of his shirt she panicked for a
moment: things were getting a little out of control.

guy leaned forward and slipped the top of becky's dress off her
shoulders. once he had resumed to kissing her again, she felt his hand
trying to undo the back of her bodice.

becky felt she might be saved by the fact that neither of them knew
where the fasteners were. however, it became abundantly clear that guy
had overcome such problems before, as he deftly undid the offending
clips and hesitated only for a moment before transferring his attention
to her legs. he stopped quite suddenly when he reached the top of her
stockings, and looking into her eyes mummured, "i had only imagined
until now what this would be like, but i had no idea you would be quite
so beautiful."

"thank you," said becky, and sat bolt upright. guy handed over her
brandy and she took another sip, wondering if it might not be wise for
her to make some excuse about the coffee going cold and to slip back
into the kitchen to make another pot.

"however there's still been a disappointment for me this evening," he
added, one hand remaining on her thigh.

"a disappointment?" becky put down her brandy glass. she was beginning
to feel distinctly wooy.

"yes," said guy. "your engagement ring."

"my engagement ring?"

"i ordered it from garrard's over a month ago, and they promised it
would be ready for me to collect by this evening. but only this
afternoon they infommed me that i wouldn't be able to pick it up until
first thing tomorrow."

"it doesn't matter," said becky.

"it does," said guy. "i'd wanted to slip it on your finger tonight, so i
do hope you can be at the station a little earlier than we had planned.
i intend to fall on one knee and present it to you."

becky stood up and smiled as guy quickly rose and took her in his amls.
"i'll always love you, you know that, don't you?" daphne's dress slipped
off and fell to the floor. guy took her by the hand and she led him into
the bedroom.

he quickly pushed back the top sheet, jumped in and held up his amms
once she had climbed in to join him guy quickly removed the rest of her
clothes and began kissing her all over her body before making love with
an expertise that becky suspected could only have come from considerable
practice.

although the act itself was painful, becky was surprised how quickly the
promised sensation was over and she clung to guy for what seemed an
etemity. he kept repeating how much he cared for her, which made becky
feel less guilty after all, they were engaged.

becky was half asleep when she thought she heard a door slam, and fumed
over assuming the sound must have come from the flat above them. guy
hardly stirred. quite suddenly the bedroom door was flung t5s as the
chow plows open, and daphne appeared in front of them.

"so sorry, i didn't realize," she said in a whisper and closed the door
quietly behind her. becky looked across at her lover apprehensively.

he smiled and took her in his arms. "no need to worry about daphne. she
won't tell anyone." he stretched out an arm and pulled her towards him.

waterloo station was already crowded with men in uniforms when becky
walked onto platform one. she was a couple of minutes late, so a little
surprised not to find guy waiting for her. then she remembered that he'd
have had to go to albemarle street to pick up the nng.

she checked dhe board: chalked up in white capital letters were the
words "southampton boat train, p o to india, departure time 11:30."
becky continued to look anxiously up and down the platform before her
eyes setded on a band of helpless girls. they were huddled together
under the station clock, their shrill strained voices all talking at
once of hunt balls, polo and who was coming out that season all of them
only too aware that farewells must be said at the station because it
wasn't the done thing for a girl to accompany an officer on the train to
southampton unless she was married or officially engaged. but me times
that morning would prove that she and guy were engaged, thought becky,
so perhaps she would be invited to travel on as far as the coast... she
checked her watch yet again: eleven twenyone. for the first time she
began to feel slightly uneasy. then suddenly she saw him striding across
the platform towards her followed by a man dragging two cases, and a
porter wheeling even more luggage.

guy apologized, but gave no explanation for why he was so late, only
ordering his barman to place his trunks on the train and wait for him.
for the next few minutes they talked of nothing in particular and becky
even felt he was a little distant, but she was well aware that there
were several brother officers on the platfomm, also bidding their
farewells, some even to their wives.

a whistle blew and becky noticed a guard check his watch. guy leaned
forward, brushed her cheek with his lips, then suddenly fumed away. she
watched him as he stepped quickly onto the train, never once looking
back, while all she could think of was their naked bodies lodged
together in that tiny bed and guy saying, "i'll always love you. you
know that, don't you?"

a final whistle blew and a green flag was waved. becky stood quite
alone. she shivered from the gust of wind that came as the engine wound
its snakelike path out of the station and began its journey to
southampton. the giggling girls also departed, but in another direction,
towards their hansom cabs and chauffeur-driver cars.

becky walked over to a booth on the comer of platform seven, purchased a
copy of the times for two pence, and checked, first quickly, then
slowly, down the list of forthcoming weddings.

from arbuthnot to yelland there was no mention of a trentham, or a
salmon.

even before the first course had been served becky regretted accepting
charlie's invitation to dinner at mr. scallini's, the only restaurant he
knew: charlie was trying so hard to be considerate, which only made her
feel more guilty.

"l like your dress," he said, admiring the pastel-colored frock she had
borrowed from daphne's wardrobe.

thank you."

a long pause followed.

"i'm sorry," he said. "i should have thought twice before inviting you
out the same day as captain trentham was leaving for india."

uour engagement will be announced in the times tomorrow," she said, not
looking up from her untouched bowl of soup.

"congratulations," said charlie without feeling.

"you don't like guy, do you?"

ul never was much good with officers."

"but your paths had crossed during the war. in fact, you knew him before
i did, didn't you?" said becky without warning. charlie didn't reply, so
she added, "i sensed it the first time we all had dinner together."

"'knew him' would be an exaggeration," said charlie. "we served in the
same regiment, but until that night we'd never eaten at the same table."

"but you fought in the same war."

"along with four thousand other men from our regiment," said charlie,
refusing to be drawn.

"and he was a brave and respected officer?"

a waiter appeared uninvited by their side. "what would you like to drink
with your fish, sir?"

"champagne," said charlie. "after all, we do have something to
celebrate."

"do we?" said becky, unaware that he had used the ploy simply to change
the subject.

"our first year's results. or have you forgotten that daphne's already
been paid back more than half her loan?"

becky managed a smile, realizing that while she had been worrying about
guy's departure for india, charlie had been concentrating on solving her
other problem. but despite this news the evening continued in silence,
occasionally punctuated with comments from charlie that didn't always
receive a reply. she occasionally sipped the champagne, toyed with her
fish, ordered no dessert and could barely hide her relief when the bill
was eventually presented.

charlie paid the waiter and left a handsome tip. daphne would have been
proud of him, becky thought.

as she rose from her chair, she felt the room starting to go round in
circles.

uare you all right?" asked charlie, placing an arm around her shoulder.

"i'm fine, just fine," said becky. "i'm not used to drinking so much
wine two nights in a row."

"and you didn't eat much dinner either," said charlie, guiding her out
of the restaurant and into the cold night air.

they proceeded arm in arm along chelsea terrace and becky couldn't help
thinking any casual passerby might have taken them for lovers. when they
arrived at the entrance to daphne's flat charlie had to dig deep into
becky's bag to find her keys. somehow he managed to get the door open,
while at the same time still keeping her propped up against the wall.
but then becky's legs gave way and he had to cling to her to stop her
from falling. he gathered her up and carried her in his arms to the
first floor. when he reached her flat, he had to perform a contortion to
open the door without actually dropping her. at last he staggered into
the drawing room and lowered her onto the sofa. he stood up and took his
bearings, not sure whether to leave her on the sofa or to investigate
where her bedroom might be.

charlie was about to leave when she slipped off onto the floor,
muttering something incoherent, the only word of which he caught was
"engaged."

he returned to becky's side, but this time lifted her firmly up over his
shoulder. he carried her towards a door which, when he opened it, he
discovered led to a bedroom. he placed her gently on top of the bed. as
he began to tiptoe back to the door, she turned and charlie had to rush
back and pull her onto the middle of the bed to prevent her falling off.
he hesitated, then bent over to lift up her shoulders before undoing the
buttons down the back of her dress with his free hand. once he had
reached the bottom button he lowered her onto the bed, then lifted her
legs high in the air with one hand before he pulled with the other, inch
by inch, until her dress was off. he left her only for a moment while he
placed the dress neatly over a chair.

"charlie trumper," he said in a whisper, looking down at her, "you're a
blind man, and you've been blind for an awfully lone time."

he pulled back the blanket and placed becky between the sheets, the way
he had seen nurses on the western front carry out the same operation
with wounded men.

he tucked her in securely, making sure that the whole process could not
repeat itself. his final action was to lean over and kiss her on the
cheek.

you're not only blind, charlie trumper, you're a fool, he told himself
as he closed the front door behind him.

"be with you in a moment," said charlie as he threw some potatoes onto
the weighing machine, while becky waited patiently in the comer of the
shop.

"anythin' else, madam?" he asked the customer at the front of the queue.
"a few tangerines, per'aps? some apples? and i've got some lovely
grapefruit straight from south africa, only arrived in the market this
momin'."

"no, thank you, mr. trumper, that will be all for today."

"then that'll be two shillings and five pence, mrs. symonds. bob, could
you carry on serving the next customer while i 'ave a word with miss.
salmon?"

"sergeant trumper."

"sir," was charlie's instant reaction when he heard the resonant voice.
he fumed to face the tall man who stood in front of him, straight as a
ramrod, dressed in a harris tweed jacket and cavalry twill trousers and
carrying a brown felt hat.

"i never forget a face," the man said, although charlie would have
remained perplexed if it hadn't been for the monocle.

"good god," said charlie, standing to attention.

"no, 'colonel' will do," the other man said, laugh ing. "and no need for
any of that bull. those days have long gone. although it's been some
time since we last met, trumper."

"nearly two years, sir."

"seems longer than that to me," the colonel said wistfully. "you
certainly fumed out to be right about prescott, didn't you? and you were
a good friend to him."

"'e was a good friend to me."

"and a first-class soldier. deserved his mm."

"couldn't agree with you more, sir."

"would have got one yourself, trumper, but the rations were up after
prescott. afraid it was only 'mentioned in dispatches' for you."

"the right man got the medal."

"terrible way to die, though. the thought of it still haunts me, you
know," said the colonel. "only yards from the tape."

"not your fault, sir. if anyone's, it was mine."

"if it was anyone's fault, it was certainly not yours," said the
colonel. "and best forgotten, i suspect," he added without explanation.

"so 'ow's the regiment comin' along?" asked charlie. "survivin' without
me?"

"and without me, i'm afraid," said the colonel, placing some apples into
the shopping bag he was carrying. "they've departed for india, but not
before they put this old horse out to grass."

"i'm sorry to 'ear that, sir. your 'ale life was the regiment."

"true, though even fusiliers have to succumb to the geddes axe. to be
honest with you, i'm an infantryman myself, always have been, and i
never did get the hang of those newfangled tanks."

"if we'd only 'ad 'em a couple of years earlier, sir, they might 'ave
saved a few lives."

"played their part, i'm bound to admit." the colonel nodded. "like to
think i played my part as well." he touched the knot of his striped tie.
"will we be seeing you at the regimental dinner, trumper?"

"i didn't even know there was one, sir."

"twice annually. first one in january, men only, second one in may with
the memsahibs, which is also a ball. gives the comrades a chance to get
together and have a chinwag about old times. would be nice if you could
be on parade, trumper. you see, i'm the president of the ball committee
this year and rather hoping for a respectable turnout."

"then count me in, sir."

"good man. i'll see that the office gets in touch with you pronto, ten
shillings a ticket, and all you can drink thrown in, which i'm sure will
be no hardship for you," added the colonel, looking round the busy shop.

"and can i get you anythin' while you're 'ere, sir?" charlie asked,
suddenly aware a long queue was forming behind the colonel.

"no, no, your able assistant has already taken excellent care of me, and
as you can see i have completed the memsahib's written instructions." he
held up a thin slip of paper bearing a list with a row of ticks down one
side.

"then i'll look forward to seeing you on the night of the ball, sir,"
said charlie.

the colonel nodded and then stepped out onto the pavement without
another word.

becky strolled over to join her partner, only too aware that he had
quite forgotten that she had been waiting to have a word with him.
"you're still standing to attention, charlie," she teased.

"that was my commanding officer, colonel sir danvers hamilton," said
charlie a little pompously. "led us at the front,'e did, a gentleman,
and'e remembered my name."

"charlie, if you could only hear yourself. a gentle man he may be, but
he's the one who's out of work, while you're running a thriving
business. i know which i'd rather be."

"but 'e's the commanding officer. don't you understand?"

"was," said becky. "and he was also quick to point out the regiment has
gone to india without him."

"that doesn't change anythin'."

"mark my words, charlie trumper, that man will end up calling you
'sir."'

guy had been away almost a week, and sometimes becky could now go a
whole hour without thinking about him.

she had sat up most of the previous night composing a letter to him
although when she left for her morning lecture the following day she
walked straight past the pillar box. she had managed to convince herself
that the blame for failing to complete the letter should be placed
firmly on the shoulders of mr. palmer.

becky had been disappointed to find their engagement had not been
announced in the times the next day, and became quite desperate when it
failed to appear on any other day during that week. when in desperation
she phoned garrard's on the following monday they claimed they knew
nothing of a ring ordered in the name of a captain trentham of the royal
fusiliers. becky decided she would wait a further week before she wrote
to guy. she felt there must be some simple explanation.

guy was still very much on her mind when she entered the offices of john
d. wood in mount street. she palmed the flat bell on the counter and
asked an inquiring assistant if she could speak to mr. palmer.

"mr. palmer? we don't have a mr. palmer any longer," she was told. "he
was called up nearly a year ago, miss. can i be of any assistance?"

becky gripped the counter. "all right then, i'd like to speak to one of
the partners," she said fimmly.

"may i know the nature of your inquiry?" asked the assistant.

"yes," said becky. "i've come to discuss the instructions for the sale
of 131 and 135 chelsea terrace."

"ah yes, and may i ask who it is inquiring?"

"miss. rebecca salmon."

"i won't be a moment," the young man promised her, but didn't return for
several minutes. when he did he was accompanied by a much older man, who
wore a long black coat and hoary-rimmed spectacles. a silver chain
dangled from his waistcoat pocket.

"good moming, miss. salmon," the older man said. "my name is crowther.
perhaps you'd be good enough to join me." he raised the counter lid and
ushered her through. becky duly followed in his wake.

"good weather for this time of the year, wouldn't you say, madam?"

becky stared out of the window and watched the umbrellas bobbing up and
down along the pavement, but decided not to comment on mr. crowther's
meteorological judgment.

once they had reached a poky little room at the back of the building he
announced with obvious pride, "this is my office. won't you please be
seated, miss. salmon?" he gestured towards an uncomfortably low chair
placed opposite his desk. he then sat down in his own high-backed chair.
"i'm a partner of the fimm," he explained, "but i must confess a very
junior partner." he laughed at his own joke. "now, how can i help you?

"my colleague and i want to acquire numbers 131 and 135 chelsea
terrace," she said.

"quite so," said mr. crowther, looking down at his file. "and on this
occasion will miss. daphne harcourtbrowne "

"miss. harcourt-browne will not be involved in this transaction and if,
because of that, you feel unable to deal with mr. trumper or myself, we
shall be happy to approach the vendors direct." becky held her breath.

"oh, please don't misunderstand me, madam. i'm sure we will have no
trouble in continuing to do business with you."

"thank you."

"now, let us start with number 135," said mr. crowther, pushing his
spectacles back un his nose before he leafed through the file in front
of him. "ah yes, dear mr. kendrick, a first-class butcher, you know.
sadly he is now considering an early retirement."

becky sighed, and mr. crowther looked up at her over his spectacles.

"his doctor has told him that he has no choice if he hopes to live more
than a few more months," she said.

"quite so," said mr. crowther, resuming to his file. "well, it seems
that his asking price is one hundred and fifty pounds for the freehold,
plus one hundred pounds for the goodwill of the business."

"and how much will he take?"

"i'm not quite sure i catch your drift, madam." the junior partner
raised his eyebrows.

"mr. crowther, before we waste another minute of each other's time i
feel i should let you know in confidence that it is our intention to
purchase, if the price is right, every shop that becomes available in
chelsea terrace, with the long-term aim of owning the entire block, even
if it takes us a lifetime to achieve. it is not my intention to visit
your office regularly for the next twenty years for the sole purpose of
shadowboxing with you. by then i suspect you will be a senior partner,
and both of us will have better things to do. do i make myself clear?"

"abundantly," said mr. crowther, glancing at the note palmer had
attached to the sale of 147: the lad hadn't exaggerated in the
forthright opinion of his client. he pushed his spectacles back up his
nose.

"i think mr. kendrick might be willing to accept one hundred and
tweny-five pounds if you would also agree to a pension of twenty-five
pounds a year until his deaths, "but he might live forever."

"i feel i should point out, madam, that it was you, not 1, who referred
to mr. kendrick's present state of health." for the first time the
junior partner leaned back in his chair.

"i have no desire to rob mr. kendrick of his pension," becky replied.
"please offer him one hundred pounds for the freehold of the shop and
twenty pounds a year for a period of eight years as a pension. i'm
flexible on the latter part of the transaction but not on the former. is
that understood, mr. crowther?"

"it certainly is, madam."

uand if i'm to pay mr. kendrick a pension i shall also expect him to be
available to offer advice from time to time as and when we require it."

"quite so," said crowther, making a note of her request in the margin.

"so what can you tell me about 131?"

"now that is a knotty problem," said crowther, opening a second file. "i
don't know if you are fully aware of the circumstances, madam, but ..."

becky decided not to help him on this occasion. she smiled sweetly.

"um, well," continued the junior partner, "mr. rutherford is off to new
york with a friend to open an antiques gallery, in somewhere called the
'village.'" he hesitated.

"and their partnership is of a somewhat unusual nature?" assisted becky
after a prolonged silence. "and he might prefer to spend the rest of his
days in an apartment in new york, rather than a cell in brixton?"

"quite so," said mr. crowther, as a bead of perspiration appeared on his
forehead. "and in this particular gentleman's case, he wishes to remove
everything from the premises, as he feels his merchandise might well
fetch a better price in manhattan. therefore all that he would leave for
your consideration would be the freehold."

"then can i presume in his case there will be no ."

pension?

"i think we may safely presume that."

"and may we therefore expect his price to be a little more reasonable,
remembering some of the pressures he is under?"

"i would have thought not," replied mr. crowther, "as the shop in
question is rather larger than most of the others in chelsea "

"one thousand, four hundred and twenty-two square feet, to be precise,"
said becky, "compared with one thousand square feet at number 147, which
we acquired for "

"a very reasonable price at the time, if i may be so bold as to suggest,
miss. salmon."

"however ..."

"quite so," said mr. crowther. another bead of sweat appeared on his
forehead.

"so how much is he hoping to raise for the freehold, now that we have
established that he won't be requiring a pension?"

"his asking price," said mr. crowther, whose eyes had once again
returned to the file, "is two hundred pounds. however, i suspect," he
added before becky had the chance to challenge him, "that if you were
able to close the negotiations quickly he might allow the property to go
for as little as one hundred and seventy-five." his eyebrows arched. "i
am given to understand that he is anxious to join his friend as quickly
as possible."

"if he's that anxious to join his friend i suspect he will be only too
happy to lower his price to one hundred and fifty for a quick sale, and
he might even accept one hundred and sixty, despite it taking a few days
longer.n "quite so." mr. crowther removed his handkerchief from his top
pocket and mopped his brow. becky couldn't help noticing that it was
still raining outside. uwill there be anything else, madam?" he asked,
the handkerchief having been returned to the safety of his pocket.

"yes, mr. crowther," said becky. "i should like you to keep a watching
brief on all the properties in chelsea terrace and approach either mr.
trumper or myself the moment you hear of anything likely to come on the
market."

uperhaps it might be helpful if i were to prepare a full assessment of
the properties on the block, then let you and mr. trumper have a
comprehensive written report for your consideration?"

"that would be most useful," said becky, hiding her surprise at this
sudden piece of initiative.

she rose from her chair to make it clear she considered the meeting to
be over.

as they walked back to the front desk, mr. crowther ventured, "i am
given to understand that number 147 is proving most popular with the
inhabitants of chelsea."

"and how would you know that?" asked becky, surprised for a second time.

umy wife," mr. crowther explained, "refuses to shop for her fruit and
vegetables anywhere else, despite the fact that we live in fulham."

ua discerning lady, your wife," said becky.

"quite so," said mr. crowther.

becky assumed that the banks would react to her approach with much the
same enthusiasm as the estate agent had. however, having selected eight
she thought might be possibilities, she quickly discovered that there is
a considerable difference between offering yourself as a buyer and
prostrating oneself as a borrower. every time she presented her plans to
someone so junior as to be most unlikely to be able to make a decision
she received only a dismissive shake of the head. this included the bank
that already held the trumper account. "in fact," as she recounted to
daphne later that evening, "one of the junior assistants at the penny
bank even had the nerve to suggest that should i ever become a married
woman then they'd be only too delighted to do business with my husband."

"come up against the world of men for the first time, have we?" asked
daphne, dropping her magazine on the floor. "their cliques, their clubs?
a woman's place is in the kitchen, and, if you're half attractive,
perhaps occasionally in the bedroom."

becky nodded glumly as she placed the magazine back on a side table.

"it's an attitude of mind that's never worried me, i must confess,"
daphne admitted as she pushed her feet into a pair of shoes with stylish
pointed toes. "but then i wasn't born overly ambitious like you, my
darling. however, perhaps it's time to throw you another lifeline."

"lifeline?"

"yes. you see, what you need to solve your problem is an old school
tie."

"wouldn't it look a bit silly on me?"

"probably look rather fetching actually, but that's not the point. the
dilemma you seem to be facing is your gender not to mention charlie's
accent, although i've nearly cured the dear boy of that problem.
however, one thing's for sure, they haven't yet found a way to change
people's sex."

"where is all this leading?" asked becky innocently.

"you're so impatient, darling. just like charlie. you must allow us
lesser mortals a little more time to explain what we're about."

becky took a seat on the corner of the sofa and placed her hands in her
lap.

"first you must realize that all bankers are frightful snobs" continued
daphne. "otherwise they'd be out there like you, running their own
businesses. so what you require, to have them eating out of your hand,
is a respectable front man."

"front man?"

"yes. someone who'll accompany you on your trips to the bank whenever it
should prove necessary." daphne rose and checked herself in the mirror
before continuing. "such a person may not be blessed with your brains,
but then on the other hand he won't be encumbered by your gender or by
charlie's accent. what he will have, however, is an old school tie, and
preferably a tide of some kind to go with it. bankers do like a 'bart'
but most important of all you must secure someone who has a definite
need of cash. for services rendered, you understand."

"do such people exist?" asked becky in disbelief.

"they most certainly do. in fact, there are far more of chat type around
than there are those who are willing to do a day's work." daphne smiled
reassuringly. "give me a week or two and i feel confident i'll be able
to come up with a shortlist of three. you'll see."

"you're a wonder," said becky.

"in return i shall expect a small favor from you."

"anything."

"never use chat word when dealing widh a praying mantis like myself,
darling. however, my request on this occasion is quite simple, and well
within your power to grant. if charlie should ask you to accompany him
to his regimental dinner and dance, you are to accept."

"why?"

"because reggie arbuthnot has been stupid enough to invite me to the
blithering occasion and i can't refuse him if i'm to hope for a little
stalking on his estate in scotland come november." becky laughed as
daphne added, "i don't mind being taken to the ball by reggie, but i do
object to having to leave with him. so, if we have reached an agreement,
i'll supply you with your necessary chinless bart and all you have to do
when charlie asks you is say 'yes."'

"yes."

charlie wasn't surprised when becky agreed without hesitation to be
escorted to the regimental ball. after all, daphne had already explained
the details of their agreement to him. but it did come as a shock that,
when becky took her seat at the table, his fellow sergeants couldn't
take their eyes off her.

the dinner had been laid out in a massive gymnasium, which prompted
charlie's mates to tell story after story of their early days of
training in edinburgh. however, there the comparison ended, because the
food was of a far higher standard than charlie remembered being offered
in scotland.

"where's daphne?" asked becky, as a portion of apple pie liberally
covered in custard was placed in front o her.

"up there on the top table with all the notes n said charlie, pointing
over his shoulder with his thumb. "can't afford to be seen with the
likes of us, can she?" he added with a grin.

once the dinner was over there followed a series of toasts to everyone,
it seemed to becky, except the king. charlie explained that the regiment
had been granted dispensation from the loyal toast by king william iv in
1835 as their allegiance to the crown was without question. however,
they did raise their glasses to the armed forces, each battalion in
turn, and finally to the regiment, coupled with the name of their former
colonel, each toast ending in rousing cheers. becky watched the
reactions of the men seated around her at the table and came to realize
for the first time how many of that generation considered themselves
lucky simply to be alive.

the former colonel of the regiment, sir danvers hamilton, bt., dso, cbe,
monocte in place, made a moving speech about all their fellow comrades
who were for different reasons unable to be present that night becky saw
charlie visibly stiffen at the mention of his friend tommy prescott.
finally they all rose and toasted absent friends. becky found herself
unexpectedly moved.

once the colonel had sat down the tables were cleared to one side so
that dancing could begin. no sooner had the first note struck up from
the regimental band than daphne appeared from the other end of the room.

"come on, charlie. i haven't the time to wait for you to find your way
up to the top table."

"delighted, i'm sure, madam," said charlie, when he rose from his seat,
"but what has happened to reggie what's-his-name?"

"arbuthnot," she said. "i have left the silly man clinging on to a deb
from chelmsford. and quite dreadfuf she was, i can tell you."

"what was so 'dreadful' about her?" mimicked charlie.

"i never thought the day would come," said daphne, "when his majesty
would allow anyone from essex to be presented at court. but worse than
that was her age."

"why? how old is she?" asked charlie, as he waltzed daphne confidently
round the floor.

"i can't altogether be certain, but she had the nerve to introduce me to
her widowed father."

charlie burst out laughing.

"you're not supposed to find it funny, charles trumper, you're meant to
show some sympathy. there's still so much you have to ream."

becky watched charlie as he danced smoothly round the floor. "that
daphne's a bit of all right," said the man sitting next to her, who had
introduced himself as sergeant mike parker and fumed out to be a butcher
from camberwell who had served alongside charlie on the mame. becky
accepted his judgment without comment, and when he later bowed and asked
becky for the pleasure of the next dance she reluctantly accepted. he
proceeded to march her around the ballroom floor as if she were a leg of
mutton on the way to the refrigeration room. the only thing he managed
to do in time with the music was to tread on her toes. at last he
resumed becky to the comparative safety of their beer-stained table.
becky sat in silence while she watched everyone enjoying themselves,
hoping that no one else would ask her for the pleasure. her thoughts
returned to guy, and the meeting that she could no longer avoid if in
another two weeks ... "may i have the honor, miss?"

every man round the table shot to attention as the colonel of the
regiment escorted becky onto the dance floor.

she found colonel hamilton an accomplished dancer and an amusing
companion, without showing any of those tendencies to patronize her that
the string of bank managers had recently displayed. after the dance was
over he invited becky to the top table and introduced her to his wife.

"i must warn you," daphne told charlie, glancing over her shoulder in
the direction of the colonel and lady hamilton. "it's going to be quite
a challenge for you to keep pace with the ambitious miss. salmon. but as
long as you stick with me and pay attention we'll give her a damned good
run for her moneys after a couple more dances daphne informed becky chat
she had more than done her duty and the time had come for them all to
leave. becky, for her part, was only too pleased to escape the attention
of so many young officers who had seen her dance with the colonel.

"i've some good news for you," daphne told the two of them as the hansom
trundled down the king's road in the direction of chelsea terrace, with
charlie still clinging to his half-empty horde of champagne.

"what's that, my girl?" he asked, after a burp.

"i'm not your girl," daphne remonstrated. "i may be willing to invest in
the lower classes, charlie trumper, but never forget i'm not without
breeding."

"so what's your news?" asked becky, laughing.

"you've kept your part of the bargain, so i must keep to mine."

"what do you mean?" asked charlie, half asleep.

"i can now produce my shortlist of three to be considered as your front
man, and thus, i hope, solve your banking problem."

charlie immediately sobered up.

"my first offer is the second son of an earl," began daphne. "penniless
but presentable. my second is a bart, who will take the exercise on for
a professional fee, but my piece de resistance is a viscount whose luck
has run out at the tables in deauville and now finds it necessary to
involve himself in the odd piece of vulgar commercial work."

"when do we get to meet them?" asked charlie, trying not to slur his
words.

"as soon as you wish," promised daphne. "tomorrow "

"that won't be necessary," said becky quietly.

"why not?" asked daphne, surprised.

"because i have already chosen the man who will front for us."

"who've you got in mind, darling? the prince of wales?"

"no. lieutenant-colonel sir danvers hamilton, bt., dso, cbe."

"but 'e's the bleedin' colonel of the regiment," said charlie, dropping
the bottle of champagne on the floor of the hansom cab. "it's
impossible, 'e'd never agree."

"i can assure you he will."

"what makes you so confident?" asked daphne.

"because we have an appointment to see him tomorrow morning at eleven
o'clock."

daphne waved her parasol as a hansom approached them. the driver brought
the cab to a halt and raised his hat. "where to, miss?"

"number 172 harley street," she instructed, before the two women climbed
aboard.

he raised his hat again, and with a gentle flick of his whip headed the
horse off in the direction of hyde park corner.

"have you told charlie yet?" becky asked.

"no, i funked it," admitted daphne.

they sat in silence as the cabbie guided the horse towards marble arch.

"perhaps it won't be necessary to tell him anything."

"let's hope not," said becky.

there followed another prolonged silence until the horse trotted into
oxford street.

uls your doctor an understanding man?"

"he always has been in the past."

"my god, i'm frightened."

"don't worry. 1r will be over soon, then at least you'll know one way or
the other."

the cabbie came to a halt outside number 172 harley street, and the two
women got out. while becky stroked the horse's mane daphne paid the man
sixpence. becky turned when she heard the rap on the brass knocker and
climbed the three steps to join her friend.

a nurse in a starched blue uniform, white cap and collar answered their
call, and asked the two ladies to follow her. they were led down a dark
corridor, lit by a single gaslight, then ushered into an empty waiting
room. copies of punch and taller were displayed in neat rows on a table
in the middle of the room. a variety of comfortable but unrelated chairs
circled the low table. they each took a seat, but neither spoke again
until the nurse had left the room.

"i " began daphne.

"if " said becky simultaneously.

they both laughed, a forced sound that echoed in the high-ceilin~ed
room.

"no, you first," said becky.

"l just wanted to know how the colonel's shaping up."

"took his briefing like a man," said becky. "we're off to our first
official meeting tomorrow. child and company in fleet street. i've told
him to treat the whole exercise like a dress rehearsal, as i'm saving
the one i think we have a real chance with for later in the week."

"and charlie?"

"all a bit much for him. he can't stop thinking of the colonel as his
commanding officer."

"it would have been the same for you, if charlie had suggested that the
man teaching you accountancy should drop in and check the weekly takings
at 147."

"i'm avoiding that particular gentleman at the moment," said becky. "i'm
only just putting in enough academic work to avoid being reprimanded;
lately my commendeds have become passes, while my passes are just not
good enough. if i don't manage to get a degree at dhe end of all this
there will be only one person to blame."

"you'll be one of the few women who's a bachelor of arts. perhaps you
should demand they change the degree to sa."

"sa?"

"spinster of arts."

they laughed at what they both knew to be a hoary chestnut, as they
continued to avoid the real reason they were in that waiting room.
suddenly the door swung open and they looked up to see that the nurse
had resumed.

"the doctor will see you now."

"may i come as well?"

"yes, i'm sure that will be all right."

both women rose and followed the nurse farther down the same corridor
until they reached a white door with a small brass plate almost worn
away with rubbing which read "fergus gould, md." a gende knock from the
nurse elicited a "yes" and daphne and becky entered the room together.

"good morning, good morning," said the doctor cheerfully in a soft
scottish burr, shaking hands with dhe two of them in turn. "won't you
please be seated? the tests have been completed and i have excellent
news for you." he resumed to the seat behind his desk and opened a file
in front of him. they both smiled, the taller of the two relaxing for
the first time in days.

"i'm happy to say that you are physically in perfect health, but as this
is your first child" he watched both women turn white "you will have to
behave rather more cautiously over the coming months. but as long as you
do, i can see no reason why this birth should have any complications.
may i be the first to congratulate you?"

"oh god, no," she said, nearly fainting. "i thought you said the news
was excellent."

"why, yes," replied dr. gould. "i assumed you would be delighted."

her friend interjected. "you see, doctor, there's a problem. she's not
married."

"oh yes, i do see," said the doctor, his voice immediately changing
tone. "i'm so sorry, i had no idea. perhaps if you had told me at our
first meeting "

"no, i'm entirely to blame, dr. gould. i had simply hoped "

"no, it is i who am to blame. how extremely tactless of me." dr. gould
paused thoughtfully. "although it remains illegal in this country, i am
assured that there are excellent doctors in sweden who "

"that is not possible," said the pregnant woman. "you see, it's against
everything my parents would have considered 'acceptable behavior."'

"good moming, hadlow," said the colonel, as he marched into the bank,
handing the manager his topcoat, hat and cane.

"good moming, sir danvers," replied the manager, passing the hat, coat
and cane on to an assistant. "may i say how honored we are that you
thought our humble establishment worthy of your consideration."

becky couldn't help reflecting that it was not quite the same greeting
she had received when visiting another bank of similar standing only a
few weeks before.

"would you be kind enough to come through to my office?" the manager
continued, putting his arm out as if he were guiding wayward traffic.

"certainly, but first may i introduce mr. trumper and miss. salmon, both
of whom are my associates in this venture."

"delighted, i'm sure," the manager said as he pushed his glasses back up
his nose before shaking hands with charlie and becky in turn.

becky noticed that charlie was unusually silent and kept pulling at his
collar, which looked as though it might be half an inch too tight for
comfort. however, after spending a morning in savile row the previous
week being measured from head to foot for a new suit, he had refused to
wait a moment longer when daphne suggested he should be measured for a
shirt, so in the end daphne was left to guess his neck size.

"coffee?" inquired the manager, once they had all settled in his office.

"no, thank you,' said the colonel.

becky would have liked a cup of coffee but realized that the manager had
assumed sir danvers had spoken for all three of them. she bit her lip.

"now, how can i be of assistance, sir danvers?" the manager nervously
touched the knot of his tie.

"my associates and i currently own a property in chelsea terrace number
147 which although a small venture at present is nevertheless
progressing satisfactorily." the manager's smile remained in place. "we
purchased the premises some eighteen months ago at a cost of one hundred
pounds and that investment has shown a profit this year of a little over
fortythree pounds."

"very satisfactory," said the manager. "of course, i have read your
letter and the accounts you so kindly had sent over by messenger."

charlie was tempted to tell him who the messenger had been.

"however, we feel the time has come to expand," continued the colonel.
"and in order to do so we will require a bank that can show a little
more initiative than the establishment with which we're presently
dealing as well as one that has its eye on the future. our current
bankers, i sometimes feel, are still living in the nineteenth century.
frankly, they are little more than holders of deposits, while what we
are looking for is the service of a real bank."

"i understand."

"it's been worrying me " said the colonel, suddenly breaking off and
fixing his monocle to his left eye.

"worrying you?" mr. hadlow sat forward anxiously in his chair.

"your tie."

"my tie?" the manager once again fingered the knot nervously.

"yes, your tie. don't tell me the buffs?"

ayou are correct, sir danvers."

"saw some action, did you, hadlow?"

"well, not exactly, sir danvers. my sight, you understand." mr. hadlow
began fiddling with his glasses.

"bad luck, old chap," said the colonel, his monocle dropping back down.
"well, to continue. my colleagues and i are of a mind to expand, but i
feel it would only be the honorable thing to let you know that we have
an appointment with a rival establishment on thursday aftemoon."

thursday aftemoon," repeated the manager, after dipping his quill pen
once more into the inkwell on the front of his desk and adding this to
the other pieces of information he had already recorded.

"but i had rather hoped it would not have gone unnoticed," continued the
colonel, "that we chose to come and see you first."

"i'm most flattered," said mr. hadlow. "and what terms were you hoping
this bank might offer, sir danvers, that your own could not?"

the colonel paused for a moment and becky glanced towards him alarmed,
as she couldn't remember if she had briefed him on terms. neither of
them had expected to have reached quite this far at the first meeting.

the colonel cleared his throat. "we would naturally expect competitive
terms, if we are to move our business to your bank, being aware of the
long-term implications."

this answer seemed to impress hadlow. he looked down at the figures in
front of him and pronounced: "well, i see you are requesting a loan of
two hundred and fifty pounds for the purchase of 131 and 135 chelsea
terrace, which, bearing in mind the state of your account, would require
an overdraft facility" he paused, appearing to be making a calculation
"of at least one hundred and seventy pounds."

"correct, hadlow. i see you have mastered our present predicament
admirably."

the manager allowed himself a smile. "given the circumstances, sir
danvers, i feel we could indeed advance such a loan, if a charge of four
percent interest per annum would be acceptable to you and your
colleagues."

again the colonel hesitated, until he caught becky's half smile.

"our present bankers provide us with a facility of three and a half
percent," said the colonel. "as i'm sure you know."

"but they are taking no risk " pointed out mr. hadlow. "as well as
refusing to allow you to be overdrawn more than fifty pounds. however,"
he added before the colonel could reply, "i feel in this particular case
we might also offer three and a half percent. how does that sound to
youth the colonel did not comment until he had observed the expression
on becky's face. her smile had widened to a grin.

"i think i speak for my colleagues, hadlow, when i say we find your
proposition acceptable, most acceptable."

becky and charlie nodded their agreement.

"then i shall begin to process all the paperwork. it may take a few
days, of course."

of course," said the colonel. "and i can tell you, hadlow, that we look
forward to a long and profitable association with your bank."

the manager somehow rose and bowed all in one movement, an action becky
felt even sir henry irving would have found difficult to accomplish.

mr. hadlow then proceeded to escort the colonel and his young associates
to the front hall.

"old chubby duckworth still with this outfit?" inquired the colonel.

"lord duckworth is indeed our chairman," murmured mr. hadlow,
reverentially.

"good man served with him in south africa. royal rifles. i shall, with
your permission, mention our meeting to him, when i next see chubby at
the club."

"that would be most kind of you, sir danvers."

when they reached the door the manager dispensed with his assistant and
helped the colonel on with his topcoat himself, then handed him his hat
and cane before bidding farewell to his new customers. udo feel free to
call me at any time," were his final words as he bowed once again. he
stood there until the three of them were out of sight.

once they were back on the street the colonel marched quickly round the
corner, coming to a halt behind the nearest tree. becky and charlie ran
after him, not quite sure what he was up to.

"are you feeling all right, sir?" charlie asked, as soon as he had
caught up.

ui'm fine, trumper n replied the colonel. just fine. but i can tell you,
i would rather face a bunch of marauding afghan natives than go through
that again. still, how did i do?"

"you were magnificent," said becky. ''i swear, if you had taken off your
shoes and told hadlow to polish them, he would have removed his
handkerchief and started rubbing little circles immediately."

the colonel smiled. "oh, good. thought it went all right, did you?"

"perfect," said becky. "you couldn't have done better. i shall go round
to john d. wood this afternoon and put down the deposit on both shops."

"thank god for your briefing, miss. salmon," said the colonel, standing
his full height. "you know what? you would have made a damned fine staff
of ficer."

becky smiled. "i take that as a great compliment, colonel."

"don't you agree, trumper? some partner you've found yourself," he
added.

uyes, sir," said charlie as the colonel began to stride off down the
road swinging his umbrella. "but may i ask you something that's been
worrying me?"

"of course, trumper, fire away."

ulf you're a friend of the chaimman of the bank," said charlie, matching
him stride for stride, "why didn't we go direct to him in the first
place?"

the colonel came to a sudden halt. "my dear trumper," he explained, "you
don't visit the chairman of the bank when you require a loan of only two
hundred and fifty pounds. nevertheless, let it be said that i have every
confidence that it will not be long before we shall need to seek him
out. however, at this very moment other needs are more pressing."

"other needs?" said charlie.

"yes, trumper. i require a whisky, don't you know?" said the colonel,
eyeing a sign flapping above a pub on the opposite side of the road.
"and while we're at it, let's make it a double."

* * *

"how far gone are you?" asked charlie, when the following day becky came
round to tell him the news.

uabout four months." she avoided looking him directly in the eye.

"why didn't you tell me earlier?" he sounded a little hurt as he turned
the open sign to closed, and marched up the stairs.

ul hoped i wouldn't need to," said becky as she followed him into the
flat.

"you've written to tell trentham, of course?"

"no. i keep meaning to, but i haven't got round to it yet." she began to
tidy up the room rather than face him.

ukeep meaning to?" said charlie. uyou should have told the bastard weeks
ago. he's the first person who ought to know. after all, he's the one
who's responsible for the bleedin' mess, if you'll excuse the
expression."

"it's not that easy, charlie."

"why not, for heaven's sake?"

"lt would mean the end of his career, and guy lives for the regiment.
he's like your colonel: it would be unfair to ask him to give up being a
soldier at the age of tweny-three."

uhe's nothing like the colonel," said charlie. "in any case, he's still
young enough to settle down and do a day's work like the rest of us."

uhe's married to the army, charlie, not to me. why ruin both our lives?"

ubut he should still be told what has happened and at least be given the
choice."

"he wouldn't be left with any choice, charlie, surely you see that? he'd
sail home on the next boat and marry me. he's an honorable man."

uan honorable man, is he?" said charlie. "well, if he's so honorable you
can afford to promise me one thing."

uwhat's that?"

"you'll write to him tonight and tell him the truth." becky hesitated
for some time before saying, "all right i will."

"tonight?"

"yes, tonight."

"and you should also let his parents know while you're at it."

"no, i can't be expected to do that, charlie," she said, facing him for
the first time.

"so what's the reason this time? some fear that their careers might be
ruined?"

"no, but if i did his father would insist that guy return home and marry
me."

"and what's so wrong with that?"

"his mother would then claim that i had tricked her son into the whole
thing, or worse "

"worse?"

" that it wasn't even his child."

"and who'd believe her?"

"all those who wanted to."

"but that isn't fair," said charlie.

"life isn't, to quote my father. i had to grow up some time, charlie.
for you it was the western front."

"so what are we going to do now?"

"we?" said becky.

"yes, we. we're still partners, you know. or had you forgotten?"

"to start with i'll have to find somewhere else to live; it wouldn't be
fair to daphne "

"what a friend she's turned out to be," said charlie.

"to both of us," said becky as charlie stood up, thrust his hands in his
pockets, and began to march around the little room. it reminded becky of
when they had been at school together.

"i don't suppose ..." said charlie. it was his turn to be unable to look
her in the face.

"suppose? suppose what?"

"i don't suppose ..." he began again.

"yes?"

"you'd consider marrying me?"

there was a long silence before a shocked becky felt able to reply. she
eventually said, "but what about daphne?"

"daphne? you surely never believed we had that sort of relationship?
it's true she's been giving me night class es but not the type you
think. in any case, there's only ever been one man in daphne's life, and
it's certainly not charlie trumper for the simple reason she's known all
along that there's only been one woman in mine."

"but "

"and i've loved you for such a long time, becky."

"oh, my god," said becky, placing her head in her hands.

"i'm sorry," said charlie. "i thought you knew. daphne told me women
always know these things."

"i had no idea, charlie. i've been so blind as well as stupid."

"i haven't looked at another woman since the day i came back from
edinburgh. i suppose i just 'oped you might love me a little," he said.

"i'll always love you a little, charlie, but i'm afraid it's guy i'm in
love with."

"lucky brighter. and to think i saw you first. your father once chased
me out of 'is shop, you know, when he 'card me calling you 'posh porky'
behind your back." becky smiled. "you see, i've always been able to grab
everything i really wanted in life, so 'ow did i let you get away?"

becky was unable to look up at him.

"he's an officer, of course, and i'm not. that would explain it."
charlie had stopped pacing round the room and came to halt in front of
her.

"you're a general, charlie."

"it's not the same, though, is it?"

97 chelsea terrace london sw3 may 20th, 1920

my darling guy this is the hardest letter i have ever had to write in my
life. in fact, i'm not sure where to begin. just over three months have
passed since you left for india, and something has happened that i felt
you would want to know about at once. i have just been to see daphne's
doctor in harley street and becky stopped, checked carefully over the
few sentences she had written, groaned, crumpled up the notepaper and
dropped it in the wastepaper basket that rested at her feet. she stood
up, stretched and started to pace around the room in the hope that she
might be able to dream up some new excuse for not continuin with her
task. it was already twelve-thirty so she could now go to bed, claiming
that she had been too weary to carry on only becky knew that she
wouldn't be able to sleep until the letter had been completed. she
returned to her desk and tried to settle herself again before
reconsidering the opening line. she picked up, her pen.

97 chelsea terrace london sw3 may 20th, 1920

my dear guy, i fear that this letter may come as something of a
surprise, especially after all the irrelevant gossip that i was able to
share with you only a month ago. i have been postponing writing anything
of consequence to you in the hope that my fears would prove unfounded.
unhappily that has not proved to be the case, and circumstances have now
overtaken me.

after spending the most wonderful time with you the night before you
left for india, i then missed my period the following month, but did not
trouble you with the problem immediately in the hope that oh no, thought
becky, and tore up her latest effort before once again dropping the
scraps of paper into the wastepaper basket. she traipsed off to the
kitchen to make herself a pot of tea. after her second cup, she
reluctantly returned to her writing desk and settled herself again.

97 chelsea terrace, london sw3 may 20th, 1920

dear guy,

i do hope everything is going well for you in india, and that they are
not working you too hard, i miss you more than i can express, but what
with exams looming and charlie seeing himself as the next mr. silfridge,
these first three months since you left have just shot by. in fact i
feel sure you'll be fascinated to learn that your old commanding
officer, lieutenant-colonel sir darwin hamilton, has become "and by the
way i'm pregnant," said becky out loud, and tore up her third attempt.
she replaced the top on her pen, deciding the time had come to take a
walk round the square. she picked up her coat from its hook in the hall,
ran down the stairs and let herself out. she strolled aimlessly up and
down the deserted road seemingly unaware of the hour. she was pleased to
find that "sold" signs now appeared in the windows of numbers 131 and
135. she stopped outside the old antiques shop for a moment, cupped her
hands round her eyes and peered in through the window. to her horror she
discovered that mr. rutherford had removed absolutely everything, even
the gas fittings and the mantelpiece that she had assumed were fixed to
the wall. that'll teach me to study an offer document more carefully
next time, she thought. she continued to stare at the empty space as a
mouse scurried across the floorboards. "perhaps we should open a pet
shop," she said aloud.

"beg pardon, miss."

becky swung round to find a policeman rattling the doorknob of 133, to
be certain the premises were locked.

"oh, good evening, constable," said becky sheepishly, feeling guilty
without any reason.

"it's nearly two in the morning, miss. you just said 'good evening."'

"oh, is it?" said becky, looking at her watch. "oh, yes, so it is. how
silly of me. you see i live at 97." feeling some explanation was
necessary she added, "i couldn't sleep, so i decided to take a walk."

"better join the force then. they'll be happy to keep you walking all
night."

becky laughed. "no, thank you, constable. i think i'll just go back to
my flat and try and get some sleep. good night."

"good night, miss," said the policeman, touching his helmet in a half
salute before checking that the empty antiques shop was also safely
locked up.

becky fumed and walked determinedly back down chelsea terrace, opened
the front door of 97, climbed the staircase to the flat, took ok her
coat and resumed immediately to the little writing desk. she paused only
for a moment before picking up her pen and starting to write.

for once the words flowed easily because she now knew exactly what
needed to be said.

97 chelsea terrace london sw3 may 20, 1920

dear guy:

i have tried to think of 2 hundred different ways of letting you know
what has happened to me since you left for india, and finally came to
the conclusion that only the simple truth makes any sense.

i am now some fourteen weeks pregnant with your child, the idea of which
fills me with great happiness but i confess more than a little
apprehension. happiness because you are the only man i have ever loved,
and apprehension because of the implications such a piece of news might
have on you future with the regiment.

i must tell you from the outset that i have no desire to harm that
career in any way by forcing you into marriage. a commitment honoured
only out of some feeling of guilt, which then caused you to spend the
rest of your life participating in a sham after what happened between us
on one occasion, must surely be unacceptable to either of us.

for my part. i make no secret of my total devotion to you, but if it is
not reciprocated, i can never be a party to sacrificing such a promising
career on the altar of hypocrisy.

but, my darling, be left in no doubt of my complete love for you and my
abiding interest in your future and well-being, even to he point of
denying your involvement in this affair, should that be the course you
with me to follow.

guy, i will always adore you, and be assured of my utmost loyalty
whatever decision you should come to.

with all my love, becky she was unable to control her tears as she read
her words through a second time. as she folded the notepaper the bedroom
door swung open and a sleepy daphne appeared in front of her.

"you all right, darling?"

"yes. just felt a little queasy," explained becky. "i decided that i
needed a breath of fresh air." she deftly slipped the letter into an
unmarked envelope.

"now i'm up," said daphne, "would you care for a cup of tea?"

"no, thank you. i've already had two cups."

"well, i think i will " daphne disappeared into the kitchen. becky
immediately picked up her pen again and wrote on the envelope:

captain guy trenthorn, m.c. 2nd battalion royal fusiliers, wellington
barracks pouna, india she had left the flat, posted the letter in the
pillar box on the corner of chelsea terrace and returned to number 97
even before the kettle had boiled.

although charlie received the occasional letter from sal in canada to
tell him of the arrival of his latest nephew or niece, and the odd
infrequent call from grace whenever she could get away from her hospital
duties, a visit from kitty was rare indeed. but when she came to the
flat it was always with the same purpose.

"i only need a couple of quid, charlie, just to see me through,"
explained kitty as she lowered herself into the one comfortable chair
only moments after she had entered the room.

charlie stared at his sister. although she was only eighteen months
older than he she already looked like a woman well into her thirties.
under the baggy shapeless cardigan there was no longer any sign of the
figure that had attracted every wandering eye in the east end, and
without makeup her face was already beginning to look splotchy and
lined.

"it was only a pound last time," charlie reminded her. "and that wasn't
so long ago. "

"but my man's left me since then, charlie. i'm on my own again, without
even a roof over my head. come on, do us a favor."

he continued to stare at her, thankful that becky was not yet back from
her afternoon lecture, although he suspected kitty only came when she
could be sure the till was full and becky was safely out of the way.

"i won't be a moment," he said after a long period of silence. he
slipped out of the room and headed off downstairs to the shop. once he
was sure the assistants weren't looking, he removed two pounds ten
shillings from the till. he walked resignedly back upstairs to the net.

kitty was already waiting by the door. charlie handed over the four
notes. she almost snatched the money before tucking the notes in her
glove and leaving without another word.

charlie followed her down the stairs and watched her remove a peach from
the top of a neat pyramid in the corner of the shop before taking a
bite, stepping out onto the pavement and hurrying off down the road.

charlie would have to take responsibility for checking the till that
night; no one must find out the exact amount he had given her.

"you'll end up having to buy this bench, charlie trumper," said becky as
she lowered herself down beside him.

"not until i own every shop in the block, my lovely," he said, turning
to look at her. "and how about you? when's the baby due?"

"about another five weeks, the doctor thinks. "

"got the flat all ready for the new arrival, have you?"

"yes, shanks to daphne letting me stay on."

"i miss her," said charlie.

"so do 1, although i've never seen her happier since percy was
discharged from the scots guards."

"bet it won't be long before they're engaged."

"let's hope not," said becky, looking across the road.

three trumper signs, all in gold on blue, shone back at her. the fruit
and vegetable shop continued to make an excellent return and bob makins
seemed to have grown in stature since returning from his spell of
national service. the butchers had lost a tilde custom after mr.
kendrick retired, but had picked up again since charlie had employed
mike parker to take his place.

"let's hope he's a better butcher than a dancer," becky had remarked
when charlie told her the news of sergeant parker's appointment.

as for the grocer's, charlie's new pride and joy, it had flourished from
the first day, although as far as his staff could tell, their master
seemed to be in all three shops at once.

"stroke of genius," said charlie, "turning chat old antiques shop into a
grocer's."

"so now you consider yourself to be a grocer, do you?"

"certainly not. i'm a plain fruit and vegetable man, and always will
be."

"i wonder if that's what you'll tell the girls when you own the whole
block."

"that could take some time yet. so how's the balance sheet shaping up
for the new shops?"

20t as the crow flies "they're both in the books to show a loss during
their first year."

"but they could still make a profit, certainly break even." charlie's
voice rose in protest. "and the grocer's shop is set to "

"not so loud. i want mr. hadlow and his colleagues at the bank to
discover that we've done far better than we originally predicted."

"you're an evil woman, rebecca salmon, that's no mistake."

"you won't be saying that, charlie trumper, when you need me to go
begging for your next loan."

"if you're so clever, then explain to me why i can't get hold of the
bookshop," said charlie, pointing across the road at number 141, where a
single light was the only proof the building was still inhabited. "the
place hasn't seen a customer in weeks from what i can tell, and even
when they do it's only because someone had gone in to find directions
back to brompton road."

"i've no idea," said becky, laughing. "i've already had a long chat with
mr. sneddles about buying the premises, but he just wasn't interested.
you see, since his wife died, running the shop has become the only
reason for him to carry on."

"but carry on doing what?" asked charlie. "dusting old books and
stacking up ancient manuscripts?"

"he's happy just to sit around and read william blake and his beloved
war poets. as long as he sells a couple of books every month he's quite
content to keep the shop open. not everyone wants to be a millionaire,
you know as daphne never stops reminding me.

"possibly. so why not offer mr. sneddles one hundred and fifty guineas
for the freehold, then charge him a rent of say ten guineas a year? that
way it'll automatically fall into our hands the moment he dies."

"you're a hard man to please, charlie trumper, but if that's what you
want, i'll give it a try."

"that is what i want, rebecca salmon, so get on with it."

"i'll do my best, although it may have slipped your notice that i'm
about to have a baby while also trying to sit a bachelor's degree."

"that combination doesn't sound quite right to me. however, i still may
need you to pull off another coup."

"another coup?"

"fothergill's."

"the comer shop."

"no less," said charlie. "and you know how i feel about comer shops,
miss. salmon."

"l certainly do, mr. trumper. i am also aware that you know nothing
about the fine art business, let alone being an auctioneer."

"not a lot, i admit," said charlie. "but after a couple of visits to
bond street where i watched how they earn a living at sotheby's,
followed by a short walk down the road to st. james's to study their
only real rivals, christie's, i came to the conclusion that we might
eventually be able to put that art degree of yours to some use."

becky raised her eyebrows. "i can't wait to learn what you have planned
for the rest of my life."

"once you've finished that degree of yours," continued charlie, ignoring
the comment, "i want you to apply for a job at sotheby's or christie's,
i don't mind which, where you can spend three to five years reaming
everything they're up to. the moment you consider that you're good and
ready to leave, you could then poach anyone you felt was worth employing
and return to run number 1 chelsea terrace and open up a genuine rival
to those two establishments."

"i'm still listening, charlie trumper."

"you see, rebecca salmon, you've got your father's business acumen. i
hope you like that word. combine that with the one thing you've always
loved and also have a natural talent for, how can you fail?"

"thank you for the compliment, but may 1, while we're on the subject,
ask where mr. fothergill fits into your master plan?"

"he doesn't."

"what do you mean?"

"he's been losing money hand over fist for the past three years," said
charlie. "at the moment the value of the property and sale of his best
stock would just about cover his losses, but that state of affairs can't
last too much longer. so now you know what's expected of you, n "i
certainly do, mr. trumper."

when september had come and gone, even becky began to accept that guy
had no intention of responding to her letter.

as late as august daphne reported to them that she had bumped into mrs.
trentham at goodwood. guy's mother had claimed that her son was not only
reveling in his duties in india but had every reason to expect an
imminent announcement concerning his promotion to major. daphne found
herself only just able to keep her promise and remain silent about
becky's condition.

as the day of the birth drew nearer, charlie made sure that becky didn't
waste any time shopping for food and even detailed one of the girls at
number 147 to help her keep the flat clean, so much so that becky began
to accuse them both of pampering her.

by the ninth month becky didn't even bother to check the morning post,
as daphne's long-held view of captain trentham began to gain more
credibility. becky was surprised to find how quickly he faded from her
memory, despite the fact that it was his child she was about to give
birth to.

becky also felt embarrassed that most people assumed charlie was the
father, and it wasn't helped by the fact that whenever he was asked, he
refused to deny it.

meanwhile, charlie had his eye on a couple of shops whose owners he felt
might soon be willing to sell, but daphne wouldn't hear of any further
business transactions until after the child had been born.

"1 don't want becky involved in any of your dubious business enterprises
before she's had the child and completed her degree. do i make myself
clear?"

"yes, ma'am," said charlie, clicking his heels. he didn't mention that
only the week before becky had herself closed the deal with mr. sneddles
so that the bookshop would be theirs once the old man died. there was
only one clause in the agreement that charlie remained concerned about,
because he wasn't quite sure how he would get rid of that number of
books.

"miss. becky has just phoned," whispered bob into the boss's ear one
afternoon when charlie was serving in the shop. "says could you go round
immediately. thinks the baby's about to arrive."

"but it's not due for another two weeks," said charlie as he pulled off
his apron.

"i'm sure i don't know about that, mr. trumper, but all she said was to
hurry."

"has she sent for the midwife?" charlie asked deserting a half-laden
customer before grabbing his coat.

"i've no idea, sir."

"right, take charge of the shop, because i may not be back again today."
charlie left the smiling queue of customers and ran down the road to 97,
flew up the stairs, pushed open the door and marched straight on into
becky's bedroom.

he sat down beside her on the bed and held her hand for some time before
either of them spoke.

"have you sent for the midwife?" he eventually asked.

ushe certainly has," said a voice from behind them, as a vast woman
entered the room. she wore an old brown raincoat that was too small for
her and carried a black leather bag. from the heaving of her breasts she
had obviously had a struggle climbing the stairs. "i'm mrs. westlake,
attached to st. stephen's hospital," she declared. "i do hope i've got
here in time." becky nodded as the midwife turned her attention to
charlie. "now you go away and boil me some water, and quickly." her
voice sounded as if she wasn't in the habit of being questioned. without
another word charlie jumped off the end of the bed and left the room.

mrs. westlake placed her large gladstone bag on the floor and started by
taking becky's pulse.

"how long between the spasms?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"down to twenty minutes," becky replied.

"excellent. then we don't have much longer to wait. n charlie appeared
at the door canying a bowl of hot water. "anything else i can do?"

"yes, there certainly is. i need every clean towel you can lay your
hands on, and i wouldn't mind a cup of tea."

charlie ran back out of the room.

"husbands are always a nuisance on these occasions," mrs. westlake
declared. "one must simply keep them on the move."

becky was about to explain to her about charlie when another contraction
gripped her.

"breathe deeply and slowly, my dear," encouraged mrs. westlake in a
gentler voice, as charlie came back with three towels and a kettle of
hot water.

without fuming to see who it was, mrs. westlake continued. "leave the
towels on the sideboard, pour the water in the largest bowl you've got,
then put the kettle back on so that i've always got more hot water
whenever i call for it."

charlie disappeared again without a word.

"i wish i could get him to do that," gasped becky admiringly.

"oh, don't worry, my dear. i can't do a thing with my own husband and
we've got seven children."

a couple of minutes later charlie pushed open the door with a foot and
carried another bowl of steaming water over to the bedside.

"on the side table," said mrs. westlake, pointing. "and try not to
forget my tea. after that i shall still need more towels," she added.

becky let out a loud groan.

"hold my hand and keep breathing deeply," said the midwife.

charlie soon reappeared with another kettle of water, and was
immediately instructed to empty the bowl before refilling it with the
new supply. after he had completed the task, mrs. westlake said, "you
can wait outside until i call for you."

charlie left the room, gently pulling the door closed behind him.

he seemed to be making countless cups of tea, and carrying endless
kettles of water, backwards and forwards, always arriving with the wrong
one at the wrong time until finally he was shut out of the bedroom and
left to pace up and down the kitchen fearing the worst. then he heard
the plaintive little cry.

becky watched from her bed as the midwife held up her child by one leg
and nave it a gentle smack on the bottom. "i always enjoy that," said
mrs. westlake. "feels good to know you've brought something new into the
world." she wrapped up the child in a tea towel and handed the bundle
back to its mother.

"it's ?"

"a boy, i'm afraid," said the midwife. "so the world is unlikely to be
advanced by one jot or little. you'll have to produce a daughter next
time," she said, smiling broadly. "if he's still up to it, of course."
she pointed a thumb towards the closed door.

"but he's " becky tried again.

"useless, i know. like ati men." mrs. westlake opened the bedroom door
in search of charlie. "it's all over, mr. salmon. you can stop skulking
around and come and have a look at your son."

charlie came in so quickly that he nearly knocked the midwife over. he
stood at the end of the bed and stared down at the tiny figure in
becky's arms.

"he's an ugly little fellow, isn't he?" said charlie.

"well, we know who to blame for that," said the midwife. "let's just
hope this one doesn't end up with a broken nose. in any case, as i've
already explained to your wife, what you need next is a daughter. by the
way, what are you going to call this one?"

"daniel george," said becky without hesitation. "after my father," she
explained, looking up at charlie.

"and mine," said charlie, as he walked to the head of the bed and placed
an arm round becky.

"well, i have to go now, mrs. salmon. but i shall be back first thing in
the moming."

"no, it's mrs. trumper actually," said becky quietly. "salmon was my
maiden name."

"oh," said the midwife, looking flustered for the first time. "they seem
to have got the names muddled up on my call sheet. oh, well, see you
tomorrow, mrs. trumper," she said as she closed the door.

"mrs. trumper?" said charlie.

"it's taken me an awful long time to come to my senses, wouldn't you
say, mr. trumper?"

chip tee me,=

when i opened the letter, i confess i didn't immediately recall who
becky salmon was. but then i remembered that there had been an extremely
bright, rather plump pupil by that name at st. paul's, who always seemed
to have an endless supply of cream cakes. if i remember, the only thing
i gave her in return was an art book that had been a christmas present
from an aunt in cumberland.

in fact, by the time i had reached the upper sixth, the precocious
little brighter was already in the lower sixth, despite there being a
good two years' difference in our ages.

having read her letter a second time, i couldn't imagine why the girl
should want to see me, and concluded that the only way i was likely to
find out was to invite her round to tea at my little place in chelsea.

when i first saw becky again i hardly recognized her. not only had she
lost a couple of stone, but she would have made an ideal model for one
of those pepsodent advertisements that one saw displayed on the front of
every tram you know, a fresh-faced girl showing off a gleaming set of
perfect teeth. i had to admit i was quite envious.

becky explained to me that all she needed was a room in london while she
was up at the university. i was only too happy to oblige. after all, the
mater had made it clear on several occasions how much she disapproved of
my being in the flat on my own, and that she couldn't for the life of
her fathom what was wrong with 26 lowndes square, our family's london
residence. i couldn't wait to tell ma, and pa for that maker, the news
that i had, as they so often requested, found myself an appropriate
companion.

hbut who is this girl?" inquired my mother, when i went down to harcourt
hall for the weekend. "anyone we know?"

"don't think so, ma,~ i replied. han old school chum from st. paul's.
rather the academic type."

hbluestockin', you mean?" my father chipped in.

"yes, you've got the idea, pa. she's attending someplace called bedford
college to read the history of the renaissance, or something like that."

ndidn't know girls could get degrees," my father said. hmust all be part
of that damned little welshman's ideas for a new britain."

"you must stop describing lloyd george in that way," my mother
reprimanded him. hhe is, after all, our prime minister."

"he may be yours, my dear, but he's certainly not mine. i blame it all
on those suffragettes," my father added, producing one of his habitual
non sequiturs.

hmy dear, you blame most things on the suffragettes," my mother reminded
him, "even last year's harvest. however," she continued, hcoming back to
this girl, she sounds to me as if she could have a very beneficial
influence on you, daphne. where did you say her parents come from?"

"i didn't," i replied. hbut i think her father was a businessman out
east somewhere, and i'm going to take tea with her mother sometime next
week."

hsingapore possibly?h said pa. hthere's a lot of business gain' on out
there, rubber and all that sort of thing. h hno, i don't think he was in
rubber, pa. h hwell, whatever, do bring the girl round for tea one
afternoon,h ma insisted. hor even down here for the weekend. does she
hunt?h hno, i don't think so, ma, but i'll certainly invite her to tea
in the near future, so that you can both inspect herd i must confess
that i was equally amused by the idea of being asked along to tea with
becky's mother, so that she could be sure that i was the right sort of
girl for her daughter. after all, i was fairly confident that i wasn't.
i had never been east of the aldwych before, as far as i could
recollect, so l found the idea of going to essex even more exciting than
traveling abroad.

luckily the journey to romford was without incident, mainly because
hoskins, my father's chauffeur, knew the road well. it turned out he had
originated from somewhere called dagenham, which he informed me was even
deeper inside the essex jungle.

i had no notion until that day that such people existed. they were
neither servants nor from the professional classes nor members of the
gentry, and i can't pretend that i exactly fell in love with romford.
however, mrs. salmon and her sister miss. roach couldn't have been more
hospitable. becky's mother turned out to be a practical, sensible,
god-fearing woman who could also produce an excellent spread for tea, so
it was not an altogether wasted journey.

becky moved into my flat the following week, and i was horrified when i
discovered how hard the girl worked. she seemed to spend all day at that
bedford place, returning home only to nibble a sandwich, sip glass of
milk and then continue her studies until she fell asleep, long after i
had gone to bed. i could never quite work out what it was all in aid of.

it was after her foolish visit to john d. wood that i first learned
about charlie trumper and his ambitions. all that fuss, simply because
she had sold off his barrow without consulting him. i felt it nothing
less than my duty to point out that two of my ancestors had been
beheaded for trying to steal counties, and one sent to the tower of
london for high treason; well at least, i reflected, i had a kinsman who
had spent his final days in the vicinity of the east end.

as always, becky knew she was right. hbut it's only a hundred pounds,"
she kept repeating.

nwhich you don't possess."

hl've got forty and i feel confident it's such a good investment that i
ought to be able to raise the other sixty without much trouble. after
all, charlie could sell blocks of ice to the eskimos."

"and how are you planning to run the shop in his absence?h i asked.
hbetween lectures perhaps?h hoh, don't be so frivolous, daphne. charlie
will manage the shop just as soon as he gets back from the war. after
all, it can't be long now. h hthe war has been over for some weeks,h i
reminded her. hand there doesn't seem to be much sign of your charlie. h
hhe's not my charlieh was all she said.

anyway, i kept a close eye on becky during the next thirty days and it
quickly became plain for anyone to see that she wasn't going to raise
the money. however, she was far too proud to admit as much to me. i
therefore decided the time had come to pay another visit to romford.

hthis is an unexpected pleasure, miss. harcourtbrowne,h becky's mother
assured me, when i arrived unannounced at their little house in belle
vue road. i his as the crow feies

should point out, in my own defense, that i would have informed mrs.
salmon of my imminent arrival if she had possessed a telephone. as i
sought certain information that only she could supply before the thirty
days were information that would save not only her daughter's face but
also her finances i was unwilling to put my trust in the postal service.

hbecky isn't in any trouble, i hope?" was mrs. salmon's first reaction
when she saw me standing on the doorstep.

"certainly not," i assured her. "never seen the girl in perkier form."

"it's just that since her father's death i do worry about her," mrs.
salmon explained. she limped just slightly as she guided me into a
drawing room that was as spotless as the day i had first accepted their
kind invitation to tea. a bowl of fruit rested on the table in the
center of the room. i only prayed that mrs. salmon would never drop into
number 97 without giving me at least a year's notice.

"how can i be of assistance?h mrs. salmon asked, moments after miss.
roach had been dispatched to the kitchen to prepare tea.

hi am considering making a small investment in a greengrocer's shop in
chelsea," i told her. "i am assured by john d. wood that it is a sound
proposition, despite the current food shortage and the growing problems
with trade unions that is, as long as i can install a first-class
manager."

mrs. salmon's smile was replaced by a puzzled expression.

"becky has sung the praises of someone called charlie trumper, and the
purpose of my visit is to seek your opinion of the gentleman in
question."

"gentleman he certainly is not," said mrs. salmon without hesitation.
han uneducated ruffian might be nearer the mark."

ale hoh, what a disappointment," i said. "especially as becky led me to
believe that your late husband thought rather highly of him."

"as a fruit and vegetable man he certainly did. in fact i'd go as far as
to say that mr. salmon used to consider that young charlie might end up
being as good as his grandfather."

"and how good was that?"

halthough i didn't mix with those sort of people, you understand,"
explained mrs. salmon, "i was told, second-hand of course, that he was
the finest whitechapel had ever seen."

"good," i said. "but is he also honest?"

"i have never heard otherwise," mrs. salmon admitted. "and heaven knows,
he's willing to work all the hours god gave, but he's hardly your type,
i would have thought, miss. harcourt-browne."

hi was considering employing the man as a shopkeeper, mrs. salmon, not
inviting him to join me in the royal enclosure at ascot." at that moment
miss. roach reappeared with a tray of tea jam tarts and eclairs
smothered in cream. they turned out to be so delicious that i stayed far
longer than i had planned.

the following morning i paid a visit to john d. wood and handed over a
check for the remaining ninety pounds. i then visited my solicitor and
had a contract drawn up, which when it was completed i didn't begin to
understand.

once becky had found out what i had been up to i drove a hard bargain,
because i knew the girl would resent my interference if i wasn't able to
prove that i was getting something worthwhile out of the deal.

as soon as she had been convinced of that, becky immediately handed over
a further thirty pounds to help reduce the debt. she certainly took her
new enterprise most seriously, because within weeks she had stolen a
young man from a shop in kensington to take over trumper's until charlie
returned. she also continued to work hours i didn't even know existed. i
could never get her to explain to me the point of rising before the sun
did.

after becky had settled into her new routine i even invited her to make
up a foursome for the opera one night to see la boheme. in the past she
had shown no inclination to attend any of my outings, especially with
her new responsibilities with the shop. but on this occasion i pleaded
with her to join the group because a chum of mine had canceled at the
last minute and i desperately needed a spare girl.

"but i've nothing to wear," she said helplessly.

"take your pick of anything of mine you fancy," i told her, and ushered
her through to my bedroom.

i could see that she found such an offer almost irresistible. an hour
later she reemerged in a long turquoise dress that brought back memories
of what it had originally looked like on the model.

"who are your other guests?h becky inquired.

"algernon fitzpatrick. he's percy wiltshire's best friend. you remember,
the man who hasn't yet been told i'm going to marry him."

"and who makes up the party?"

hguy trentham. he's a captain in the royal fusiliers, an acceptable
regiment, just," i added. "he's recently returned from the western front
where it's said he had a rather good war. mc and all that. we come from
the same village in berkshire, and grew up together, although i confess
we don't really have a lot in common. very good-looking, but has the
reputation as a bit of a ladies' man, so beware."

la boheme, i felt, had been a great success, even if guy couldn't stop
leering at becky throughout the second act not that she seemed to show
the slightest interest in him.

however, to my surprise, as soon as we got back to the flat becky
couldn't stop talking about the man  his looks, his sophistication, his
charm although i couldn't help noting that she didn't once refer to his
character. eventually i managed to get to bed, but not before i had
assured becky to her satisfaction that her feelings were undoubtedly
reciprocated.

in fact, i became, unwittingly, cupid's messenger for the budding
romance. the following day i was asked by guy to invite miss. salmon to
accompany him to a west end play. becky accepted, of course, but then i
had already assured guy she would.

after their outing to the haymarket, i seemed to bump into the two of
them all the time, and began to fear that if the relationship became any
more serious it could only, as my nanny used to say, end in tears. i
began to regret having ever introduced them in the first place, although
there was no doubt, to quote the modern expression: she was head over
heels in love.

despite this, a few weeks' equilibrium returned to the residents of 97
and then charlie was demobbed.

i wasn't formally introduced to the man for some time after his return,
and when i was i had to admit they didn't make them like that in
berkshire. the occasion was a dinner we all shared at that awful little
italian restaurant just up the road from my flat.

to be fair, the evening was not what one might describe as a wow, partly
because guy made no effort to be sociable, but mainly because becky
didn't bother to bring charlie into the conversation at all. i found
myself asking and then answering most of the questions, and, as for
charlie, he appeared on first sighting to be somewhat gauche.

when we were all walking back to the flat after dinner, i suggested to
him that we should leave becky and guy to be themselves. when charlie
escorted me into his shop he couldn't resist stopping to explain how he
had changed everything around since he had taken over. his enthusiasm
would have convinced the most cynical investor, but what impressed me
most was his knowledge of a business which until that moment i hadn't
given a second thought to. it was then that i made the decision to
assist charlie with both his causes.

i wasn't in the least surprised to discover how he felt about becky, but
she was so infatuated with guy that she wasn't even aware of charlie's
existence. it was during one of his interminable monologues on the
virtues of the girl that i began to form a plan for charlie's future. i
was determined that he must have a different type of education, perhaps
not as formal as becky's, but no less valuable for the future he had
decided on.

i assured charlie that guy would soon become bored with becky as that
had proved to be the invariable pattern with girls who had crossed his
path in the past. i added that he must be patient and the apple would
eventually fall into his lap. i also explained who newton was.

i assumed that those tears to which nanny had so often referred might
indeed begin to flow soon after becky was invited to spend the weekend
with guy's parents at ashurst. i made sure that i was asked to join the
trenthams for afternoon tea on the sunday, to give whatever moral
support becky might feel in need of.

i arrived a little after three-forty, which i have always considered a
proper hour for taking tea, only to find mrs. trentham surrounded by
silverware and crockery but sitting quite alone.

"where are the starstruck lovers?" i inquired, as i entered the drawing
room.

hlf you're referring, in that coarse way of yours, daphne, to my son and
miss. salmon, they have already departed for london. h "together, i
presume?" i asked.

hyes, although for the life of me i can't imagine what the dear boy sees
in her." mrs. trentham poured me a cup of tea. has for myself, i found
her exceedingly common."

"perhaps it could be her brains and looks," i volunteered as the major
entered the room. i smiled at a man i had known since i was a child and
had come to treat as an uncle. the one mystery about him as far as i was
concerned was how he could possibly have fallen for someone like ethel
hardcastle.

"guy left too?" he asked.

"yes, he's returned to london with miss. salmon," said mrs. trentham for
a second time.

"oh, pity really. she seemed such a grand girl."

"in a parochial type of way," said mrs. trentham.

hi get the impression guy rather dotes on her," i said, hoping for a
reaction.

hheaven forbid,h said mrs. trentham.

hi doubt if heaven will have a lot to do with jt,h i told her, as i
warmed to the challenge.

hthen / shall,h said mrs. trentham. hi have no intention of letting my
son marry the daughter of an east end street trader. h hi can't see why
not," interjected the major. "after all, isn't that what your
grandfather was?h hgerald, really. my grandfather founded and built up a
highly successful business in yorkshire, not the east end. h hthen i
think that it's only the location we are discussing," said the major. hi
well recall your father tellin' me, with some pride i might add, that
his old dad had started hardcastle's in the back of a shed somewhere
near huddersfield. h hgerald i feel sure he was exaggerating."

hnever struck me as the type of man who was prone to exaggerate,h
retorted the major. hon the contrary, rather blunt sort of fellow.
shrewd with it, i always considered."

hthen that must have been a considerable time ago," said mrs. trentham.

"what's more, i suspect that we shall live to see the children of
rebecca salmon doing a bloody sight better than the likes of us," added
the major.

gerald, i do wish you wouldn't use the word 'bloody' so frequently.
we're all being influenced by that socialist playwright mr. shaw and his
frightful pygmalion, which seems to be nothing more than a play about
miss. salmon."

"hardly," i told her. "after all, becky will leave london university
with a bachelor of arts degree, which is more than my whole family has
managed between them in eleven centuries."

what may well be the case,h mrs. trentham concurred, abut they are
hardly the qualifications that i feel appropriate for advancing guy's
military career, especially now his regiment will be completing a tour
of duty in india. h this piece of information came as a bolt out of the
blue. i also felt pretty certain becky knew nothing of it.

hand when he returns to these shores,h continued mrs. trentham, hi shall
be looking for someone of good breeding, sufficient money and perhaps
even a little intelligence to be his matrimonial partner. gerald may
have failed, by petty prejudice, to become colonel of the regiment, but
i will not allow the same thing to happen to guy, of that i can assure
you. h "i simply wasn't good enough,h said the major gruffly. "sir
danvers was far better qualified for the job, and in any case it was
only you who ever wanted me to be colonel in the first place."

"nevertheless, i feel after guy's results at sandhurst ~

"he managed to pass out in the top half,h the major reminded her. hthat
can hardly be described as carrying off the sword of honor, my dear. h
"but he was awarded the military cross on the field of battle and his
citation_ a the major grunted in a manner that suggested that he had
been trotted round this particular course several times before.

"and so you see," mrs. trentham continued, "i have every confidence that
guy will in time become colonel of the regiment and i don't mind telling
you that i already have someone in mind who will assist him in that
quest. after all, wives can make or break a career, don't you know,
daphne."

"at least on that i am able to concur fully, my dear,h murmured her
husband.

i traveled back to london somewhat relieved that, after such an
encounter, becky's relationship with guy must surely come to an end.
certainly the more i had seen of the damned man the more i distrusted
him.

when i returned to the flat later that evening, i found becky sitting on
the sofa, red-eyed and trembling.

"she hates me," were her first words.

hshe doesn't yet appreciate you," was how i remembered phrasing my
reply. "but i can tell you that the major thinks you're a grand girl."

"how kind of him," said becky. "he showed me round the estate, you know.
h hmy dear, one does not describe seven hundred acres as an estate. a
freeholding, perhaps, but certainly not an estate."

hdo you think guy will stop seeing me after what took place at ashurst?"

i wanted to say i hope so but managed to curb my tongue. hnot if the man
has any character,h i replied diplomatical iy.

and indeed guy did see her the following week, and as far as i could
determine never raised the subject of his mother or that unfortunate
weekend again.

however, i still considered my long-term plan for charlie and becky was
proceeding rather well, until i returned home after a long weekend to
find one of my favorite dresses strewn across the drawing room floor. i
followed a trail of clothes until i reached becky's door, which i opened
tentatively to find, to my horror, even more of my garments lying by the
side of her bed, along with guy's. i had rather hoped becky would have
seen him for the bounder he was long before she had allowed it to reach
the terminal stage.

guy started out on his journey to india the following day, and as soon
as he had taken his leave becky began telling everyone who cared to
listen that she was engaged to the creature, although there was no ring
on her finger and no announcement in any paper to confirm her version of
the story. hguy's word is good enough for me," she asserted, which left
one simply speechless.

i arrived home that night to find her asleep in my bed. becky explained
over breakfast that charlie had put her there, without further
explanation.

the following sunday afternoon i invited myself back to tea with the
trenthams, only to learn from guy's mother that she had been assured by
her son that he had not been in contact with miss. salmon since her
premature departure from ashurst more than six months before.

"but that isn't " i began, but stopped in midsentence when i recalled my
promise to becky not to inform guy's mother that they were still seeing
each other.

a few weeks later becky told me that she had missed her period. i swore
that i would keep her secret but did not hesitate to inform charlie the
same day. when he heard the news he nearly went berserk. what made
matters worse was that he had to go on pretending whenever he saw the
girl that he wasn't aware of anything untoward.

h; swear if that bastard trentham were back in england i'd kill him,"
charlie kept repeating, as he went on one of his route marches round the
drawing room.

hlf he were in england i can think of at least three girls whose fathers
would happily carry out the job for you," i retorted.

hso what am i meant to do about it?" charlie asked me at last.

hnot a lot," i advised. hi suspect time and eight thousand miles may
well turn out to be your greatest allies."

the colonel also fell into the category of those who would have happily
shot guy trentham, given half a chance, in his case because of the honor
of the regiment and all that. he even murmured something sinister about
going to see major trentham and giving it to him straight. i could have
told him that the major wasn't the problem. however, i wasn't sure if
the colonel, even with his vast experience of different types of enemy,
had ever come up against anyone as formidable as mrs. trentham.

it must have been around this time that percy wiltshire was finally
discharged from the scots guards. lately i had stopped worrying about
his mother telephoning me. during those dreadful years between 1916 and
1919 1 always assumed it would be a message to say that percy had been
killed on the western front, as his father and elder brother had been
before him. it was to be years before i admitted to the dowager
marchioness whenever she called how much i dreaded hearing her voice on
the other end of the line.

then quite suddenly percy asked me to marry him. i fear from that moment
on i became so preoccupied with our future together and being expected
to visit so many of his family that i quite neglected my duty to becky,
even though i had allowed her to take over the flat.

then, almost before i could look round, she had given birth to little
daniel. i only prayed that she could face the inevitable stigma.

it was some months after the christening that i decided to pay a
surprise visit to the flat on my way back from a weekend in the country
with percy's mother.

when the front door opened i was greeted by charlie, a newspaper tucked
under his arm, while becky, who was sitting on the sofa, appeared to be
darning a sock. i looked down to watch daniel crawling towards me at a
rate of knots. i took the child in my arms before he had the chance to
head off down the stairs and out into the world.

hhow lovely to see you," becky said, jumping up. "it's been ages. let me
make you some tea."

"thank you," i said, "i only came round to make sure you are free on "
my eyes settled on a little oil that hung above the mantelpiece.

hwhat a truly beautiful picture," i remarked.

hbut you must have seen the painting many times before," becky said.
hafter all, it was in charlie's "

hno, i've never seen it before,h i replied, not sure what she was
getting at.

he day the gold-edged card arrived at lowndes square daphne placed the
invitation between the one requesting her presence in the royal
enclosure at ascot and the command to attend a garden party at buckin
eham palace. however she considered that this particular invitation
could well remain on the mantelpiece for all to gaze upon long after
ascot and the palace had been relegated to the wastepaper basket.

although daphne had spent a week in paris selecting three outfits for
the three different occasions, the most striking of them was to be saved
for becky's degree ceremony, which she now described to percy as "the
great event."

her fiance though she hadn't yet become quite used to thinking of percy
in that way also admitted that he had never been asked to such a
ceremony before.

brigadier harcourt-browne suggested that his daughter should have
hoskins drive them to the senate house in the rolls, and admitted to
being a little envious at not having been invited himself.

when the morning finally dawned, percy accompanied daphne to lunch at
the ritz, and once they had been over the guest list and the hymns that
would be sung at the service for the umpteenth time, they turned their
attention to the details of the afternoon outing.

"i do hope we won't be asked any awkward questions," said daphne.
"because one thing's for certain, i will not know the answers."

"oh i'm sure we won't be put to any trouble like that, ok gel," said
percy. "not that i've ever attended one of these shindigs before. we
wiltshires aren't exactly known for troubling the authorities on these
matters," he added, laughing, which so often came out sounding like a
cough.

"you must get out of that habit, percy. if you are going to laugh,
laugh. if you're going to cough, cough."

"anything you say, old gel."

"and do stop calling me 'old gel.' i'm only twentythree, and my parents
endowed me with a perfectly acceptable christian name."

"anything you say, old gel," repeated percy.

"you haven't been listening to a word i've said." daphne checked her
watch. "and now i do believe it's time we were on our way. better not be
late for this "

one.

"quite right," he replied, and called a waiter to bring them their bill.

"do you have any idea where we are going, hoskins?" asked daphne, as he
opened the back door of the rolls for her.

"yes, m'lady, i took the liberty of going over the route when you and
his lordship were up in scotland last month."

"good thinking, hoskins," said percy. "otherwise we might have been
going round in circles for the rest of the aftemoon, don't you know."

as hoskins fumed on the engine daphne looked at the man she loved and
couldn't help thinking how lucky she had been in her choice. in truth
she had chosen him at the age of sixteen, and never faltered in her
belief that he was the right partner even if he wasn't aware of the
fact. she had always thought percy quite wonderful, kind, considerate
and gentle and, if not exactly handsome, certainly distinguished. she
thanked god each night that he had escaped that fearful war with every
limb intact. once percy had told her he was going off to france to serve
with the scots guards, daphne had spent three of the unhappiest years of
her life. from that moment on she assumed every letter, every message,
every call could only be to infomm her of his death. other men tried to
court her in his absence, but they all failed as daphne waited, not
unlike penelope, for her chosen partner to retum. she would only accept
that he was still alive when she saw him striding down the gangplank at
dover. daphne would always treasure his first words the moment he saw
her.

"fancy seeing you here, old gel. dashed coincidence, don't you know."

percy never talked of the example his father had set, though the times
had devoted half a page to the late marquess' obituary. in it they
described his action on the mame in the course of which he had
singlehandedly overrun a german battery as "one of the great vcs of the
war." when a month later percy's elder brother was killed at ypres it
came home to her just how many families were sharing the same dreadful
experience. now percy had inherited the title: the twelfth marquess of
wiltshire. from tenth to twelfth in a matter of weeks.

"are you sure we're going in the right direction?" asked daphne as the
rolls entered shaftesbury avenue.

"yes, m'lady," replied hoskins, who had obviously decided to address her
by the title even though she and percy were not yet married.

"he's only helping you to get accustomed to the idea, old gel," percy
suggested before coughing again.

daphne had been delighted when percy told her that he had decided to
resign his commission with the scots guards in order to take over the
running of the family estates. much as she admired him in that dark blue
uniform with its four brass buttons evenly spaced stirrupped boots and
funny red, white and blue checked cap, it was a fammer she wanted to
marry, not a soldier. a life spent in india, africa and the colonies had
never really appealed to her.

as they fumed into malet street, they saw a throng of people making
their way up some stone steps to enter a monumental building. "that must
be the senate house," she exclaimed, as if she had come across an
undiscovered pyramid.

"yes, m'lady," replied hoskins.

"and do remember, percy " began daphne.

"yes, old gel?"

" not to speak unless you're spoken to. on this occasion we are not
exactly on home ground, and i object to either of us being made to look
foolish. now, did you remember the invitation and the special tickets
that show our seat allocation?"

"i know i put them somewhere." he began to search around in his pockets.

"they're in the left-hand inside top pocket of your jacket, your
lordship," said hoskins as he brought the car to a halt.

"yes, of course they are," said percy. "thank you, hoskins."

"a pleasure, my lord," hoskins intoned.

"just follow the crowd," instructed daphne. "and look as if you do this
sort of thing every week."

they passed several uniformed doorkeepers and ushers before a clerk
checked their tickets, then guided them to row m.

"i've never been seated this far back in a theater before," said daphne.

"i've only tried to be this far away in a theater once myself," admitted
percy. "and that was when the germans were on center stage." he coughed
again.

the two remained sitting in silence as they stared in front of them,
waiting for something to happen. the stage was bare but for fourteen
chairs, two of which, placed at its center, might almost have been
described as thrones.

at two fifty-five ten men and two women, all of whom were dressed in
what looked to daphne like long black dressing gowns with purple scarves
hanging from their necks, proceeded across the stage in a gentle
crocodile before taking their allocated places. only the two thrones
remained unoccupied. on the stroke of three daphne's attention was drawn
to the minstrels' gallery, where a fanfare of trumpets struck up to
announce the arrival of the visitors, and all those present rose as the
king and queen entered to take their places in the center of the senate.
everyone except the royal couple remained standing until after the
national anthem had been played.

"bertie looks very well, considering," said percy, resuming his seat.

"do be quiet," said daphne. "no one else knows him."

an elderly man in a long black gown, the only person who remained
standing, waited for everyone to settle before he took a pace forward,
bowed to the royal couple and then proceeded to address the audience.

after the vice-chancellor, sir russell russell-wells, had been speaking
for some considerable time percy inquired of his fiancee, "how is a
fellow expected to follow all this riffle when he gave up latin as an
option in his fourth half7"

"i only survived a year of the subject myself."

"then you won't be much help either, old gel," admitted percy in a
whisper.

someone seated in the row in front turned round to glare at them
ferociously.

throughout the remainder of the ceremony daphne and percy tried to
remain silent, although daphne did find it necessary from time to time
to place a firm hand on percy's knee as he continued to shift
uncomfortably from side to side on the flat wooden chair.

"it's all right for the king," whispered percy. "he's got a damned great
cushion to sit on."

at last the moment came for which they had both been bidden.

the vice-chancellor, who continued to call out a list of names from the
roll of honor had at last come to the ts. he then declared, "bachelor of
arts, mrs. charles trumper of bedford college." the applause almost
doubled, as it had done so every time a woman had walked up the steps to
receive her degree from the visitor. becky curtsied before the king as
he placed what the program described as a "hood of purple" over her gown
and handed her a parchment scroll. she curtsied again and took two paces
backwards before resuming to her seat.

"couldn't have done it better myself," said percy as he joined in the
applause. "and no prizes for guessing who tutored her through that
little performance," he added. daphne blushed as they remained in their
places for some time to allow all the us vs. ws and ys to receive their
degrees, before being allowed to escape into the garden for tea.

"can't see them anywhere," said percy, as he turned a slow circle in the
middle of the lawn.

"nor 1," said daphne. "but keep looking. they're bound to be here
somewhere."

"good afternoon, miss. harcourt-browne."

daphne spun round. "oh, hello, mrs. salmon, how super to see you. and
what a simply chamming hat; and dear miss. roach. percy, this is becky's
mother, mrs. salmon, and her aunt, miss. roach. my fiance "

"delighted to meet you, your lordship," said mrs. salmon, wondering if
anyone from the ladies' circle at romford would believe her when she
told them.

"you must be so proud of your daughter," said percy "yes, i am, your
lordship," said mrs. salmon.

miss. roach stood like a statue and didn't offer an opinion.

"and where is our little scholar," demanded daphne.

"i'm here," said becky. "but where have you been?" she asked, emerging
from a group of new graduates.

"looking for you."

the two girls threw their arms around each other.

"have you seen my mother?"

"she was with us a moment ago," said daphne, looking around.

"she's gone to find some sandwiches, i think," said miss. roach.

"typical of mum," said becky, laughing.

"hello, percy," said charlie. "how are things?"

"things are spiffing," said percy, coughing. "and well done, becky, i
say," he added as mrs. salmon resumed carrying a large plate of
sandwiches.

"if becky has inherited her mother's common sense, mrs. salmon," said
daphne as she selected a cucumber sandwich for percy, "she ought to do
well in the real world, because i suspect there won't be many of these
left in fifteen minutes' time." she picked out one of the smoked salmon
variety for herself. "were you very nervous when you marched up onto
that stage?"

daphne asked, fuming her attention back to becky.

"i certainly was," replied becky. "and when the king placed the hood
over my head, my legs almost gave way. then, to make matters worse, the
moment i resumed to my place i discovered charlie was crying."

"i was not," protested her husband.

becky said nothing more as she linked her arm through his.

"i've rather taken to that purple hood thing," said percy. "i think i'd
look quite a swell were i to sport one of those at next year's hunt
ball. what do you think, old gel?"

"you're expected to do rather a lot of hard work before you're allowed
to adorn yourself with one of those, percv."

they all fumed to see who it was who had offered this opinion.

percy lowered his head. "your majesty is, as always, quite correct. i
might add, sir, that i fear, given my present record, i am unlikely ever
to be considered for such a distinction."

the king smiled, then added, "in fact i'm bound to say, percy, that you
seem to have strayed somewhat from your usual habitat."

"a friend of daphne's," explained percy.

"daphne, my dear, how lovely to see you," said the king. "and i haven't
yet had the opportunity to congratulate you on your engagement."

"i received a kind note from the queen only yesterday, your majesty. we
are honored that you are both able to attend the wedding."

"yes, simply delighted," said percy. "and may i present mrs. trumper,
who was the recipient of the degree?" becky shook hands with the king
for a second time. "her husband, mr. charles trumper, and mrs. trumper's
mother, mrs. salmon; her aunt, miss. roach."

the king shook hands with all four before saying, "well done, mrs.
trumper. i do hope you're going to put your degree to some useful
purpose."

"i shall be joining the staff of sotheby's, your majesty. as an
apprentice in their fine art department."

"capital. then i can only wish you continued success, mrs. trumper. i
look forward to seeing you at the wedding if not before, percy." with a
nod the king moved on to another group.

"decent fellow," said percy. "good of him to come over like that."

"i had no idea you knew " began becky.

"well," explained percy, "to be honest, my
greatgreat-great-great-grandfather tried to murder his
greatgreat-great-great-grandfather, and had he succeeded our roles might
well have been reversed. despite that he's always been jolly
understanding about the whole affair."

"so what happened to your great-great-great-greatgrandfather?" asked
charlie.

"exiled," said percy. "and i'm bound to add, quite rightly. otherwise
the brighter would only have tried again. "

"good heavens," said becky, laughing.

"what is it?" said charlie.

"i've just worked out who percy's great-great-greatgreat-grandfather
was.

daphne didn't get a chance to see becky again before the marriage
ceremony, as the last few weeks of preparation for her wedding seemed to
be totally occupied. however, she did manage to keep abreast of the
goings-on in chelsea terrace, after bumping into the colonel and his
wife at lady denham's reception in onslow square. the colonel was able
to inform her, sotto voce, that charlie was beginning to run up a rather
large overdraft with the bank "even if he had cleared every other
outstanding creditor." daphne smiled when she recalled chat her last
payment had been resumed in typical charlie fashion several months
before it was due. "and i've just learned that the man has his eye on
yet another shop," added the colonel.

"which one this time?"

"the bakery number 145."

"becky's father's old trade," said daphne. "are they confident of
getting their hands on it?"

"yes, i chink so although i fear charlie's going to have to pay a little
over dhe odds dhis time."

"why's that?"

"the baker is right next door to the fruit and vegetable shop, and mr.
reynolds is only too aware just how much charlie wants to buy him out.
however charlie has tempted mr. reynolds with an offer to remain as
manager, plus a share of the profits."

"hmmm. how long do you think that little arrangement will last?"

"just as long as it takes for charlie to master the bakery trade once
again."

"and how about becky?"

"she's landed a job at sotheby's. as a counter clerk."

"a counter clerk?" said daphne on a rising note. "what was dhe point of
taking all that trouble to get a degree if she ends up as a counter
clerk?"

"apparently everybody starts off that way at sotheby's, whatever
qualifications they bring to the job. becky explained it all to me,"
replied the colonel. "it seems that you can be the son of the chairman,
have worked in a major west end art gallery for several years, possess a
degree or even have no qualifications at all, but you still start on the
front desk. once dhey discover you're any good you get promoted into a
specialist department. not unlike the army, actually."

"so which department does becky have her eye on?"

"seems she wants to join some old fellow called pemberton who's the
acknowledged expert on renaissance paintings."

"my bet," said daphne, "is that she'll last on the front desk for about
a couple of weeks."

"charlie doesn't share your low opinion of her," said the colonel.

"oh, so how long does he rive her?"

the colonel smiled. "ten days at the most."

when the morning mail arrived at lowndes square, wentworth, the louder,
would place the letters on a silver tray and take them to the brigadier
in his study, where his master would remove those addressed to himself
before handing the tray back to the butler. he, in rum, would deliver
the remaining letters to the ladies of the house.

however, since the announcement of his daughter's engagement in the
times and the subsequent sending out of over five hundred invitations
for the forthcoming wedding, the brigadier had become bored with the
sorting-out process and instructed wentworth to reverse his route, so
that he would be handed only those letters addressed to him.

thus it was on a monday morning in june 1921 that wentworth knocked on
miss. daphne's bedroom door, entered when bidden and handed her a large
bundle of mail. once daphne had extracted the letters addressed to her
mother and herself, she returned the few that remained to wentworth, who
bowed slightly and proceeded on his anti-clockwise route.

as soon as wentworth had closed the door behind him daphne climbed out
of bed, placed the stack of letters on her dressing-table and wandered
into the bathroom. a little after ten-thirty, feeling ready for the
rigors of the day, she returned to her dressing-table and began slitting
open the letters. acceptances and regrets had to be placed in separate
piles before they could be ticked or crossed off on a master list; her
mother would then be able to calculate the exact numbers to cater for
and proceed to work on a seating plan. the breakdown of the thirtyone
letters that particular morning produced twentytwo yeses, including a
princess, a viscount, two other lords, an ambassador and dear colonel
and lady hamilton. there were also four nos. comprising two couples who
would be abroad, an elderly uncle who was suffering from advanced
diabetes and another whose daughter had been foolish enough to select
the same day as daphne on which to be married. having ticked and crossed
their names off the master list, daphne turned her attention to the five
remaining letters.

one turned out to be from her eighty-seven-yearold aunt agatha, who
resided in cumberland and had some time previously stated that she would
not be attending the wedding as she felt the journey to london might
prove too much of a strain. however, aunt agatha went on to suggest that
perhaps daphne should bring percy up north to visit her just as soon as
they returned from their honeymoon, as she wished to make his
acquaintance.

"certainly not," said daphne out loud. "once i am back in england i
shall have far more important things to worry myself with than aging
aunts." she then read the p.s.:

and while you are in cumberland, my darling, it will be a good
opportunity for you to advise me on my will, because i'm not sure which
of the pictures to give to whom, especially the laueletts, which i do
feel deserves a good home.

wicked old lady, thought daphne, well aware that aunt agatha wrote an
identical p.s. to every one of her relations, however distant, thus
guaranteeing that she rarely spent a weekend alone.

the second letter was from michael fishlock and company, the catering
specialists, who enclosed an estimam for supplying tea to five hundred
guests in vincent square immediately preceding the wedding. three
hundred guineas seemed an outrageous sum to daphne, but without a second
thought she placed the estimate on one side, to be dealt with by her
father at some later date. two other letters addressed to her mother
that were from friends and no concern of daphne's were also placed on
one side.

the fifth letter she saved until last, because the envelope was enriched
by the most colorful stamps, the king's crown set in an oval on the
right-hand corner above the words "ten annas."

she slit the envelope open slowly and extracted several sheets of heavy
notepaper, the first of which was embossed with the crest and legend of
the royal fusiliers.

"dear daphne," the letter began. she hurriedly turned to the last page
in order to check the signature, which lead, "your fnend, as always,
guy."

returning to the first page, she glanced at the address before beginning
to read guy's words with apprehension.

officers' mess 2nd battalion royal fusiliers wellington barracks 15 may
1921

dear daphne, i hope you will forgive me for presuming on our long family
friendship, but a problem has arisen of which i am sure you are only too
aware, and unfortunately i now find that i must turn to you for help and
guidance.

some time ago, i received a letter from your friend rebecca salmon
daphne placed the unread pages back on her dressing-table, wishing that
the letter had arrived a few days after she had set out on her honeymoon
rather than before. she fiddled around with the guest list for some
time, but realized she would eventually have to find our what guy
expected of her. she returned to his letter.

informing me that she was pregnant and that i was the father of her
child.

let me assure you from the outset that nothing could be further from the
truth, as on the only occasion i remained ovenight in your flat, rebecca
and i had no physical contact.

as a matter of record, it was she who insisted we had diner together at
97 chelsea terrace that evening, despite the fact that i had already
booked a table for us at the ritz.

as the evening progressed, it became obvious that she was trying to get
me drunk, and indeed when i thought to leave, i confess i did feel a
little queasy, and wasn't certain that i would be able to make the
journey safely back to my barracks.

rebecca immediately suggested that i remain overnight in order to "sleep
it off". i use her exact words. naturally i refused, until she pointed
out that i could stay in your room as you were not expected to return
from the country until the following afternoon--a fact which you late
confirmed.

indeed, i took up rebecca's kind offer, and on retiring to bed, quickly
fell into a deep sleep only to be awoken later by the banging of a door.

to my horror i awoke to find you standing there in front of me. i was
even more shocked to discover that rebecca, quite unbeknown to me, had
crept into bed beside me.

you were naturally embarrassed and left immediately, without uttering
another word. i rose, dressed and returned to my barracks, arriving back
in my own room by one-fifteen, at the latest.

on arriving at waterloo station later in the morning to begin my journey
to india i was, as you can imagine, somewhat surprised to find rebecca
waiting for me on the platform. i spend only a few moments with her but
left her in no doubt as to how i felt about the trick she had played on
me the previous evening. i then shook her by the hand and boarded the
boat train for southampton, never for one moment expecting to hear from
her again. the next contact i had with miss. salmon came a few months
later when i received this unwarranted scurrilous letter, which brings
me to the reason why i now need your assistance.

daphne turned the page and stopped to look at herself in the mirror. she
had no desire to find out what guy expected of her. he had even
forgotten in whose room he had been discovered. yet it was only seconds
before her eyes returned to the top of the next page and she began
reading ~gain.

no further action would have proved necessary had it not been for the
fact that lieutenant-colonel sir danvers hamilton took it upon himself
to drop a note to my new commanding officer, colonel forbes, informaing
him of miss. salmon's version of the story, which resulted in my being
called upon to defend myself in front of a special enquiry made up of my
brother officers.

naturally, i told them exactly what had taken place that night, but
because of colonel hamilton's continuing influence with the regiment,
some of them remained unwilling to accept my version of events.
fortunately my mother was able to write to colonel forbes a few weeks
later to let him know that miss. salmon had married her long-time lover,
charlie trumper, and that he was not denying that the child that had
been born out of wedlock was his. if the colonel had not accepted my
mother's work, i might have been forced to resign my commission
immediatley, but fotunately that unjustice has been avoided.

however, since then my mother has informed me of your intention to visit
india while you are on your honeymoon (my sincere congratulations). you
are therefore almost certain to come across colonel forbes who, i fear,
may well refer to this matter, as your name has already been mentioned
in connection with the affair.

i therefore beg you to say nothing that might harm my career. in fact,
if you felt able to confirm my story, the whole sorry business might
finally be laid to rest.

your friend, as always, guy daphne placed the letter back on the
dressing table, and began to brush her hair as she considered what
should be done next. she did not want to discuss the problem with her
mother or father and certainly had no desire to drag percy into it. she
also felt certain that becky should not be made aware of trentham's
missive until she had thought out exactly what course of action needed
to be taken. she was amazed at how short a memory guy assumed she must
have as he distanced himself from reality.

she put down the hairbrush and looked at herself in the mirror before
resuming to the letter for a second and then a third reading. eventually
she placed the letter back in the envelope and tried to dismiss its
contents from her thoughts; but whatever distraction she fumed her
attention to, guy's words continued to prey on her mind. it particularly
aggravated her that he should imagine she was so gullible.

suddenly daphne realized from whom she should seek advice. she picked up
the telephone, and after asking the operator for a chelsea number, was
delighted to find the colonel was still at home.

"i was just off to my club, daphne," he told her. "but do let me know
how i can be of help."

"i need to talk to you urgency but it's not something i feel i can
discuss over the telephone," she explained.

"i understand," said the colonel, who paused for a moment before adding,
"if you're free why don't you join me for lunch at the in and out? i'll
just change my booking to the ladies' room."

daphne accepted the offer gratefully, and once she had checked her
makeup hoskins drove her to piccadilly, arriving at the naval and
military a few minutes after one.

the colonel was standing in the entrance hall waiting to greet her.
"this is a pleasant surprise," said sir danvers. "it's not every day i'm
seen lunching with a beautiful young woman. it will do my reputation at
the club no end of good. i shall wave at every brigadier and general i
come across."

the fact that daphne didn't laugh at the colonel's little aside brought
about an immediate change in his demeanor. he took his guest gently by
the arm and guided her through to the ladies' luncheon room. once he had
written out their order and handed it to a waitress, daphne removed
guy's letter from her bag and without another word passed it over to her
host.

the colonel fixed the monocle to his good eye and began to read,
occasionally looking up at daphne, only to observe that she hadn't
touched the brown windsor soup that had been placed in front of her.

"rum business this," he said, as he placed the letter in its envelope
and handed it back to daphne.

"i agree, but what do you suggest i do?"

"well, one thing's for certain, my dear, you can't discuss the contents
with charlie or becky. i also don't see how you can avoid letting
trentham know that should the question of who fathered the child be put
to you directly you would feel beholden to tell the truth." he paused
and took a sip of his soup. "l swear i'll never speak to mrs. trentham
again as long as i live," he added without explanation.

daphne was taken aback by this remark; until that moment she had not
been aware that he had ever come across the woman.

"perhaps we should use our combined efforts to come up with a suitable
reply, my dear?" the colonel suggested after some further thought. he
broke off to allow a waitress to serve up two helpings of the club's
dish of the day.

elf you felt able to help, i would be eternally grateful," said daphne
nervously. "but first i think i ought to tell you everything i know."

the colonel nodded.

"as i'm sure you're only too aware it is i who am to blame for the two
of them meeting in the first place .. ."

by the time daphne had come to the end of her story the colonel's plate
was empty.

"i knew most of that already," he admitted as he touched his lips with a
napkin. "but you still managed to fill in one or two important gaps for
me. i confess i had no idea trentham was that much of a bounder. looking
back on it, i should have insisted on further collaboration before i
agreed to allow his name being put forward for an mc." he rose. "now, if
you'll be good enough to amuse yourself for a few minutes by reading a
magazine in the coffee room, i'll see what i can come up with as a first
draft."

"i'm sorry to be such a nuisance," said daphne.

"don't be silly. i'm flattered that you consider me worthy of your
confidence." the colonel stood up and strode off into the writing room.

he didn't reappear for nearly an hour, by which time daphne was
rereading advertisements for nannies in the she hastily dropped the
magazine back on the table and sat bolt upright in her chair. the
colonel handed over the results of his labors, which daphne studied for
several minutes before speaking.

"god knows what guy would do if i were to write such a letter," she said
at last.

"he'll resign his commission, my dear, it's as simple as that. and none
too soon, in my opinion." the colonel frowned. "it's high time trentham
was made aware of the consequences of his misdeeds, not least because of
the responsibilities he still has to becky and the child."

"but now that she's happily married that's hardly fair to charlie,"
daphne pleaded.

"have you seen daniel lately?" asked the colonel, lowering his voice.

"a few months ago, why?"

"then you'd better take another look, because there aren't many
trumpers, or salmons for that matter, who have blond hair, a roman nose
and deep blue eyes. i fear the more obvious replicas are to be found in
ashurst berkshire. in any case, becky and charlie will eventually have
to tell the child the truth or they'll only store up more trouble for
themselves at some later date. send the letter," he said, tapping his
fingers on the side table, "that's my advice."

once daphne had returned home to lowndes square she went straight up to
her room. she sat down at her writing desk and, pausing only for a
moment, began to copy out the colonel's words.

when she had completed her task daphne reread the one paragraph of the
colonel's deliberations that she had left out and prayed that his gloomy
prognosis would not prove to be accurate.

once she had completed her own version she tore up the colonel's
transcript and rang for wentworth.

"just one letter to be posted" was all she said.

* * *

the preparations for the wedding became so frantic that once daphne had
passed over the letter to wentworth she quite forgot about the problems
of guy trentham. what with selecting the bridesmaids without offending
half her family, enduring endless dress fittings that never ran to time,
studying seating arrangements so as to be certain that those members of
the family who hadn't spoken to each other in years were not placed at
the same table or for that matter in the same pew as each other  and
finally having to cope with a future mother-in-law, the dowager
marchioness, who, having married off three of her own daughters, always
had three opinions to offer on every subject, she felt quite exhausted.

with only a week to go daphne suggested to percy that they should pop
along to the nearest register office and get the whole thing over with
as quickly as possible and preferably without bothering to tell anyone
else.

"anything you say, old gel," said percy, who had long ago stopped
listening to anyone on the subject of marriage.

on 16 july 1921 daphne woke at five forry-three feeling drained, but by
the time she stepped out into the sunshine in lowndes square at one
forty-five she was exhilarated and actually looking forward to the
occasion.

her father helped her up the steps into an open carriage that her
grandmother and mother had traveled in on the day they were married. a
little crowd of servants and well-wishers cheered the bride as she began
her journey lo westminster, while others waved from the pavement.
officers saluted, toffs blew her a kiss and would-be brides sighed as
she passed by.

daphne, on her father's arm, entered the church by the north door a few
minutes after big ben had struck two, then proceeded slowly down the
aisle to the accompaniment of mendelssohn's wedding march.

she paused only for a moment before joining percy, curtsying to the king
and queen, who sat alone in their private pews beside the altar. after
all those months of waiting the service seemed over in moments. as the
organ struck up "rejoice, rejoice" and the married couple were bidden to
an anteroom to sign the register, daphne's only reaction was to want to
go through the entire ceremony again.

although she had secretly practiced the signature several times on her
writing paper back at lowndes square, she still hesitated before she
wrote the words, "daphne wiltshire."

husband and wife left the church to a thunderous peal of bells and
strolled on through the streets of westminster in the bright afternoon
sun. once they had arrived at the large marquee that had been set up on
the lawn in vincent square, they began to welcome their guests.

trying to have a word with every one of them resulted in daphne's almost
failing to sample a piece of her own wedding cake, and no sooner had she
taken a bite than the dowager marchioness swept up to announce that if
they didn't get on with the speeches they might as well dispense with
any hope of sailing on the last tide.

algernon fitzpatrick praised the bridesmaids and toasted the bride and
groom. percy made a surprisingly witty and well-received reply. daphne
was then ushered off to 45 vincent square, the home of a distant uncle,
so that she could change into her going-away outfit.

once again the crowds flocked out onto the pavement to throw rice and
rose petals, while hoskins waited to dispatch the newlyweds off to
southampton.

thirty minutes later hoskins was motoring peacefully down the a30 past
kew gardens, leaving the wedding guests behind them to continue their
celebrations without the bride and groom.

"well, now you're stuck with me for life, percy wiltshire," daphne told
her husband.

"that, i suspect, was ordained by our mothers before we even met," said
percy. "silly, really."

"silly?"

"yes. i could have stopped all their plotting years ago, by simply
telling them that i never wanted to marry anyone else in the first
place."

daphne was giving the honeymoon serious thought for the first time when
hoskins brought the rolls to a halt on the dockside a good two hours
before the mauretania was due even to turn her pistons. widh dhe help of
several porters hoskins unloaded two trunks from the boot of the car
fourteen having been sent down the previous day while daphne and percy
headed towards the gangplank where the ship's purser was awaiting them.

just as the purser stepped forward to greet the marquess and his bride
someone from the crowd shouted: "good luck, your lordship! and i'd like
to say on behalf of the misses and myself that the marchioness looks a
bit of all right."

they bodh fumed and burst out laughing when dhey saw charlie and becky,
still in heir wedding outfits, standing among dhe crowd.

the purser guided the four of hem up dhe gangplank and into the nelson
stateroom, where they found yet anodher bottle of champagne waiting to
be opened.

"how did you manage to get here ahead of us?" asked daphne.

"well," said charlie in a broad cockney accent, "we may not 'ave a
rolls-royce, my lady, but we still managed to overtake 'oskins in our
tilde two-seater just dhe ocher side of winchester, didn't we?"

they all laughed except becky, who couldn't take her eyes off dhe lithe
diamond brooch chat looked exquisite on the lapel of daphne's suit.

three toots on the foghom, and the purser suggested that the trumpers
might care to leave the ship, assuming it was not their intention to
accompany the wiltshires to new york.

"see you in a year or so's time," shouted charlie, as he fumed to wave
at them from the gangplank.

"by then we will have traveled right round the world, old gel," percy
confided to his wife.

daphne waved. "yes, and by the time we get back heaven knows what those
two will have been up to."

i m usually good on faces, and the moment i saw the man weighing those
potatoes i knew at once that i recognized him. then i recalled the sign
above the shop door. of course, trumper, corporal c. no, he ended up a
sergeant, if i remember correctly. and what was his friend called, the
one who got the mm? ah, yes, prescott, private t. explanation of death
not altogether satisfactory. funny the details one's mind considers
worthy of retention.

when i arrived back home for lunch i told the memsahib i'd seen sergeant
trumper again, but she didn't show a great deal of interest until i
handed over the fruit and vegetables. it was then that she asked me
where i'd bought them. "trumper's," i told her. she nodded, making a
note of the name without further explanation.

the following day i duly instructed the regimental secretary to send
trumper two tickets for the annual dinner and dance, then didn't give
the man another ass thought until i spotted the two of them sitting at
the sergeants' table on the night of the ball. i say hthe two of themh
because trumper was accompanied by an extremely attractive girl. yet for
most of the evening he seemed to ignore the lady in favor of someone
whose name i didn't catch, a young woman i might add who had previously
been seated a few places away from me on the top table. when the
adjutant asked elizabeth for a dance i took my chance, i can tell you. i
marched right across the dance floor, aware that half the battalion had
their eyes on me, bowed to the lady in question and asked her for the
honor. her name, i discovered, was miss. salmon, and she danced like an
officer's wife. bright as a button she was too, and gay with it. i just
can't imagine what trumper thought he was up to, and if it had been any
of my business i would have told him so.

after the dance was over i took miss. salmon up to meet elizabeth, who
seemed equally enchanted. later the memsahib told me that she had
learned the girl was engaged to a captain trentham of the regiment, who
was now serving in india. trentham, trentham ... i remembered that there
was a young officer in the battalion by that name won an mc on the marne
but there was something else about him that i couldn't immediately
recall. poor girl, i thought, because i had put elizabeth through the
same sort of ordeal when they posted me to afghanistan in 1882. lost an
eye to those bloody afghans and nearly lost the only woman i've ever
loved at the same time. still, it's bad form to marry before you're a
captain or after you're a major, for that matter.

on the way home, elizabeth warned me that she had invited miss. salmon
and trumper round to gilston road the following morning.

hwhy?" i asked.

hit seems they have a proposition to put to you. h the next day they
arrived at our little house in tregunter road even before the
grandfather clock had finished chiming eleven and i settled them down in
the drawing room before saying to trumper, "so what's all this about,
sergeant?" he made no attempt to reply it was miss. salmon who turned
out to be the spokesman for the two of them. without a wasted word she
set about presenting a most convincing case for my joining their little
enterprise, in a nonexecutive capacity you understand, on a salary of
one hundred pounds per annum. although i didn't consider the proposition
was quite up my street, i was touched by their confidence in me and
promised i would give their proposal a great deal of thought. indeed i
said i would write to them and let them know my decision in the near
future.

elizabeth fully concurred with my judgment but felt the least i could do
was conduct a little field reconnaissance of my own before i decided to
finally turn down the offer.

for the next week i made sure i was somewhere in the vicinity of 147
chelsea terrace every working day. i quite often sat on a bench opposite
the shop, from where without being seen i could watch how they went
about their business. i chose different times of the day to carry out my
observation, for obvious reasons. sometimes i would appear first thing
in the morning, at others during the busiest hour, then again perhaps
later in the afternoon. on one occasion i even watched them close up for
the day, when i quickly discovered that sergeant trumper was no
clock-watcher: number 147 turned out to be the last shop in the row to
close its doors to the public. i don't mind telling you that both
trumper and miss. salmon made a most favorable impression on me. a rare
couple, i told elizabeth after my final visit.

i had been sounded out some weeks before by the curator of the imperial
war museum regarding an invitation to become a member of their council,
but frankly trumper's offer was the only other approach i'd received
since hanging up my spurs the previous year. as the curator had made no
reference to remuneration i assumed there wasn't any, and from the
recent council papers they had sent me to browse through it looked as if
their demands wouldn't exercise my time for more than about an hour a
week.

after considerable soul-searching, a chat with miss. daphne
harcourt-browne and encouraging noises from elizabeth who didn't take to
having me hanging about the house all hours of the day i dropped miss.
salmon a note to let them know i was their man.

the following morning i discovered exactly what i had let myself in for
when the aforementioned lady reappeared in tregunter road to brief me on
my first assignment. jolly good she was too, as thorough as any staff
officer i ever had under my command, i can tell you.

becky she had told me that i should stop calling her hmiss. salmon" now
that we were "partners" said that i should treat our first visit to
child's of fleet street as a hdry run," because the fish she really
wanted to land wasn't being lined up until the following week. that was
when we would "move in for the kill." she kept using expressions i
simply couldn't make head or tail of.

i can tell you that i came out in a muck sweat on the morning of our
meeting with that first bank, and if the truth be known i nearly pulled
out of the front line even before the order had been given to charge.
had it not been for the sight of those two expectant young faces waiting
for me outside the bank i swear i might have withdrawn from the whole
campaign.

well, despite my misgivings, we walked out of the bank less than an hour
later having successfully carried out our first sortie, and i think i
can safely say, in all honesty, that i didn't let the side down. not
that i thought a lot of hadlow, who struck me as an odd sort of cove,
but then the buffs were never what one might describe as a first-class
outfit. more to the point, the damned man had never seen the whites of
their eyes, which in my opinion always sorts a fellow out.

from that moment i kept a close eye on trumper's activities, insisting
on a weekly meeting at the shop so i could keep myself up to date on
what was happening. i even felt able to offer the odd word of advice or
encouragement from time to time. a fellow doesn't like to accept
remuneration unless he feels he's pulling his weight.

to begin with everything seemed to be going swimmingly. then late in
june of 1920 trumper requested a private meeting. i knew he had got his
eyes fixed on another establishment in chelsea terrace and the account
was a bit stretched so i assumed that was what he wanted to discuss with
me.

i agreed to visit trumper at his flat, as he never appeared completely
at ease whenever i invited him round to my club or to tregunter road.
when i arrived that evening i found him in quite a state, and assumed
something must have been troubling him at one of our three
establishments, but he assured me that was not the case.

"well, out with it then, trumper,h i said.

hlt's not that easy, to be honest, sir," he replied, so i remained
silent in the hope that it might help him relax and get whatever it was
off his chest.

hlt's becky, sir," he blurted out eventually.

hfirst-class girl," i assured him.

hyes, sir, i agree. but i'm afraid she's pregnant. h i confess that i
had already learned this news some days before from becky herself, but
as i had given the lady my word not to tell anyone, including charlie, i
feigned surprise. although i realize times have changed, i knew becky
had been strictly brought up and in any case she had never struck me as
that sort of girl, if you know what i mean.

"of course, you'll want to know who the father is," charlie added.

"i had assumed " i began, but charlie immediately shook his head.

hnot me," he said. "i only wish it was. then at least i could marry her
and wouldn't have to bother you with the problem."

"then who is the culprit?h i asked.

he hesitated before saying, "guy trentham, sir."

"captain trentham? but he's in india, if i remember correctly."

"that's right, sir. and i've had the devil's own job persuading becky to
write and let him know what's happened; she says it would only ruin his
career. h "but not telling him could well ruin her whole life," i
suggested testily. just imagine the stigma of being an unmarried mother,
not to mention having to bring up an illegitimate child. "in any case,
trentham's bound to find out eventually, don't you know."

"he may never learn the truth from becky, and i certainly don't have the
sort of influence that would make him do the decent thing."

"are you holding anything else back about trentham that i ought to know
about, trumper?h "no, sir."

trumper replied a little too quickly for me to be totally convinced.

"then you'll have to leave the problem of trentham to me," i told him.
hmeanwhile you get on with running the shops. but be sure to let me know
the moment it's all out in the open so i don't go around looking as if i
haven't a clue what's going on." i rose to leave.

hthe whole world will know before much longer,h charlie said.

i had said "leave the problem to meh without the slightest idea of what
i was going to do about it, but when i had returned home that night i
discussed the whole affair with elizabeth. she advised me to have a chat
with daphne, who she felt confident would know considerably more about
what was going on than charlie did. i suspected she was right.

elizabeth and i duly invited daphne to tea at tregunter road a couple of
days later. she confirmed everything charlie had said and was also able
to fill in one or two missing pieces of the jigsaw.

in daphne's opinion trentham had been becky's first serious romance, and
certainly to her knowledge becky had never slept with any other man
before they had met, and only once with trentham. captain trentham, she
assured us, was unable to boast the same blameless reputation.

the rest of her news did not augur well for a simple solution, as it
turned out that guy's mother could not be relied on to insist that her
son do the decent thing by becky. on the contrary, daphne knew the woman
was already preparing the ground to ensure that no one could possibly
believe that trentham could be in any way responsible.

hbut what about trentham's father?" i asked. hdo you think i should have
a word with him? although we were in the same regiment we were never in
the same battalion, don't you know. h she's the only member of that
family i really care for,h daphne admitted. hhe's the mp for berkshire
west, a liberal. h hthen that has to be my approach route,h i replied.
hi can't abide the man's politics, but that won't stop him from knowing
the difference between right and wrong."

yet another letter sent on club notepaper elicited an immediate reply
from the major, inviting me to drinks at chester square the following
monday.

i arrived punctually at six, and was taken into the drawing room where i
was greeted by a quite charming lady who introduced herself as mrs.
trentham. she was not at all what i expected after daphne's description;
in fact she was a rather handsome woman. she was profuse in her
apologies: it seemed that her husband had been held up at the house of
commons by a running three-line whip, which even i knew meant he was
unable to leave the palace of westminster on pain of death. i made an
instant decision wrongly i realize in retrospect that this matter
couldn't wait a moment longer and i must relay my message to the major
through his wife.

hi find this is all rather embarrassing actually," i began.

"do feel free to speak quite openly, colonel. i can assure you that i am
fully in my husband's confidence. we have no secrets from each other. h
hwell, to be frank with you, mrs. trentham, the matter i wish to touch
on concerns your son guy. h hi see" was all she said.

hand his fiancee, miss. salmon. h "she is not, and never has been, his
fiancee," said mrs. trentham, her voice revealing a sudden edge.

hbut i was given to understand_ h hthat promises were made to miss.
salmon by my son? 1 can assure you, colonel, that nothing could be
further from the truth."

slightly taken aback, i was unable to think of a diplomatic way of
letting the lady know the real purpose behind my wanting to see her
husband. so i simply said, hwhatever promises were or were not made,
madam, i do feel that you and your husband should be aware that miss.
salmon is expecting a child."

hand what has that to do with me?" mrs. trentham stared directly at me
with no fear showing in her eyes.

hsimply that your son is undoubtedly the father."

"we only have her word for that, colonel."

"that, madam, was unworthy of you," i told her. '`1 know miss. salmon to
be a thoroughly decent and honest girl. and in any case, if it were not
your son, who else could it have possibly been?"

"heaven knows," said mrs. trentham. hany number of men, i would have
thought, judging by her reputation. after all, her father was an
immigrant."

"so was the king's father, madam,h i reminded her. "but he still would
have known how to conduct himself had he been faced with the same
predicament."

hltm sure i don't know what you mean, colonel."

hi mean, madam, that your son must either marry miss. salmon or at least
resign from the regiment and make suitable arrangements to see the child
is properly provided for."

hit seems i must make it clear to you once again, colonel, that this sad
state of affairs has nothing whatsoever to do with my son. i can assure
you that guy stopped seeing the girl some months before he sailed for
india."

hi know that is not the case, madam, because "

hdo you, colonel? then i must ask what exactly this whole business has
to do with you in the first place?"

hsimply that miss. salmon and mr. trumper are both colleagues of mine,"
i explained.

hi see," she said. hthen i suspect you will not have to look much
further to discover who is the real father."

"madam, that was also uncalled for. charlie trumper is not "

hi cannot see any purpose in continuing this conversation, colonel,"
mrs. trentham said, rising from her chair. she began to walk towards the
door, not even bothering to glance in my direction. hi must warn you,
colonel, that should i hear this slander repeated in any quarter i shall
not hesitate to instruct solicitors to take the necessary action to
defend my son's good reputation. h although shaken, i followed her into
the hall, determined to see that the matter was not allowed to rest
there. i now felt major trentham was my only hope. as mrs. trentham
opened the front door to show me out i said firmly, "may i presume,
madam, that you will recount this conversation faithfully to your
husband?"

hyou may presume nothing, colonel," were her final words as the front
door was slammed in my face. the last occasion i received such treatment
from a lady had been in rangoon, and i'm bound to say that the girl in
question had considerably more reason to be aggrieved.

when i repeated the conversation to elizabeth as accurately as i could
recall my wife pointed out to me in that clear, concise way of hers that
i had been left with only three choices. the first was to write to
captain trentham directly and demand he do the decent thing, the second
would be to inform his commanding officer of everything i knew.

"and the third?" i asked.

"never to refer to the subject again. h

i considered her words carefully, and chose the middle course, dropping
a note to ralph forbes, a firstclass fellow who had succeeded me as
colonel, acquainting him with the facts as i knew them. i chose my words
most judiciously, aware that if mrs. trentham were to carry out her
threat any legal action she took could only bring the regiment's good
name into disrepute, perhaps even ridicule. however, i did at the same
time decide to keep a fatherly eye on becky, as she now seemed to be
burning the candle at both ends, not to mention in the middle. after
all, the girl was trying to prepare for her exams, as well as act as

an unpaid secretary and accountant to a thriving little business, while
everyone who passed her in the street must have known that it could only
be a matter of weeks before she was due to give birth.

as those weeks passed, it worried me that nothing seemed to be happening
on the trentham front despite the fact that i had received a reply from
forbes assuring me that he had set up a panel of inquiry. certainly when
i inquired further of daphne or charlie neither of them seemed to be any
better informed than i was.

it was in mid-october that year that daniel george was born, and i was
touched that becky invited me to be a godparent, along with bob makins
and daphne. i was even more delighted when i learned from becky that she
and charlie were to be married the following week. it wouldn't stop
wagging tongues, of course, but at least the child would be considered
legitimate in the eyes of the law.

elizabeth and 1, along with daphne, percy, mrs. salmon, miss. roach and
bob makins, attended the simple civil service at chelsea register
office, followed by a boisterous reception in charlie's flat above the
shop.

i began to think that perhaps everything had worked out for the best
until some months later daphne telephoned, asking urgently to see me. i
took her to lunch at the club, where she produced a letter that she had
received from captain trentham that morning. as i read his words i
became painfully aware that mrs. trentham must have learned of my own
letter to forbes warning him of the consequences of a breach-of-promise
suit, and immediately taken matters into her own hands. i felt the time
had come to let her son know that he had not got away with it.

i left my guest to have coffee while i retired to the writing room and
with the help of a stiff brandy began to compose an even stiffer letter,
i can tell you. i felt my final effort covered all the necessary points
in as diplomatic and realistic a way as was possible given the
circumstances. daphne thanked me, and promised she would send the letter
on to trentham verbatim.

i didn't have another conversation with her again until we met at her
wedding a month later, and that was hardly an appropriate time to broach
the subject of captain trentham.

after the service was over i strolled round to vincent square where the
reception was being held. i kept a wary eye out for mrs. trentham who i
assumed had also been invited. i had no desire to hold a second
conversation with that particular lady.

i was, however, delighted to catch up with charlie and becky in the
large marquee that had been erected especially for the occasion. i have
never seen the girl looking more radiant, and charlie could almost have
been described as suave standing there in his morning coat, gray cravat
and topper. the fine half hunter that hung from his waistcoat turned out
to be a wedding gift from becky, left to her by her father, she
explained, although the rest of the outfit, charlie reported, had to be
returned to moss bros. first thing the following morning.

hhas the time not come, charlie," i suggested, hfor you to purchase a
morning coat of your own? after all, there are likely to be considerably
more of these occasions in the future. h "certainly not," he replied.
"that would only be a waste of good money."

"may i inquire why?" i asked. "surely the cost of a "

hbecause it is my intention to purchase a tailor's shop of my own,h he
interjected. hl've had my eye on number 143 for some considerable time,
and i hear from mr. crowther that it might come on the market at any
momenta i couldn't argue with this piece of logic, although his next
question baffled me completely.

"have you ever heard of marshall field, colonel?"

"was he in the regiment?" i asked, racking my brain.

"no, he was not,h replied charlie with a grin. "marshall field is a
department store in chicago, where you can purchase anything you could
ever want for the rest of your life. what's more they have two million
square feet of selling space all under one roof."

i couldn't think of a more ghastly concept, but i didn't attempt to stop
the boy's enthusiastic flow. "the building takes up an entire block," he
informed me. "can you imagine a store that has twenty-eight entrances?
according to the advertisements there's nothing you can't buy, from an
automobile to an apple, and they have twenty-four varieties of both.
they've revolutionized retailing in the states by being the first store
to give full credit facilities. they also claim that if they don't have
it they'll get it for you within a week. field's motto is: 'give the
lady what she wants."'

"are you suggesting that we should purchase marshall field in exchange
for 147 chelsea terrace?h i asked ingenuously.

hnot immediately, colonel. but if in time i was able to get my hands on
every shop in chelsea terrace we could then carry out the same operation
in london, and perhaps even remove the first line from their current
cheeky advertisement."

i knew i was being set up so i duly asked what the line proclaimed.

hthe biggest store in the world,h charlie replied.

hand how do you feel about all this?h i asked, turning my attention to
becky.

hin charlie's case," she replied, hit would have to be the biggest
barrow in the world."

the first annual general meeting of trumper's was held above the fruit
and vegetable shop in dhe front room of 147 chelsea terrace. the
colonel, charlie and becky sat round a small tresde table, not quite
sure how to get things started until dhe colonel opened dhe proceedings.

"i know dhere are only three of us, but i still consider all our future
meetings should be conducted in a professional manner." charlie raised
his eyebrows but made no attempt to stop the colonel's flow. "i have
therefore taken the libery," he began, "of setting out an agenda.
otherwise i find one can so easily forget to raise quite important
issues." the colonel proceeded to pass bodh his colleagues a sheet of
paper widh five items neatly written in his own hand. "to chat end the
first item to come under discussion is headed 'financial report' and
i'll begin by asking becky to let us know how she sees the current
fiscal position."

becky had carefully written out her report word for word, having the
previous month purchased two large leather-bound books, one red, one
blue, from the stationer's at 137 and for the past fortnight having
risen only minutes after charlie had left for covent garden in order to
be sure she could answer any questions that might arise at their first
meeting. she opened up the cover of the red book and began to read
slowly, occasionally referring to the blue book, which was just as large
and authoritative-looking. this had the single word "accounts" stamped
in gold on the outside.

"in the year ending 31 december 1921 we showed a turnover on the seven
shops of one thousand three hundred and twelve pounds and four
shillings, on which we declared a profit of two hundred and nineteen
pounds eleven shillings, showing seventeen percent profit on turnover.
our debt at the bank currently stands at seven hundred and seventy-one
pounds, which includes our tax liability for the year, but the value of
the seven shops remains in the books at one thousand two hundred and
ninety pounds, which is the exact price we paid for them. this therefore
does not reflect their current market value.

"i have made a breakdown of the figures on each of the shops for your
consideration," said becky, handing copies of her efforts to charlie and
the colonel, both of whom studied them carefully for several minutes
before either spoke.

"grocery is still our number one earner, i see," said the colonel, as he
ran his monocle down the profit and loss column. "hardware is only just
breaking even, and the tailor's is actually eating into our profits."

"yes," said charlie. "i met up with a right ho~y~iiar when i bought that
one."

"holy friar?" said the colonel, perplexed.

"liar," said becky, not looking up from her book.

"afraid so," said charlie. "you see, i paid through the nose for the
freehold, too much for the stock, then got myself landed with poor staff
who weren't properly trained. but things have taken a turn for the
better since major amold took over."

the colonel smiled at the knowledge that the appointment of one of his
former staff of ricers had been such an immediate success. tom amold had
resumed to savile row soon after the war only to find that his old job
as under-manager at hawkes had been taken up by someone who had been
demobbed a few months earlier than himself, and he was therefore
expected to be satisfied with the status of senior assistant. he wasn't.
when the colonel told him there just might be an opening for him at
trumper's, amold had jumped at the opportunity.

"i'm bound lo say," said becky, studying the figures, "that people seem
to have a totally different moral attitude to paying their tailor than
they would ever consider applying to any other tradesman. just look at
the debtors' column."

"agreed," said charlie. "and i fear we won't be able to show a great
deal of improvement on that until major amold has managed to find
replacements for at least three members of his present staff: i don't
expect him to declare a profit during the next six months, although i
would hope they might be able to break even by the end of the third
quarter."

"good," said the colonel. "now what about hardware? i see number 129
declared a decent enough profit last year, so why should the figures
have fallen back so badly this? they're down over sixty pounds on 1920,
declaring a loss for the first time."

"i'm afraid there's a simple enough explanation," said becky. "the money
was stolen."

"stolen?"

"i fear so," replied charlie. "becky began to notice as long ago as
october of last year that the weekly receipts were falling, at first
only by a little but then the

amount grew as a pattern began to evolve.n "have we discovered who the
culprit is?"

"yes, that was simple enough. we switched bob makins from grocery when
one of the staff at hardware was on holiday, and he spotted the tea leaf
in no time."

"stop it, charlie," said becky. "sorry, colonel. thief."

"it fumed out the manager, reg larkins, has a gambling problem," charlie
continued, "and was using our money to cover his debts. the bigger those
debts became the more he needed to steal."

"you sacked larkins, of course," said the colonel.

"the same day" said charlie. "he fumed rather nasty at the time and
tried to deny that he'd ever taken a penny. but we haven't heard a word
from him since and in the last three weeks we've even begun to show a
small profit again. however, i'm still looking for a new manager to take
over as soon as possible. i've got my eye on a young man who works at
cudson's just off the charing cross road."

"good," said the colonel. "that covers last year's problems, charlie, so
now you can frighten us with your plans for the future."

charlie opened the smart new leather case that becky had given him on 20
january and took out the latest report from john d. wood. he cleared his
throat theatrically and becky had to put a hand to her mouth to stifle a
laugh.

"mr. crowther," began charlie, "has prepared a comprehensive survey of
all the properties in chelsea terrace."

"for which, incidentally, he has charged us ten guineas," said becky,
checking the accounts book.

"i have no quarrel with that, if it turns out to be a good investment,"
said the colonel.

"it already has," said charlie. he handed over copies of crowther's
report. "as you both already know, there an jepf~ey a'2chen are
thirty-six shops in chelsea terrace, of which we currently own seven. in
crowther's opinion a further five could well become available during the
next twelve months. however, as he points out, all the shopkeepers in
chelsea terrace are now only too aware of my role as a buyer, which
doesn't exactly help keep the price down."

"i suppose that was bound to happen sooner or later."

"i agree, colonel," said charlie, "but it's still far sooner than i'd
hoped for. in fact, syd wrexall, the chairman of the shops committee, is
becoming quite wary of us."

"why mr. wrexall in particular?" asked the colonel.

"he's the publican who owns the musketeer on the other comer of chelsea
terrace. he's started telling his customers that it's my long-term aim
to buy up all the property in the block and drive out the small
shopkeepers."

"he has a point," said becky.

"maybe, but i never expected him to form a cooperative with the sole
purpose of stopping me purchasing certain properties. i was rather
hoping to get my hands on the musketeer itself in time but whenever the
subject comes up he just says, 'over my dead body."'

"that comes as rather a blow," said the colonel.

"not at all," said charlie. "no one can expect to go through life
without facing a moment of crisis. the secret will be spotting wrexall's
when it comes and then moving in quickly. but it does mean for the time
being that i'm occasionally going to have to pay over the odds if a shop
owner decides the time has come to sell."

"not a lot we can do about that i suspect," said the colonel.

"except call their bluff from time to time," said charlie.

"call their bluff? i'm not sure i catch your drift. "

"well, we've had an approach from two shops recently with an interest in
disposing of their freehold and i fumed them both down out of hand."

"why?"

"simply because they were demanding such outrageous prices, not to
mention becky nagging me about our present overdraft."

"and have they reconsidered their position?"

"yes and no," said charlie. "one has already come back with a far more
realistic demand, while the other is still holding out for his original
price."

"who is holding out?"

"cuthbert's, number 101, the wine and spirits merchant. but there's no
need to make any sort of move in that direction for the time being,
because crowther says that mr. cuthbert has recently been looking at
several properties in pimlico, and he'll be able to keep us infommed of
any progress on that front. we can then make a sensible offer the moment
cuthbert commits himself."

"well done, crowther, i say. by the way, where do you pick up all your
information?" the colonel asked.

"mr. bales the newsagent, and syd wrexall him self.n "but i thought you
said wrexall wasn't proving that helpful."

"he isn't," said charlie, "but he'll still offer his opinion on any
subject for the price of a pint, so bob makins has become a regular and
reamed never to complain about being short-measured. i even get a copy
of the shops committee minutes before they do."

the colonel laughed. "and what about the auctioneers at number 1? have
we still got our eye on them?"

"we most certainly have, colonel. mr. fothergill, the proprietor,
continues to go deeper and deeper into debt, having had another bad
year. but somehow he manages to keep his head above water, if only just,
but i anticipate he will finally go under some time next year, at the
latest the year after, when i will be standing on the quayside waiting
to throw him a lifeline. especially if becky feels she is ready to leave
sotheby's by then."

"i'm still learning so much," confessed becky. "i'd rather like to stay
put for as long as i can. i've completed a year in old masters," she
added, "and now i'm trying to get myself moved to modern, or
impressionist as they've started calling that department. you see, i
still feel i need to gain as much experience as possible before they
work out what i'm up to. i attend every auction i can, from silverware
to old books, but i'd be far happier if we could leave number 1 until
the last possible moment."

"but if fothergill does go under for a third time, becky, you're our
lifeboat. so what if the shop were suddenly to come on the market?"

"i could just about handle it, i suppose. i've already got my eye on the
man who ought to be our general manager. simon matthews. he's been with
sotheby's for the past twelve years and is disenchanted at being passed
over once too often. there's also a bright young trainee who's been
around for about three years who i think will be the pick of the next
generation of auctioneers. he's only two years younger than the
chairman's son so he might be only too happy to join us if we were able
to make him an attractive offer."

"on the other hand, it may well suit us for becky to remain at sotheby's
for as long as possible," said charlie. "because mr. crowther has
identified a further problem we're going to have to face in the near
future."

"namely?" queried the colonel.

"on page nine of his report, crowther points out that numbers 25 to 99,
a block of thirty-eight flats bang in the middle of chelsea terrace one
of which daphne and becky shared until a couple of years ago may well
come on the market in the not too distant future. they're currently
owned by a charitable trust who are no longer satisfied with the return
they receive on their investment, and crowther says they're considering
disposing of them. now, remembering our longterm plan, it might be wise
to purchase the block as soon as possible rather than risk waiting for
years when we would have to pay a far higher price or, worse, never be
able to get hold of them at all."

"thirty-eight flats," said the colonel. "hm, how much is crowther
expecting them to fetch?"

"his guess would be around the two-thousandpound mark; they're currently
only showing an income of two hundred and ten pounds a year and what
with repairs and maintenance they're probably not even declaring a
profit. if the property does come on the market, and we're able to
afford them, crowther also recommends that we only issue ten-year leases
in future, and try to place any empty flats with staff from embassies or
foreign visitors, who never make any fuss about having to move at a
moment's notice."

"so the profit on the shops would end up having to pay for the flats,"
said becky.

"i'm afraid so," said charlie. "but with any luck it would only take me
a couple of years, three at the outside, before i could have them
showing a profit. mind you, if the charity commissioners are involved,
the paperwork could take that long."

"nevertheless, remembering our current overdraft limit, a demand on our
resources like that may well require another lunch with hadlow," said
the colonel. "still, i can see if we need to get hold of those flats i'm
left with little choice. might even take the opportunity to bump into
chubby duckworth at the club and drop a word in his ear." the colonel
paused. "to be fair to hadlow, he's also come up with a couple of good
ideas himself, both of which i feel are worthy of our consideration, and
accordingly i have placed them next on the agenda."

becky stopped writing and looked up.

ulet me begin by saying that hadlow is most satisfied with the way our
first two years' figures have worked out, but nevertheless he feels
strongly that because of the state of our overdraft and for taxation
reasons we should stop being a partnership and form ourselves into a
company."

"why?" asked charlie. "what advantage could there possibly be in that?"

"it's the new finance bill that has just gone through the commons,"
explained becky. "the change in the tax laws could well be used to our
advantage, because at the moment we're trading as seven different
businesses and taxed accordingly, whereas if we were to put all our
shops into one company we could run the losses of, say, the tailor's
shop and hardware against any gains made by the grocery store and the
butcher's, and thus reduce our tax burden. it could be especially
beneficial in a bad year."

"that all makes good sense to me," said charlie. "so let's go ahead and
do it."

well, it's not quite that easy," said the colonel, placing his monocle
to his good eye. "to start with, if we were to become a company mr.
hadlow is advising us to appoint some new directors to cover those areas
in which we currently have little or no professional experience."

"why would hadlow expect us to do that?" asked charlie sharply. "we've
never needed anyone else to interfere with our business before."

"because we're growing so rapidly, charlie. we may need other people to
advise us in the future who can offer expertise we simply don't at
present possess. the purchasing of the flats is a good example."

"but we have mr. crowther for that."

"and perhaps he would feel a greater commitment to our cause if he were
on the board." charlie frowned. "i can well understand how you feel,"
continued the colonel. "it's your show, and you believe you don't need
any outsiders to tell you how to run trumper's. well, even if we did
fomm a company it would still be your show, because all the shares would
be lodged in the names of you and becky, and any assets would therefore
remain totally under your control. but you would have the added
advantage of non-executive directors to call on for advice."

"and to spend our money and overrule our decisions," said charlie. "i
just don't like the idea of outsiders telling me what to do."

"it wouldn't necessarily work like that," said becky.

"i'm not convinced it will work at all."

"charlie, you should listen to yourself sometimes. you're beginning to
sound like a luddite."

"perhaps we should take a vote," said the colonel, trying to calm things
down. "just to see where we all stand."

"vote? what on? why? the shops belong to me."

becky looked up. "to both of us, charlie, and the colonel has more than
earned his right to give an opinion."

"i'm sorry, colonel, i didn't mean "

"i know you didn't, charlie, but becky's right. if you want to realize
your long-term aims you'll undoubtedly need some outside help. it just
won't be possible to achieve such a dream all on your own."

"and it will with outside interferers?"

"think of them as inside helpers," said the colonel.

"so what are we voting on?" asked charlie touchily.

"well," began becky, "someone should propose a resolution that we turn
ourselves into a company. if that is passed we could then invite the
colonel to be chaimman, who can in turn appoint you as managing director
and myself as secretary. i think mr. crowther should also be invited to
join the board, along with a representative from the bank ''i can see
you've given this a lot of thought," said charlie.

"that was my side of the bargain, if you remember our original deal
correctly, mr. trumper," becky replied.

"we're not marshall field's, you know."

"not yet," said the colonel, with a smile. "remember it's you, charlie,
who has taught us to think like this."

"i knew somehow it would all end up being my fault."

"so i propose the resolution that we fomm a company," said beckv. "those
in favor?"

becky and the colonel each placed a hand in the air, and a few seconds
later charlie reluctantly raised his and added, "now what?"

"my second proposal," said becky, "is that colonel sir danvers hamilton
should be our first chairman."

this time charlie's hand shot straight up.

"thank you," said the colonel. "and my first action as chairman is to
appoint mr. trumper as managing director and mrs. trumper as company
secretary. and with your pemnission i shall approach mr. crowther, and i
think also mr. hadlow, with a view to asking them to join the board."

"agreed," said becky, who was scribbling furiously in the minutes book
as she tried to keep up.

"any other business?" asked the colonel.

"may i suggest, mr. chairman," said becky the colonel couldn't resist a
smile "that we fix a date for our first monthly meeting of the full
board."

"any time suits me," said charlie. "because one thing's for certain, we
won't be able to get them all round this table at any one time, unless
of course you propose to hold the meetings at four-thirty in the moming.
at least that way we might find out who the real workers are."

the colonel laughed. "well, that's another way you could guarantee that
all your own resolutions are passed without us ever finding out,
charlie. but i must warn you, one will no longer constitute a quorum."

"a quorum?"

"the minimum number of people needed to pass a resolution," explained
becky.

"that used to be just me," said charlie wistfully.

"that was probably true of mr. marks before he met mr. spencer," said
the colonel, "so let's settle on our next meeting being a month today."

becky and charlie nodded.

"now if there is no other business i will declare the meeting closed."

"there is," said becky, "but i don't think such information should be
minuted."

"the floor's all yours," said the chairman, looking puzzled.

becky stretched across the table and took charlie's hand. "it comes
under miscellaneous expenses," she said. "you see, i'm going to have
another baby."

for once charlie was speechless. it was the colonel who eventually asked
if there were a bottle of champagne anywhere near at hand.

"i'm afraid not," said becky. "charlie won't let me buy anything from
wine and spirits until we own the shop "quite understandably," said the
colonel. "then we shall just have to walk round to my place," he added,
rising from his seat and picking up his umbrella. "that way elizabeth
can join the celebration. i declare the meeting closed."

-  a few moments later the three of them stepped out onto chelsea
terrace just as the postman was entering the shop. seeing becky he
handed her a letter.

"it can only have come from daphne with all those stamps," she told them
as she ripped the envelope open and began reading its contents.

"come on, then, what's she been up to?" asked charlie, as they walked
towards tregunter road.

"she's covered america and china, and as far as i can tell india's
next," becky announced. "she's also put on half a stone and met a mr.
calvin coolidge, whoever he is."

"the vice-president of the united states," said charlie.

"is that so? and they still hope to be home sometime in august, so it
won't be that long before we are able to team everything firsthand.
becky looked up to discover that only the colonel was still by her side.
"where's charlie?" they both turned round to see him staring up at a
small town house that had a "for sale" sign attached to the wall.

they walked back towards him. "what do you think?" he asked, continuing
to stare at the property.

"what do you mean, 'what do i think?"'

"i suspect, my dear, what charlie is inquiring of you is your opinion of
the house."

becky stared up at the little house that was on three floors, its front
covered in virginia creeper.

"it's wonderful, quite wonderful."

"it's better than that," said charlie placing his thumbs in his
waistcoat pocket. "it's ours, and also ideal for someone with a wife and
three children who is the managing director of an expanding business in
chelsea."

"but i don't have a second child yet, let alone a third."

"just planning ahead," said charlie. "something you taught me."

"but can we afford it?"

"no, of course we can't," he said. "but i'm confident that the value of
property will soon be going up in this area, once people realize they
will have their own department store within walking distance. in any
case, it's too late now, because i put down the deposit this morning."
he placed a hand in his jacket pocket and removed a key.

"but why didn't you consult me first?" asked becky.

"because i knew you'd only say we couldn't afford it, as you did with
the second, third, fourth, fifth and every subsequent shop."

he walked towards the front door with becky still a yard behind him.

"but "

"i'll leave you two to sort things out," said the colonel. "come over to
my place and have that glass of champagne just as soon as you've
finished looking over your new home."

the colonel continued on down tregunter road, swinging his umbrella in
the morning sun, pleased with himself and the world, arriving back just
in time for his first whisky of the day.

he imparted all his news to elizabeth, who had many more questions about
the baby and the house than about the present state of the company
accounts or her husband's appointment as chairman. having acquitted
himself as best he could, the colonel asked his manservant to place a
bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. he then retired to his study to
check through the morning mail while he awaited the trampers' arrival.

there were three letters unopened on his desk: a bill from his tailor
which reminded him of becky's strictures on such matters an invitation
to the ashburton shield to be held at bisley, an annual event he always
enjoyed, and a letter from daphne, which he rather expected might simply
repeat the news that becky had already relayed to him.

the envelope was postmarked delhi. the colonel slit it open in
anticipation. daphne dutifully repeated how much she was enjoying the
trip, but failed to mention her weight problem. she did, however, go on
to say that she had some distressing news to impart concerning guy
trentham. she wrote that while they were staying in poona, percy had
come across him one evening at the officers' club dressed in civilian
clothes. he had lost so much weight that her husband hardly recognized
him. he informed percy that he had been forced to resign his commission
and there was only one person to blame for his downfall: a sergeant who
had lied about him in the past, and was happy to associate with known
criminals. guy was claiming that he had even caught the man stealing
himself. once he was back in england trentham intended to the front
doorbell rang.

"can you answer it, danvers?" elizabeth said, leaning over the banister.
"i'm upstairs arranging the flowers. "

the colonel was still seething with anger when he opened the front door
to find charlie and becky waiting on the top step in anticipation. he
must have looked surprised to see them because becky had to say,
"champagne, chairman. or have you already forgotten my physical state?"

"ah, yes, sorry. my thoughts were some distance away." the colonel
stuffed daphne's letter into his jacket pocket. "the champagne should be
at the perfect temperature by now," he added, as he ushered his guests
through to the drawing room.

"two and a quarter trumpers have arrived," he barked back up the stairs
to his wife.

it always amused the colonel to watch charlie spending so much of his
time running from shop to shop, trying to keep a dose eye on all his
staff, while also attempting to concentrate his energy on any
establishment that wasn't showing a worthwhile return. but whatever the
various problems he faced, the colonel was only too aware that charlie
couldn't resist a spell of serving at the fruit and vegetable shop,
which remained his pride and joy. coat off, sleeves rolled up and
cockney accent at its broadest, charlie was allowed an hour a day by bob
makins to pretend he was back on the comer of whitechapel road peddling
his wares from his granpa's barrow.

"'alf a pound of tomatoes, some runner beans, and your usual pound of
carrots, mrs. symonds, if i remember correctly."

"thank you so much, mr. trumper. and how's mrs. trumper?"

"never better."

"and when's the baby expected?" ~

"in about three months, the doctor thinl~.-

"don't see you serving in the shop so much nowadays."

"only when i know the important customers are around, my luv," said
charlie. "after all, you were one of my first."

"i was indeed. so have you signed the deal on the flats yet, mr.
trumper?"

charlie stared at mrs. symonds as he handed back her change, unable to
hide his surprise. "the flats?"

"yes, you know, mr. trumper. numbers 25 to 99."

"why do you ask, mrs. symonds?"

"because you're not the only person who's showing an interest in them."

"how do you know that?"

"i know because i saw a young man holding a bunch of keys, waiting
outside the building for a client last sunday moming."

charlie recalled that the symondses lived in a house on the far side of
the terrace immediately opposite the main entrance to the flats.

"and did you recognize them?"

"no. i watched a car draw up but then my husband seemed to think his
breakfast was more important than me being nosy, so i didn't see who it
was who got out.

charlie continued to stare at mrs. symonds as she picked up her bag,
waved a cheery goodbye and walked out of the shop.

despite mrs. symonds' bombshell and syd wrexall's efforts to contain
him, charlie went about plotting his next acquisition. through the
combination of major amold's diligence, mr. crowther's inside knowledge
and mr. hadlow's loans, by late july charlie yes as the chow flees had
secured the freehold on two more shops in the terrace number 133,
women's clothes, and number 101, wine and spirits. at the august board
meeting becky recommended that major arnold be promoted to deputy
managing director of the company, with the task of keeping a watching
brief on everything that was taking place in chelsea terrace.

charlie had desperately needed an extra pair of eyes and ears for some
time, and with becky still working at sotheby's during the day arnold
had begun to fill that role to perfection. the colonel was delighted to
ask becky to minute the confirmation of the major's appointment. the
monthly meeting continued very smoothly until the colonel asked, "any
other business?"

"yes," said charlie. "what's happening about the flats?"

"i put in a bid of two thousand pounds as instructed," said crowther.
"the agent said he would recommend his clients should accept the offer,
but to date i've been unable to close the deal."

"why?" asked charlie.

"because savill's rang back this morning to let me know that they have
received another offer far in excess of what they had anticipated for
this particular piece of property. they thought i might want to alert
the board of the present situation."

"they were right about that," said charlie. "but how much is this other
offer? that's what i want to know."

"two thousand five hundred pounds," said crowther.

it was several moments before anyone round the boardroom table offered
an opinion.

"how on earth can they hope to show a return on that kind of
investment?" hadlow eventually asked.

"they can't," said crowther.

"offer them three thousand pounds."

"what did you say?" said the chairman, as they all turned to face
charlie.

"offer dhem three thousand," charlie repeated.

"but charlie, we agreed that two thousand was a high enough price only a
few weeks ago," becky pointed out. "how can dhe flats suddenly be worth
so much more?"

"they're worth whatever someone is willing to pay for them," charlie
replied. "so we've been left with no choice."

"but mr. trumper " began hadlow.

"if we end up with the rest of the block but then fail to get our hands
on those flats, everything i have worked for will go up the spout. i'm
not willing to risk that for three thousand pounds or, as i see it, five
hundred."

"yes, but can we afford such a large outlay just at this moment?" asked
the colonel.

"five of the shops are now showing a profit," said becky, checking her
inventory. "two are breaking even and only one is actually losing money
consistency."

"we must have the courage to go ahead," said charlie. "buy the flees
knock 'em down and dhen we can build half a dozen shops in their place.
we'll be making a return on dhem before anyone can say 'bob's your
uncle."'

crowther gave them all a moment to allow charlie's strategy to sink in,
then asked, "so what are the board's instructions?"

"i propose that we offer three thousand pounds," said the colonel. "as
dhe managing director has pointed out, we must take the long view, but
only if dhe bank feels able to back us on this one. mr. hadlow?"

"you can just about afford three thousand pounds at the moment," said
dhe bank manager, checking over the figures. "but that would stretch
your overdraft facility to dhe limit. it would also mean that you
couldn't consider buying any more shops for the foreseeable future."

"we don't have a choice," said charlie, looking straight at crowther.
"someone else is after those flats and we can't at this stage allow a
rival to get their hands on them."

"well, if those are the board's instructions i shall attempt to close
the deal later today, at three thousand pounds."

"i think that's precisely what the board would wish you to do,"
confirmed the chairman, as he checked around the table. "well, if
there's no other business, i declare the meeting closed."

once the meeting had broken up, the colonel took crowther and hadlow on
one side. "i don't like the sound of this flats business at all. an
offer coming out of the blue like that requires a little more
explanation."

"1 agree," said crowther. "my instinct tells me that it's syd wrexall
and his shops committee trying to stop charlie taking over the whole
block before it's too late."

"no," said charlie as he joined them. "it can't be syd because he
doesn't have a car," he added mystery ously. "in any case, wrexall and
his cronies would have reached their limit long before two thousand five
hundred pounds."

"so do you think it's an outside contractor?" asked hadlow, "who has his
own plans for developing chelsea terrace?"

"more likely to be an investor who's worked out your long-term plan and
is willing to hang on until we have no choice but to pay the earth for
them," said crowther.

"i don't know who or what it is," said charlie. "all i'm certain of is
that we've made the right decision to outbid them."

"agreed," said the colonel. "and crowther, let me ass know the moment
you've closed the deal. afraid i can't hang about now. i'm taking a
rather special lady to lunch at my club."

"anyone we know?" asked charlie.

"daphne wiltshire."

"do give her my love," said becky. "tell her we're both looking forward
to having dinner with them next wednesday."

the colonel raised his hat to becky, and left his four colleagues to
continue discussing their different theories as to who else could
possibly be interested in the flats.

because the board meeting had run on later than he anticipated the
colonel only managed one whisky before daphne was ushered through to
join him in the ladies' room. she had, indeed, put on a few pounds, but
he didn't consider she looked any the worse for that.

he ordered a gin and tonic for his guest from the club steward, while
she chatted about the gaiety of america and the heat of africa, but he
suspected that it was another continent entirely that daphne really
wanted to talk about.

"and how was india?" he eventually asked.

"not so good, i'm afraid," said daphne before pausing to sip her gin and
tonic. "in fact, awful."

"funny, i always found the natives rather friendly," said the colonel.

"it wasn't the natives who fumed out to be the problem," replied daphne.

"trentham?"

"i fear so."

"hadn't he received your letter?"

"oh, yes, but events had long superseded that, colonel. now i only wish
i had taken your advice and copied out your letter word for word warning
him that if the question were ever put to me directly i would have to
tell anyone who asked that trentham was daniel's father."

"why? what has caused this change of heart?"

daphne drained her glass in one gulp. "sorry colonel, but i needed that.
well, when percy and i arrived in poona the first thing we were told by
ralph forbes, the colonel of the regiment, was that trentham had
resigned his commission."

"yes, you mentioned as much in your letter." the colonel put his knife
and fork down. "what i want to know is why?"

"some problem with the adjutant's wife, percy later discovered, but no
one was willing to go into any detail. evidently the subject's taboo not
the sort of thing they care to discuss in the officers' mess."

"the unmitigated bastard. if only i "

"i couldn't agree with you more, colonel, but i must warn you that
there's worse to come."

the colonel ordered another gin and tonic for his guest and a whisky for
himself before daphne continued.

"when i visited ashurst last weekend, major trentham showed me the
letter that guy had sent to his mother explaining why he had been forced
to resign his commission with the fusiliers. he claimed this had come
about because you had written to colonel forbes informing him that guy
had been responsible for putting 'a tart from whitechapel' in the family
way. i saw the exact wording of the sentence."

the colonel's cheeks suffused with rage.

"'whereas time has proved conclusively that trumper was the father of
the child all along." anyway, that's the story trentham is putting
about."

"has the man no morals?"

"none, it would seem," said daphne. "you see, the letter went on to
suggest that charlie trumper is now employing you in order to make sure
that you keep your mouth shut. 'thirty pieces of silver' was the precise
expression he used."

"he deserves to be horsewhipped."

"even major trentham might add 'hear, hear' to that. but my greatest
fear isn't for you or even becky for that matter, but for charlie
himself."

"what are you getting at?"

"before we left india, trentham warned percy when they were on their own
at the overseas club that trumper would regret this for the rest of his
life."

"but why blame charlie?"

"percy asked the same question, and guy infommed him that it was obvious
that trumper had put you up to it in the first place simply to settle an
old score."

"but that's not true.

"percy explained as much, but he just wouldn't listen. "

"and in any case what did he mean by 'to settle an old score'?"

"no idea, except that later that evening guy kept asking me about a
painting of the virgin mother and "not the one that hangs in charlie's
front room?"

"the same, and when i finally admitted i had seen it he dropped the
subject altogether."

"the man must have gone completely out of his senses."

"he seemed sane enough to me," said daphne.

"well, let's at least be thankful that he's stuck in india, so there's a
lithe time to consider what course of action we should take."

"not that much time, i fear," said daphne.

"how come?"

"major trentham tells me that guy is expected to return to these shores
sometime next month."

after lunch with daphne the colonel resumed to tregunter road. he was
fuming with anger when his butler opened the front door to let him in,
but he remained uncertain as to what he could actually do

about it. the butler informed his master that a mr. crowther awaited him
in the study.

"crowther? what can he possibly want?" mumbled the colonel to himself
before straightening a print of the isle of skye that hung in the hall
and joining him in the study.

"good afternoon chairman," crowther said as he rose from the colonel's
chair. "you asked me to report back as soon as i had any news on the
flats."

"ah, yes so i did," said the colonel. "you've closed the deal?"

"no, sir. i placed a bid of three thousand pounds with savill's, as
instructed, but then received a call from them about an hour later to
inform me that the other side had raised their offer to four thousand."

"pour thousand," said the colonel in disbelief. "but who ?"

"i said we were quite unable to match the sum, and even inquired
discreetly who their client might be. they informed me that it was no
secret whom they were representing. i felt i ought to let you know
immediately, chairman, as the name of mrs. gerald trentham meant nothing
to me."

chap tee as i sat alone on that bench in chelsea terrace staring across
at a shop with the name "trumper's" painted over the awning, a thousand
questions went through my mind. then i saw posh porky or, to be
accurate, i thought it must be her, because if it was, during my absence
she'd changed into a woman. what had happened to that flat chest, those
spindly legs, not to mention the spotty face? if it hadn't been for
those flashing brown eyes i might have remained in doubt.

she went straight into the shop and spoke to the man who had been acting
as if he was the manager. i saw him shake his head; she then turned to
the two girls behind the counter who reacted in the same way. she
shrugged, before going over to the till, pulling out the tray and
beginning to check the day's takings.

i had been watching the manager carry out his duties for over an hour
before becky arrived, and to be fair he was pretty good, although i had
already spotted several little things that could have been done to help
improve sales, not least among them moving the counter to the far end of
the shop and setting up some of the produce in boxes out on the
pavement, so that the customers could be tempted to buy. "you must
advertise your wares, not just hope people will come across them," my
granpa used to say. however, i remained patiently on that bench until
the staff began to empty the shelves prior to closing up the premises.

a few minutes later becky came back out onto the pavement and looked up
and down the street as if she were waiting for someone. then the young
man, who was now holding a padlock and key, joined her and nodded in my
direction. becky looked over towards the bench for the first time.

once she had seen me i jumped up and crossed the road to join her. for
some time neither of us spoke. i wanted to hug her, but we ended up just
shaking hands rather formally, before i asked, "so what's the dealt"

"couldn't find anyone else who would supply me with free cream buns,h
she told me, before going on to explain why she had sold the baker's
shop and how we had come to own 147 chelsea terrace. when the staff had
left for the night, she showed me round the flat. i couldn't believe my
eyes a bathroom with a toilet, a kitchen with crockery and cutlery, a
front room with chairs and a table, and a bedroom not to mention a bed
that didn't look as if it would collapse when you sat down on it.

once again i wanted to hug her, but i simply asked if she could stay and
share dinner, as i had a hundred other questions that still needed
answering.

"sorry, not tonight," she said as i opened my case and began to unpack.
"i'm off to a concert with a gentleman friend." no sooner had she added
some remark about tommy's picture than she smiled and left. suddenly i
was on my own again.

i took off my coat, rolled up my sleeves, went downstairs to the shop
and for several hours moved things around until everything was exactly
where i wanted it. by the time i had packed away the last box i was so
exhausted that i only just stopped myself collapsing on the bed and
grabbing some kip fully dressed. i didn't draw the curtains so as to be
sure i would wake by four.

i dressed quickly the following morning, excited by the thought of
returning to a market i hadn't seen for nearly two years. i arrived at
the garden a few minutes before bob makins, who i quickly discovered
knew his way around without actually knowing his way about. i accepted
that it would take me a few days before i could work out which dealers
were being supplied by the most reliable farmers, who had the real
contacts at the docks and ports, who struck the most sensible price day
in, day out, and, most important of all, who would take care of you
whenever there was any sort of real shortage. none of these problems
seemed to worry bob, as he strolled around the market in an
uninterrupted, undemanding circle, collecting his wares.

i loved the shop from the moment we opened that first morning, my first
morning. it took me a little time to get used to bob and the girls
calling me hsir" but it also took them almost as long to become used to
where i'd put the counter and to having to place the boxes out on the
pavement before the customers were awake. however, even becky agreed
that it was an inspiration to place our wares right under the noses of
potential buyers, although she wasn't sure how the local authorities
would react when they found out.

"hasn't chelsea ever heard of passing traded i asked her.

within a month i knew the name of every regular customer who patronized
the shop, and within two i was aware of their likes, dislikes, passions
and even the occasional fad that each imagined must be unique to them.
after the staff had packed up at the end of each day i would often walk
across the road and sit on the bench opposite and just watch the comings
and goings in chelsea terrace sw10. it didn't take long to realize that
an apple was an apple whoever wanted to take a bite out of it, and
chelsea terrace was no different from whitechapel when it came to
understanding a customer's needs: i suppose that must have been the
moment i thought about owning a second shop. why not? trumper's was the
only establishment in chelsea terrace that regularly had a queue out
onto the street.

becky, meanwhile, continued her studies at the university and kept
attempting to arrange for me to meet her gentleman friend. if the truth
be known, i was trying to avoid trentham altogether, as i had no desire
to come in contact with the man i was convinced had killed tommy.

eventually i ran out of excuses and agreed to have dinner with them.

when becky entered the restaurant with daphne and trentham, i wished
that i had never agreed to spend the evening with them in the first
place. the feeling must have been mutual, for trentham's face registered
the same loathing i felt for him, although becky's friend, daphne, tried
to be friendly. she was a pretty girl and it wouldn't have surprised me
to find that a lot of men enjoyed that hearty laugh. but blue-eyed,
curlyheaded blondes never were my type. i pretended for form's sake that
trentham and i hadn't met before.

i spent one of the most miserable evenings of my life wanting to tell
becky everything i knew about the bastard, but aware as i watched them
together that nothing i had to reveal could possibly have any influence
on her. it didn't help when becky scowled at me for no reason. i just
lowered my head and scooped up some more peas.

becky's roommate, daphne harcourt-browne, continued to do her best, but
even charlie chaplin would have failed to raise a smile with the three
of us as an audience.

shortly after eleven i called for the bill, and a few minutes later we
all left the restaurant. i let becky and trentham walk ahead in the hope
that it would give me a chance to slip away, but to my surprise
doublebarreled daphne hung back, claiming she wanted to find out what
changes i'd made to the shop.

from her opening question as i unlocked the front door i realized she
didn't miss much.

hyou're in love with becky, aren't you?" she asked quite
matter-of-factly.

"yes," i replied without guile, and went on to reveal my feelings in a
way i would never have done to someone i knew well.

her second question took me even more by surprise.

hand just how long have you known guy trentham?"

as we climbed the steps to my little flat i told her that we had served
together on the western front, but because of the difference in our rank
our paths had rarely crossed.

hthen why do you dislike him so much?" daphne asked, after she had taken
the seat opposite me.

i hesitated again but then in a sudden rush of uncontrollable anger i
described what had happened to tommy and me when we were trying to reach
the safety of our own lines, and how i was convinced that guy trentham
had shot my closest friend.

when i'd finished we both sat in silence for some time before i added,
hyou must never let becky know what i've just told you as i've no real
proof."

she nodded her agreement and went on to tell me about the only man in
her life, as if swapping one secret for another to bond our friendship.
her love for the man was so transparent that i couldn't fail to be
touched. and when daphne left around midnight she promised that she'd do
everything in her power to speed up the demise of guy trentham. i
remembered her using the word "demise," because i had to ask her what it
meant. she told me, and thus i received my first tutorial with the
warning that becky had a good start on me as she had not wasted the last
ten years.

my second lesson was to discover why becky had scowled at me so often
during dinner. i would have protested at her cheek, but realized she was
right.

i saw a lot of daphne during the next few months, without becky ever
becoming aware of our true relationship. she taught me so much about the
world of my new customers and even took me on trips to clothes shops,
picture houses and to west end theaters to see plays that didn't have
any dancing girls on the stage but i still enjoyed them. i only drew the
line when she tried to get me to stop spending my saturday afternoons
watching west ham in favor of some rugby team called the quins. however,
it was her introduction to the national gallery and its five thousand
canvases that was to start a love affair that was to prove as costly as
any woman. it was to be only a few months before i was dragging her off
to the latest exhibitions: renoir, manet and even a young spaniard
called picasso who was beginning to attract attention among london's
fashionable society. i began to hope that becky would appreciate the
change in me, but her eyes never once wavered from captain trentham.

on daphne's further insistence i started reading two daily newspapers.
she selected the daily express and the news chronicle, and occasionally
when she invited me round to lowndes square i even delved into one of
her magazines, punch or strand. i began to discover who was who and who
did what, and to whom. i even went to sotheby's for the first time and
watched an early constable come under the hammer for record price of
nine hundred guineas. it was more money than trumper's and all its
fixtures and finings were worth put together. i confess that neither
that magnificent country scene nor any other painting i came across in a
gallery or auction house compared with my pride in tommy's picture of
the virgin mary and child, which still hung above my bed.

when in january 1920 becky presented the first year's accounts, i began
to realize my ambition to own a second shop no longer had to be a
daydream. then without warning two sites became available in the same
month. i immediately instructed becky that somehow she had to come up
with the money to purchase them.

daphne later warned me on the qt that becky was having considerable
trouble raising the necessary cash, and although i said nothing i was
quite expecting her to tell me that it simply wasn't possible,
especially as her mind seemed to be almost totally preoccupied with
trentham and the fact that he was about to be posted to india. when
becky announced the day he left that they had become officially engaged,
i could have willingly cut his throat and then mine but daphne assured
me that there were several young ladies in london who had at one time or
another entertained the illusion that they were about to marry guy
trentham. however, becky herself remained so confident of trentham's
intentions that i didn't know which of the two women to believe.

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
hmilitating" 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, westminister. 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,h 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 l had my
reply ready_hlt 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 1 1 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.

charlie 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 dhis 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 dhe 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 dhe 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 dhrew 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 ?"

"ten years would be my guess," said charlie, delivenng 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."

"a nice idea but the way the world is going at the moment," said daphne,
"i wouldn't be surprised if mine ended up as your sales assistant."

despite daphne bombarding him with questions charlie still couldn't take
his eyes off the holbein. eventually daphne bribed him away by saying,
"come on, charlie, let's go and have something to eat. i always seem to
be famished nowadays."

percy and becky stood up and followed daphne and charlie towards the
dining room.

daphne led her guests down a long corridor and through into another room
that was exactly the same size and proportion as the one they had just
left. the six full-length canvases that hung from the walls were all by
reynolds. "and this time only the ugly one is a relation," percy assured
them as he took his place at one end of the table and gestured to a long
gray figure of a lady that hung on the wall behind him. "and she would
have found it exceedingly difficult to land a wiltshire had she not been
accompanied by an extremely handsome dowry."

they took their places at a table that had been laid for four but would
have comfortably seated eight, and proceeded to eat a four-course dinner
that could have happily fed sixteen. liveried footmen stood behind each
chair to ensure the slightest need was administered to. "every good home
should have one," whispered charlie across the table to his wife.

the conversation over dinner gave the four of them a chance to catch up
with everything that had taken place during the past year. by the time a
second coffee had been poured daphne and becky left the two men to enjoy
a cigar and charlie couldn't help thinking that it was as if the
wiltshires had never been away in the first place.

"glad the girls have left us alone," said percy, "as i feel there is
something less pleasant we ought perhaps to touch on."

charlie puffed away at his first cigar, wondering what it must be like
to suffer in this way every day.

"when daphne and i were in india," percy continued, "we came across that
bounder trentham." charlie coughed as some smoke went down the wrong way
and began to pay closer attention as his host revealed the conversation
that had taken place between trentham and himself. "his threat that he
would 'get you,' come what may, could have been no more than an idle
boast, of course," said percy, "but daphne felt it best that you were
put fully in the picture."

"but what can i possibly do about it?" charlie knocked an extended
column of ash into a silver saucer that had been placed in front of him
just in time.

"not a lot, i suspect," said percy. "except to remember that forewarned
is forearmed. he's expected back in england at any moment, and his
mother is now telling anyone who still cares to inquire that guy was
offered such an irresistible appointment in the city that he was willing
to sacrifice his commission. i can't imagine that anyone really believes
her, and anyway most decent-minded people think the city's about the
right place for the likes of trentham."

"do you think i ought to tell becky?"

"no, i don't," said percy. "in fact i never told daphne about my second
encounter with trentham at the overseas club. so why bother becky with
the details? from what i've heard from her this evening she's got quite
enough on her plate to be going on with."

"not to mention the fact that she's about to give birth," added charlie.

"exactly," said percy. "so let's leave it at that for the time being.
now, shall we go and join the ladies?"

over a large brandy in yet another room filled widh ancestors including
a small oil of bonny prince charlie, becky listened to daphne describe
the americans, whom she adored, but felt the british should never have
given the darlings away; the africans, whom she considered delightful
but who ought to be given away as soon as, was convenient; and the
indians, whom she understood couldn't wait to be given away, according
to the little man who kept arriving at government house in a dishcloth.

"are you by any chance referring to gandhi?" asked charlie, as he puffed
away more confidently at his cigar. "i find him rather impressive."

on the way back to gilston road becky chatted happily as she revealed
all the gossip she had picked up from daphne. it became obvious to
charlie that the two women had not touched on the subject of trentham,
or the threat he currently posed.

charlie had a restless night, partly caused by having indulged in too
much rich food and alcohol, but mainly because his mind kept switching
from why the colonel should want to resign to the problem that had to be
faced with trentham's imminent return to england.

at four o'clock in the morning he rose and donned his oldest clothes
before setting off to the market, something he still tried to do at
least once a week, convinced there was no one at trumper's who could
work the garden the way he did, until, quite recently, when a trader at
the market called ned denning had managed to palm him off with a couple
of boxes of overripe avocados and followed it up the next day by
pressing charlie into buying a box of oranges he'd never wanted in the
first place. charlie decided to get up very early on the third day and
see if he could have the man removed from his job once and for all.

the following monday ned denning joined trumper's as the grocery shop's
first general manager.

charlie had a successful morning stocking up with provisions for both
131 and 147, and bob makins arrived an hour later to drive him and ned
back to chelsea terrace in their newly acquired van.

once they arrived at the fruit and vegetable shop, charlie helped unload
and lay out the goods before resuming home for breakfast a few minutes
after seven. he still considered it was a little early to place a phone
call through to the colonel.

cook served him up eggs and bacon for breakfast, which he shared with
daniel and his nanny. becky didn't join them, as she had not yet
recovered from the aftereffects of daphne's dinner party.

charlie happily spent most of breakfast trying to answer daniel's string
of unrelated, never ending ques lions until nanny picked up the
protesting child and carried him back upstairs to the playroom. charlie
flicked open the cover of his half hunter to check the time. although it
was still only a few minutes before eight, he felt he couldn't wait any
longer so he walked through to the hall, picked up the stem phone,
unhooked the earpiece and asked the operator to connect him with flaxman
172. a few moments later he was put through.

"can i have a word with the colonel?"

"i'll tell him you're on the line, mr. trumper," came back the reply.
charlie was amused by the thought that he was never going to be able to
disguise his accent over the telephone.

"good morning, charlie," came back another accent that was also
immediately recognizable.

"i wonder if i might come round and see you, sir?" charlie asked.

"of course,'' said the colonel. "but could you leave it until ten, old
fellow? by then elizabeth will have gone off to visit her sister in
camden hill."

"i'll be there at ten on the dot," promised charlie. after he had put
the phone back on the hook, he decided to occupy the two hours by
completing a full round of the shops. for a second time that morning and
still before becky had stirred, he left for chelsea terrace.

charlie dug major amold out of hardware before beginning a spot check on
all nine establishments. as he passed the block of flats he began to
explain in detail to his deputy the plans he had to replace the building
with six new shops.

after they had left number 129, charlie confided in arnold that he was
worried about wines and spirits, which he considered was still not
pulling its weight. this was despite their now being able to take
advantage of the new delivery service that had originally been
introduced only for fruit and vegetables. charlie was proud that his was
one of the first shops in london to take orders by telephone, then drop
off the goods on the same day for account customers. it was another idea
he had stolen from the americans, and the more he read about what his
opposite numbers were up to in the states the more he wanted to visit
that country and see how they went about it firsthand.

he could still recall his first delivery service when he used his
granpa's barrow for transport and kitty as the delivery girl. now he ran
a smart blue three-horsepower van with the words, "trumper, the honest
trader, founded in 1823," emblazoned in gold letters down both sides.

he stopped on the corner of chelsea terrace and stared at the one shop
that would always dominate chelsea with its massive bow window and great
double door. he knew the time must almost be ripe for him to walk in and
offer mr. fothergill a large check to cover the auctioneer's debts; a
former employee of number 1 had recently assured charlie that his bank
balance was overdrawn by more than two thousand pounds.

charlie marched into number 1 to pay a far smaller bill and asked the
girl behind the counter if they had finished reframing the virgin mary
and child, which was already three weeks overdue.

he didn't complain about the delay as it gave him another excuse to nose
around. the paper was still peeling off the wall behind the reception
area, and there was only one girl assistant left at the desk, which
suggested to charlie that the weekly wages were not always being met.

mr. fothergill eventually appeared with the picture in its new gilt
frame and handed the little oil over to charlie.

"thank you," said charlie as he once again studied the bold brushwork of
reds and blues that made up the

portrait and realized just how much he had missed it.

"wonder what it's worth?" he asked fothergill casually as he passed over
a ten-shilling note.

"a few pounds at the most," the expert declared as he touched his bow
tie. "after all, you can find countless examples of the subject by
unknown artists right across the continent of europe."

"i wonder," said charlie as he checked his watch and stuffed the receipt
into his pocket. he had allowed himself sufficient time for a relaxed
walk across princess gardens and on to the colonel's residence,
expecting to arrive a couple of minutes before ten. he bade mr.
fothergill "good moming," and left.

although it was still quite early, the pavements in chelsea were already
bustling with people and charlie raised his hat to several customers he
recognized.

"good morning, mr. trumper."

"good morning, mrs. symonds," said charlie as he crossed the road to
take a shortcut through the garden.

he began to try and compose in his mind what he would say to the colonel
once he'd discovered why the chairman felt it had been necessary to
offer his resignation. whatever the reason, charlie was determined not
to lose the old soldier. he closed the park gate behind him and started
to walk along the man-made path.

he stood aside to allow a lady pushing a pram to pass him and rave a
mock salute to an old soldier sitting on a park bench rolling a
woodbine. once he had crossed the tiny patch of grass, he stepped into
the gilston road, closing the gate behind him.

charlie continued his walk towards tregunter road and began to quicken
his pace. he smiled as he passed his little home, quite forgetting he
still had the picture under his arm, his mind still preoccupied with the
reason for the colonel's resignation.

charlie turned immediately when he heard the scream and a door slam
somewhere behind him, more as a reflex than from any genuine desire to
see what was going on. he stopped in his tracks as he watched a
disheveled figure dash out onto the road and then start running towards
him.

charlie stood mesmerized as the tramplike figure drew closer and closer
until the man came to a sudden halt only a few feet in front of him. for
a matter of seconds the two men stood and stared at each other without
uttering a word. neither ruffian nor gentleman showed on a face half
obscured by rough stubble. and then recognition was quickly followed by
disbelief.

charlie couldn't accept that the unshaven, slovenly figure who stood
before him wearing an old army greatcoat and a battered felt hat was the
same man he had first seen on a station in edinburgh almost five years
before.

charlie's abiding memory of that moment was to be the three clean
circles on both epaulettes of trentham's greatcoat, from which the three
pips of a captain must recently have been removed.

trentham's eyes dropped as he stared at the painting for a second and
then suddenly, without warning, he lunged at charlie, taking him by
surprise, and wrested the picture from his grasp. he turned and started
running back down the road in the direction he had come. charlie
immediately set off in pursuit and quickly began to make up ground on
his assailant, who was impeded by his heavy greatcoat, while having also
to cling to the picture.

charlie was within a yard of his quarry and about to make a dive for
trentham's waist when he heard the second scream. he hesitated for a
moment as he realized the desperate cry must be coming from his own
home. he knew he had been left with no choice but to allow trentham to
escape with the picture as he changed direction and dashed up the steps
of number 17. he charged on into the drawing room to find the cook and
nanny standing over becky. she was lying flat out on the sofa screaming
with pain.

becky's eyes lit up when she saw charlie. "the baby's coming," was all
she said.

"pick her up gently, cook," said charlie, and help me get her to the
car."

together they carried becky out of the house and down the path as nanny
ran ahead of them to open the car door so they could place her on the
backseat. charlie stared down at his wife. her face was drained of color
and her eyes were glazed. she appeared to lose consciousness as he
closed the car door.

charlie jumped into the front of the car and shouted at cook, who was
already fuming the handle to get the engine started.

"ring my sister at guy's hospital and explain we're on our way. and tell
her to be prepared for an emergency. "

the motor spluttered into action and cook jumped to one side as charlie
drove the car out into the middle of the road, trying to keep a steady
pace as he avoided pedestrians, bicycles, trams, horses and other cars
as he crashed through the gears on his journey south towards the thames.

he fumed his head every few seconds to stare at his wife, not even sure
if she was still alive. "let them both live," he shouted at the top of
his voice. he continued on down the embankment as fast as he could
manage, honking his horn and several times screaming at people who were
casually crossing the road unaware of his plight. as he drove across
southwark bridge he heard becky groan for the first time.

"we'll soon be there, my darling," he promised. "just hold on a little
longer."

once over the bridge he took the first left and maintained his speed
until the great iron gates of guy's came into view. as he swung into the
courtyard and round the circular flower bed he spotted grace and two men
in long white coats standing waiting, a stretcher by their side. charlie
brought the car to a halt almost on their toes.

the two men lifted becky gently out and placed her on the stretcher
before rushing her up the ramp and into the hospital. charlie jumped out
of the car and marched by the stretcher holding becky's hand as they
climbed a flight of stairs, grace running by his side explaining that
mr. armitage, the hospital's senior obstetrician, was waiting for them
in an operating theater on the first floor.

by the time charlie reached the doors of the theater, becky was already
inside. they left him outside in the corridor on his own. he began to
pace up and down, unaware of others bustling past him as they went about
their work.

grace came out a few minutes later to reassure him that mr. armitage had
everything under control and that becky could not be in better hands.
the baby was expected at any moment. she squeezed her brother's hand,
then disappeared back into the theater. charlie continued his pacing,
thinking only of his wife and their first child, the sight of trentham
already becoming a blur. he prayed for a boy tommy who would be a
brother for daniel and perhaps one day even take over trumper's. pray
god that becky was not going through too much pain as she delivered
their son. he paced up and down that long green-walled corridor mumbling
to himself, aware once again how much he loved her.

it was to be another hour before a tall, thickset man emerged from
behind the closed doors, followed by grace. charlie turned to face them
but as the surgeon had a mask over his face, charlie had no way of
knowing how the operation had gone. mr. armitage removed the mask: the
expression on his face answered charlie's silent prayer.

"i managed to save your wife's life," he said, "but i am so very sorry,
mr. trumper, i could do nothing about your stillborn daughter."

for several days after the operation becky never left her room in the
hospital.

charlie later reamed from grace that although mr. armitage had saved his
wife's life it might still be weeks before she was fully recovered,
especially since it had been explained to becky that she could never
have another child without risking her own life.

charlie visited her every morning and evening, but it was over a
fortnight before she was able to tell her husband how guy trentham had
forced his way into the house and then threatened to kill her unless she
told him where the picture was.

"why? i simply can't understand why," said charlie.

"has the picture turned up anywhere?"

"no sign of it so far," he said, just as daphne came in bearing a huge
basket of provisions. she kissed becky on the cheek before confining
that the fruit had been purchased at trumper's that morning. becky
managed a smile as she munched her way through a peach. daphne sat on
the end of the bed and immediately launched into all her latest news.

she was able to let them know, following one of her periodic visits to
the trenthams, that guy had disappeared off to australia and that his
mother was claiming he had never set foot in england in the first place,
but traveled to sydney direct from india.

"via the gilston road," said charlie.

"that's not what the police think," said daphne. "they remain convinced
that he left england in 1920 and they can find no proof he ever
returned."

"well, we're certainly not going to enlighten them," said charlie,
taking his wife's hand.

"why not?" asked daphne.

"because even i consider australia far enough away for trendham to be
left to his own devices: in any case nodhing can be gained from pursuing
him now. if she australians give him enough rope i'm sure he'll hang
himself."

"but why australia?" asked becky.

"mrs. trentham's telling everyone who cares to listen that guy has been
offered a partnership in a cattle broker's far too good a position to
turn down, even if it did mean having to resign his commission. the
vicar is the only person i can find who believes the story." but even
daphne had no simple answer as to why trentham should have been so keen
to get his hands on dhe lithe oil painting.

the colonel and elizabeth also visited becky on several occasions and as
he continually talked of the company's future and never once referred to
his resignation letter charlie didn't press him on dhe subject.

it was to be crowther who eventually enlightened charlie as to who had
purchased the flats.

six weeks later charlie drove his wife home to gilston road at a more
stately pace mr. armitage having suggested a quiet month resting before
she considered returning to work. charlie promised the surgeon that he
would not allow becky to do anything until he felt sure she had fully
recovered.

the morning becky returned home charlie left her propped up in bed with
a book and headed back to chelsea terrace where he went straight to the
jewelry shop he had acquired in his wife's absence.

charlie took a considerable time selecting a string of cultured pearls,
a gold bracelet and a lady's victorian watch, which he then instructed
to be sent to grace, to the staff nurse and to the nurse who had taken
care of becky during her unscheduled stay at guy's. his next stop was
the greengrocer's shop where he asked bob to make up a basket of the
finest fruit, while he personally selected a botde of vintage wine from
number 101 to accompany it. "send dhem bodh round to mr. armitage at 7
cadogan square, london sw1, widh my compliments," he added.

"right away," said bob. "anything else while i'm at t?"

"yes, i want you to repeat that order every monday for the rest of his
life."

it was about a month later, in november 1922, that charlie reamed of the
problems arnold was facing with the simple task of replacing a shop
assistant. in fact, selecting staff had become one of arnold's biggest
headaches of late, because for every job that became vacant fifty to a
hundred people were applying to fill it. arnold would then put together
a shortlist as charlie still insisted that he interview the final
candidates before any position was confirmed.

on that particular monday, arnold had already considered a number of
girls for the position as sales assistant at the flower shop, following
the retirement of one of the company's longest-serving employees.

"although i've already shortlisted three for the

job," said arnold, "i thought you would be interested in one of the
applicants i rejected. she didn't seem to have the appropriate
qualifications for this particular position. however charlie glanced at
the sheet of paper arnold passed to him. "joan moore. why would i ?"
began charlie, as his eyes ran swiftly down her application. "ah, i
see," he said. "how very observant of you, tom." he read a few more
lines. "but i don't need a well, on the other hand perhaps i do." he
looked up. "arrange for me to see miss. moore within the next week."

the following thursday charlie interviewed joan moore for over an hour
at his home in gilston road and his first impression was of a cheery,
well-mannered if somewhat immature girl. however, before he offered her
the position as lady's maid to mrs. trumper he still had a couple of
questions he felt needed answering.

"did you apply for this job because you knew of the relationship between
my wife and your former employer?" charlie asked.

the girl looked him straight in the eyes. "yes, sir, i did."

"and were you sacked by your previous employer?"

"not exactly, sir, but when i left she refused to supply me with a
reference."

"what reason did she give for that?"

"i was walkin' out with the second footman, 'aving failed to inform the
butler, who is in charge of the 'ousehold."

"and are you still walking out with the second footman?"

the girl hesitated. "yes, sir," she said. "you see, we're 'aping to be
married as soon as we've saved up ~"

enougn.

"good," said charlie. "then you can report for duly next monday morning.
mr. arnold will deal with all the necessary arrangements."

when charlie told becky he had employed a lady's maid for her she
laughed at first, then asked, "and what would i want with one of those?"
charlie told her exactly why she wanted "one of those." when he had
finished all becky said was, "you're an evil man, charlie trumper,
that's for sure."

it was at the february board meeting in 1924 that crowther warned his
colleagues that number 1 chelsea terrace might well come on the market
earlier than anticipated.

"why's that?" asked charlie, a little anxiously.

"your estimate of another two years before fothergill would have to cave
in is beginning to look prophetic."

"so how much does he want?"

"it's not quite as simple as that."

"why not?"

"because he's decided to auction the property himself."

"auction it?" inquired becky.

"yes," said crowther. "that way he avoids paying any fees to an outside
agent."

"i see. so what are you expecting the property to fetch?" asked the
colonel.

"not an easy one to answer, that," replied crowther. "it's four times
the size of any other shop in the terrace, it's on five floors and it's
even bigger than syd wrexall's pub on the other corner. it also has the
largest shop frontage in chelsea and a double entrance on the corner
facing the fulham road. for all those reasons it's not that simple to
estimate its value."

"even so, could you try and put a figure on it?" asked the chairman.

"if you were to press me i'd say somewhere in the region of two
thousand, but it could be as much as three, if anyone else were to show
an interest."

"what about the stock?" asked becky. "do we know what's happening to
that?"

"yes, it's being sold along with the building."

"and what's it worth?" asked charlie. "roughly?"

"more mrs. trumper's department than mine, i feel," said crowther.

"it's no longer that impressive," said becky. "a lot of fothergill's
best works have already gone through sotheby's, and i suspect christie's
have seen just as many during the past year. however, i would still
expect what's left over to fetch around a thousand pounds under the
hammer."

"so the face value of the property and the stock together appears to be
around the three-thousandpound mark," suggested hadlow.

"but number 1 will go for a lot more than that," said charlie.

"why?" queried hadlow.

"because mrs. trentham will be among the bidders."

"how can you be so sure?" asked the chairman.

"because our ladies' maid is still walking tout with her second
footman."

the rest of the board laughed, but all the chairman volunteered was,
"not again. first the flats, now this. when will it end?"

"not until she's dead and buried, i suspect," said charlie.

"perhaps not even then," added becky.

"if you're referring to the son," said the colonel, "i doubt if he can
cause too much trouble from twelve thousand miles away. but as for the
mother, hell bath no fury " he said testily.

"commonly misquoted," said charlie.

"what's that?" asked the chairman.

"congreve, colonel. the lines run, 'heaven has no rage like hove to
hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scomed."' the colonel's
mouth remained open but he was speechless. "however," charlie continued
"more to the point, i need to know what is the limit the board will
allow me to bid for number 1."

"i consider five thousand may well prove necessary given the
circumstances," said becky.

"but no more," said hadlow, studying the balance sheet in front of him.

"perhaps one bid over?" suggested becky.

"i'm sorry, i don't understand," said hadlow. "what does 'one bid over'
mean?"

"bids never go to the exact figure you anticipate mr. hadlow. most
people who attend an auction usually have a set figure in their minds
which inevitably ends in round numbers, so if you go one above that
figure you often end up securing the lot."

even charlie nodded, as hadlow said in admiration, "then i agree to one
bid over."

"may i also suggest," said the colonel, "that mrs. trumper should carry
out the bidding, because with her experience "

"that's kind of you, colonel, but i shall nevertheless need the help of
my husband," said becky with a smile. "and, in fact, the whole board's,
come to that. you see i have already fommulated a plan." she proceeded
to brief her colleagues on what she had in mind.

"what fun," said the colonel when she had finished. "but will i also be
allowed to attend the proceedings?"

"oh, yes," said becky. "all of you must be present, and, with the
exception of charlie and myself, you ought to be seated silently in the
row directly behind mrs. trentham a few minutes before the auction is
due to commence."

"bloody woman," said the colonel, before adding hastily, "i do
apologize."

"true. but, more important, we must never forget that she is also an
amateur," becky added.

"what's the significance of that statement?" asked hadlow.

"sometimes amateurs get carried away by the occasion, and when that
happens the professionals have no chance because the amateur often ends
up going one bid too far. we must remember that it may well be the first
auction mrs. trentham has ever placed a bid at, even attended, and as
she wants the premises every bit as much as we do, and has the advantage
of superior resources, we will have to secure the lot by sheer cunning."
no one seemed to disagree with this assessment.

once the board meeting was over becky took charlie through her plan for
the forthcoming auction in greater detail, and even made him attend
sotheby's one morning with orders to bid for three pieces of dutch
silver. he carried out his wife's instructions but ended up with a
georgian mustard pot he had never intended to buy in the first place.

"no better way of reaming," becky assured him. "just be thankful that it
wasn't a rembrandt you were bidding for."

she continued to explain to charlie the subtleties of auctions over
dinner that night in far greater detail than she had with the board.
charlie reamed that there were different signs you could give the
auctioneer, so that rivals remained unaware that you were still bidding,
while at the same time you could discover who was bidding against you.

"but isn't mrs. trentham bound to spot you?" said charlie after he had
cut his wife a slice of bread. "after all, you'll be the only two left
bidding by that stage."

"not if you've already put her off balance before i enter the fray,"
said becky.

"but the board agreed that you "

"that i should be allowed to go one bid over five thousand."

"but "

"no buts, charlie," said becky as she served her husband up another
portion of irish stew. "on the morning of the auction i want you on
parade, dressed in your best suit and sitting in the seventh row on the
gangway looking very pleased with yourself. you will then proceed to bid
ostentatiously up to one over three thousand pounds. when mrs. trentham
goes to the next bid, as undoubtedly she will, you must stand up and
flounce out of the room, looking defeated, while i continue the bidding
in your absence."

"not bad," said charlie as he put his fork into a couple of peas. "but
surely mrs. trentham will work out exactly what you're up to?"

"not a chance," said becky. "because i will have an agreed code with the
auctioneer that she could never hope to spot, let alone to decipher."

"but will [understand what you are up to?"

"oh, yes," said becky, "because you'll know exactly what i'm doing when
i use the glasses ploy."

"the glasses ploy? but you don't even wear glasses."

"i wilf be on the day of the auction, and when i'm wearing them you'll
know i'm still bidding. if i take them off, i've finished bidding. so
when you leave the room all the auctioneer will see when he looks in my
direction is that i still have my glasses on. mrs. trentham will think
you've gone, and will, i suspect, be quite happy to let someone else
continue with the bidding so long as she's confident they don't
represent you."

"you're a gem, mrs. trumper," said charlie as he rose to clear away the
plates. "but what if she sees you chatting to the auctioneer or, worse,
finds out your code even before mr. fothergill calls for the first bid?"

"she can't," said becky. "i'll agree on the code with fothergill only
minutes before the auction begins. in any case, it will be at that
moment that you will make a grand entrance, and then only seconds after
the other members of the board have taken their seats directly behind
mrs. trentham, so with a bit of luck she'll be so distracted by
everything that's going on around her that she won't even notice me."

"i married a very clever girl," said charlie.

"you never admitted as much when we were at jubilee street elementary."

on the morning of the auction, charlie confessed over breakfast that he
was very nervous, despite becky's appearing to be remarkably calm,
especially after joan had informed her mistress that the second footman
had heard from the cook that mrs. trentham had placed a limit of four
thousand pounds on her bidding.

"i just wonder ..." said charlie.

"whether she planted the sum in the cook's mind?" said becky. "it's
possible. after all, she's every bit as cunning as you are. but as long
as we stick to our agreed plan and remember everyone, even mrs.
trentham, has a limit we can still beat her."

the auction was advertised to begin at ten a.m. a full twenty minutes
before the bidding was due to commence mrs. trentham entered the room
and swept regally down the aisle. she took her place in the center of
the third row, and placed her handbag on one seat and a catalogue on the
other to be certain that no one sat next to her. the colonel and his two
colleagues entered the half-filled room at nine-fifty a.m. and, as
instructed, filed into the seats immediately behind their adversary.
mrs. trentham appeared to show no interest in their presence. five
minutes later charlie made his entrance. he strolled down the center
aisle, raised his hat to a lady he recognized, shook hands with one of
his regular customers and finally took his place on the gangway at the
end of the seventh row. he continued to chat noisily with his next-door
neighbor about england's cricket tour of australia explaining once

again that he was not related to the great australian batsman whose name
he bore. the minute hand on the grandfather clock behind the
auctioneer's box moved slowly towards the appointed hour.

although the room was not much larger than daphne's hall in eaton
square, they had still somehow managed to pack in over a hundred chairs
of different shapes and sizes. the walls were covered in a faded green
baize that displayed several hook marks where pictures must have hung in
the past and the carpet had become so threadbare that charlie could see
the floorboards in places. he began to feel that the cost of bringing
number 1 up to the standard he expected for all trumper's shops was
going to be greater than he had originally anticipated.

glancing around, he estimated that over seventy people were now seated
in the auction house, and wondered just how many had no interest in
bidding themselves but had simply come to see the showdown between the
trumpers and mrs. trentham.

syd wrexall, as the representative of the shops committee, was already
in the front row, arms folded, trying to look composed, his vast bulk
almost taking up two seats. charlie suspected that he wouldn't go much
beyond the second or third bid. he soon spotted mrs. trentham seated in
the third row, her gaze fixed directly on the grandfather clock.

then, with two minutes to spare, becky slipped into the auction house.
charlie was sitting on the edge of his seat waiting to carry out his
instructions to the letter. he rose from his place and walked
purposefully towards the exit. this time mrs. trentham did glance round
to see what charlie was up to. innocently he collected another bill of
sale from the back of the room, then returned to his seat at a leisurely
pace, stopping to talk to another shop owner who had obviously taken an
hour off co watch the proceedings.

when charlie resumed to his place he didn't look in the direction of his
wife, who he knew must now be hidden somewhere towards the back of the
room. nor did he once look at mrs. trentham, although he could feel her
eyes fixed on him.

as the clock chimed ten, mr. fothergill a tall thin man with a flower in
his buttonhole and not a hair of his silver locks out of place climbed
the four steps of the circular wooden box. charlie thought he looked an
impressive figure as he towered over them. as soon as he had composed
himself he rested a hand on the rim of the box and beamed at the packed
audience, picked up his gavel and said, "good moming, ladies and
gendemen." a silence fell over the room.

"this is a sale of the property known as number 1 chelsea terrace, its
fixtures, fittings and contents, which have been on view to the general
public for the past two weeks. the highest bidder will be required to
make a deposit of ten percent immediately following the auction, then
complete the final transaction widhin ninety days. those are the temls
as stated on your bill of sale, and i repeat them only so that there can
be no misunderstanding. "

mr. fothergi] cleared his throat and charlie could feel his heart beat
faster and faster. he watched the colonel clench a fist as becky removed
a pair of glasses out of her bag and placed them in her lap.

"i have an opening bid of one thousand pounds," fothergill told the
silent audience, many of whom were standing at the side of the room or
leaning against the wall as there were now few seats vacant. charlie
kept his eyes fixed on the auctioneer. mr. fothergill smiled in the
direction of mr. wrexall, whose amms remained folded in an attitude of
detemmined resolution. "do i see any advance on one thousand?"

"one thousand, five hundred," said charlie, just a little too loudly.
those not involved in the intrigue looked around to see who it was who
had made the bid. several fumed to their neighbors and began talking in
noisy whispers.

"one thousand, five hundred," said the auctioneer. "do i see two
thousand?" mr. wrexall unfolded his arms and raised a hand like a child
in school determined to prove he knows the answer to one of teacher's
questions.

"two thousand, five hundred," said charlie, even before wrexall had
lowered his hand.

"two thousand, five hundred in the center of the room. do i see three
thousand?"

mr. wrexall's hand rose an inch from his knee then fell back. a deep
frown fommed on his face. "do i see three thousand?" mr. fothergill
asked for a second time. charlie couldn't believe his luck. he was going
to get number 1 for two thousand, five hundred. each second felt like a
minute as he waited for the hammer to come down.

"do i hear three thousand bid anywhere in the room?" said mr.
fothergill, sounding a little disappointed. "then i am offering number 1
chelsea terrace at two thousand, five hundred pounds for the first time
..." charlie held his breath. "for the second time." the auctioneer
started to raise his gavel "... three thousand pounds," mr. fothergill
announced with an audible sigh of relief, as mrs. trentham's gloved hand
settled back in her lap.

"three thousand, five hundred," said charlie as mr. fothergill smiled in
his direction, but as soon as he looked back towards mrs. trentham she
nodded to the auctioneer's inquiry of four thousand pounds.

charlie allowed a second or two to pass before he stood up, straightened
his tie and, looking grim, walked slowly down the center of the aisle
and out onto the street. he didn't see becky put her glasses on, or the
look of triumph that came over mrs. trentham's face.

"do i see four thousand, five hundred pounds?" asked the auctioneer, and
with only a glance towards where becky was seated he said, "i do."

fothergill resumed to mrs. trentham and asked "five thousand pounds,
madam?" her eyes quickly searched round the room, but it became obvious
for all to see that she couldn't work out where the last bid had come
from. murmurs started to turn into chatter as everyone in the auction
house began the game of searching for the bidder. only becky, safely in
her back row seat, didn't move a muscle.

"quiet, please," said the auctioneer. "i have a bid of four thousand,
five hundred pounds. do i see five thousand anywhere in the room?" his
gaze resumed to mrs. trentham. she raised her hand slowly, but as she
did so swung quickly round to see if she could spot who was bidding
against her. but no one had moved when the auctioneer said, "five
thousand, five hundred. i now have a bid of five thousand, five
hundred." mr. fothergill surveyed his audience. "are there any more
bids?" he looked in mrs. trentham's direction but she in turn looked
baffled, her hands motionless in her lap.

"then it's five thousand, five hundred for the first time," said mr.
fothergill. "five thousand, five hundred for a second time" becky pursed
her lips to stop herself from breaking into a large grin "and for a
third and final time," he said, raising his gavel.

"six thousand," said mrs. trentham clearly, while at the same time
waving her hand. a gasp went up around the room: becky removed her
glasses with a sigh, realizing that her carefully worked-out ploy had
failed even though mrs. trentham had been made to pay triple the price
any shop in the terrace had fetched in the past.

the auctioneer's eyes resumed to the back of the room but the glasses
were now clasped fimmly in becky's hand, so he transferred his gaze back
to mrs. trendham, who sat bolt upright, a smile of satisfaction on her
face.

"at six thousand for the first time," said the auctioneer, his eyes
searching the room. "six thousand for the second time then, if there are
no more bids, it's six thousand for the last time ..." once again the
gavel was raised.

"seven thousand pounds," said a voice from the back of the room.
everyone fumed to see that charlie had resumed and was now standing in
the aisle, his right hand high in the air.

the colonel looked round, and when he saw who the new bidder was he
began to perspire, something he didn't like to do in public. he removed
a handkerchief from his top pocket and mopped his brow.

"i have a bid of seven thousand pounds," said a surprised mr.
fothergill.

"eight thousand," said mrs. trentham, staring straight at charlie
bellinerendy.

"nine thousand," barked back charlie.

the chatter in the room quickly fumed into a babble. becky wanted to
jump up and push her husband back out into the street.

"quiet, please," said mr. fothergill. "quiet!" he pleaded, almost
shouting. the colonel was still mopping his brow, mr. crowther's mouth
was open wide enough to have caught any passing fly and mr. hadlow's
head was fimmly buried in his hands.

"ten thousand," said mrs. trentham who, becky could see, was, like
charlie, now totally out of control.

the auctioneer asked, "do i see eleven thousand?"

charlie had a worried look on his face but he simply wrinkled his brow,
shook his head and placed his hands back in his pocket.

becky sighed with relief and, unclasping her hands, nervously put her
glasses back on.

"eleven thousand," said mr. fothergill, looking towards becky, while
pandemonium broke out once again as she rose to protest, having quickly
removed her glasses. charlie looked totally bemused.

mrs. trentham's eyes had now come to rest on becky, whom she had finally
located. with a smile of satisfaction mrs. trentham declared, "twelve
thousand pounds."

the auctioneer looked back towards becky, who had placed her glasses in
her bag and closed the catch with a snap. he glanced towards charlie,
whose hands remained fimmly in his pockets.

"the bid is at the front of the room at twelve thousand pounds. is
anyone else bidding?" asked the auctioneer. once again his eyes darted
from becky to charlie before resuming to mrs. trentham. "then at twelve
thousand for the first time" he looked around once more "for the second
time, for the third and final time ..." his gavel came down with a thud.
"i declare the property sold for twelve thousand pounds to mrs. gerald
trentham."

becky ran towards the door, but charlie was already out on the pavement.

"what were you playing at, charlie?" she demanded even before she caught
up with him.

"i knew she would bid up to ten thousand pounds," said charlie, "because
that's the amount she still has on deposit at her bank."

"but how could you possibly know that?"

"mrs. trentham's second footman passed on the infommation to me this
moming. he will, by the way, be joining us as our butler."

at that moment the chaimman walked out onto the pavement. "i must say,
rebecca, your plan was brilliant. had me completely fooled."

"me too," said charlie.

"you took an awful risk, charlie trumper," said becky, not letting her
husband off the hook.

"perhaps, but at least i knew what her limit was. i had no idea what you
were playing at."

"i made a genuine mistake," said becky. "when i put my glasses back on
... what are you laughing at, charlie trumper?"

"thank god for genuine amateurs."

"what do you mean?"

"mrs. trentham thought you really were bidding, and she had been
tricked, so she went one bid too far. in fact, she wasn't the only one
who was carried away by the occasion. i even begin to feel sorry for "

"for mrs. trentham?"

"certainly not," said charlie. "for mr. fothergill. he's about to spend
ninety days in heaven before he comes down to earth with an almighty
thump."

imps. trtnth~ 2 ~3 ~

don't believe anyone could describe me as a snob. however, i do believe
that the maxim "there's a place for everything, and everything in its
place" applies equally well to human beings.

i was born in yorkshire at the height of the victorian empire and i
think i can safely say that during that period in our island's history
my family played a considerable role.

my father, sir raymond hardcastle, was not only an inventor and
industrialist of great imagination and skill, but he also built up one
of the nation's most successful companies. at the same time he always
treated his workers as if they were all part of the family, and indeed
it was this example that he set, whenever he dealt with those less
fortunate than himself, that has been the benchmark by which i have
attempted to conduct my own life.

i have no brothers and just one elder sister, amy.

although there were only a couple of years between us i cannot pretend
that we were ever particularly close, perhaps because i was an outgoing,
even vivacious child, while she was shy and reserved, to the point of
being retiring, particularly whenever it came to contact with members of
the opposite sex. father and i tried to help her find an appropriate
spouse, but it was to prove an impossible task, and even he gave up once
amy had passed her fortieth birthday. instead she has usefully occupied
her time since my mother's untimely death taking care of my beloved
father in his old age an arrangement, i might add, that has suited them
both admirably.

1, on the other hand, had no problem in finding myself a husband. if i
remember correctly, gerald was the fourth or perhaps even the fifth
suitor who went down on bended knee to ask for my hand in marriage.
gerald and i first met when i had been a houseguest at lord and lady
fanshaw's country home in norfolk. the fanshaws were old friends of my
father, and i had been seeing their younger son anthony for some
considerable time. as it turned out, i was warned that he was not going
to inherit his father's land or title, so it seemed to me there was
little purpose in letting the young man entertain any hopes of a lasting
relationship. if i remember correctly, father was not overwhelmed with
my conduct and may even have chastised me at the time, but as i tried to
explain to him, at length, although gerald may not have been the most
dashing of my paramours, he did have the distinct advantage of coming
from a family that farmed land in three counties, not to mention an
estate in aberdeen.

we were married at st. mary's, great ashton, in july 1895 and our first
son, guy, was conceived a year later; one does like a proper period of
time to elapse before one's firstborn takes his place in the world, thus
giving no one cause for idle chatter.

my father always treated both my sister and me as equals, although i was
often given to believe that i was his favorite. had it not been for his
sense of fair play he would surely have left everything to me, because
he simply doted on guy, whereas in fact amy will, on my father's demise,
inherit half his vast fortune. heaven knows what possible use she could
make of such wealth, her only interests in life being gardening, crochet
work and the occasional visit to the scarborough festival.

but to return to guy, everyone who came into contact with the boy during
those formative years invariably commented on what a handsome child he
was, and although i never allowed him to become spoiled, i did consider
it nothing less than my duty to ensure that he was given the sort of
start in life that would prepare him for the role i felt confident he
was bound eventually to play. with that in mind, even before he'd been
christened, he was registered with asgarth preparatory school, and then
harrow, from where i assumed he would enter the royal military academy.
his grandfather spared no expense when it came to his education, and
indeed, in the case of his eldest grandson, was generous to a fault.

five years later i gave birth to a second son, nigel, who arrived
somewhat prematurely, which may account for why he took rather longer to
progress than his elder brother. guy, meanwhile, was going through
several private tutors, one or two of whom found him perhaps a little
too boisterous. after all, what child doesn't at some time put toads in
your bathwater or cut shoelaces in half?

at the age of nine guy duly proceeded to asgarth, and from there on to
harrow. the reverend prebendary anthony wood was his headmaster at the
time and i reminded him that guy was the seventh generation of trenthams
to have attended that school.

while at harrow guy excelled both in the combined cadet force becoming a
company sergeant major in his final year and in the boxing ring, where
he beat every one of his opponents with the notable exception of the
match against radley, where he came up against a nigerian, who i later
learned was in his mid-twenties.

it saddened me that during his last term at school guy was not made a
prefect. i understood that he had become involved in so many other
activities that it was not considered to be in his own best interests.
although i might have hoped that his exam results would have been a
likle more satisfactory, i have always considered that he was one of
those children who can be described as innately intelligent rather than
academically clever. despite a rather biased housemaster's report that
suggested some of the marks guy had been awarded in his final exams came
as a surprise to him, my son still managed to secure his place at
sandhurst.

at the academy guy proved to be a first-class cadet and also found time
to continue with his boxing, becoming the cadet middleweight champion.
two years later, in july 1916, he passed out in the top half of the roll
of honor before going on to join his father's old regiment.

gerald, i should point out, had left the fusiliers on the death of his
father in order that he might return to berkshire and take over the
running of the family estates. he had been a brevet colonel at the time
of his forced retirement, and many considered that he was the natural
successor to be the commanding officer of the regiment. as it turned
out, he was passed over for someone who wasn't even in the first
battalion, a certain danvers hamilton. although i had never met the
gentleman in question, several brother officers expressed the view that
his appointment had been a travesty of justice. however, i had every
confidence that guy would redeem the family honor and in time go on to
command the regiment himself.

although gerald was not directly involved in the great war he did
nevertheless serve his country during those arduous years by allowing
his name to be put forward as a parliamentary candidate for berkshire
west, a constituency that in the middle of the last century his
grandfather had represented for the liberals under palmerston. he was
returned unopposed in three elections and worked for his party
diligently from the back benches, having made it clear to all concerned
that he had no desire to hold office.

after guy had received the king's commission, he was despatched to
aldershot as a second lieutenant, where he continued with his training
in preparation for joining the regiment on the western front. on being
awarded his second pip in less than a year he was transferred to
edinburgh and seconded to the fifth battalion a few weeks before they
were ordered to sail for france.

nigel, meanwhile, had just entered harrow and was attempting to follow
in his brother's footsteps i fear, however, not with quite the same
obvious flair. in fact during one of those interminable holidays they
will give children nowadays he complained to me of being bullied. i told
the boy to buckle down and remember that we were at war. i also pointed
out that i could never recall guy making a fuss on that particular
score.

i watched my two sons closely during that long summer of 1917 and cannot
pretend that guy found nigel an amiable companion while he was at home
on leave; in fact he barely tolerated his company. i kept telling nigel
that he had to strive to gain his elder brother's respect, but this only
resulted in nigel running off to hide in the garden for hours on end.

during his leave that summer i advised guy to visit his grandfather in
yorkshire and even found a first edition of songs of innocence to
present him with which i knew my father had long wanted to add to his
collection. guy returned a week later and confirmed that securing a
william blake the old man did not have had indeed put grandpa "in good
salts."

naturally, like any mother, during that particular inspiring period in
our history i became anxious that guy should be seen to acquit himself
well in the face of the enemy, and eventually, god willing, return home
in one piece. as it turned out, i think i can safely say that no mother,
however proud, could have asked for more of a son.

guy was promoted to the rank of captain at a very young age, and
following the second battle of the marne, was awarded the military
cross. others who read the citation felt he had been a touch unlucky not
to have been put forward for the vc. i have resisted pointing out to
them that any such recommendation would have had to be countersigned by
his commanding officer in the field, and as he was a certain danvers
hamilton the injustice was readily explicable.

soon after the armistice was signed guy returned home to serve a tour of
duty at the regimental barracks in hounslow. while he was on leave i
asked spinks to engrave both of his mcs, dress and miniature, with the
initials g.f.t. meanwhile, his brother nigel was, after some influence
being exercised by gerald, finally accepted as a cadet at the royal
military academy.

during the time guy was back in london, i feel certain he sowed a few
wild oats what young man of that age doesn't.' but he well understood
that marriage before the age of thirty could only harm his chances of
promotion.

although he brought several young ladies down to ashurst on the
weekends, i knew none of them was serious and anyway, i already had my
eye on a particular girl from the next village who had been known to the
family for some considerable time. despite being without a title she
could trace her family back to the norman conquest. more important, they
could walk on their own land from ashurst to hastings.

it thus came as a particularly unpleasant shock for me when guy turned
up one weekend accompanied by a girl called rebecca salmon, who, i found
it hard to believe, was at that time sharing rooms with the
harcourt-brownes' daughter.

as i have already made abundantly clear, i am not a snob. but miss.
salmon is, i fear, the type of girl who always manages to bring out the
worst in me. don't misunderstand me. i have nothing against anyone
simply because they wish to be educated. in fact i'm basically in favor
of such goings-on in sensible proportions but at the same time that
doesn't allow one to assume one automatically has a right to a place in
society. you see, i just can't abide anyone who pretends to be something
that they obviously are not, and i sensed even before meeting miss.
salmon that she was coming down to ashurst with one purpose in mind.

we all understood that guy was having a fling while he was based in
london after all, miss. salmon was that type of girl. indeed, when the
following weekend i had guy to myself for a few moments i was able to
warn him never to allow the likes of miss. salmon to get her hooks into
him; he must realize he would be a marvelous catch for someone from her
background.

guy laughed at such a suggestion and assured me that he had no long-term
plans for the baker's daughter. in any case, he reminded me, he would be
departing to serve with the colors in poona before too long, so marriage
was out of the question. he must have sensed, however, that my fears
were still not fully assuaged, because after a further thought he added,
hit may interest you to know, mother, that miss. salmon is presently
walking out with a sergeant from the regiment with whom she has an
understanding."

in fact two weeks later guy appeared at ashurst with a miss. victoria
berkeley, a far more suitable choice whose mother i had known for years;
indeed, if the girl hadn't had four other sisters and an impoverished
archdeacon for a father, she might in time have suited admirably.

to be fair, after that single unfortunate occasion guy never mentioned
the name of rebecca salmon in my presence again, and as he sailed for
india a few months later, i assumed i had heard the last of the wretched
girl.

when nigel eventually left sandhurst he didn't follow guy into the
regiment, as it had become abundantly clear during his two-year period
at the academy that he was not cut out to be a soldier. however, gerald
was able to secure him a position with a firm of stockbrokers in the
city where one of his cousins was the senior partner. i have to admit
that the reports that filtered back to me from time to time were not
encouraging, but once i had mentioned to gerald's cousin that i would
eventually be needing someone to manage his grandfather's portfolio,
nigel started to progress slowly up the firm's ladder.

it must have been about six months later that lieutenant-colonel sir
danvers hamilton dropped gerald that note through the letter box at 19
chester square. the moment gerald told me that hamilton wanted a private
word with him, i sensed trouble. over the years i had come in contact
with many of gerald's brother officers so l knew exactly how to handle
them. gerald, on the other hand, is quite naive when it comes to matters
of a personal nature, invariably giving the other fellow the benefit of
the doubt. i immediately checked my husband's whip commitments in the
commons for the following week and arranged for sir danvers to visit us
on the monday evening at six, knowing only too well that, because of his
commit meets in the house, gerald would almost certainly have to cancel
the meeting at the last moment.

gerald phoned soon after five on the day in question to say that he
couldn't possibly get away and suggested the colonel might come on over
to the house of commons. i said i would see what i could do. an hour
later sir danvers arrived at chester square. after i had apologized and
explained my husband's absence i was able to convince him that he should
convey his message to me. when the colonel informed me that miss. salmon
was going to have a child i naturally asked of what interest that could
possibly be to gerald or myself. he hesitated only for a moment before
suggesting that guy was the father. i realized immediately that if such
a slander was allowed to spread abroad it might even reach the ears of
his brother officers in poona and that could only do immense harm to my
son's chances of further promotion. any such suggestion i therefore
dismissed as ridiculous, along with the colonel in the same breath.

it was during a rubber of bridge at celia littlechild's house a few
weeks later that she let slip that she had employed a private detective
called harris to spy on her first husband, once she was convinced he was
being unfaithful. after learning this piece of information i found
myself quite unable to concentrate on the game, much to my partner's
annoyance.

on returning home i looked up the name in the london directory. there he
was: "max harris, private detective ax-scotland yard, all problems
considered." after some minutes staring at the phone, i finally picked
up the headpiece and asked the operator to get me paddington 3720. i
waited for several moments before anyone spoke.

hharris," said a gruff voice without further explanation.

his that the detective agency?" i asked, nearly replacing the phone back
on the hook before i had given the man a chance to reply.

"yes, madam, it is," said the voice, sounding a little more
enthusiastic.

"i may be in need of your help for a friend, you understand," i said,
feeling rather embarrassed.

"a friend," said the voice. "yes, of course. then perhaps we should
meet."

"but not at your office,h i insisted.

"i quite understand, madam. would the st. agnes hotel, bury street,
south kensington, four o'clock tomorrow afternoon suit?"

"yes," i said and put the phone down, suddenly aware that he didn't know
my name and i didn't know what he looked like.

when the following day i arrived at the st. agnes, a dreadful little
place just off the brompton road, i walked round the block several times
before i finally felt able to enter the lobby. a man of about thirty,
perhaps thirty-five was leaning on the reception desk. he straightened
up the moment he saw me.

hare you looking for a mr. harris, by any chance?" he inquired.

i nodded and he quickly led us through to the tea room and ushered me
into a seat in the farthest corner. once he had sat down in the chair
opposite me i began to study him more carefully. he must have been about
five foot ten, stocky, with dark brown hair and an even browner
moustache. he wore a brown check harris tweed jacket, cream shirt and
thin yellow tie. as i began to explain why i might be in need of his
services i became distracted as he started to click the knuckles of his
fingers, one by one, first the left hand and then the right. i wanted to
get up and leave, and would have done so had i believed for a moment
that finding anyone less obnoxious to carry out the task would have
proved easy.

it also took me some considerable time to convince harris that i was not
looking for a divorce. at that first meeting i explained to him as much
of my dilemma as i felt able. i was shocked when he demanded the
extortionate fee of five shillings an hour just to open his
investigation. however, i did not feel i had been left with a great deal
of choice in the matter. i agreed that he should start the following day
and that we would meet again a week later.

mr. harris's first report informed me that, in the view of those who
spent most of their working hours at a pub in chelsea called the
musketeer, charlie trumper was the father of rebecca salmon's child, and
indeed when the suggestion was put to him directly he made no attempt to
deny it. as if to prove the point, within days of the child's birth he
and miss. salmon were married~uietly in a register office.

mr. harris had no trouble in obtaining a copy of the child's birth
certificate. it confirmed that the child, daniel george trumper, was the
son of rebecca salmon and charlie george trumper of 147 chelsea terrace.
i also noted that the child had been named after both his grandparents.
in my next letter to guy i enclosed a copy of the birth certificate
along with one or two other little snippets that harris had supplied,
such as details of the wedding and colonel hamilton's appointment as
chairman of the trumper board. i must confess that i assumed that was an
end of the matter.

however, two weeks later i received a letter from guy: i presume it must
have crossed with mine in the post. he explained that sir danvers had
been in communication with his commanding officer, colonel forbes, and
because of forbes' insistence that there might be a breach-of-promise
suit pending guy had been made to appear in front of a group of his
fellow officers to explain the relationship between himself and miss.
salmon.

i immediately sat down and wrote a long letter to colonel forbes guy was
obviously not in a position to present the full evidence i had managed
to secure. i included a further copy of the birth certificate so that he
would be left in no doubt that my son could not have possibly been
involved with the salmon girl in any way. i added without prejudice that
colonel hamilton was now employed as chairman of the board of trumper's,
a position from which he certainly derived some remuneration. the long
information sheets now sent to me on a weekly basis by mr. harris were,
i had to admit, proving of considerable value.

for some little time matters returned to normal. gerald busied himself
with his parliamentary duties while i concentrated on nothing more
demanding than the appointment of the new vicar's warden and my bridge
circle.

the problem, however, went deeper than i had imagined, for quite by
chance i discovered that we were no longer to be included on the guest
list for daphne harcourt-browne's marriage to the marquess of wiltshire.
of course, percy would never have become the twelfth marquess had it not
been for his father and brother sacrificing their lives on the western
front. however, i learned from others who were present at the ceremony
that colonel hamilton as well as the trumpers were to be seen at st.
margaret's, and at the reception afterwards.

during this period, mr. harris continued to supply me with memoranda
about the comings and goings of the trumpers and their growing business
empire. i must confess that i had no interest whatsoever in any of their
commercial transactions: it was a world that remained totally alien to
me but i didn't stop him going beyond his brief as it gave me a useful
insight into guy's adversaries.

a few months later i received a note from colonel forbes acknowledging
my letter, but otherwise i heard nothing further concerning guy's
unfortunate misrepresentation. i therefore assumed everything must be
back on an even keel and that colonel hamilton's fabrication had been
treated with the disdain it merited.

then one morning in june the following year, gerald was called away to
the war office on what he thought at the time must be another routine
parliamentary briefing.

when my husband returned to chester square unexpectedly that afternoon
he made me sit down and drink a large whisky before he explained that he
had some unpleasant news to impart. i had rarely seen him looking so
grim as i sat there silently wondering what could possibly be important
enough to cause him to return home during the day.

uguy has resigned his commission," announced gerald tersely. "he will be
returning to england just as soon as the necessary paperwork has been
completed."

hwhy?" i asked, quite stunned.

"no reason was given," gerald replied. "i was called to the war office
this morning, and tipped off by billy cuthbert, a brother fusilier. he
informed me privately that if guy hadn't resigned he would undoubtedly
have been cashiered."

during the time i waited for guy's return to england i went over every
snippet of information on the rapidly growing trumper empire that mr.
harris was able to supply me with, however minute or seemingly
insignificant it seemed at the time. among the many pages of material
that the detective sent, no doubt in order to justify his outrageous
fees, i came across one item which i suspected might have been almost as
important to the trumpers as my son's reputation was to me.

i carried out all the necessary inquiries myself, and having checked
over the property one sunday morning i phoned savill's on the monday and
made a bid of two thousand, five hundred pounds for the property in
question. the agent rang back later in the week to say someone else who
i realized had to be trumper's  had offered three thousand. "then bid
four thousand," i told him, before replacing the phone.

the estate agents were able to confirm later that afternoon that i was
in possession of the freehold on 25 to 99 chelsea terrace, a block of
thirty-eight flats. trumper's representative, i was assured, would be
informed immediately who their next-door neighbor was to be.

tjuy treneham arrived back on the doorstep of 19 chester square on a
chilly afternoon in september 1922, just after gibson had cleared away
afternoon tea. his mother would never forget the occasion, because when
guy was shown into the drawing room she hardly recognized him. mrs.
trentham had been writing a letter at her desk when gibson announced,
"captain guy."

she turned to see her son enter the room and walk straight over to the
fireplace where he stood, legs astride, with his back to the coals. his
glazed eyes stared in front of him but he didn't speak.

mrs. trentham was only thankful that her husband was taking part in a
debate at the commons that afternoon and was not expected back until
after the ten o'clock vote that night.

guy obviously hadn't shaved for several days. he could also have made
excellent use of a scrubbing brush, while the suit he wore was barely
recognizable as the one

that only three years before had been tailored by gieves. the disheveled
figure stood with his back to the blazing coal fire, his body visibly
shivering, as he fumed to face his mother. for the first time mrs.
trentham noticed that her son was holding a brown paper parcel under one
arm.

although she was not cold, mrs. trentham also shuddered. she remained at
her desk, feeling no desire to embrace her first born, or be the one who
broke the silence between them.

"what have you been told, mother?" guy uttered at last, his voice shaky
and uncertain.

"nothing of any real substance." she looked up at him quizzically.
"other than that you have resigned your commission, and that had you not
done so you would have been cashiered."

"that much is true," he admitted, at last releasing the parcel he had
been clutching and placing it on the table beside him. "but only because
they conspired against me."

"they?"

"yes, colonel hamilton, trumper and the girl."

"colonel forbes preferred the word of miss. salmon even after i had
written to him?" asked mrs. trentham icily.

"yes yes, he did. after all, colonel hamilton still has a lot of friends
in the regiment and some of them were only too happy to carry out his
bidding if it meant a rival might be eliminated."

she watched him for a moment as he swayed nervously from foot to foot.
"but i thought the matter had been finally settled. after all, the birth
certificate "

"that might have been the case had it been signed by charlie trumper as
well as the girl, but the certificate only bore the single signature
hers. what made matters worse, colonel hamilton advised miss. salmon to
threaten a breach-of-promise suit naming me as the father. had she done
so, of course, despite my being innocent of any charge they could lay at
my door, the good name of the regiment would have suffered irredeemably.
i therefore felt i'd been left with no choice but to take the honorable
course and resign my commission.'' his voice became even more bitter.
"and all because trumper feared that the truth might come out."

"what are you talking about, guy?"

he avoided his mother's direct gaze as he moved from the fireplace to
the drinks cabinet where he poured himself a large whisky. he left the
soda syphon untouched and took a long swallow. his mother waited in
silence for him to continue.

"after the second battle of the marne i was ordered by colonel hamilton
to set up an inquiry into trumper's cowardice in the field," said guy as
he moved back to the fireplace. "many thought he should have been
courtmartialed, but the only other wimess, a private prescott, was
himself killed by a stray bullet when only yards from the safety of our
own trenches. i had foolishly allowed myself to lead prescott and
trumper back towards our lines, and when prescott fell i looked round to
see a smile on trumper's face. all he said was, 'bad luck, captain, now
you haven't got your wimess, have you?"

"did you tell anyone about this at the time?"

guy returned to the drinks cabinet to refill his glass. "who could i
tell without prescott to back me up. the least i could do was to make
sure that he was awarded a posthumous military medal. even if it meant
letting trumper off the hook. later, i discovered trumper wouldn't even
confirm my version of what had happened on the battlefield, which nearly
prevented my being awarded the mc."

"and now that he's succeeded in forcing you to resign your commission,
it can only be your word against his."

"that would have been the case if trumper had not made one foolish
mistake which could still cause his downfall."

"what are you talking about?"

"well," continued guy, his manner slightly more composed, "while the
bathe was at its height i came to the res cue of the two men in
question. i found them hiding in a bombed-out church. i made the
decision to remain there until nightfall, when it was my intention to
lead them back to the safely of our own trenches. while we were waiting
on the roof for the sun to go down and trumper was under the impression
that i was asleep, i saw him slope off back to the chancery and remove a
magnificent picture of the virgin mary from behind the altar. i
continued to watch him as he placed the little oil in his haversack. i
said nothing at the time because i realized that this was the proof i
needed of his duplicity; after all, the picture could always be resumed
to the church at some later date. once we were back behind our own lines
i immediately had trumper's equipment searched so l could have him
arrested for dhe theft. but to my surprise it was nowhere to be found."

"so how can that be of any use to you now?"

"because the picture has subsequently reappeared."

"reappeared?"

"yes," said guy, his voice rising. "daphne harcourtbrowne told me dial
she had spotted dhe painting on dhe drawing room wall in trumper's
house, and was even able to give me a detailed description of it. there
was no doubt in my mind chat it was dhe same portrait of the virgin mary
and child dlat he had earlier stolen from dhe church."

"but there's tilde anyone can do about that while the painting is still
hanging in his home."

"it isn't any longer. which is the reason i'm disguised like this."

"you must stop talking in riddles," said his mother. "explain yourself
properly, guy."

"this morning i visited trumper's home, and told the housekeeper chat i
had served alongside her master on dhe western front."

"was that wise, guy?"

"i told her my name was fowler, corporal denis fowler, and i had been
trying to get in touch with charlie for some time. i knew he wasn't
around because i'd seen him go into one of his shops on chelsea terrace
only a few minutes before. the maid who stared at me suspiciously asked
if i would wait in the hall while she went upstairs to tell mrs. trumper
i was there. that gave me easily enough time to slip into the front room
and remove the picture from where daphne had told me it was hanging. i
was out of the house even before they could possibly have worked out
what i was up to."

"but surely they will report the theft to the police and you will be
arrested."

"not a chance," said guy as he picked up the brown paper parcel from the
table and started to unwrap it. "the last thing trumper will want the
police to get their hands on is this." he passed the picture over to his
mother.

mrs. trentham stared at the little oil. "from now on you can leave mr.
trumper to me," she said without explanation. guy smiled for the first
time since he had set foot in the house. "however," she continued, "we
must concentrate on the more immediate problem of what we are going to
do about your future. i'm still confident i can get you a position in
the city. i have already spoken to "

"that won't work, mother, and you know it. there's no future for me in
england for the time being. or, at least, not until my name has been
cleared. in any case, i don't want to hang around london explaining to
your bridge circle why i'm no longer with the regiment in india. no,
i'll have to go abroad until things have quieted down a little."

"then i'll need some more time to think," guy's mother replied.
"meanwhile, go up and have a bath and shave, and while you're at it find
yourself some clean clothes and i'll work out what has to be done."

as soon as guy had left the room mrs. trentham returned to her writing
desk and locked the little picture in the bottom left-hand drawer. she
placed the key in her bag, then began to concentrate on the more
immediate problem of what should be done to protect the trentham name.

as she stared out of the window a plan began to form in her mind which,
although it would require using even more of her dwindling resources,
might at least give her the breathing space she required to expose
trumper for the thief and liar he was, and at the same time to exonerate
her son.

mrs. trentham reckoned she only had about fifty pounds in cash in the
safe deposit box in her bedroom, but she still possessed sixteen
thousand of the twenty thousand that her father had settled on her the
day she was married. "always there in case of some unforeseen
emergency," he had told her prophetically.

mrs. trentham took out a piece of writing paper from her drawer and
began to make some notes. she was only too aware that once her son left
chester square that night she might not see him again for some
considerable time. forty minutes later she studied her efforts:

woo (~)

i.

~ rem {s,~ i) ids p;~te.

her thoughts were interrupted by the return of guy, looking a little
more like the son she remembered. a blazer and cavalry twills had
replaced the crumpled suit and the skin although pale was at least clean
shaven. mrs. trentham folded up the piece of paper, having finally
decided on exactly what course of action needed to be taken.

"now, sit down and listen carefully," she said.

guy trentham left chester square a few minutes after nine o'clock, an
hour before his father was due to return from the commons. he had
fifty-three pounds in cash along with a check for five thousand pounds
lodged in an inside pocket. he had agreed that he would write to his
father the moment he landed in sydney, explaining why he had traveled
direct to australia. his mother had vowed that while he was away she
would do everything in her power to clear her son's name, so that he
might eventually return to england vindicated, and take up his rightful
place as head of the family.

the only two servants who had seen captain trentham that evening were
instructed by their mistress not to mention his visit to anyone,
especially her husband, on pain of losing their positions in the
household.

mrs. trentham's final task before her husband returned home that night
was to phone the local police. a constable wrigley dealt with the
reported theft.

during those weeks of waiting for her son's letter to arrive, mrs.
trentham did not sit around idly. the day after guy sailed to australia
she made one of her periodic visits to the st. agnes hotel, a rewrapped
parcel under one arm. she handed over her prize to mr. harris before
giving him a series of detailed instructions.

two days later the detective informed her that the portrait of the
virgin mary and child had been left with bentley's the pawnbroker, and
could not be sold for at least five years, when the date on the pawn
ticket would have expired. he handed over a photo of the picture and the
receipt to prove it. mrs. trentham placed the photo in her handbag but
didn't bother to ask harris what had become of the five pounds he had
been paid for the picture.

"good," she said, placing her handbag by the side of her chair. "in fact
highly satisfactory."

"so would you like me to point the right man at scotland yard in the
direction of bentley's?" asked harris.

"certainly not," said mrs. trentham. "i need you to carry out a little
research on the picture before anyone else will set eyes on it, and then
if my information proves correct the next occasion that painting will be
seen by the public will be when it comes under the hammer at sotheby's."

chap ted berm flood morning, madam. i do apologize for having to bother
you in this way."

"it's no bother," said mrs. trentham to the police officer whom gibson
had announced as inspector richards.

"it's not you i was hoping to see actually, mrs. trentham," explained
the inspector. "it's your son, captain guy tren~ham."

"then you'll have a very long journey ahead of you, inspector."

"i'm not sure i understand you, madam."

"my son," said mrs. trentham, "is taking care of our family interests in
australia, where he is a partner in a large fimn of cattle brokers."

richards was unable to hide his surprise. "and how long has he been out
there, madam?"

"for some considerable time, inspector."

"could you be more precise?"

"captain trentham left england for india in 36~

february 1920, to complete his tour of duty with the regiment. he won
the mc at the second battle of the marne, you know." she nodded towards
the mantelpiece. the inspector looked suitably impressed. "of course,"
mrs. trentham continued, "it was never his intention to remain in the
army, as we had always planned that he would have a spell in the
colonies before resuming to run our estates in berkshire."

"but did he come back to england before taking up this position in
australia?"

"sadly not, inspector," said mrs. trentham. "once he had resigned his
commission he traveled directly to australia to take up his new
responsibilities. my husband, who as i am sure you know is the member of
parliament for berkshire west, would be able to confirm the exact dates
for you."

"i don't feel it will be necessary to bother him on this occasion,
madam."

"and why, may i ask, did you wish to see my son in the first place?"

"we are following up inquiries concerning the theft of a painting in
chelsea."

mrs. trentham offered no comment, so the detective continued. "someone
who fits your son's description was seen in the vicinity wearing an old
army greatcoat. we hoped he might therefore be able to help us with our
inquiries."

"and when was this crime committed?"

"last september, madam, and as the painting has not yet been recovered
we are still pursuing the matter " mrs. trentham kept her head slightly
bowed as she reamed this piece of information and continued to listen
carefully. "but we are now given to understand that the owner will not
be preferring charges, so i expect the file should be closed on this one
fairly shortly. this your son?" the inspector pointed to a photograph of
guy in full dress uniform that rested on a side table.

"it is indeed, inspector."

"doesn't exactly fit the description we were given," said the policeman,
looking slightly puzzled. "in any case, as you say, he must have been in
australia at the time. a cast-iron alibi." the inspector smiled
ingratiatingly but mrs. trentham's expression didn't alter.

"you're not suggesting that my son was in any way involved in this
theft, are you?" she asked coldly.

"certainly not, madam. it's just that we've come across a greatcoat
which gieves, the savile row tailors, have confirmed they made for a
captain trentham. we found an old soldier wearing it who "

"then you must have also found your thief," said mrs. trentham with
disdain.

"hardly, madam. you see, the gentleman in question has only one leg."

mrs. trentham still showed no concern. "then i suggest you ring chelsea
police station," she said, "as i feel sure they will be able to
enlighten you further on the matter."

"but i'm from chelsea police station myself," replied the inspector,
looking even more puzzled.

mrs. trentham rose from the sofa and walked slowly over to her desk,
pulled open a drawer and removed a single sheet of paper. she handed it
to the inspector. his face reddened as he began to take in the contents.
when he had finished reading the document he passed the piece of parer
back.

"i do apologize, madam. i had no idea that you had reported the loss of
the greatcoat the same day. i shall have a word with young constable
wrigley just as soon as i get back to the station." mrs. trentham showed
no reaction to the policeman's embarrassment. "well, i won't take up any
more of your time," he said. "i'll just show myself out."

mrs. trentham waited until she heard the door close behind him before
picking up the phone and asking for a paddington number.

she made only one request of the detective before replacing the
receiver.

mrs. trentham knew that guy must have arrived safely in australia when
her check was cleared by coutts and company through a bank in sydney.
the promised letter to his father arrived on the doormat a further six
weeks after that. when gerald imparted to her the contents of the
letter, explaining that guy had joined a firm of cattle brokers, she
feigned surprise at her son's uncharacteristic action, but her husband
didn't seem to show a great deal of interest either way.

during the following months harris' reports continued to show that
trumper's newly formed company was going from strength to strength, but
it still brought a smile to mrs. trentham's lips when she recalled how
for a mere four thousand pounds she had stopped charles trumper right in
his tracks.

the same smile was not to return to mrs. trentham's face again until she
received a letter from savill's some time later, presenting her with an
opportuniy to repeat for rebecca trumper the same acute frustration as
she had managed in the past for charlie trumper, even if this time the
cost to herself might be a little higher. she checked her bank balance,
satisfied that it would prove more than adequate for the purpose she had
in mind.

over the years savill's had kept mrs. trentham well informed of any
shops that came up for sale in chelsea terrace but she made no attempt
to stop trumper from purchasing them, reasoning that her possession of
the flats would be quite adequate to ruin any long-term plans he might
have for the whole terrace. however when the details of number 1 chelsea
terrace were sent to her she realized that here the circumstances were
entirely different. not only was number 1 the corner shop, facing as it
did towards the fulham road, and the largest property on the block, it
was also an established if somewhat run-down fine art dealer and
auctioneer. it was the obvious outlet for all those years of preparation
mrs. trumper had put in at bedford college and more recently at
sotheby's.

a letter accompanying the bill of sale asked if mrs. trentham wished to
be represented at the auction that mr. fothergill, the present owner,
was proposing to conduct himself she wrote back the same day, thanking
savill's but explaining that she would prefer to carry out her own
bidding and would be further obliged if they could furnish her with an
estimate of how much the property might be expected to fetch.

savill's reply contained several ifs and buts, as in their view the
property was unique. they also pointed out that they were not qualified
to offer an opinion as to the value of the stock. however, they settled
on an upper estimate, in the region of four thousand pounds.

during the following weeks mrs. trentham was to be found regularly
seated in the back row of christie's, silently watching the various
auctions as they were conducted. she never nodded or raised a hand
herself. she wanted to be certain that when the time came for her to bid
she would be thoroughly familiar with the protocol of such occasions.

on the morning of the sale of number 1 chelsea terrace mrs. trentham
entered the auctioneer's wearing a long dark red dress that swept along
the ground. she selected a place in the third row and was seated some
twenty minutes before the bidding was due to commence. her eyes never
remained still as she watched the different players enter the room and
take their places. mr. wrexall arrived a few minutes after she had,
taking a seat in the middle of the front row. he looked grim but
determined. he was exactly as mr. harris had described him, mid-forties,
heavily built and balding. being so badly overweight he looked
considerably older than his years, she considered. his flesh was swarthy
and whenever he lowered his head several more chins appeared. it was
then that mrs. trentham decided that should she fail to secure number 1
chelsea terrace a meeting with mr. wrexall might prove advantageous.

at nine-fify precisely colonel hamilton led his two colleagues down the
aisle and filed into the vacant seats immediately behind mrs. trentham.
although she glanced at the colonel he made no effort to acknowledge her
presence. at nine-fifty there was still no sign of either mr. or mrs.
trumper.

savill's had warned mrs. trentham that trumper might be represented by
an outside agent, but from all she had gathered about the man over the
years she couldn't believe he would allow anyone else to carry out the
bidding for him. she was not to be disappointed for when the clock
behind the auctioneer's box showed five minutes before the hour, in he
strode. although he was a few years older than he'd been at the time of
the photograph she held in her hand, she was in no doubt that it was
charlie trumper. he wore a smart, well-tailored suit that helped
disguise the fact that he was beginning to have a weight problem. a
smile rarely left his lips though she had plans to remove it. he seemed
to want everyone to know he had arrived, as he shook hands and chatted
with several people before taking a reserved seat on the aisle about
four rows behind her. mrs. trentham half turned her chair so she could
observe both trumper and the auctioneer without having continually to
look round.

suddenly mr. trumper rose and made his way towards the back of the room,
only to pick up a bill of sale from the table at the entrance before
returning to his reserved place on the aisle. mrs. trentham suspected
that this performance had been carried out for some specific reason. her
eyes raked each row and although she could see nothing untoward she
nevertheless felt uneasy.

by the time mr. fothergill had climbed the steps of the auctioneer's
box, the room was already full. yet despite almost every place having
been taken mrs. trentham was still unable to see if mrs. trumper was
seated among the large gathering.

from the moment mr. fothergill called for the first bid the auction did
not proceed as mrs. trentham had imagined, or indeed planned. nothing
she had experienced at christie's during the previous month could have
prepared her for the final outcome mr. fothergill announcing a mere six
minutes later, "sold for twelve thousand pounds to mrs. gerald
trentham."

she was angry at having made such a public spectacle of herself, even if
she had secured the fine art shop and dealt a satisfying blow to rebecca
trumper. it had certainly been done at a considerable cost, and now she
wasn't even certain she had enough money in her special account to cover
the full amount she had committed herself to.

after eighty days of soul-searching, in which she considered approaching
her husband and even her father to make up the shortfall, mrs. trentham
finally decided to sacrifice the one thousand and two hundred pounds
deposit, retreat and lick her wounds. the alternative was to admit to
her husband exactly what had taken place at number 1 chelsea terrace
that day.

there was one compensation, however. she would no longer need to use
sotheby's when the time came to dispose of the stolen painting.

as the months passed, mrs. trentham received regular letters from her
son, first from sydney, then later from melbourne, informing her of his
progress. they often requested her to send more money. the larger the
partnership grew, guy explained, the more he needed extra capital to
secure his share of the equity. overall some six thousand pounds found
its way across the pacific ocean to a bank in sydney during a period of
over four years, none of which mrs. trentham resented giving since guy
appeared to be making such a success of his new profession. she also
felt confident that once she could expose charles trumper for the thief
and liar he was, her son could return to england with his reputation
vindicated, even in the eyes of his father.

then suddenly, just at the point when mrs. trentham had begun to believe
that the time might be right to put the next stage of her plan into
action, a cable arrived from melboume. the address from which the
missive had been sent left mrs. trentham with no choice but to leave for
that distant city without delay.

when, over dinner that night, she informed gerald that she intended to
depart for the antipodes on the first possible tide her news was greeted
with polite indifference. this came as no surprise, as guy's name had
rarely passed her husband's lips since that day he had visited the war
office over four years before. in fact, the only sign that still
remained of their firstborn's existence at either ashurst hall or
chester square was the one picture of him in full dress uniform that
stood on her bedroom table and the mc that gerald had allowed to remain
on the mantelpiece.

as far as gerald was concerned, nigel was their only child.

gerald trentham was well aware that his wife told all his and her
friends that guy was a successful partner in a large cattle firm of
brokers that had offices right across australia. however, he had long
ago stopped believing such stories, and had lately even stopped
listening to them. whenever the occasional envelope, in chat all too
familiar hand, dropped through the letter box at chester square, gerald
trentham made no inquiry as to his elder son's progress.

the next ship scheduled to sail for australia was the ss orontes, which
was due out of southampton on the following monday. mrs. trentham cabled
back to an address in melbourne to let them know her estimated time of
arrival.

the five-week trip across two oceans seemed interminable to mrs.
trentham, especially as for most of the time she chose to remain in her
cabin, having no desire to strike up a casual acquaintanceship with
anyone on board or, worse, bump into someone who actually knew her. she
turned down several invitations to join the captains table for dinner.

once the ship had docked at sydney, mrs. trentham only rested overnight
in that city before traveling on to melboume. on arrival at spencer
street station she took a taxi directly to the royal victoria hospital,
where the sister in charge told her matter-offactly that her son had
only another week to live.

they allowed her to see him immediately, and a police officer escorted
her to the special isolation wing. she stood by his bedside, staring
down in disbelief at a face she could barely recognize. guy's hair was
so thin and gray and the lines on his face so deep that mrs. trentham
felt she might have been at her husband's deathbed.

a doctor told her that such a condition was not uncommon once the
verdict had been delivered and the person concerned realized there was
no hope of a reprieve. after standing at the end of the bed for nearly
an hour she left without having been able to elicit a word from her son.
at no time did she allow any of the hospital staff to become aware of
her true feelings.

that evening mrs. trentham booked herself into a quiet country club on
the outskirts of melbourne. she made only one inquiry of the young
expatriate owner, a mr. sinclair-smith, before retiring to her room.

the next morning she presented herself at the

offices of the oldest fimm of solicitors in melboume, asgarth, jenkins
and company. a young man she considered far too familiar asked, "what
was her problem?"

"i wish to have a word with your senior partner," mrs. trentham replied.

"then you'll have to take a seat in the waiting room," he told her.

mrs. trentham sat alone for some time before mr. asgarth was free to see
her.

the senior partner, an elderly man who from his dress might have been
conducting his practice in lincoln's inn fields rather than victoria
street melbourne, listened in silence to her sad story and agreed to
deal with any problems that might arise from handling guy trentham's
estate. to that end he promised to lodge an immediate application for
pemmission to have the body transported back to england.

mrs. trentham visited her son in hospital every day of that week before
he died. although little conversation passed between them, she did learn
of one problem that would have to be dealt with before she could hope to
travel back to england.

on wednesday afternoon mrs. trentham resumed to the offices of asgarth,
jenkins and company to seek the advice of the senior partner on what
could be done following her latest discovery. the elderly lawyer ushered
his client to a chair before he listened carefully to her revelation. he
made the occasional note on a pad in front of him. when mrs. trentham
had finished he did not offer an opinion for some considerable time.

"there will have to be a change of name," he suggested, "if no one else
is to find out what you have in mind."

"and we must also be sure that there is no way of tracing who her father
was at some time in the future," said mrs. trentham.

the old solicitor frowned. "that will require you to place considerable
trust in" he checked the scribbled name in front of him "miss. benson."

"pay miss. benson whatever it takes to assure her silence," said mrs.
trentham. "courts in london will handle all the financial details."

the senior partner nodded and by dint of remaining at his desk until
nearly midnight for the next four days he managed to complete all dhe
paperwork necessary to fulfill his client's requirements only hours
before mrs. trentham was due to leave for london.

guy trentham was certified as dead by the doctor in attendance at three
minutes past six on the morning of 23 april 1927, and the following day
mrs. trentham began her somber journey back to england, accompanied by
his coffin. she was relieved that only two people on that continent knew
as much as she did, one an elderly gentleman only months away from
retirement, the other a woman who could now spend the rest of her life
in a style she would never have believed possible only a few days
before.

mrs. trentham cabled her husband with the minimum information she
considered necessary before sailing back to southampton as silently and
as anonymously as she had come. once she had set foot on english soil
mrs. trentham was driven directly to her home in chester square. she
briefed her husband on the details of the tragedy, and he reluctantly
accepted that an announcement should be placed in the times the
following day. it read:

"the death is announced of captain guy trentham, mc, tragically from
tuberculosis after suffering a long illness. the funeral will take place
at st. mary's, ashurst, berkshire, on tuesday, 8june, 1927."

the local vicar conducted the ceremony for the dear departed. his death,
he assured the congregation was a tragedy for all who knew him.

guy trentham was laid to rest in dhe plot originally reserved for his
father. major and mrs. trentham, relations, friends of the family,
parishioners and servants left the burial ground with their heads bowed
low.

during the days that followed, mrs. trentham received over a hundred
letters of condolence, one or two of which pointed out that she could at
least be consoled with the knowledge that there was a second son to take
guy's place.

the next day nigel's photograph replaced his elder brother's on the
bedside table.

was walking down chelsea terrace with tom arnold on our monday morning
round when he first offered an opinion.

hlt will never happen,h i said.

"you could be right, sir, but at the moment a lot of the shopkeepers are
beginning to panic."

"bunch of cowards," i told him. "with nearly a million already
unemployed there'll be only a handful who would be foolish enough to
consider an all-out strike."

"perhaps, but the shops committee is still advising its members to board
up their windows."

"syd wrexall would advise his members to board up their windows if a
pekingese put a leg up against the front door of the musketeer. what's
more, the bloody animal wouldn't even have to piss."

a smile flickered across tom's lips. "so you're prepared for a fight,
mr. trumper?"

hyou bet i am. i'll back mr. churchill all the way on this one." i
stopped to check the window of hats and scarves. "how many people do we
currently employ?"

"seventy-one. h

hand how many of those do you reckon are considering strike action?"

hhalf a dozen, ten at the most would be my bet  and then only those who
are members of the shopworkers' union. but there could still be the
problem for some of our employees who wouldn't find it easy to get to
work because of a public transport stoppage. h hthen give me all the
names of those you're not sure of by this evening and i'll have a word
with every one of them during the week. at least that way i might be
able to convince one or two of them about their long-term future with
the company."

hwhat about the company's long-term future if the strike were to go
ahead?h hwhen will you get it into your head, tom, that nothing is going
to happen that will affect trumper's?h hsyd wrexall thinks_ h hi can
assure you that's the one thing he doesn't do. h h_ thinks that at least
three shops will come on the market during the next month, and if there
were to be a general strike there might be a whole lot more suddenly
available. the miners are persuading_ h hthey're not persuading charlie
trumper,h i told him. hso let me know the moment you hear of anyone who
wants to sell, because i'm still a buyer."

hwhile everyone else is a seller?h "that's exactly when you should buy,h
i replied. "the time to get on a tram is when everyone else is getting
off. so let me have those names, tom. meanwhile, i'm going to the bank.
h i strode off in the direction of knightsbridge.

in the privacy of his new brompton road office hadlow informed me that
trumper's was now holding a little over twelve thousand pounds on
deposit: an adequate buttress, he considered, were there to be a general
strike.

hnot you as well," i said in exasperation. hthe strike will never take
place. even if it does, i predict it'll be over in a matter of days."

"like the last war?" said hadlow as he peered back at me over his
half-moon spectacles. hi am by nature a cautious man, mr. trumper "

hwell, i'm not," i said, interrupting him. hso be prepared to see that
cash being put to good use."

hi have already earmarked around half the sum, should mrs. trentham fail
to take up her option on number 1,h he reminded me. hshe still has" he
turned to check the calendar on the wall "fifty-two days left to do so.
h hthen i would suggest this is going to be a time for keeping our
nerve."

hlf the market were to collapse, it might be wise not to risk
everything. don't you think, mr. trumper?"

hno, i don't, but that's why i'm_ h i began, only just managing to stop
myself venting my true feelings.

hit is indeed," replied hadlow, making me feel even more embarrassed.
hand that is also the reason i have backed you so wholeheartedly in the
past,h he added magnanimously.

as the days passed i had to admit that a general strike did look more
and more likely. the air of uncertainty and lack of confidence in the
future meant that first one shop and then another found its way onto the
market.

i purchased the first two at knockdown prices, on the condition that the
settlement was immediate, and thanks to the speed with which crowther
completed the paperwork and hadlow released the cash, i was even able to
add boots and shoes, followed by the chemist's, to my side of the
ledger.

when the general strike finally began on tuesday, 4 may 192~the colonel
and i were out on the streets at first light. we checked over every one
of our properties from the north end to the south. all syd wrexall's
committee members had already boarded up their shops, which i considered
tantamount to giving in to the strikers. i did agree, however, to the
colonel's plan for hoperation lock-up," which on a given signal from me
allowed tom arnold to have all thirteen shops locked and bolted within
three minutes. on the previous saturday i had watched tom carry out
several upractice runs," as he called them, to the amusement of the
passersby.

although on the first morning of the strike the weather was fine and the
streets were crowded the only concession i made to the milling throng
was to keep all foodstuff from numbers 147 and 131 off the pavements.

at eight tom arnold reported to me that only five employees had failed
to turn up for work, despite spectacular traffic jams causing public
transport to be held up for hours on end and even one of those was
genuinely ill.

as the colonel and i strolled up and down chelsea terrace we were met by
the occasional insult but i didn't sense any real mood of violence and,
everything considered, most people were surprisingly goodhumored. some
of the lads even started playing football in the street.

the first sign of any real unrest came on the second morning, when a
brick was hurled through the front window of number 5, jewelry and
watches. i saw two or three young thugs grab whatever they could from
the main window display before running off down the terrace. the crowd
became restless and began shouting slogans so i gave the signal to tom
arnold, who was about fifty yards up the road, and he immediately blew
six blasts on his whistle. within the three minutes the colonel had
stipulated every one of our shops was locked and bolted. i stood my
ground while the police moved in and several people were arrested.
although there was a lot of hot air blowing about, within an hour i was
able to instruct tom that the shops could be reopened and that we should
continue serving customers as if nothing had happened. within three
hours hardware had replaced the window of number 5 not that it was a
morning for buying jewelry.

by thursday, only three people failed to turn up for work, but i counted
four more shops in the terrace that had been boarded up. the streets
seemed a lot calmer. over a snatched breakfast i learned from becky that
there would be no copy of the times that morning because the printers
were on strike, but in defiance the government had brought out their own
paper, the british gazette, a brainchild of mr. churchill, which
informed its readers that the railway and transport workers were now
returning to work in droves. despite this, norman cosgrave, the
fishmonger at number 11, told me that he'd had enough, and asked how
much i was prepared to offer him for his business. having agreed on a
price in the morning we walked over to the bank that same afternoon to
close the deal. one phone call made sure that crowther had the necessary
documents typed up, and hadlow had filled in a check by the time we
arrived, so all that was required of me was a signature. when i returned
to chelsea terrace i immediately put tom arnold in charge of the
fishmonger's until he could find the right manager to take cosgrave's
place. i never said anything to him at the time, but it was to be
several weeks after tom had handed over to a lad from billingsgate
before he finally rid himself of the lingering smell.

the general strike officially ended on the ninth morning, and by the
last day of the month i had acquired another seven shops in all. i
seemed to be running constantly backwards and forwards to the bank, but
at least every one of my acquisitions was at a price that allowed hadlow
an accompanying smile, even if he warned me that funds were running low.

at our next board meeting, i was able to report that trumper's now owned
twenty shops in chelsea terrace, which was more than the shops committee
membership combined. however hadlow did express a view to the board that
we should now embark on a long period of consolidation if we wanted our
recently acquired properties to attain the same quality and standard as
the original thirteen. i made only one other proposal of any
significance at that meeting, which received the unanimous backing of my
colleagues that tom arnold be invited to join the board.

i still couldn't resist spending the odd hour sitting on the bench
opposite number 147 and watching the transformation of chelsea terrace
as it took place before my eyes. for the first time i could
differentiate between those shops i owned and those that i still needed
to acquire, which included the fourteen owned by wrexall's committee
members not forgetting either the prestigious number 1 or the musketeer.

seventy-two days had passed since the auction, and although mr.
fothergill still purchased his fruit and vegetables regularly from
number 147 he never uttered a word to me as to whether or not mrs.
trentham had fulfilled her contract. joan moore informed my wife that
her former mistress had recently received a visit from mr. fothergill,
and although the cook had not been able to hear all the conversation
there had definitely been raised voices.

when daphne came to visit me at the shop the following week i inquired
if she had any inside information on what mrs. trentham was up to.

"stop worrying about the damned woman," was all daphne had to say on the
subject. hln any case," she added, "the ninety days will be up soon
enough, and frankly, you should necessary work before next year," i
said, having selected twelve perfect plums for her before placing them
on the weighing machine.

"you're always in such a hurry, charlie. why do things always have to be
finished by a certain date?"

"because that's what keeps me going."

hbut becky will be just as impressed by your achievement if you manage
to finish a year later."

"it wouldn't be the same," i told her. hl'll just have to work harder."

"there are only a given number of hours in each day," daphne reminded
me. heven for you."

"well, that's one thing i can't be blamed for."

daphne laughed. hhow's becky's thesis on luini coming along?"

hshe's completed the bloody thing. just about to check over the final
draft of thirty thousand words, so she's still well ahead of me. but
what with the general strike and acquiring all the new properties, not
to mention mrs. trentham, i haven't even had time to take daniel to see
west ham this season." charlie started placing her order in a large
brown paper bag.

was becky discovered what you're up to yet?" daphne asked.

"no, and i make sure i only disappear completely whenever she's working
late at sotheby's or off cataloguing some grand collection. she still
hasn't noticed that i get up every morning at four-thirty, which is when
i put in the real work." i passed over the bag of plums and seven and
tenpence change.

"proper little trollope, aren't we?" remarked daphne. "by the way, i
still haven't let percy in on our secret, but i can't wait to see the
expression on their faces when "

"shhh, not a word ..."

when you have been chasing something for a long time it's strange how
the final prize so often lands in your lap just when you least expect
it.

i was serving at number 147 that morning. it always annoyed bob makins
to see me roll up my sleeves, but i do enjoy a little chat with my old
customers, and lately it was about the only chance i had to catch up on
the gossip, as well as an occasional insight into what the customers
really thought of my other shops. however, i confess that by the time i
served mr. fothergill the queue stretched nearly all the way to the
grocery shop which i knew bob still regarded as a rival.

hgood morning," i said, when mr. fothergill reached the front of the
queue. "and what can i offer you today, sir? i've got some lovely "

"i wondered if we could have a word in private, mr. trumper?"

i was so taken by surprise that i didn't reply immediately. i knew mrs.
trentham still had another nine days to go before she had to complete
her contract and i had assumed i would hear nothing before then. after
all, she must have had her own hadlows and crowthers to do all the
paperwork.

"i'm afraid the storeroom is the only place available at the moment," i
warned. i removed my green overall, rolled down my sleeves and replaced
my jacket. hyou see, my manager now occupies the flat above," i
explained as i led the auctioneer through to the back of the shop.

i offered him a seat on an upturned orange box while pulling up another
box opposite him. we faced each other, just a few feet apart, like rival
chess play ers. strange surroundings, i considered, to discuss the
biggest deal of my life. i tried to remain calm.

hl'll come to the point straight away," said fothergill. "mrs. trentham
has not been in touch for several weeks and lately she has been refusing
to answer my calls. what's more, savill's has made it abundantly clear
that they have had no instruction to complete the transaction on her
behalf. they have gone as far as to say that they are now given to
understand that she is no longer interested in the property."

hstill, you got your one thousand, two hundred pounds deposit," i
reminded him, trying to stifle a grin.

h; don't deny it," replied fothergill. hbut i have since made other
commitments, and what with the general strike "

hoard times, i agree," i told him. i felt the palms of my hands begin to
sweat.

hbut you've never hidden your desire to be the owner of number 1.h htrue
enough, but since the auction i've been buying up several other
properties with the cash i had originally put on one side for your
shop."

h; know, mr. trumper. but i would now be willing to settle for a far
more reasonable price_ h hand three thousand, five hundred pounds is
what i was willing to bid, as no doubt you recall."

htwelve thousand was your final bid, if i remember correctly."

htactics, mr. fothergill, nothing more than tactics. i never had any
intention of paying twelve thousand, as i feel sure you are only too
aware. h hbut your wife bid five thousand, five hundred pounds, even
forgetting her later bid of fourteen thousand."

hl can't disagree with that," i told him, dropping back into my cockney
accent. hbut if you 'ad ever married, mr. fothergill, you would know
only too well why we in the east end always refer to them as the trouble
and strife."

"i'd let the property go for seven thousand pounds," he said. hbut only
to you."

hyou'd let the property go for five thousand,h i replied, hto anyone
who'd cough up. h hnever,h said fothergill.

hln nine days' time would be my bet, but i'll tell you what i'll do,h i
added, leaning forward and nearly falling off my box. hl'll honor my
wife's commitment of five thousand, five'undred pounds, which i confess
was the limit the board 'ad allowed us to go to, but only if you 'ave
all the paperwork ready for me to sign before midnight. h mr. fothergill
opened his mouth indignantly. hof course,h i added before he could
protest, hit shouldn't be too much work for you. after all, the
contract's been sitting on your desk for the last eighty-one days. all
you have to do is change the name and knock off the odd nought. well, if
you'll excuse me, mr. fothergill, i must be getting back to my
customers."

hi have never been treated in such a cavalier way before, sir,h declared
mr. fothergill, jumping up angrily. he turned and marched out, leaving
me sitting in the storeroom on my own.

hi have never thought of myself as a cavalier," i told the upturned
orange box. hmore of a roundhead, i would have said. h once i had read
another chapter of through the looking-g/ass to daniel and waited for
him to fall asleep, i went downstairs to join becky for dinner. while
she served me a bowl of soup i told her the details of my conversation
with fothergill.

hpity," was her immediate reaction. hi only wish he'd approached me in
the first place. now we may never get our hands on number 1h_a sentiment
she repeated just before climbing into bed. i turned down the gaslight
beside me, thinking that perhaps becky could be right. i was just
beginning to feel drowsy when i heard the front doorbell sound.

hlt's past eleven-thirty," becky said sleepily. "who could that possibly
be?h

"a man who understands deadlines?" i suggested as i turned the gaslight
back up. i climbed out of bed, donned my dressing gown and went
downstairs to answer the door.

"do come through to my study, peregrine," i said, after i had welcomed
mr. fothergill.

nthank you, charles,h he replied. i only just stopped myself laughing as
i moved a copy of mathematics, part two from my desk, so that i could
get to the drawer that housed the company checks.

hfive thousand, five hundred, if i remember correctly," i said, as i
unscrewed the top of my pen and checked the clock on the mantelpiece. at
eleven thirtyseven i handed over the full and final settlement to mr.
fothergill in exchange for the freehold of number 1 chelsea terrace.

we shook hands on the deal and i showed the former auctioneer out. once
i had climbed back up the stairs and returned to the bedroom i found to
my surprise that becky was sitting at her writing desk.

"what are you up to?" i demanded.

"writing my letter of resignation to sotheby's. h tom arnold began going
through number 1 with far more than a fine-tooth comb in preparation for
becky joining us a month later as managing director of trumper's
auctioneers and fine art specialists. he realized that i considered our
new acquisition should quickly become the flagship of the entire trumper
empire, even if to the dismay of hadlow the costs were beginning to
resemble those of a battleship.

becky completed her notice at sotheby's on friday, 16 july 1926. she
walked into trumper's, ne'e fothergill's, the following morning at seven
o'clock to take over the responsibility of refurbishing the building, at
the same time releasing tom so that he could get back to his normal
duties. she immediately set about turning the basement of number 1 into
a storeroom, with the main reception remaining on the ground floor and
the auction room on the first floor.

becky and her team of specialists were to be housed on the second and
third floors while the top floor, which had previously been mr.
fothergill's flat, became the company's administrative offices, with a
room left over that turned out to be ideal for board meetings.

the full board met for the first time at number 1 chelsea terrace on 17
october 1926.

within three months of leaving sotheby's becky had hstolen" seven of the
eleven staff she had wanted to join her and picked up another four from
bonham's and phillips. at her first board meeting she warned us all that
it could take anything up to three years to clear the debts incurred by
the purchase and refurbishment of number 1, and it might even be another
three before she could be sure they would be making a serious
contribution to the group's profits.

"not like my first shop," i informed the board. hmade a profit within
three weeks, you know, chairman. h hstop looking so pleased with
yourself, charlie trumper, and try to remember i'm not selling
potatoes,h my wife told me.

hoh, i don't know," i replied and on 21 october 1926, to celebrate our
sixth wedding anniversary, i presented my wife with an oil painting by
van gogh called the potato eaters.

mr. reed of the lefevre gallery, who had been a personal friend of the
artist, claimed it was almost as good an example as the one that hung in
the rijksmuseum.

i had to agree even if i felt the asking price a little extravagant, but
after some bargaining we settled on a price of six hundred guineas.

for some considerable time everything seemed to go quiet on the mrs.
trentham front. this state of affairs always worried me, because i
assumed she must be up to no good. whenever a shop came up for sale i
expected her to be bidding against me, and if there was ever any trouble
in the terrace i wondered if somehow she might be behind it. becky
agreed with daphne that i was becoming paranoid, until arnold told me he
had been having a drink at the pub when wrexall had received a call from
mrs. trentham. arnold was unable to report anything of significance
because syd went into a back room to take the call. after that my wife
was willing to admit that the passing of time had obviously not lessened
mrs. trentham's desire for revenge.

it was some time in march 1927 that joan informed us that her former
mistress had spent two days packing before being driven to southampton,
where she boarded a liner for australia. daphne was able to confirm this
piece of information when she came round to dinner at gilston road the
following week.

"so one can only assume, darlings, that she's paying a visit to that
dreadful son of hers."

hln the past she's been only too willing to give lengthy reports on the
bloody man's progress to anyone and everyone who cared to listen, so
why's she not letting us know what she's up to this time?"

"can't imagine," said daphne.

"do you think it's possible guy might be planning to return to england
now that things have settled down a little?"

"i doubt it." daphne's brow furrowed. "otherwise the ship would have
been sailing in the opposition direction, wouldn't it? in any case, if
his father's feelings are anything to go by, should guy ever dare to
show his face at ashurst hall he won't exactly be treated like the
prodigal son. h hsomething's still not quite right," i told her. "this
veil of secrecy mrs. trentham's been going in for lately requires some
explanation. h it was three months later, in june 1927, that the colonel
drew my attention to the announcement in the times of guy trentham's
death. "what a terrible way to die," was his only comment.

daphne attended the funeral at ashurst parish church because, as she
explained later, she wanted to see the coffin lowered into the grave
before she was finally convinced that guy trentham was no longer among
us.

percy informed me later that he had only just been able to restrain her
from joining the gravediggers as they filled up the hole with good
english sods. however, daphne told us that she remained skeptical about
the cause of death, despite the absence of any proof to the contrary.

hat least you'll have no more trouble from that quarter," were percy's
final words on the subject.

i scowled. hthey'll have to bury mrs. trentham alongside him before i'll
believe that."

in 1929 the trumpers moved to a larger house in the little boltons.
daphne assured them that although it was "the little," at least it was a
step in the right direction. with a glance at becky she added, "however,
it's still a considerable way from being eaton square, darlings."

the housewarming party the trumpers gave held a double significance for
becky, because the following day she was to be presented with her master
of arts degree. when percy teased her about the length of time she had
taken to complete the thesis on her unrequited lover, bernardino luini,
she cited her husband as the corespondent.

charlie made no attempt to defend himself, just poured percy another
brandy before clipping off the end of a cigar.

"hoskins will be driving us to the ceremony," daphne announced, "so
we'll see you there. that is, assuming on this occasion they've been
considerate enough to allow us to be seated in the first thirty rows."

charlie was pleased to find that daphne and percy had been placed only a
row behind them so this time were close enough to the stage to follow
the entire proceedings.

"who are they?" demanded daniel, when fourteen dignified old gentlemen
walked onto the platform wearing long black gowns and purple hoods, and
took their places in the empty chairs.

"the senate," explained becky to her eight-year-old son. "they recommend
who shall be awarded degrees. but you mustn't ask too many questions,
daniel, or you'll only annoy all the people sitting around us."

at that point, the vice-chanceltor rose to present the scrolls.

"i'm afraid we'll have to sit through all the bas before they reach me,"
said becky.

"do stop being so pompous, darling," said daphne. "some of us can
remember when you considered being awarded a degree was the most
important day in your life."

"why hasn't daddy got a degree?" asked daniel as he picked up becky's
program off the floor. "he's just as clever as you are, mummy."

"true," said becky. "but his daddy didn't make him stay at school as
long as mine did."

charlie leaned across. "but his granpa taught him instead how to sell
fruit and vegetables, so he could do something useful for the rest of
his life."

daniel was silenced for a moment, as he weighed the value of these two
contrary opinions.

"the ceremony's going to take an awfully long time if it keeps going at
this rate," whispered becky when after half an hour they had only
reached the p's.

"we can wait," whispered daphne cheerfully. "percy and i haven't a lot
planned before goodwood."

"oh, look, mummy," said daniel. "i've found another arnold, another
moore and another trumper on my list."

"they're all fairly common names," said becky, not bothering to check
the program as she placed daniel on the edge of her seat.

"wonder what he looks like?" asked daniel. "do all trumpers look the
same, mummy?"

"no, silly, they come in all shapes and sizes."

"but he's got the same first initial as dad," daniel said, loudly enough
for everyone in the three rows in front of them to feel they were now
part of the conversation.

"shhh," said becky, as one or two people turned round and stared in
their direction.

"bachelor of arts," declared the vice-chancellor. "mathematics second
class, charles george trumper."

"and he even looks like your dad," said charlie as he rose from his
place and walked up to receive his degree from the vice-chancellor. the
applause increased once the assembled gathering became aware of the age
of this particular graduate. becky's mouth opened wide in disbelief,
percy rubbed his glasses, while daphne showed no surprise at all.

"how long have you known?" demanded becky through clenched teeth.

"he registered at birkbeck college the day after you were awarded your
degree."

"but when has he found the time?"

"it's taken him nearly eight years and an awful lot of early mornings
while you were sound asleep."

by the end of her second year becky's financial forecasts for number 1
had begun to look a little too optimistic. as each month passed by the
overdraft seemed to remain constant, and it was not until the
twenty-seventh month that she first began to make small inroads on the
capital debt.

she complained to the board that although the managing director was
continually helping with the turnover he was not actually contributing
to the profits because he always assumed he could purchase their most
sought-after items at the buy-in cost.

"but we are at the same time building a major art collection, mrs.
trumper," he reminded her.

"and saving a great deal on tax while also making a sound investment,"
hadlow pointed out. "might even prove useful as collateral at some later
date."

"perhaps, but in the meantime it doesn't help my balance sheet,
chairman, if the managing director is always making off with my most
saleable stock and it certainly doesn't help that he's worked out the
auctioneer's code so that he always knows what our reserve price is."

"you must look upon yourself as part of the company and not as an
individual, mrs. trumper," said charlie with a grin, adding, "though i
confess it might have been a lot cheaper if we had left you at sotheby's
in the first place."

"not to be minuted," said the chaimman stemly. "by the way, what is this
auctioneer's code?"

"a series of letters from a chosen word or words that indicate numbers;
for example, charlie would be c-1, h-2, a-3 but if any letter is
repeated then it has to be ignored. so once you've worked out the two
words we are substituting for one to zero and can get your hands on our
master catalogue you will always know the reserve price we have set for
each painting."

"so why don't you change the words from time to time?"

"because once you've mastered the code, you can always work out the new
words. in any case, it takes hours of practice to glance down at q. n
hh, and know immediately it's "

"one thousand, three hundred pounds," said charlie with a smile of
satisfaction.

while becky tried to build up number 1, charlie had captured four more
shops, including the barber and the newsagent, without any further
interference from mrs. trentham. as he told his fellow-directors, "i no
longer believe she possesses the finances to challenge us."

"until her father dies," becky pointed out. "once she inherits that
fortune she could challenge mr. selfridgeand then there will be nothing
charlie can do about it."

charlie agreed, but went on to assure the board that he had plans to get
his hands on the rest of the block long before that eventuality. "no
reason to believe the man hasn't got a good few years left in him yet."

"which reminds me," said the colonel, "i'll be sixy-five next may, and
feel that would be an appropriate time for me to step down as chairman."

charlie and becky were stunned by this sudden announcement, as neither
of them had ever given a moment's thought as to when the colonel might
retire.

"couldn't you at least stay on until you're seventy?" asked charlie
quietly.

"no, charlie, though it's kind of you to suggest it. you see, i've
promised elizabeth that we will spend our last few years on her beloved
isle of skye. in any case, i think it's time you became chairman."

the colonel officially retired the following may. charlie threw a party
for him at the savoy to which he invited every member of staff along
with their husbands or wives. he laid on a five-course dinner with three
wines for an evening that he hoped the colonel would never forget.

when the meal came to an end, charlie rose from his place to toast the
first chairman of trumper's before presenting him with a silver barrow
which held a botde of glenlivet, the colonel's favorite brand of whisky.
the staff all banged on their tables and demanded the outgoing chaimman
should reply.

the colonel rose, still straight as a ramrod, and began by thanking
everyone for their good wishes for his retirement. he went on to remind
those present that when he had first joined mr. trumper and miss. salmon
in 1920 they only possessed one shop in chelsea terrace, number 147. it
sold fruit and vegetables, and they had acquired it for the princely sum
of one hundred pounds. charlie could see as he glanced around dhe tables
that many of the younger staff and daniel, who was wearing long trousers
for the first time just didn't believe the old soldier.

"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." tuming to charlie he raised his glass and
said, "and i wish you luck, sir."

they cheered when he resumed his seat as chairman for dhe 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. 1 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 amold 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
rive 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?"

1 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 rom 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 dheir 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 dhe preparation for dhe launching of dhe (queen mary.
he booked a cabin for two on her maiden voyage.

becky spent five glorious days on dhe queen during dhe 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 amold, or even
daniel, who was serding into his first boarding school. in fact, once
charlie accepted that he couldn't bodher anyone he seemed to thoroughly
enjoy himself as he discovered dhe various facilities chat dhe liner had
to offer a slightly overweight, unfit, middle-aged man.

the great (?ueen 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 dhe 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 twenysix 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 dhe 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 dhey had been
booked into the stevens. on their arrival in the windy city they found
dheir 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 dhe 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.

"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 dhe 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 dhey 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 dhe 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 dlat charlie followed on the front pages was the
rise to power of adolf hider in nazi gemmany. he could never understand
why the prime minister, mr. chamberlain, didn't use a lithe street sense
and give he man a good thump on dhe 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 retum,
but he quickly became aware of the erect 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 eave 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 gemmany could have come straight
off the pages of a john buchan novel and was far more vivid than any
newspaper report of recent months.

uhow 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 fumed 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.

uthey 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 atjim 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 fumed 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 amold.

"bugger off," said kitty over her shoulder as she marched through the
shop.

tom fumed 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.

on 7 september 1940 the false lull ended when the luftwaffe carried out
its mass raid on the capital. after that londoners started to emigrate
to the country in droves. charlie still refused to budge, and even
ordered that "business as usual" signs be placed in every one of his
shop windows. in fact, the only concessions he made to herr hitler were
to move his bedroom to the basement and have all the curtains changed to
black drape.

two months later, in the middle of the night charlie was woken by a duly
constable to be told that the first bomb had fallen on chelsea terrace.
he ran all the way from the little boltons down tregunter road in his
dressing gown and slippers to inspect the damage.

"anyone killed?" he asked while on the move.

"not that we know of," replied the constable, trying to keep up with
him.

"which shop did the bomb land on?"

"can't tell you the answer to that, mr. trumper. all i know is that it
looks as if the whole of chelsea terrace is on fire."

as charlie fumed the comer of fulham road he was confronted by bright
flames and dark smoke soaring up into the sky. the bomb had landed right
in the middle of mrs. trentham's flats, completely demolishing them,
while at the same time shattering three of charlie's shop windows and
badly damaging the roof of hats and scarves.

by the time the fire brigade finally departed from the terrace all that
was left of the flats was a gray, smoldering bombed-out shell, right in
the middle of the block. as the weeks passed, charlie became only too
aware of the obvious mrs. trentham had no intention of doing anything
about the heap of rubble that now dominated the center of chelsea
terrace.

* * *

in may 1940 mr. churchill took over from mr. chamberlain as prime
minister, which gave charlie a little more confidence about the future.
he even talked to becky of joining up again.

"have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?" asked his wife,
laughing.

"i could get fit again, i know i could," said charlie, pulling in his
stomach. "in any case they don't only need troops for the front line."

"you can do a far more worthwhile job by keeping those shops open and
stocked up for the general public."

"amold could do that just as well as me," said charlie. "what's more,
he's fifteen years older than i am."

however, charlie reluctantly came to the conclusion that becky was right
when daphne came round to tell them that percy had rejoined his old
regiment. "thank god they've told him he's too old to serve abroad this
time," she confided in them. "so he's landed a desk job at the war of
fice."

the following afternoon, while charlie was carrying out an inspection of
repairs after another night of bombing, tom arnold warned him that syd
wrexall's committee had begun to make noises about selling the remaining
eleven of their shops, as well as the musketeer itself.

"there's no hurry to do anything about them," said charlie. "he'll be
giving those shops away within a year."

"but by then mrs. trentham could have bought them all at a knockdown
price."

"not while there's a war on, she won't. in any case, the damned woman
knows only too well that i can't do a lot while that bloody great crater
remains in the middle of chelsea terrace."

"oh, hell," said tom as the klaxon whine of the siren started up. "they
must be on their way again."

"they certainly are," said charlie, as he looked towards the sky. "you'd
better get all the staff into the basement sharpish." charlie ran out
onto the street, to find an air raid patrol man cycling down the middle
of the road, shouting instructions that everyone should head for the
nearest underground as quickly as possible. tom amold had trained his
managers to lock up the shops and have all the staff and customers
safely in the basement with their torches and a small supply of food
within five minutes. it always put charlie in mind of the general
strike. as they sat in the large storeroom under number 1 waiting for
the all-clear, charlie looked around the gathering of his fellow
londoners and became aware of just how many of his best young men had
already left trumper's to join up; he was now down to fewer than
two-thirds of his permanent staff the majority of whom were women.

some cradled young children in their amms, while others tried to sleep.
two regulars in a comer continued a game of chess as if the war were no
more than an inconvenience. a couple of young girls practiced the latest
dance step on the small space left unoccupied in the center of the
basement while others just slept.

they could all hear the bombs falling above them, and becky told charlie
she felt sure one had landed nearby. "on syd wrexall's pub, perhaps?"
said charlie, trying to hide a grin. "that'll teach him to serve short
measures." the all-clear saxon eventually sounded, and they emerged back
into an evening air filled with dust and ashes.

"you were right about syd wrexall's pub," said becky, looking at the far
corner of the block, but charlie's eyes were not fixed on the musketeer.

becky's gaze eventually turned to where charlie was staring. a bomb had
landed right in the middle of his fruit and vegetable shop.

"the bastards," he said. "they've gone too far this time. now i will
join up."

"burt what good will that do?"

"i don't know," said charlie, "but at least i'll feel i'm involved in
this war and not just sitting around watching."

"and what about the shops? who's going to take charge of them?"

"arnold can take care of them while i'm away."

"but what about daniel and me? can tom take care of us while you're
away?" she asked, her voice rising.

charlie was silent for a moment while he considered becky's plea.
"daniel's old enough to take care of himself, and you'll have your time
fully occupied seeing that trumper's keeps its head above water. so
don't say another word, becky, because i've made up my mind."

after that nothing his wife could say or do would dissuade charlie from
signing up. to her surprise the fusiliers were only too happy to accept
their old sergeant back in the ranks, and immediately sent him off to a
training camp near cardiff.

with tom arnold looking anxiously on, charlie kissed his wife and hugged
his son, then shook hands with his managing director before waving
goodbye to all three of them.

as he traveled down to cardiff in a train full of fresh-faced, eager
youths not much older than daniel most of whom insisted on calling him
"sir" charlie felt like an old man. a battered truck met the new
recruits at the station and delivered them safely into barracks.

"nice to have you back, trumper," said a voice, as he stepped onto the
parade ground for the first time in more than twenty years.

"stan russell. good heavens, are you the company sergeant major now? you
were only a lance corporal when "

"i am, sir," stan said. his voice dropped to a whisper. "and i'll see to
it that you don't get the same treatment as the others, me old mate."

"no, you'd better not do that, stan. i need worse than the same
treatment," said charlie, placing both hands on his stomach.

although the senior ncos were gentler on charlie than they were on the
raw recruits, he still found the first week of basic training a painful
reminder of how little exercise he had done over the previous twenty
years. when he became hungry he quickly discovered that what the naafi
had to offer could hardly be described as appetizing, and trying to get
to sleep each night on a bed of unrelenting springs held together by a
two-inch horsehair mattress made him less than delighted with herr
hitler.

by the end of the second week charlie was made up to corporal and told
that if he wanted to stay on in cardiff as an instructor they would
immediately commission him as a training officer, with the rank of
captain.

"the germans are expected in cardiff, are they, boyo?" asked charlie. "i
had no idea they played rugby football."

his exact words on the subject were relayed back to the commanding
officer, so charlie continued as a corporal, completing his basic
training. by the eighth week he had been promoted to sergeant and given
his own platoon to knock into shape, ready for wherever it was they were
going to be sent. from that moment on there wasn't a competition, from
the rifle range to the boxing ring, that his men were allowed to lose,
and "trumper's terriers" set the standard for the rest of the battalion
for the remaining four weeks.

with only ten days left before they completed their training, stan
russell informed charlie that the battalion was destined for africa,
where they would join wavell in the desert. charlie was delighted by the
news, as he had long admired the reputation of the "poet general."

sergeant trumper spent most of that final week helping his lads write
letters to their families and girlfriends. he didn't intend to put pen
to paper himself until the last moment. with a week to go he admitted to
stan that he wasn't ready to take on the germans in anything much more
than a verbal bathe.

he was in the middle of a bren demonstration widh his platoon,
explaining cocking and reloading, when a red-faced lieutenant came
running up.

"trumper."

"sir," said charlie, leaping to attention.

"the commanding officer wants to see you immediately."

"yes, sir," said charlie. he instructed his corporal to carry on with
the lesson and then chased after the lieutenant.

"why are we running so fast?" asked charlie.

"because the commanding officer was running when he came looking for
me."

"then it has to be at least high treason," said charlie.

"heaven knows what it is, sergeant, but you'll find out soon enough,"
said the lieutenant, as they arrived outside the co's door. the
lieutenant, closely followed by charlie, entered the colonel's office
without knocking.

"sergeant trumper, 7312087, reporting "

"you can cut all that bullshit out, trumper," said the colonel, as
charlie watched the commanding officer pacing up and down, slapping his
side with a swagger stick. "my car is waiting for you at the gate. you
are to go straight to london."

"london, sir?"

"yes, trumper, london. mr. churchill's just been on the blower. wants to
see you soonest."

1he colonel's driver did everything in his power to get sergeant trumper
to london as quickly as possible. he pressed his foot to the floor again
and again as he tried to keep the speedometer above eighty. however, as
they were continually held up en route by convoys of troops,
transportation lorries, and even at one point warrior tanks, the task
was daunting. when charlie finally reached chiswick on the outskirts of
london they were then faced with the blackout, followed by an air raid,
followed by the all-clear, followed by countless more roadblocks all the
way to downing street.

despite having six hours to ponder as to why mr. churchill could
possibly want to see him, when the car came to a halt outside number 10
charlie was no nearer a conclusion than he had been when he left the
barracks at cardiff earlier that aftemoon.

when he explained to the policeman on the door who he was, the constable
checked his clipboard, then gave a sharp rap on the brass knocker before
inviting

sergeant trumper to step into the hall. charlie's first reaction on
being inside number 10 was surprise at discovering how small the house
was compared with daphne's home in eaton square.

a young wren officer came forward to greet the middle-aged sergeant
before ushering him through to an anteroom.

"the prime minister has the american ambassador with him at the moment,"
she explained. "but he doesn't expect his meeting with mr. kennedy to
last much longer."

"thank you," said charlie.

"would you like a cup of tea?"

"no, thank you." charlie was too nervous to think about drinking tea. as
she closed the door, he picked up a copy of lilliput from a side table
and leafed through the pages, but didn't attempt to take in the words.

after he had thumbed through every magazine on the table and they were
even more out of date at number 10 than at his dentist he began to take
an interest in the pictures on the wall. wellington, palmerston and
disraeli: all inferior portraits that becky would not have bothered to
offer for sale at number 1. becky. good heavens, he thought, she doesn't
even know i'm in london. he stared at the telephone that rested on the
sideboard aware that he couldn't possibly call her from number 10. in
frustration he began to pace round the room feeling like a patient
waiting for the doctor to tell him if the diagnosis was terminal.
suddenly the door swung open and the wren reappeared.

"the prime minister will see you now, mr. trumper," she said, then
proceeded to lead him up a narrow staircase, past the framed photographs
of former prime ministers. by the time he reached churchill he found
himself on the landing facing a man of five feet nine inches in height
who stood, arms on hips, legs apart, staring defiantly at him.

"trumper," said churchill, thrusting out his hand. "good of you to come
at such short notice. hope i didn't tear you away from anything
important."

just a bren lesson, thought charlie, but decided not to mention the fact
as he followed the shambling figure through to his study. churchill
waved his guest into a comfortable winged chair near a roaring fire;
charlie looked at the burning logs and remembered the prime minister's
strictures to the nation on wasting coal.

"you must be wondering what this is all about," the prime minister said,
as he lit up a cigar and opened a file that was resting on his knee. he
started to read.

"yes, sir," said charlie, but his reply failed to elicit any
explanation. churchill continued to read from the copious notes in front
of him.

"i see we have something in common."

"we do, prime minister?"

"we both served in the great war."

"the war to end all wars."

"yes, wrong again, wasn't he?" said churchill. "but then he was a
politician." the prime minister chuckled before continuing to read from
the files. suddenly he looked up. "however, we both have a far more
important role to play in this war, trumper, and i can't waste your time
on teaching recruits bren lessons in cardiff."

the damned man knew all along, thought charlie.

"when a nation is at war, trumper," said the prime minister, closing the
file, "people imagine victory will be guaranteed so long as we have more
troops and better equipment than the enemy. but battles can be lost or
won by something that the generals in the field have no control over. a
little cog that stops the wheels going round smoothly. only today i've
had to set up a new department in the war office to deal with
code-breaking. i've stolen the two best professors they have at
cambridge, along with their assistants, to help solve the problem.
invaluable cogs, trumper."

"yes, sir," said charlie, without a clue as to what the old man was
talking about.

"and i have a problem with another of those cogs trumper, and my
advisers tell me you're the best man to come up with a solution."

"thank you, sir."

"food, trumper, and more important its distribution. i understand from
lord woolton the minister in charge that supplies are fast running out.
we can't even get enough potatoes shipped over from ireland. so one of
the biggest problems i'm facing at this moment is how to keep the
nation's stomach full while waging a war on the enemy's shores and at
the same time keeping our supply routes open. the minister tells me that
when the food arrives in the ports it can often be weeks before the
damned stuff is moved, and sometimes even then it ends up in the wrong
place.

"added to this," continued the prime minister, "our farmers are
complaining that they can't do the job properly because we're recruiting
their best men for the armed forces, and they're not receiving any
backup from the government in exchange." he paused for a moment to
relight his cigar. "so what i'm looking for is a man who has spent his
life buying, selling and distributing food, someone who has lived in the
marketplace and who the farmers and the suppliers both will respect. in
short, trumper, i need you. i want you to join woolton as his right-hand
man, and see that we get the supplies, and then that those supplies are
distributed to the right quarters. can't think of a more important job.
i hope you'll be willing to take on the challenge."

the desire to get started must have shown in charlie's eyes, because the
prime minister didn't even bother to wait for his reply. "good, i can
see you've got the basic idea. i'd like you to report to the ministry of
food at eight tomorrow morning. a car will come to pick you up from your
home at seven forty-five."

"thank you, sir," said charlie, not bothering to explain to the prime
minister that if a car did turn up at seven forty-five the driver would
have missed him by over three hours.

"and, trumper, i'm going to make you up to a brigadier so you've got
some clout."

"i'd prefer to remain plain charlie trumper."

"why?"

"i might at some time find it necessary to be rude to a general "

the prime minister removed his cigar and roared with laughter before he
accompanied his guest to the door. "and, trumper," he said, placing a
hand on charlie's shoulder, "should the need ever arise, don't hesitate
to contact me direct, if you think it could make the difference. night
or day. i don't bother with sleep, you know."

"thank you, sir," said charlie, as he proceeded down the staircase.

"good luck, trumper, and see you feed the people."

the wren escorted charlie back to his car and saluted him as he took his
place in the front seat which surprised charlie because he was still
dressed as a sergeant.

he asked the driver to take him to the little boltons via chelsea
terrace. as they traveled slowly through the streets of the west end, it
saddened him to find old familiar landmarks so badly damaged by the
luftwaffe, although he realized no one in london had escaped the
germans' relentless air bombardment.

when he arrived home, becky opened the front door and threw her arms
around her husband. "what did mr. churchill want?" was her first
question.

"how did you know i was seeing the prime minister?"

"number 10 rang here first to ask where they could get hold of you. so
what did he want?"

"someone who can deliver his fruit and veg on a regular basis."

charlie liked his new boss from the moment they met. although james
woolton had come to the ministry of food with the reputation of being a
brilliant businessman, he admitted that he was not an expert in
charlie's particular field but said his department was there to see that
charlie was given every assistance he required.

charlie was allocated a large office on the same corridor as the
minister and supplied with a staff of fourteen headed by a young
personal assistant called arthur selwyn who hadn't been long down from
oxford.

charlie soon learned that selwyn had a brain as sharp as a razor, and
although he had no experience of charlie's world he only ever needed to
be told something once.

the navy supplied charlie with a personal secretary called jessica
allen, who appeared to be willing to work the same hours as he did.
charlie wondered why such an attractive, intelligent girl appeared to
have no social life until he studied her file more carefully and
discovered that her young fiance had been killed on the beach at dunkirk
charlie quickly returned to his old routine of coming into the office at
four-thirty, even before the cleaners had arrived, which allowed him to
read through his papers until eight without fear of being disturbed.

because of the special nature of his assignment and the obvious support
of his minister, doors opened whenever he appeared. within a month most
of his staff were coming in by five, although selwyn turned out to be
the only one of them who also had the stamina to stick with him through
the night.

for that first month charlie did nothing but read reports and listen to
selwyn's detailed assessment of the problems they had been facing for
the best part of a 42a year, while occasionally popping in to see the
minister to clarify a point that he didn't fully understand.

during the second month charlie decided to visit every major port in the
kingdom to find out what was holding up the distribution of food, food
that was sometimes simply being left to rot for days on end in the
storehouses on the docksides throughout the country. when he reached
liverpool he quickly discovered that supplies were rightly not getting
priority over tanks or men when it came to movement, so he requested
that his ministry should operate a fleet of its own vehicles, with no
purpose other than to distribute food supplies across the nation.

woolton somehow managed to come up with sixty-two trucks, most of them,
he admitted, rejects from war surplus. "not unlike me," charlie
admitted. however, the minister still couldn't spare the men to drive
them.

"if men aren't available, minister, i need two hundred women," charlie
suggested, and despite the cartoonists' gende jibes about women drivers
it only took another month before the food started to move out of the
docks within hours of its arrival.

the dockers themselves responded well to the women drivers, while trade
union leaders never found out that charlie spoke to them with one accent
while using quite another when he was back at the ministry.

once charlie had begun to solve the distribution problem, he came up
against two more dilemmas. on the one hand, the farmers were complaining
chat they couldn't produce enough food at home because the armed forces
were taking away all their best men; on the other, charlie found he just
wasn't getting enough supplies coming in from abroad because of dhe
success of the german u-boat campaign.

he came up with two solutions for woolton's consideration. "you supplied
me with lorry girls, now you must give me land girls," charlie told him.
"i need five thousand this time, because that's what the farmers are
saying they're short of."

the next day woolton was interviewed on the bbc and made a special
appeal to the nation for land girls. five hundred applied in the first
twenty-four hours and the minister had the five thousand charlie
requested within ten weeks. charlie allowed the applications to continue
pouring in until he had seven thousand and could clearly identify a
smile on the face of the president of the national farmers' union.

over the second problem of lack of supplies charlie advised woolton to
buy rice as a substitute diet staple because of the hardship the nation
was facing with a potato shortage. "but where do we find such a
commodity?" asked woolton. "china and the far east is much too hazardous
a journey for us even to consider right now."

"i'm aware of that," said charlie, "but i know a supplier in egypt who
could let us have a million tons a month."

"can he be trusted?"

"certainly not," said charlie. "but his brother still works in the east
end, and if we were to intern him for a few months i reckon i could pull
off some sort of deal with the family."

"if the press ever found out what we were up to charlie, they'd have my
guts for garters."

"im not going to tell them, minister."

the following day eli calil found himself interned in brixton prison
while charlie flew off to cairo to close a deal with his brother for a
million tons of rice per month, rice that had been originally eammarked
for the italians.

charlie agreed with nasim calil that the payments could be made half in
pounds sterling and half in piastres, and as long as the shipments
always arrived on

time no paperwork concerning the money needed be evident on the cairo
end. failing this, calil's govemment would be informed of the full
details of their transaction.

"very fair, charlie, but then you always were. but what about my brother
eli?" asked nasim calil.

"we'll release him at the end of the war but then only if every shipment
is delivered on time."

"also most considerate," nasim replied. "a couple of years in jail will
do eli no harm. he is, after all, one of the few members of my family
who hasn't yet been detained at his majesty's pleasure."

charlie tried to spend at least a couple of hours a week with tom arnold
so that he could be kept up to date on what was happening in chelsea
terrace. tom had to report that trumper's was now losing money steadily
and he had found it necessary to close five of the premises and board up
another four; this saddened charlie because syd wrexall had recently
written to him offering his entire group of shops and the bombedout
corner pub for only six thousand pounds, a sum wrexall was claiming
charlie had once made him a firm offer on. all charlie had to do now,
wrexall reminded arnold in an accompanying letter, was to sign the
check.

charlie studied the contract that wrexall had enclosed and said, "i made
that offer long before the outbreak of war. send all the documents back.
i'm confident he'll let those shops go for around four thousand by this
time next year. but try and keep him happy, tom."

"that might prove a little difficult," replied tom. "since that bomb
landed on the musketeer syd's gone off to live in cheshire. he's now the
landlord of a country pub in some place called hatherton."

"even better," said charlie. "we'll never see him again. now i'm even
more convinced that within a year he'll be ready to make a deal, so for
the time being just ignore his letter; after all, the post is very
unreliable at the moment."

charlie had to leave tom and travel on down to southampton, where
calil's first shipment of rice had arrived. his lorry girls had gone to
pick up the bags, but the manager of the port was refusing to release
them without proper signed documentation. it was a trip charlie could
have well done without, and one he certainly didn't intend to make every
month.

when he arrived on the dockside he quickly discovered that there was no
problem with the trade unions, who were quite willing to unload the
entire cargo, or with his girls, who were just sitting on the mudguards
of their lorries waiting to take delivery.

over a pint at the local pub, alf redwood, the dockers' leader, warned
charlie that mr. simkins, the general manager of the docks and harbour
board, was a stickler when it came to paperwork and liked everything
done by the book.

"does he?" said charlie. "then i'll have to stick by the book, won't 1?"
after paying for his round, he walked over to the administration block
where he asked to see mr. simkins.

"he's rather busy at the moment," said a receptionist, not bothering to
look up from painting her nails. charlie walked straight past her and
into simkins' office, to find a thin, balding man sitting alone behind a
very large desk dipping a biscuit into a cup of tea.

"and who are you?" asked the port's official, taken so completely by
surprise that he dropped his biscuit into the tea.

"charlie trumper. and i'm here to find out why you won't release my
rice."

"i don't have the proper authority," said simkins, as he tried to rescue
his biscuit, which was now float

ing on the top of his morning beverage. "no official papers have come
from cairo, and your forms from london are inadequate, quite
inadequate." he gave charlie a smile of satisfaction.

"but it could take days for me to get the necessary paperwork sorted
out."

"that's not my problem."

"but we're at war, man.

"which is why we must all try to keep to the regulations. i'm sure the
gemmans do."

"i don't give a damn what the gemmans do," said (charlie. "i've got a
million tons of rice coming through this port every month and i want to
distribute every last grain of it as quickly as possible. do i make
myself "you certainly do, mr. trumper, but i shall still require the
official papers correctly completed before you get your rice."

"i order you to release that rice immediately," said charlie, barking at
him for the first time.

"no need to raise your voice, mr. trumper, because as i've already
explained you don't have the authority to order me to do anything. this
is the docks and harbour board and it doesn't, as i'm sure you know,
come under the ministry of food. i should go back to london, and this
time do try a little harder to see that we get the correct forms
properly filled in."

charlie felt he was too old to hit the man, so he simply picked up the
telephone on simkins' desk and asked for a number.

"what are you doing?" demanded simkins. "that's my telephone you don't
have the proper authority to use my telephone."

charlie clung to the phone and fumed his back on simkins. when he heard
the voice on the other end of the line, he said, "it's charlie trumper.
can you put me through to the prime minister?"

simkins' cheeks turned first red, then white, as the blood drained
quickly from his face. "there's really no need " he began.

"good morning, sir," said charlie. "i'm down in southampton. the rice
problem i mentioned to you last night. there turns out to be a bit of a
holdup at this end. i don't seem to be able "

simkins was now frantically waving his hands like a semaphore sailor in
an attempt to gain charlie's attention, while at the same time nodding
his head energetically up and down.

"i've got a million tons coming in every month, prime minister, and the
girls are just sitting on their "

"it will be all right," whispered simkins as he began to circle charlie.
"it will be all right, i can assure you."

udo you want to speak to the man in charge yourself, sir?"

"no, no," said simkins. "that won't be necessary. i have all the forms,
all the forms you need, all the forms."

"i'll let him know, sir," said charlie, pausing for a moment. "i'm due
back in london this evening. yes, sir, yes, i'll brief you the moment i
return. goodbye, prime minister."

"goodbye," said becky as she put down the telephone. "and no doubt
you'll tell me what all that was about when you do get home tonight."

the minister roared with laughter when charlie repeated the whole story
to him and jessica allen later that evening.

"you know, the prime minister would have been quite happy to speak to
the man if you had wanted him to," said woolton.

"if he'd done that simkins would have had a heart attack," said charlie.
"and then my rice, not to mention my drivers, would have been stuck in
that port for

ever. in any case, with the food shortage the way it is i wouldn't have
wanted the wretched man to waste another of his biscuits."

charlie was in carlisle attending a farmers' conference when an urgent
call came through for him from london.

"who is it?" he asked as he tried to concentrate on a delegate who was
explaining the problems of increasing turnip yields.

"the marchioness of wiltshire," whispered arthur selwyn.

"then i'll take it," said charlie, and left the conference room to
return to his bedroom, where the hotel operator put the call through.

"daphne what can i do for you, my luv?"

"no, darling, it's what i can do for you, as usual. have you read your
times this morning?"

"glanced at the headlines. why?" asked charlie.

"then you'd better check the obituaries page more carefully. in
particular, the last line of one of them. i won't waste any more of your
time, darling, as the prime minister keeps reminding us just what a
vital role you're playing in winning the war."

charlie laughed as the line went dead.

"anything i can do to help?" asked selwyn.

"yes, arthur, i need a copy of today's times."

when selwyn returned widh a copy of the morning paper, charlie flicked
quickly through the pages until he came to the obituaries: admiral sir
alexander dexter, a first world war commander of outstanding tactical
ability; j. t. macpherson, dhe balloonist and audhor; and sir raymond
hardcastle, the industrialist ... charlie skimmed through the bare
details of sir raymond's career: born and educated in yorkshire; built
up his father's engineering firm at the turn of the century. during dhe
twenties hardcasde's had expand ed from a fledgling company into one of
the great industrial forces in charlie picked up the telephone on the
desk beside him and asked to be put through to a chelsea number. a few
moments later tom amold came on the line.

"where the hell did you say wrexall was to be found?" was the only
question charlie asked.

"as i explained when you last inquired, chairman, he now runs a pub in
cheshire, the happy poacher, in a village called hatherton."

charlie thanked his managing director and replaced the receiver without
another word.

"can i be of any assistance?" asked selwyn dryly.

"what's my program for the rest of the day looking like, arthur?"

"well, they haven't quite finished with the turnips yet, then you're
meant to be attending more sessions all afternoon. this evening you're
proposing the health of the government at the conference dinner before
finally presenting the farmers' annual dairy awards tomorrow moming."

"then pray i'm back in time for the dinner," said charlie. he stood up
and grabbed his overcoat.

"do you want me to come with you?" asked selwyn, trying to keep up with
his master.

"no, thank you, arthur. it's a personal matter. just cover for me if i'm
not back in time."

charlie ran down the stairs and out into the yard. his driver was dozing
peacefully behind the wheel.

charlie jumped into his car and the slammed door woke him up. "take me
to hatherton."

"hatherton, sir?"

"yes, hatherton. head south out of carlisle, and by then i should be
able to point you in the right direction." charlie flicked open the road
map, turned to the back and began running his finger down the h's. there
were five hathertons listed but luckily just the one in cheshire. the
only other word charlie uttered on the entire journey was "faster,"
which he repeated several times. they passed through lancaster, preston
and warrington before coming to a halt outside the happy poacher half an
hour before the pub was due to close for the afternoon.

syd wrexall's eyes nearly popped out of his head when charlie strolled
in the front door.

"a scotch egg and a pint of your best bitter, landlord, and no short
measures," charlie said with a grin, placing a briefcase by his side.

"fancy seeing you in these parts, mr. trumper," declared syd after he
had shouted over his shoulder "hilda, one scotch egg, and come and see
who's 'ere."

"i was just on my way to a farmers' conference in carlisle," explained
charlie. "thought i'd drop by and have a pint and a snack with an old
friend."

"that's right neighborly of you," said syd as he placed the pint of
bitter on the counter in front of him. "of course, we read about you in
the papers a lot nowadays, and all the work you're doing with lord
woolton for the war effort. you're becoming quite a celebrity."

"it's a fascinating job the prime minister has given me," said charlie.
"i can only hope that i'm doing some good," he added, hoping he sounded
pompous enough.

"but what about your shops, charlie? who's taking care of them with you
away so much of the time?"

"arnold's back at base doing dhe best he can in the circumstances, but
i'm afraid i've got four or five closed, not to mention those that were
already boarded up. i can tell you, syd, in confidence" charlie lowered
his voice "if things don't start brightening up before too long i shall
soon be looking for a buyer myself." wrexall's wife came bushing in
carrying a plate of food.

"hello, mrs. wrexall," said charlie, as she put down a scotch egg and a
plate of salad in front of him. "good to see you again, and why don't
you and your husband have a drink on me?"

"don't mind if i do, charlie. can you see to it, hilda?" he said, as he
leaned over the bar conspiratorially. "don't suppose you know anyone
who'd be interested in purchasing the syndicate's shops, and the pub,
for that matter?"

"can't say i do," said charlie. "if i remember rightly, syd, you were
asking an awful lot of money for the musketeer which is now nothing more
than a bomb site. not to mention the state of the few shops the
syndicate still have boarded up."

"i came down to your figure of six thousand, which i thought we had
already shaken hands on, but arnold told me you were no longer
interested," said syd, as his wife placed two pints on dhe counter
before going off to serve another customer.

"he told you that?" said charlie, trying to sound surprised.

"oh, yes," said wrexall. "i accepted your offer of six thousand, even
sent the signed contract for your approval, but he just returned the
documents without so much as a by-your-leave."

"i don't believe it," said charlie. "after i'd given my word, syd. why
didn't you get in touch with me direct?"

"not that easy nowadays," said wrexall, "what with your new exalted
position i didn't think you'd be available for the likes of me."

"arnold had no right to do that," said charlie. "he obviously didn't
appreciate how long our relationship goes back. i do apologize, syd, and
remember, for you i'm always available. you don't still have the
contract, by any chance?"

"certainly do," said wrexall. "and it'] prove i'm as good as my word."
he disappeared, leaving charlie to take a bite of scotch egg and a slow
swig of the local brew.

the publican returned a few minutes later and slammed down some
documents on the bar top. "there you are, charlie, true as i stand
here."

charlie studied the contract that he had been shown by arnold some
eighteen months before. it already bore the signature "sydney wrexall,"
with the figures "six thousand" written in after the words "for the
consideration of "

"all that it needed was the date and your signature," said syd. "i never
thought you'd do that to me charlie, after all these years."

"as you well know, syd, i'm a man of my word. i'm only sorry my managing
director wasn't properly acquainted with our personal arrangement."
charlie removed a wallet from his pocket, took out a checkbook, and
wrote out the words "syd wrexall" on the top line and "six thousand
pounds" on the line below before signing it with a flourish.

"you're a gentleman, charlie, i always said you were. didn't i always
say he was, hilda?"

mrs. wrexall nodded enthusiastically as charlie smiled, picked up the
contract and placed all the papers inside his briefcase and then shook
hands with the publican and his wife.

"how much is the damage?" he asked after he had drained the last drop of
his beer.

"it's on the house," said wrexall.

"but, syd "

"no, i insist, wouldn't dream of treating an old friend like a customer,
charlie. on the house," he repeated as the telephone rang and hilda
wrexall went off to answer it.

"well, i must be on my way," said charlie. "otherwise i'll be late for
this conference, and i'm meant to be delivering another speech tonight.
nice to have done business with you, syd." he had just reached the door
of the pub as mrs. wrexall came rushing back to the counter.

"there's a lady on the line for you, syd. calling long distance. says
her name is mrs. trentham."

as the months passed charlie became the master of his brief. no port
directors could be sure when he might burst into their offices, no
suppliers were surprised when he demanded to check their invoices and
the president of the national farmers' union positively purred whenever
charlie's name came up in conversation.

he never found it necessary to phone the prime minister, although mr.
churchill did phone him on one occasion. it was four forty-five in the
morning when charlie picked up the receiver on his desk.

"good moming," he said.

"trumper?"

"yes, who's that?"

"churchill."

"good moming, prime minister. what can i do for . ~" you, serf "nothing.
i was just checking that it was true what they say about you. by the
way, thank you." the phone went dead.

charlie even managed from time to time to have lunch with daniel. the
boy was now attached to the war office, but would never talk about the
work he was involved in. after he was promoted to captain, charlie's
only worry became what becky's reaction would be if she ever saw him in
uniform.

when charlie visited tom amold at the end of the month he reamed that
mr. hadlow had retired as manager of the bank and his replacement, a mr.
paul merrick, was not proving to be quite as amenable. "says our
overdraft is reaching unacceptable levels and perhaps it's time we did
something about it," explained tom.

"does he?" said charlie. "then i shall obviously have to see this mr.
merrick and tell him a few home truths."

although trumper's now owned all the shops in chelsea terrace, with the
exception of the bookshop, charlie was still faced with the problem of
mrs. trentham and her bombed-out flats, not to mention the additional
worry of herr hitler and his unfinished war: these he tended to place in
roughly the same category, and nearly always in that order.

the war with herr hitler began to take a step in the right direction
towards the end of 1942 with the victory of the eighth army at el
alamein. charlie felt confident that churchill was right when he
declared that the tide had fumed, as first africa, followed by italy,
france and finally germany were invaded.

but by then it was mr. merrick who was insisting on seeing charlie.

when charlie entered mr. merrick's office for the first time he was
surprised to find how young mr. hadlow's replacement was. it also took
him a few moments to get used to a bank manager who didn't wear a
waistcoat or a black tie. paul merrick was a shade taller than charlie
and every bit as broad in everything except his smile. charlie quickly
discovered that mr. merrick had no small talk.

"are you aware, mr. trumper, that your company account is overdrawn by
some forty-seven thousand pounds and your present income doesn't even
cover "

"but the property must be worth four or five times that amount."

"only if you're able to find someone who's willing to buy it."

"but i'm not a seller."

"you may be left with no choice, mr. trumper, if the bank decides to
foreclose on you."

"then i'll just have to change banks, won't i," said charlie.

"you have obviously not had the time recently to read the minutes of
your own board meetings because when they last met, your managing
director mr. arnold reported that he had visited six banks in the past
month and none of them had showed the slightest interest in taking over
trumper's account."

merrick waited for his customer's response but as charlie remained
silent he continued. "mr. crowther also explained to the board on that
occasion that the problem you are now facing has been caused by property
prices being lower now than they have been at any time since the 1930s."

"but that will change overnight once the war is over."

"possibly, but that might not be for several years and you could be
insolvent long before then "

"more like twelve months would be my guess."

" especially if you continue to sign checks to the value of six thousand
pounds for property worth about half that amount."

"but if i hadn't "

"you might not be in such a precarious position."

charlie remained silent for some time. "so what do you expect me to do
about it?" he asked finally.

"i require you to sign over all the properties and stock held by your
company as collateral against the overdraft. i have already drawn up the
necessary papers."

merrick swiveled round a document that lay on the middle of his desk.
"if you feel able to sign," he added, pointing to a dotted line near the
bottom of the page marked by two pencil crosses, "i would be willing to
extend your credit for a further twelve months."

"and if i refuse?"

"i'll be left with no choice but to issue an insolvency notice within
twenty-eight days."

charlie stared down at the document and saw that becky had already
signed on the line above his. both men remained silent for some time as
charlie weighed up the alternatives. then without offering any further
comment charlie took out his pen, scrawled a signature between the two
penciled crosses, swiveled the document back round, fumed and marched
out of the room without another word.

the surrender of germany was signed by general jodl and accepted on
behalf of the allies by general bedell smith at reims on 7 may 1945.

charlie would have joined the ve day celebrations in trafalgar square
had becky not reminded him that their overdraft had reached nearly sixty
thousand pounds and merrick was once again threatening them with
bankruptcy.

"he's got his hands on the property and all our stock what else does he
expect me to do?" demanded charlie.

"he's now suggesting that we sell the one thing that could clear the
debt, and would even leave some capital over to see us through the next
couple of years."

"and what's that?"

"van gogh's the potato eaters. "

"never!"

"but charlie, the painting belongs to ..."

charlie made an appointment to see lord woolton the following morning
and explained to the minister he was now faced with his own problems
that required his immediate attention. he therefore asked, now that the
war in europe was over, if he could be released from his present duties.

lord wooleon fully understood charlie's dilemma and made it clear how
sad he and all at the department would be to see him so.

when charlie left his office a month later the only thing he took with
him was jessica allen.

charlie's problems didn't ease up during 1945 as property prices
continued to fall and inflation continued to rise. he was nevertheless
touched when, after peace had been declared with japan, the prime
minister held a dinner in his honor at number 10. daphne admitted that
she had never entered the building, and told becky that she wasn't even
sure she wanted to. percy admitted he wanted to, and was envious.

there were several leading cabinet ministers present for the occasion.
becky was placed between churchill and the rising young star rab butler,
while charlie was seated next to mrs. churchill and lady woolton. becky
watched her husband as he chatted in a relaxed way with the prime
minister and lord woolton, and had to smile when charlie had the nerve
to offer the old man a cigar he had specially selected that afternoon
from number 139. no one in that room could possibly have guessed that
they were on the verge of bankruptcy.

when the evening finally came to an end, becky thanked the prime
minister, who in turn thanked her.

"what for?" asked becky.

"taking telephone calls in my name, and making excellent decisions on my
behalf," he said, as he accompanied them both down the long corridor to
the front hall.

"i had no idea you knew," said charlie, turning scarlet.

"knew? woolton told the entire cabinet the next day. never seen them
laugh so much."

when the prime minister reached the front door of number 10, he gave
becky a slight bow and said, "good night, lady trumper."

"you know what that means, don't you?" said charlie as he drove out of
downing street and turned right into whitehall.

"that you're about to get a knighthood?"

"yes, but more important, we're going to have to sell the van gogh."

~- 4'v l. ou're a little bastard,h remains my first memory. i was five
and three-quarters at the time and the words were being shouted by a
small girl on the far side of the playground as she pointed at me and
danced up and down. the rest of the class stopped and stared, until i
ran across and pinned her against the wall.

what does it mean?" i demanded, squeezing her arms.

she burst into tears and said, "i don't know. i just heard my mum tell
my dad that you were a little bastard.~

"i know what the word means," said a voice from behind me. i turned
round to find myself surrounded by the rest of the pupils from my class,
but i was quite unable to work out who had spoken.

"what does it meanly i said again, even louder.

hgive me sixpence and i'll tell you."

i stared up at neil watson, the form bully who always sat in the row
behind me.

"i've only got threepence."

he considered the offer for some time before saying, "all right then,
i'll tell you for threepence. h he walked up to me, thrust out the palm
of his hand, and waited until i'd slowly unwrapped my handkerchief and
passed over my entire pocket money for the week. he then cupped his
hands and whispered into my ear, "you don't have a father."

hlt's not trued i shouted, and started punching him on the chest. but he
was far bigger than me and only laughed at my feeble efforts. the bell
sounded for the end of break and everyone ran back to class, several of
them laughing and shouting in unison, hdaniel's a little bastard. h
nanny came to pick me up from school that afternoon and when i was sure
none of my classmates could overhear me i asked her what the word meant.
she only said, hwhat a disgraceful question, daniel, and i can only hope
that it's not the sort of thing they're teaching you at st. david's.
please don't let me ever hear you mention the word again."

over tea in the kitchen, when nanny had left to go and run my bath, i
asked cook to tell me what hbastardh meant. all she said was, hltm sure
i don't know, master daniel, and i would advise you not to ask anyone
else. h i didn't dare ask my mother or father in case what neil watson
had said turned out to be true, and i lay awake all night wondering how
i could find out.

then i remembered that a long time ago my mother had gone into hospital
and was meant to come back with a brother or sister for me, and didn't.
i wondered if that's what made you a bastard.

about a week later nanny had taken me to visit mummy at guy's hospital
but i can't recall that much about the outing, except that she looked
very white and sad. i remember feeling very happy when she eventually
came home.

the next episode in my life that i recall vividly was going to st.
paul's school at the age of eleven. there i was made to work really hard
for the first time in my life. at my prep school i came top in almost
every subject without having to do much more than any other child, and
although i was called "swat" or "swotty," it never worried me. at st.
paul's there turned out to be lots of boys who were clever, but none of
them could touch me when it came to maths. i not only enjoyed a subject
so many of my classmates seemed to dread but the marks i was awarded in
the end of term exams appeared always to delight my mum and dad. i
couldn't wait for the next algebraic equation, a further geometric
puzzle or the challenge of solving an arithmetic test in my head while
others in the form sucked their pencils as they considered pages of
longhand figures.

i did quite well in other subjects and although i was not much good at
games i took up the cello and was invited to join the school orchestra,
but my form master said none of this was important because i was
obviously going to be a mathematician for the rest of my life. i didn't
understand what he meant at the time, as i knew dad had left school at
fourteen to run my great-grandfather's fruit and vegetable barrow in
whitechapel, and even though mum had gone to london university she still
had to work at number 1 chelsea terrace to keep dad "in the style to
which he'd become accustomed. h or that's what i used to hear mum
telling him at breakfast from time to time.

it must have been around that time that i discovered what the word
hbastard" really meant. we were reading king john out loud in class, so
i was able to ask mr. saxon-east, my english master, without drawing too
much attention to the question. one or two of the boys looked round and
sniggered, but this time there were no pointed fingers or whispers, and
when i was told the meaning i remember thinking neil watson hadn't been
that far off the mark in the first place. but of course such an
accusation could not be leveled at me, because my very first memories
had involved my mum and dad being together. they had always been mr. and
mrs. trumper.

i suppose i would have dismissed the whole memory of that early incident
if i hadn't come down to the kitchen one night for a glass of milk and
overheard joan moore talking to harold the butler.

"young daniel's doing well at school," said harold. "must have his
mother's brains."

"true, but let's pray that he never finds out the truth about his
father." the words made me freeze to the stair rail. i continued to
listen intently.

"well, one thing's for certain," continued harold. "mrs. trentham's
never going to admit the boy's her grandson, so heaven knows who'll end
up with all that money."

unot. captain guy any longer, that's for sure," said joan. "so perhaps
that brat nigel will be left the lot."

after that the conversation turned to who should lay up for breakfast so
l crept back upstairs to my bedroom; but i didn't sleep. although i sat
on those steps for many hours during the next few months, patiently
waiting for another vital piece of information that might fall from the
servants' lips, the subject never arose between them again.

the only other occasion i could recall having heard the name htrentham"
had been some time before, when the marchioness of wiltshire, a close
friend of my mother's, came to tea. i remained in the hall when my
mother asked, hdid you go to guy's funeral?h hyes, but it wasn't well
attended by the good parishioners of ashurst,h the marchioness assured
her. hthose who remembered him well seemed to be treating the occasion
more as if it were a blessed release."

hwas sir raymond present?"

"no, he was conspicuous by his absence," came back the reply. hmrs.
trentham claimed he was too old to travel, which only acted as a sad
reminder that she still stands to inherit a fortune in the not too
distant future."

new facts learned, but they still made little sense.

the name of htrentham" arose in my presence once more when i heard daddy
talking to colonel hamilton as he was leaving the house after a private
meeting that had been held in his study. all daddy said was, hhowever
much we offer mrs. trentham, she's never going to sell those flats to
us."

the colonel vigorously nodded his agreement, but all he had to say on
the subject was, hbloody woman. h when both my parents were out of the
house, i looked up htrenthamh in the telephone directory. there was only
one listing: major g. h. trentham, mp, 19 chester square. i wasn't any
the wiser.

when in 1939 trinity college offered me the newton mathematics prize
scholarship i thought dad was going to burst, he was so proud. we all
drove up to the university city for the weekend to check my future digs,
before strolling round the college's cloisters and through great court.

the only cloud on this otherwise unblemished horizon was the thunderous
one of nazi germany. conscription for all those over twenty was being
debated in parliament, and i couldn't wait to play my part if hitler
dared to plant as much as a toe on polish soil.

my first year at cambridge went well, mainly because i was being tutored
by horace bradford who, along with his wife, victoria, was considered to
be the pick of the bunch among a highly talented group of mathematicians
who were teaching at the university at that time. although mrs. bradford
was rumored to have won the wrangler's prize for coming out top of her
year, her husband explained that she was not given the prestigious
award, simply because she was a woman. the man who came second was
deemed to have come first, a piece of information that made my mother
puce with anger.

mrs. bradford rejoiced in the fact that my mother had been awarded her
degree from london university in 1921, while cambridge still refused to
acknowledge hers even existed in 1939.

at the end of my first year 1, like many trinity undergraduates, applied
to join the army, but my tutor asked me if i would like to work with him
and his wife at the war office in a new department that would be
specializing in code-breaking.

i accepted the offer without a second thought, relishing the prospect of
spending my time sitting in a dingy little back room somewhere in
bletchley park attempting to break german codes. i felt a little guilty
that i was going to be one of the few people in uniform who was actually
enjoying the war. dad gave me enough money to buy an old mg, which meant
i could get up to london from time to time to see him and mum.

occasionally i managed to grab an hour for lunch with him over at the
ministry of food, but dad would only eat bread and cheese accompanied by
a glass of milk as an example to the rest of his team. this may have
been considered edifying but it certainly wasn't nourishing, mr. selwyn
warned me, adding that my father even had the minister at it.

hbut not mr. churchill?h i suggested.

hhe's next on his list, i'm told. h in 1943 i was made up to captain,
which was simply the war office acknowledging the work we were all doing
in our fledgling department. of course, my father was delighted but i
was sorry that i couldn't share with my parents our excitement when we
broke the code used by the german u-boat commanders. it still baffles me
to this day why they continued to go on using the four-wheel enigma key
long after we'd made our discovery. the code was a mathematician's dream
that we finally broke on the back of a menu at lyons corner house just
off piccadilly. the waitress serving at our table described me as a
vandal. i laughed, and remember thinking that i would take the rest of
the day off and go and surprise my mother by letting her see what i
looked like in my captain's uniform. i thought i looked rather swish,
but when she opened the front door to greet me i was shocked by her
response. she stared at me as if she'd seen a ghost. although she
recovered quickly enough, that first reaction on seeing me in uniform
became just another clue in an ever more complex puzzle, a puzzle that
was never far from the back of my thoughts.

the next clue came in the bottom line of an obituary, to which i wasn't
paying much attention until i discovered that a mrs. trentham would be
coming into a fortune; not an important clue in itself, until i reread
the entry and learned that she was the daughter of someone called sir
raymond hardcastle, a name that allowed me to fill in several little
boxes that went in both directions. but what puzzled me was there being
no mention of a guy trentham among the surviving relatives.

sometimes i wish i hadn't been born with the kind of mind that enjoyed
breaking codes and meddling with mathematical formulas. but somehow
"bastard," htrentham," "hospital," hcaptain guy,h hflats," hsir
raymond,h "that brat nigel," hfuneral," and mother turning white when
she saw me dressed in a captain's uniform seemed to have some linear
connection. although i realized i would need even more clues before
logic would lead me to the correct solution.

then suddenly i worked out to whom they must have been referring when
the marchioness had come to tea all those years before, and told mother
that she had just attended guy's funeral. it must have been captain
guy's burial that had taken place. but why was that so significant?

the following saturday morning i rose at an ungodly hour and traveled
down to ashurst, the village in which the marchioness of wiltshire had
once lived not a coincidence, i concluded. i arrived at the parish
church a little after six, and as i had anticipated, at that hour there
was no one to be seen in the churchyard. i strolled around the graveyard
checking the names: yardleys, baxters, floods, and harcourtbrownes
aplenty. some of the graves were overgrown with weeds, others were well
cared for and even had fresh flowers at the head. i paused for a moment
at the grave of my godmother's grandfather. there must have been over a
hundred parishioners buried around the clock tower, but it didn't take
that long to find the neatly kept trentham family plot, only a few yards
from the church vestry.

when i came across the most recent family gravestone i broke out in a
cold sweat:

clay l[~rentham, 1~c 1 897-1 927 after a long illnless sadly missed by
all his fancily

and so the mystery had come literally to a dead end, at the grave of the
one man who surely could have answered all my questions had he still
been alive.

when the war ended i returned to trinity and was granted an extra year
to complete my degree. although my father and mother considered the
highlight of the year to be my passing out as senior wrangler with the
offer of a prize fellowship at trinity, i thought dad's investiture at
buckingham palace wasn't to be sneezed at.

the ceremony turned out to be a double delight, because i was also able
to witness my old tutor, professor bradford, being knighted for the role
he had played in the field of code-breaking although there was nothing
for his wife, my mother noted. i remember feeling equally outraged on
dr. bradford's behalf. dad may have played his part in filling the
stomachs of the british people, but as churchill had stated in the house
of commons, our little team had probably cut down the length of the war
by as much as a year.

we all met up afterwards for tea at the ritz, and not unnaturally at
some point during the afternoon the conversation switched to what career
i proposed to follow now the war was over. to my father's abiding credit
he had never once suggested that i should join him at trumper's,
especially as i knew how much he had longed for another son who might
eventually take his place. in fact during the summer vacation i became
even more conscious of my good fortune, as father seemed to be
preoccupied with the business and mother was unable to hide her own
anxiety about the future of trumper's. but whenever i asked if i could
help all she would say was: hnot to worry, it will all work out in the
end."

once i had returned to cambridge, i persuaded myself that should i ever
come across the name "trentham" again i would no longer allow it to
worry me. however, because the name was never mentioned freely in my
presence it continued to nag away in the back of my mind. my father had
always been such an open man that there was no simple explanation as to
why on this one particular subject he remained so secretive to such an
extent, in fact, that i felt i just couldn't raise the subject with him
myself.

i might have gone years without bothering to do anything more about the
conundrum if i hadn't one morning picked up an extension to the phone in
the little boltons and heard tom arnold, my father's righthand man, say,
"well, at least we can be thankful that you got to syd wrexall before
mrs. trentham." i replaced the headset immediately, feeling that i now
had to get to the bottom of the mystery once and for all and what's
more, without my parents finding out. why does one always think the
worst in these situations? surely the final solution would turn out to
be something quite innocuous.

although i had never met syd wrexall i could still remember him as the
landlord of the musketeer, a pub that had stood proudly on the other end
of chelsea terrace until a bomb had landed in the snugbar. during the
war my father bought the freehold and later converted the building into
an up-market furnishing department.

it didn't take a dick barton to discover that mr. wrexall had left
london during the war to become the landlord of a pub in a sleepy
village called hatherton, hidden away in the county of cheshire.

i spent three days working out my strategy for mr. wrexall, and only
when i was convinced that i knew all the questions that needed to be
asked did i feel confident enough to make the journey to hatherton. i
had to word every query i needed answered in such a way that they didn't
appear to be questions; but i still waited for a further month before i
drove up north, by which time i had grown a beard that was long enough
for me to feel confident that wrexall would not recognize me. although i
was unaware of having seen him in the past, i realized that it was
possible wrexall might have come across me as recently as three or four
years ago, and would therefore have known who i was the moment i walked
into his pub. i even purchased a modern pair of glasses to replace my
old specs.

i chose a monday to make the trip as i suspected it would be the
quietest day of the week on which to have a pub lunch. before i set out
on the journey i telephoned the happy poacher to be sure mr. wrexall
would be on duty that day. his wife assured me that he would be around
and i put the phone down before she could ask why i wanted to know.

during my journey up to cheshire i rehearsed a series of non-questions
again and again. having arrived in the village of hatherton i parked my
car down a side road some way from the pub before strolling into the
happy poacher. i discovered three or four people standing at the bar
chatting and another half dozen enjoying a drink around a mean-looking
fire. i took a seat at the end of the bar and ordered some shepherd's
pie and a half pint of best bitter from a buxom, middle-aged lady whom i
later discovered was the landlord's wife. it took only moments to work
out who the landlord was, because the other customers all called him
syd, but i realized that i would still have to be patient as i listened
to him chat about anybody and everybody, from lady docker to richard
murdoch, as if they were all close friends.

"same again, sir?" he asked eventually, as he returned to my end of the
bar and picked up my empty glass.

hyes, please," i said, relieved to find that he didn't appear to
recognize me.

by the time he had come back with my beer there were only two or three
of us left at the bar.

hfrom around these parts, are you, sir?" he asked, leaning on the
counter.

hno," i said. "only up for a couple of days on an inspection. i'm with
the ministry of agriculture, fisheries and food."

hso what brings you to hatherton?"

"i'm checking out all the farms in the area for foot and mouth disease.
h hoh, yes, i've read all about that in the papers,h he said, toying
with an empty glass.

hcare to join me, landlord?h i asked.

hoh, thank you, sir. i'll have a whisky, if i may. he put his empty
half-pint glass in the washing-up water below the counter and poured
himself a double. he charged me half a crown, then asked how my findings
were coming along.

haii clear so far," i told him. hbut i've still got a few more farms in
the north of the county to check out."

hi used to know someone in your department," he said.

oh, yes?

hsir charles trumper."

hbefore my time," i said taking a swig from my beer, hbut they still
talk about him back at the ministry. must have been a tough customer if
half the stories about him are true."

hbloody right,h said wrexall. hand but for him i'd be a rich man."

hreally."

i'oh, yes. you see, i used to own a little property in london before i
moved up here. a pub, along with an interest in several shops in chelsea
terrace, to be exact. he picked the lot up from me during the war for a
mere six thousand. if i'd waited another twenty-four hours i could have
sold them for twenty thousand, perhaps even thirty. h hbut the war
didn't end in twenty-four hours. h hoh, no, i'm not suggesting for one
moment that he did anything dishonest, but it always struck me as a
little more than a coincidence that having not set eyes on him for years
he should suddenly show up in this pub on that very morning. h wrexall's
glass was now empty.

"same again for both of us?" i suggested, hoping that the investment of
another half crown might further loosen his tongue.

nthat's very generous of you, sir,h he responded, and when he returned
he asked, "where was 1?"

h'on that very morning ..."'

"oh, yes, sir charles charlie, as i always called him. well, he closed
the deal right here at this bar, in under ten minutes, when blow me if
another interested party didn't ring up and ask if the properties were
still for sale. i had to tell the lady in question that i had just
signed them away."

i avoided asking who "the lady" was, although i suspected i knew. "but
that doesn't prove that she would have offered you twenty thousand
pounds for them,h i said.

hoh, yes, she would,h responded wrexall. hthat mrs. trentham would have
offered me anything to stop sir charles getting his hands on those
shops. h hgreat scott,h i said, once again avoiding the word why?

noh, yes, the trumpers and the trenthams have been at each other's
throats for years, you know. she still owns a block of flats right in
the middle of chelsea terrace. it's the only thing that's stopped him
from building his grand mausoleum, isn't it? what's more, when she tried
to buy number 1 chelsea terrace, charlie completely outfoxed her, didn't
he? never seen anything like it in my life. h "but that must have been
years ago,h i said. hamazing how people go on bearing grudges for so
longs hyou're right, because to my knowledge this one's been going on
since the early twenties, ever since her posh son was seen walking out
with miss. salmon. h i held my breath.

hshe didn't approve of that, no, not mrs. trentham.

we all had that worked out at the musketeer, and then when the son
disappears off to india the salmon girl suddenly ups and marries
charlie. and that wasn't the end of the mystery. h "no."

"certainly not,h said wrexall. "because none of us are sure to this day
who the father was."

hthe father?"

wrexall hesitated. "i've gone too far. i'll say no more."

hsuch a long time ago, i'm surprised anyone still cares," i offered as
my final effort before draining my glass.

"true enough," said wrexall. hthat's always been a bit of a mystery to
me as well. but there's no telling with folks. well, i must close up
now, sir, or i'll have the law after me."

"of course. and i must get back to those cattle."

before i returned to cambridge i sat in the car and wrote down every
word i could remember the landlord saying. on the long journey back i
tried to piece together the new clues and get them into some sort of
order. although wrexall had supplied a lot of information i hadn't known
before he had also begged a few more unanswered questions. the only
thing i came away from that pub certain of was that i couldn't possibly
stop now.

the next morning i decided to return to the war office and ask sir
horace's old secretary if she knew of any way that one could trace the
background of a former serving officer.

hname?" said the prim middle-aged woman who still kept her hair tied in
a bun, a style left over from the war.

"guy trentham," i told her.

"rank and regiment?h "captain and the royal fusiliers would be my guess.
h she disappeared behind a closed door, but was back within fifteen
minutes clutching a small brown file. she extracted a single sheet of
paper and read aloud from it. "captain guy trentham, mc. served in the
first war, further service in india, resigned his commission in 1922. no
explanation given. no forwarding address."

hyou're a genius," i said, and to her consternation kissed her on the
forehead before leaving to return to cambridge.

the more i discovered, the more i found i needed to know, even though
for the time being i seemed to have come to another dead end.

for the next few weeks i concentrated on my job as a supervisor until my
pupils had all safely departed for their christmas vacation.

i returned to london for the three-week break and spent a happy family
christmas with my parents at the little boltons. father seemed a lot
more relaxed than he had been during the summer, and even mother
appeared to have shed her unexplained anxieties.

however, another mystery arose during that holiday and as i was
convinced it was no way connected with the trenthams, i didn't hesitate
to ask my mother to solve it.

what's happened to dad's favorite picture?

her reply saddened me greatly and she begged me never to raise the
subject of the potato eaters with my father.

the week before i was due to return to cambridge i was strolling back
down beaufort street towards the little boltons, when i spotted a
chelsea pensioner in his blue serge uniform trying to cross the road.

"allow me to help you," i offered.

"thank you, sir," he said, looking up at me with a rheumy smile.

"and who did you serve with?" i asked casually.

hthe prince of wales own," he replied. hand you ?"

hthe royal fusiliers." we crossed the road together. hgot any of those,
have you?"

hthe fussies," he said. hoh, yes, banger smith who saw service in the
great war, and sammy tomkins who joined up later, twenty-two,
twentythree, if i remember, and was then invalided out after tobruk."

hbanger smith?" i said.

hyes," replied the pensioner as we reached the other side of the road.
ha right shiver, that one." he chuckled chestily. hbut he still puts in
a day a week at your regimental museum, if his stories are to be bel
ieved."

i was first to enter the small regimental museum in the tower of london
the following day, only to be told by the curator that banger smith only
came in on thursdays, and even then couldn't always be relied on. i
glanced around a room filled with regimental mementoes, threadbare flags
parading battle honors, a display case with uniforms, out-of-date
implements of war from a bygone age and large maps covered in different
colored pins depicting how, where and when those honors had been won.

as the curator was only a few years older than me i didn't bother him
with any questions about the first world war.

i returned the following thursday when i found an old soldier seated in
a corner of the museum pretending to be fully occupied.

hbanger smith?"

the old contemptible couldn't have been an inch over five feet and made
no attempt to get up off his chair. he looked at me warily.

what of it?

i produced a ten-bob note from my inside pocket.

he looked first at the note and then at me with an inquiring eye. "what
are you after?"

"can you remember a captain guy trentham, by any chance?" i asked.

hyou from the police?"

"no, i'm a solicitor dealing with his estate."

"i'll wager captain trentham didn't leave anything to anybody."

"i'm not at liberty to reveal that," i said. hbut i don't suppose you
know what happened to him after he left the fusiliers? you see, there's
no trace of him in regimental records since 1922."

hthere wouldn't be, would there? he didn't exactly leave the fussies
with the regimental band playing him off the parade ground. bloody man
should have been horsewhipped, in my opinion. h why ?

hyou won't get a word out of me," he said, hregimental secret,h he
added, touching the side of his nose.

hbut have you any idea where he went after he left india?"

hcost you more than ten bob, that will,h said the old soldier,
chuckling.

hwhat do you mean?"

hbuggered off to australia, didn't he? died out there, then got shipped
back by his mother. good riddance, is all i can say. i'd take his bloody
picture off the wall if i had my way."

hhis picture?"

hyes. mcs next to the dsos, top left-hand corner," he said, managing to
raise an arm to point in that direction.

i walked slowly over to the corner banger smith had indicated, past the
seven fusilier vcs, several dsos and on to the mcs. they were in
chronological order: 1914 three, 1915 thirteen, 1916 ten, 1917 eleven,
1918 seventeen. captain guy trentham, the inscription read, had been
awarded the mc after the second battle of the marne on 18 july 1918.

i stared up at the picture of a young officer in captain's uniform and
knew i would have to make a journey to australia.

when were you thinking of going?"

"during the long vacation."

"have you enough money to cover such a journey?"

"i've still got most of that five hundred pounds you rave me when i
graduated in fact the only real outlay from that was on the mg; a
hundred and eighty pounds, if i remember correctly. in any case, a
bachelor with his own rooms in college is hardly in need of a vast
private income." daniel looked up as his mother entered the drawing
room.

"daniel's thinking of going to america this summer."

"how exciting," said becky, placing some flowers on a side table next to
the remington. "then you must try and see the fields in chicago and the
bloomingdales in new york, and if you have enough time you could also "

"actually," said daniel, leaning against the mantelpiece, "i think i'll
be trying to see waterstone in princeton and stinstead at berkeley."

"do i know them?" becky frowned as she looked up from her flower
arranging.

"i wouldn't have thought so, mother. they're both college professors who
teach maths, or math, as they call it."

charlie laughed.

"well, be sure you write to us regularly," said his mother. "i always
like to know where you are and what you're up to."

"of course i will, mother," said daniel, trying not to sound
exasperated. "if you promise to remember that i'm now twenty-six years
old."

becky looked across at him with a smile. "are you really, my dear?"

daniel resumed to cambridge that night trying to work out how he could
possibly keep in touch from america while he was in fact traveling to
australia. he disliked the thought of deceiving his mother, but knew it
would have pained her even more to tell him the truth about captain
trentham.

matters weren't helped when charlie sent him a first-class ticket for
new york on the (?ueen mary for the exact date he had mentioned. it cost
one hundred and three pounds and included an open-ended retum.

daniel eventually came up with a solution. he worked out that if he took
the (?ueen mary bound for new york the week after term had ended, then
continued his journey on the twentieth century limited and the super
chief across the states to san francisco, he could pick up the ss
aorangz to sydney with a day to spare. that would still give him four
weeks in australia before he would have to repeat the journey south to
north, allowing him just enough time to arrive back in southampton a few
days before the michaelmas term began.

as with everything on which daniel embarked, he spent hours of research
and preparation long before he even set off for southampton. he
allocated three days to the australian high commission information
department in the strand, and made sure he regularly sat next to a
certain dr. marcus winters, a visiting professor from adelaide, whenever
he came to dine at trinity high table. although the first secretary and
deputy librarian at australia house remained puzzled by some of daniel's
questions and dr. winters curious as to the motives of the young
mathematician, by the end of the trinity term daniel felt confident that
he had reamed enough to ensure that his time wouldn't be wasted once he
had set foot on the subcontinent. however, he realized the whole
enterprise was still a huge gamble: if the first question he needed to
be answered yielded the reply, "there's no way of finding that out."

four days after the students had gone down and he had completed his
supervision reports, daniel was packed and ready. the following morning
his mother arrived at the college to drive him to southampton. on the
journey down to the south coast he reamed that charlie had recently
applied to the london county council for outline planning permission to
develop chelsea terrace as one gigantic department store.

"but what about those bombed-out flats?"

"the council has riven the owners three months to proceed with an
application to rebuild or they have threatened to issue a compulsory
purchase order and put the site up for sale."

"pity we just can't buy the flats ourselves," said daniel, trying out
one of his non-questions in the hope that it might elicit some response
from his mother, but she just continued to drive on down the a30 without
offering an opinion.

it was ironic, daniel reflected, that if only his mother had felt able
to confide in him the reason mrs. trentham wouldn't cooperate with his
father she could have fumed the car around and taken him back to
cambridge.

he resumed to safer territory. "so how's dad hoping to raise the cash
for such a massive enterprise?"

"he can't make up his mind between a bank loan and going public."

"what sort of sum are you talking about?"

"mr. merrick estimates around a hundred and fifty thousand pounds."

daniel gave a low whistle.

"the bank is happy enough to loan us the full amount now that property
prices have shot up," becky continued, "but they're demanding everything
we own as collateral including the property in chelsea terrace, the
house, our art collection, and on top of that they want us to sign a
personal guarantee and charge the company four percent on the
overdraft."

"then perhaps the answer is to go public."

"it's not quite that easy. if we were to take that route the family
might end up with only fify-one percent of the shares."

"fifty-one percent means you still control the company. "

"agreed," said becky, "but should we ever need to raise some more
capital at a future date, then further dilution would only mean we could
well lose our majoriy shareholding. in any case, you know only too well
how your father feels about outsiders being given too much of a say, let
alone too large a stake. and his having to report regularly to even more
non-executive directors, not to mention shareholders, could be a recipe
for disaster. he's always run the business on instinct, while the bank
of england may well prefer a more orthodox approach.

"how quickly does the decision have to be made?"

"it should have been settled one way or the other by the time you get
back from america."

"what about the future of number 1?"

"there's a good chance i can knock it into shape. i've the right staff
and enough contacts, so if we're granted the full planning permission we
have applied (or i believe we could, in time, give sotheby's and
christie's a run for their money."

"not if dad keeps on stealing the best pictures "

"true." becky smiled. "but if he goes on the way he is now, our private
collection will be worth more than the business as selling my van gogh
back to the lefevre gallery proved only too cruelly. he has the best
amateur's eye i've ever come across but don't ever tell him i said so."

becky began to concentrate on the signs directing her to dhe docks and
finally brought the car to a halt alongside the liner, but not quite so
close as daphne had once managed, if she remembered correctly.

daniel sailed out of southampton on the queen mary that evening, with
his mother waving from the dockside.

while on board dhe great liner he wrote a long letter to his parents,
which he posted five days later from fifth avenue. he then purchased a
ticket on the twentieth century limited for a pullman to chicago. the
train pulled out of penn station at eight the same night, daniel having
spent a total of six hours in manhattan, where his only other purchase
was a guidebook of america.

once they had reached chicago, the pullman carriage was attached to the
super chief which took him all dhe way to san francisco.

during the four-day journey across america he began to regret he was
going to australia at all. as he passed through kansas city, newton
city, la junta, albuquerque and barstow, each city appeared more
interesting than the last. whenever dhe train pulled into a new station
daniel would leap off, buy a colorful postcard that indicated exactly
where he was, fill in the white space with yet more information gained
from the guidebook before the train reached the next station. he would
then post the filled-in card at the following stop and repeat the
process. by the time the express had arrived at oakland station, san
francisco, he had posted tweny-seven different cards back to his parents
in the little boltons.

once the bus had dropped him off in st. francis square, daniel booked
himself into a small hotel near the harbor after checking the tariff was
well widhin his budget. as he still had a thiry-six-hour wait before the
ss aorangi was due to depart, he traveled out to berkeley and spent the
whole of the second day with professor stinstead. daniel became so
engrossed with stinstead's research on tertiary calculus that he began
to regret once again that he would not be staying longer, as he
suspected he might learn far more by remaining at berkeley than he would
ever discover in australia.

on the evening before he was due to sail, daniel bought twenty more
postcards and sat up until one in dhe morning filling them in. by the
twentieth his imagination had been stretched to its limit. the following
morning, after he had setded his bill, he asked dhe head porter to mail
one of the postcards every three days until he returned. he handed over
ten dollars and promised the porter that there would be a further ten
when he came back to san francisco, but only if dhe correct number of
cards remained, as precisely when he would be back remained uncertain.

the senior porter was puzzled but pocketed the ten dollars, commenting
in an aside to his young colleague on the desk that he had been asked to
do far stranger things in the past, for far less.

by the time daniel boarded the ss aorangi his beard was no longer a
rough stubble and his plan was as well prepared as it could be, given
that his information had been gathered from the wrong side of the globe.
during the voyage daniel found himself seated at a large circular table
with an australian family who were on their way home from a holiday in
the states. over the next three weeks they added greatly to his store of
knowledge, unaware that he was listening to every word they had to say
with uncommon interest.

daniel salted into sydney on the first monday of august 1947. he stood
out on the deck and watched the sun set behind sydney harbour bridge as
a pilot boat guided the liner slowly into the harbor. he suddenly felt
very homesick and, not for the first time wished he had never embarked
on the trip. an hour later he had left the ship and booked himself into
a guest house which had been recommended to him by his traveling
companions.

the owner of the guest house, who introduced herself as mrs. snell,
turned out to be a big woman, with a big smile and a big laugh, who
installed him into what she described as her deluxe room. daniel was
somewhat relieved that he hadn't ended up in one of her ordinary rooms,
because when he lay down the double bed sagged in the center, and when
he turned over the springs followed him, dinging to the small of his
back. both taps in the washbasin produced cold water in different shades
of brown, and the one naked light that hung from the middle of the room
was impossible to read by, unless he stood on a chair directly beneath
it. mrs. snell hadn't supplied a chair.

when daniel was asked the next morning, after a breakfast of eggs,
bacon, potatoes and fried bread, whether he would be eating in or out,
he said firmly "out," to the landlady's evident disappointment.

the first and critical call was to be made at the immigration office. if
they had no information to assist him, he knew he might as well climb
back on board the ss aorangi that same evening. daniel was beginning to
feel that if that happened he wouldn't be too disappointed.

the massive brown building on market street, which housed the official
records of every person who had arrived in the colony since 1823, opened
at ten o'clock. although he arrived half an hour early daniel still had
to join one of the eight queues of people attempting to establish some
fact about registered immigrants, which ensured that he didn't reach the
counter for a further forty minutes.

when he eventually did get to the front of the queue he found himself
looking at a ruddy-faced man in an open-necked blue shirt who was
slumped behind the counter.

"i'm trying to trace an englishman who came to australia at some time
between 1922 and 1925."

"can't we do better than that, mate?"

"i fear not," said daniel.

"you fear not, do you?" said the assistant. "got a name, have you?"

"oh, yes," said daniel. "guy trentham."

"trentham. how do you spell that?"

daniel spelled the name out slowly for him.

"right, mate. that'll be two pounds." daniel extracted his wallet from
inside his sports jacket and handed over the cash. "sign here," the
assistant said, swiveling a form round and placing his forefinger on the
bottom line. "and come back thursday."

"thursday? but that's not for another three days."

"glad they still teach you to count in england," said the assistant.
"next."

daniel left the building with no information, merely a receipt for his
two pounds. once back out on the pavement, he picked up a copy of the
sydney morning herald and began to look for a cafe near the harbor at
which to have lunch. he selected a small restaurant that was packed with
young people. a waiter led him across a noisy, crowded room and seated
him at a little table in the comer. he had nearly finished reading the
paper by the time a waitress arrived with the salad he had ordered. he
pushed the paper on one side, surprised that there hadn't been one piece
of news about what was taking place back in england.

as he munched away at a lettuce leaf and wondered how he could best use
the unscheduled holdup constructively, a girl at the next table leaned
across and asked if she could borrow the sugar.

"of course, allow me," said daniel, handing over the shaker. he wouldn't
have given the girl a second glance had he not noticed that she was
reading principia mathematica, by a. n. whitehead and bertrand russell.

"are you a mathematics student, by any chance?" he asked once he had
passed the sugar across.

"yes," she said, not looking back in his direction.

"i only asked," said daniel, feeling the question might have been
construed as impolite, "because i teach the subject."

"of course you do," she said, not bothering to turn round. "oxford, i'm
sure."

"cambridge, actually."

this piece of infommation did make the girl glance across and study
daniel more carefully. "then can you explain simpson's rule to me?" she
asked abruptly.

daniel unfolded his paper napkin, took out a fountain pen and drew some
diagrams to illustrate the rule, stage by stage, something he hadn't
done since he'd left st. paul's.

she checked what he had produced against the diagram in her book, smiled
and said, "fair dinkum you really do teach maths," which rook daniel a
little by surprise as he wasn't sure what "fair dinkum" meant' but as it
was accompanied by a smile he assumed it was some form of approval. he
was taken

even more by surprise when the girl picked up her plate of egg and
beans, moved across an sat down next to him.

"i'm jackie," she said. "a bushwhacker from perth."

"i'm daniel," he replied. "and i'm . .."

"a porn from cambridge. you've already told me, remember?"

it was daniel's turn to look more carefully at the young woman who sat
opposite him. jackie appeared to be about twenty. she had short blond
hair and a fumed-up nose. her clothes consisted of shorts and a yellow
t-shirt that bole the legend "perth!" right across her chest. she was
quite unlike any undergraduate he had ever come muss at trinity.

"are you up at university?" he inquired.

"yeah. second year, perth. so what brings you to sydney, dan?"

daniel couldn't think of an immediate response, but it hardly mattered
that much because jackie was already explaining why she was in the
capital of new south wales long before he had been given a chance to
reply. in fact jackie did most of the talking until their bills arrived.
daniel insisted on paying.

"good on you," said jackie. "so what are you doing tonight?"

"haven't got anything particular planned."

"great, because i was thinking of going to the theatre royal," she told
him. "why don't you join me?"

"oh, what's playing?" asked daniel, unable to hide his surprise at being
picked up for the first time in his life.

"noel coward's tonight at eight-thir~ with cyril ritchard and madge
elliott."

"sounds promising," said daniel noncommittally.

"great. then i'll see you in the foyer at ten to eight, dan. and don't
be late." she picked up her rucksack, threw it on her back, strapped up
the buckle and in seconds was gone.

daniel watched her leaving the cafe before he could think of an excuse
for not agreeing to her suggestion. he decided it would be churlish not
to turn up at the theater, and in any case he had to admit he had rather
enjoyed jackie's company. he checked his watch and decided to spend the
rest of the afternoon looking round the city.

when daniel arrived at the theatre royal that evening, a few minutes
before seven-forty, he purchased two six-shilling tickets for the stalls
then hung around in the foyer waiting for his guest or was she his host?
when the five-minute bell sounded jackie still hadn't arrived and daniel
began to realize that he had been looking forward to seeing her again
rather more than he cared to admit. there was still no sign of his
lunchtime companion when the two-minute bell rang, so daniel assumed
that he would be seeing the play on his own. with only a minute to spare
before the curtain went up, he felt a hand link through his arm and
heard a voice say, "hello, dan. i didn't think you'd turn up." another
first, he had never taken a girl to the theater who was wearing shorts.

daniel smiled. although he enjoyed the play, he found he enjoyed
jackie's company during the interval, after the show and then later over
a meal at romano's a little italian restaurant she seemed acquainted
with even more. he had never come across anyone who, after only knowing
him for a few hours, could be so open and friendly. they discussed
everything from mathematics to clark gable, and jackie was never without
a definite opinion, whatever the subject.

"may i walk you back to your hotel?" daniel asked when they eventually
left the restaurant.

"i don't have one," jackie replied with a grin, and throwing the
rucksack over her shoulder added, "so i may as well walk you back to
yours."

"why not?" said daniel. "i expect mrs. snell will be able to supply
another room for the night."

"let's hope not," saidjackie.

when mrs. snell opened the door, after jackie had pressed the night bell
several times, she told them, "i hadn't realized there would be two of
you. that will mean extra, of course."

"but we're not " began daniel.

"thank you," said jackie, seizing the key from mrs. snell as the
landlady gave daniel a wink.

once they were in daniel's little room, jackie removed her rucksack and
said, "don't worry about me, dan, i'll sleep on the floor."

he didn't know what to say in reply, and without uttering another word
went off into the bathroom changed into his pajamas and cleaned his
teeth. he reopened the bathroom door and walked quickly over to his bed
without even glancing in jackie's direction. a few moments later he
heard the bathroom door close, so he crept out of bed again, tiptoed
over to the door and turned out the light before slipping back under the
sheets. a few more minutes passed before he heard the bathroom door
reopen. he closed his eyes pretending to be asleep. a moment later he
felt a body slide in next to his and two amls encircle him.

"oh, daniel" in the darkness jackie's voice took on an exaggerated
english accent "do let's get rid of these frightful pajamas." as she
pulled at the cotton cord on his pajama bottoms, he fumed over to
protest, only to find himself pressed up against her naked body. daniel
didn't utter a word as he lay there, eyes closed, doing almost nothing
as jackie began to move her hands slowly up and down his legs. he became
utterly exhilarated, and soon after exhausted, unsure quite what had
taken place. but he had certainly enjoyed every moment.

"you know, i do believe you're a virgin," jackie said, when he
eventually opened his eyes.

"no," he corrected. " was a virgin."

"i'm afraid you still are," said jackie. "strictly speaking. but don't
get worked up about it; i promise we'll have that sorted out by the
morning. by the way, next time, dan, you are allowed to join in."

daniel spent most of the next three days in bed being tutored by a
second-year undergraduate from the university of perth. by the second
morning he had discovered just how beautiful a woman's body could be. by
the third eveningjackie let out a little moan that led him to believe
that although he might not have graduated he was no longer a freshman.

he was sad when jackie told him the time had come for her to return to
perth. she threw her rucksack over her shoulder for the last time, and
after he had accompanied her to the station daniel watched the train
pull away from the platform as she began her journey back to western
australia.

"if i ever get to cambridge, dan, i'll look you up," were the last
worrls he remembered her saying.

"i do hope so," he said, feeling there were several members of trinity
high table who would have benefited from a few days of jackie's expert
tuition.

on thursday morning daniel reported back to the immigration department
as instructed, and after another hour's wait in the inevitable queue,
handed his receipt over to the assistant who was still slumped across
the counter wearing the same shirt.

"oh, yes, guy trentham, i remember. i discovered his particulars a few
minutes after you'd left," the clerk told him. "pity you didn't come
back earlier."

"then i can only thank you."

"thank me, what for?" asked the assistant suspiciously.

daniel took the lithe green card the assistant handed to him. "for three
of the happiest days of my life."

"what are you getting at, mate?" said the other man, but daniel was
already out of earshot.

he sat alone on the steps outside the tall colonial building and studied
dhe official card. as he feared, it revealed very little:

name: guy trendlam (registered as immigrant)

18 november 1922 occupation: land agent address: 117 manley drive sydney
daniel soon located manley drive on the city map which jackie had left
with him, and took a bus to the north side of sydney where he was
dropped off in a leafy suburb overlooking the harbor. the houses,
although fairly large, looked a little run-down, leaving daniel with the
impression that the suburb might at some time in the past have been a
fashionable area.

when he rang the bell of what could have been a former colonial guest
house, the door was answered by a young man wearing shorts and a
singlet. daniel was coming to accept that this was the national dress.

"it's a long shot, i know," daniel began, "but i'm trying to trace
someone who may have lived in this house in 1922."

"bit before my time," said the youth cheerily. "better come in and talk
to my aunt sylvia she'll be your best bet."

daniel followed dhe young man through the hall into a drawing room that
looked as if it hadn't been tidied for several days and out onto the
verandah, which showed indications of having once been painted white.
there seated in a rocking chair was a woman who might have been a shade
under fifty but whose dyed hair and over-made-up face made it impossible
for daniel to be at all sure of her age. she continued to rock backwards
and forwards, eyes closed, enjoying the morning sun.

"i'm sorry to bother you "

"i'm not asleep," said the woman, her eyes opening to take in the
intruder. she stared suspiciously up at him. "who are you? you look
familiar."

"my name is daniel trumper," he told her. "i'm trying to trace someone
who may have stayed here in 1922. n she began to laugh. "tweny-five
years ago. you're a bit of an optimist, i must say."

"his name was guy trentham."

she sat up with a start and stared straight at him. uyou're his son,
aren't you?" daniel went ice cold. "{'ll never forget that
smooth-tongued phony's face if i live to be a hundred."

the truth was no longer possible to deny, even to himself.

"so have you come back after all these years to clear up his debts?"

"i don't understand " said daniel.

uscarpered with nearly a year's rent owing, didn't he? always writing to
his mother back in england for more money, but when it came i never saw
any of it. i suppose he thought that bedding me was payment enough, so
i'm not likely to forget the bastard, am 1? especially after what
happened to him."

"does that mean you know where he went after he left this house?"

she hesitated for some time, looking as if she was trying to make up her
mind. she turned to look out of the window while daniel waited. "the
last i heard," she said after a long pause, "was that he got a job
working as a bookie's runner up in melbourne, but that was before "

"before ?" queried daniel.

she stared up at him again with quizzical eyes.

"no," she said, "you'd better find that out for yourself. i wouldn't
wish to be the one who tells you. if you want my advice, you'll take the
first boat back to england and not bother yourself with melbourne."

"but you may turn out to be the only person who can help me."

al was taken for a ride by your father once so i'm not going to wait
around to be conned by his son, that's for sure. show him the door,
kevin."

daniel's heart sank. he thanked the woman for seeing him and left
without another word. once back on the street he took the bus into
sydney and walked the rest of the journey to the guest house. he spent a
lonely night missing jackie while wondering why his father had behaved
so badly when he came to sydney, and whether he should heed "aunt
sylvia's" advice.

the following morning daniel left mrs. snell and her big smile, but not
before she had presented him with a big bill. he settled it without
complaint and made his way to the railway station.

when the train from sydney pulled into spencer street station in
melbourne that evening, daniel's first action was to check the local
telephone directory, just in case there was a trentham listed, but there
was none. next he telephoned every bookmaker who was registered in the
city, but it was not until he spoke to the ninth that daniel came across
anyone to whom the name meant anything.

"sounds familar," said a voice on the other end of the line. "but can't
remember why. you could try brad morris, though. he ran this office
around that time, so he may be able to help you. you'll find his number
in the book."

daniel looked up his number. when he was put through to mr. morris, his
conversation with the old man was so short that it didn't require a
second coin.

"does the name 'guy trentham' mean anything to you?" he asked once
again.

"the englishman?"

"yes," daniel replied, feeling his pulse quicken.

"spoke with a posh accent and told everyone he was a major?"

"might well have done."

"then try the jailhouse, because that's where he finished up." daniel
would have asked why but the line had already gone dead.

he was still shaking from head to toe when he dragged his trunk out of
the station and checked into the railway hotel on the other side of the
road. once again, he lay on a single bed, in a small dark room, trying
to make up his mind whether he should continue with his inquiries or
simply avoid the truth and do as sylvia had advised, take the first boat
back to england.

he fell asleep in the early evening, but woke again in the middle of the
night to find he was still fully dressed. by the time the early morning
sun shone through the window he had made up his mind. he didn't want to
know, he didn't need to know, and he would return to england
immediately.

but first he decided to have a bath, and a change of clothes, and by the
time he had done that he had also changed his mind.

daniel came down to the lobby half an hour later and asked the
receptionist where the main police station was located. the man behind
the desk directed him down the road to bourke street.

"was your room that bad?" he inquired.

daniel gave a false laugh. he set off slowly and full of apprehension in
the direction he had been shown. it took him only a few minutes to reach
bourke street but he circled the block several times before he finally
climbed the stone steps of the police station and entered the building.

the young duly sergeant showed no recognition when he heard the name of
"trentham" and simply inquired who it was who wanted to know.

"a relation of his from england," replied daniel. the sergeant left him
at dhe counter and walked over to dhe far side of the room to speak to a
senior officer seated behind a desk, who was patiently turning over
photographs. the officer stopped what he was doing and lis tened
carefully, then appeared to ask the sergeant somedhing. in response the
sergeant turned and pointed at daniel. bastard, thought daniel. you're a
lithe bastard. a moment later dhe sergeant returned to the front desk.

"we've closed the file on trentham," he said. "any further inquiries
would have to be made at dhe prison department."

daniel almost lost his voice, but somehow managed, "where's that?"

"seventh floor," he said, pointing up.

when he stepped out of the lift on the seventh floor daniel was
confronted by a larger-than-life poster showing a warm-faced man bearing
the name hector watts, inspector-general of prisons.

daniel walked over to the inquiry desk and asked if he could see mr.
watts.

"do you have an appointment?"

"no," said daniel.

"then i doubt "

"would you be kind enough to explain to the inspector-general that i
have traveled from england especially to see him?"

daniel was kept waiting for only a few moments before he was shown up to
the eighth floor. the same warm smile that appeared in the picture now
beamed down at him in reality, even if the lines in the face were a
little deeper. daniel judged hector watts to be near his sixtieth
birthday and, although overweight, he still looked as if he could take
care of himself.

"which part of england do you come from?" watts asked.

"cambridge," daniel told him. "i teach mathematics at the university."

"i'm from glasgow myself," watts said. "which won't come as a surprise
to you, with my name and accent. so, please have a seat and tell me what
i can do for you."

"i'm trying to trace a guy trentham, and the police department have
referred me to you."

"oh, yes, i remember that name. but why do i remember it?" the scotsman
rose from his desk and went over to a row of filing cabinets that lined
the wall behind him. he pulled open the one marked "stv," and extracted
a large box file.

"trentham," he repeated, as he thumbed through the papers inside the
box, before finally removing two sheets. he returned to his desk and,
having placed the sheets in front of him, began reading. after he had
absorbed the details, he looked up and studied daniel more carefully.

"been here long, have you, laddie?"

"arrived in sydney less than a week ago," said daniel, puzzled by the
question.

"and never been to melbourne before?"

"no, never."

"so what's the reason for your inquiry?"

"i wanted to find out anything i could about captain guy trentham."

"why?" asked the inspector-general. "are you a joumo?"

"no," said daniel, "i'm a teacher but "

"then you must have had a very good reason for traveling this far."

"curiosity, i suppose," said daniel. "you see, although i never knew
him, guy trentham was my father."

the head of the prison service looked down at the names listed on the
sheet as next of kin: wife, anna helen, (deceased), one daughter,
margaret ethel. there was no mention of a son. he looked back up at
daniel and, after a few moments of contemplation, came to a decision.

"i'm sorry to tell you, mr. trentham, that your father died while he was
in police custody."

daniel was stunned, and began shaking.

watts looked across his desk and added, "i'm sorry to have to give you
such unhappy news, especially when you've traveled all this way."

"what was the cause of his death?" daniel whispered.

the inspector-general fumed the page, checked the bottom line of the
charge sheet in front of him and reread the words: hanged by the neck
until dead. he looked back up at daniel.

"a heart attack," he said.

daniel took the sleeper back to sydney but he didn't sleep. all he
wanted to do was get as far away from melbourne as he possibly could. as
every mile slipped by he relaxed a little more, and after a time was
even able to eat half a sandwich from the buffet car. when the train
pulled into the station of australia's largest city he jumped off,
loaded his trunk into a taxi and headed straight for the port. he booked
himself on the first boat sailing to the west coast of america.

the tiny tramp steamer, only licensed to carry four passengers, sailed
at midnight for san francisco, and daniel wasn't allowed on board until
he had handed over to the captain the full fare in cash, leaving himself
just enough to get back to england as long as he wasn't stranded
anywhere on the way.

during that bobbing, swaying, endless crossing back to amenca daniel
spent most of his time lying on a bunk, which gave him easily enough
time to consider what he should do with the information he now
possessed. he also tried to come to terms with the anxieties his mother
must have suffered over the years and what a fine man his stepfather
was. how he hated the word "stepfather." he would never think of charlie
that way. if only they had taken him into their confidence from the
beginning he could surely have used his talents to help rather than
waste so much of his energy trying to find out the truth. but he was now
even more painfully aware chat he couldn't let them become aware of what
he had discovered, as he probably knew more than they did.

daniel doubted that his mother realized that trentham had died in jail
leaving a string of disgrunded debtors across victoria and new south
wales. certainly there had been no indication of that on the gravestone
in ashurst.

as he stood on the deck and watched the little boat bob along on its
chosen course under dhe golden gate and into the bay, daniel finally
felt a plan beginning to take shape.

()nce he had cleared immigration he took a bus into the center of san
francisco and booked himself back into the hotel at which he had stayed
before traveling on to australia. the porter produced two remaining
cards and daniel handed over the promised ten-dollar note. he scribbled
something new and posted them both before boarding the super chief.

with each hour and each day of solitude his ideas continued to develop
although it still worried him how much more information his mother must
have that he still daren't ask her about. but now at least he was
certain that his father was guy trentham and had left india or england
in disgrace. the fearsome mrs. trentham must therefore be his
grandmother, who had for some unknown reason blamed charlie for what had
happened to her son.

on arriving in new york daniel was exasperated to find that the queen
mary had sailed for england the previous day. he transferred his ticket
to the queen elizabeth, leaving himself with only a few dollars in cash.
his final action on american soil was to telegraph his mother with an
estimated time of arrival at southampton.

daniel began to relax for the first time once he could no longer see the
statue of liberty from the stern of the ocean liner. mrs. trentham,
however, remained constantly in his thoughts during the five-day
journey. he couldn't think of her as his grandmother and when the time
came to disembark at southampton he felt he needed several more
questions answered by his mother before he would be ready to carry out
his plan.

as he walked down the gangplank and back onto english soil he noticed
that the leaves on the trees had turned from green to gold in his
absence. he intended to have solved the problem of mrs. trentham before
they had fallen.

his mother was there on the dockside waiting to greet him. daniel had
never been more happy to see her, giving her such a warm hug that she
was unable to hide her surprise. on the drive back to london he learned
the sad news that his other grandmother had died while he had been in
america and although his mother had received several postcards she
couldn't remember the name of either of the professors he had said he
was visiting so she had been unable to contact him to pass on the news.
however, she had enjoyed receiving so many postcards.

"there are some more still on their way, i suspect," said daniel,
feeling guilty for the first time.

"will you have time to spend a few days with us before you return to
cambridge?"

"yes. i'm back a little earlier than i expected, so you could be stuck
with me for a few weeks."

"oh, your father will be pleased to hear that."

daniel wondered how long it would be before he could hear anyone say
"your father" without a vision of guy trentham forming in his mind.

"what decision did you come to about raising the money for the new
building?"

"we've decided to go public," said his mother. "in the end it was a case
of simple arithmetic. the architect has completed the outline plan, and
of course your father wants the best of everything, so i'm afraid the
final cost is likely to be nearer a half a million pounds."

"and are you still able to keep fifty-one percent of the new company?"

"only just, because based on those figures it's going to be tight. we
could even end up having to pawn your great grandfather's barrow."

"and the flats any news of them?" daniel was gazing out of the car
window for his mother's reaction in the reflection of the glass. she
seemed to hesitate for a moment.

"the owners are carrying out the council's instructions and have already
begun knocking down what remains of them."

"does that mean dad is going to be granted his planning permission?"

"i hope so, but it now looks as if it might take a little longer than
we'd originally thought as a local resident a mr. simpson on behalf of
the save the small shops federation has lodged an objection to our
scheme with the council. so please don't ask about it when you see your
father. the very mention of the flats brings him close to apoplexy."

"and i presume it's mrs. trentham who is behind this mr. simpson?" was
all daniel wanted to say but simply asked, "and how's the wicked
daphne?"

"still trying to get clarissa married off to the right man, and clarence
into the right regiment."

"nothing less than a royal duke for one and a commission in the scots
guards for the other would be my guess."

"that's about right," agreed his mother. "she also expects clarissa to
produce a girl fairly quickly so she can marry her off to the future
prince of wales.'7

"but princess elizabeth has only just announced her engagement."

"i am aware of that, but we all know how daphne does like to plan
ahead."

daniel adhered to his mother's wishes and made no mention of the flats
when he discussed with charlie the launching of the new company over
dinner that night. he also noticed that a picture entitled apples and
pears by an artist called courbet had replaced the van gogh that had
hung in the hall. something else he didn't comment on.

daniel spent the following day at the planning department of the lcc
(inquiries) at county hall. although a clerk supplied him with all the
relevant papers he was quick to point out, to daniel's frustration, that
he could not remove any original documents from the building.

in consequence he spent the morning repeatedly going over the papers,
making verbatim notes of the relevant clauses and then committing them
to memory so it wouldn't prove necessary to carry anything around on
paper. the last thing he wanted was for his parents to stumble by
accident across any notes he had made. by five o'clock, when they locked
the front door behind him, daniel felt confident he could recall every
relevant detail.

he left county hall, sat on a low parapet overlooking the thames and
repeated the salient facts to himself.

trumper's, he had discovered, had applied to build a major department
store that would encompass the entire block known as chelsea terrace.
there would be two towers of twelve stories in height. each tower would
consist of eight hundred thousand square feet of floor space. on top of
that would be a further five floors of offices and walkways that would
span the two towers and join the twin structures together. outline
planning permission for the entire scheme had been granted by the lcc.
however, an appeal had been lodged by a mr. martin simpson of the save
the small shops federation against the five floors that would bring
together the two main structures over an empty site in the center of the
terrace. it didn't take a great deal of hypothesizing to decide who was
making sure mr. simpson was getting the necessary financial backing.

at the same time mrs. trentham herself had been given outline planning
permission to build a block of flats to be used specifically for
low-rent accommodation. daniel went over in his mind her detailed
planning application which had showed that the flats would be built of
rough-hewn concrete, with the minimum of internal or external facilities
the expression "jerrybuilt" immediately sprang to mind. it wasn't hard
for daniel to work out that mrs. trentham's purpose was to build the
ugliest edifice the council would allow her to get away with, right in
the middle of charlie's proposed palace.

daniel looked down to check his memory against the notes. he hadn't
forgotten anything, so he tore the crib sheet into tiny pieces and
dropped them into a litter bin on the corner of westminster bridge, then
returned home to the little boltons.

daniel's next move was to telephone david oldcrest, the resident law
tutor at trinity who specialized in town and country planning. his
colleague spent over an hour explaining to daniel that, what with
appeals and counter-appeals that could go all the way up to the house of
lords, permission for such a building as trumper towers might not be
granted for several years. by the time a decision had been made, dr.
oldcrest reckoned that only the lawyers would have ended up making any
money.

daniel thanked his friend, and having considered the problem he now
faced came to the conclusion that the success or failure of charlie's
ambitions rested entirely in the hands of mrs. trentham. that was unless
he could ... for the next couple of weeks he spent a considerable amount
of his time in a telephone box on the corner of chester square, without
ever once making a call. for the remainder of each day, he followed an
immaculately dressed lady of obvious self-confidence and presence around
the capital, trying not to be seen but often attempting to steal a
glimpse of what she looked like how she behaved and the kind of world
she lived in.

he quickly discovered that only three things appeared to be sacrosanct
to the occupant of number 19 chester square. first, there were the
meetings with her lawyers in lincoln's inn fields which seemed to take
place every two or three days, though not on a regular basis. second
came her bridge gatherings, which were always at two o'clock, three days
a week: on monday at 9 cadogan place, on wednesday at 117 sloane avenue
and on friday at her own home in chester square. the same group of
elderly women appeared to arrive at all three establishments. third was
the occasional visit to a seedy hotel in south kensington where she sat
in the darkest comer of the tea room and held a conversation with a man
who looked to daniel a most unlikely companion for the daughter of sir
raymond hardcastle. certainly she did not treat him as a fnend, even an
associate, and daniel was unable to work out what they could possibly
have in common.

after a further week he decided that his plan could only be executed on
the last friday before he resumed to cambridge. accordingly he spent a
morning with a tailor who specialized in army uniforms. during the
afternoon he set about writing a script, which later that evening he
rehearsed. he then made several telephone calls, including one to
spinks, the medal specialists who felt confident they could have his
order made up in time. on the last two mornings but only after he was
sure his parents were safely out of the house he carried out a full
dress rehearsal in the privacy of his bedroom.

daniel needed to be certain that not only would mrs. trentham be taken
by surprise but also she would remain off balance for at least the
twenty minutes he felt would prove necessary to see the whole exercise
through.

that friday over breakfast, daniel confirmed that neither of his parents
was expected to return home until after six that evening. he readily
agreed that they should all have dinner together as he was returning to
cambridge the following day. he hung around patiently waiting for his
father to leave for chelsea terrace, but then had to wait another half
hour before he could depart himself because his mother was held up by a
phone call just as she was on her way out. daniel left the bedroom door
open and marched around in endless circles.

at last his mother's conversation came to an end and she left for work.
twenty minutes later daniel strolled out of the house carrying a small
suitcase containing the uniform he had obtained from johns and pegg the
previous day. cautiously he walked three blocks in the wrong direction
before hailing a taxi.

on arrival at the royal fusiliers museum daniel spent a few minutes
checking the picture of his father that hung on the wall. the hair was
wavier than his own, and looked from the sepia photo to be a touch
fairer. he suddenly feared he might not be able to remember the exact
details. daniel waited until the curator's back was turned, then,
despite feeling a tinge of guilt, quickly removed the little photograph
and placed it in his briefcase.

he took another taxi to a barber in kensington who was only too
delighted to bleach the gentleman's hair, switch his parting and even to
add a wave or two, creating as near as possible a duplicate of the sepia
photograph from which he had been asked to work. every few minutes
daniel checked the changing process in the mirror, and once he believed
the effect was as close as could be achieved he paid the bill and left.
the next cabbie he directed to spinks, the medal specialists in king
street, st. james. on arrival he purchased for cash the four ribbons
that he had ordered over the phone; to his relief the young assistant
did not inquire if he was entitled to wear them. another taxi took him
from st. james to the dorchester hotel. there he booked himself into a
single room and informed the girl on the desk that he intended to check
out of the hotel by six that night. she handed him a key marked 309.
daniel politely refused the porter's offer to carry his case and merely
asked for directions to the lift.

once safely in his room he locked the door and laid the contents of his
suitcase carefully on the bed. the moment he had finished changing from
his suit into the uniform he fixed the row of ribbons above the
left-hand breast pocket exactly as they were in the photograph and
finally checked the effect in the long mirror attached to the bathroom
door. he was every inch a first world war captain of the royal
fusiliers, and the purple and silver ribbon of the mc and the three
campaign medals simply added the finishing touch.

having checked over every last detail against the stolen photograph
daniel began to feel unsure of himself for the first time. but if he
didn't go through with it ... he sat on the end of the bed, checking his
watch every few minutes. an hour passed before he stood up, took a deep
breath and pulled on his long trenchcoat almost the only article of
clothing he had the right to wear  locked the door behind him and went
down to the lobby. once he had pushed his way through the swing doors,
he hailed another taxi which took him to chester square. he paid off the
cabbie and checked his watch. three forty-seven. he estimated that he
still had at least another twenty minutes before the bridge party would
begin to break up.

from his now familiar telephone box on the comer of the square daniel
watched as the ladies began to depart from number 19. once he had
counted eleven of them leave the house he felt confident that mrs.
trentham must, servants apart, now be on her own, he already knew from
the parliamentary timetable detailed in the daily telegraph that morning
that mrs. trentham's husband would not be expected back in chester
square until after six that night. he waited for another five minutes
before he came out of the telephone box and marched quickly across the
road. he knew that if he hesitated, even for a moment, he would surely
lose his nerve. he rapped firmly on the knocker and waited for what felt
like hours before the butler finally answered.

"can i help you, sir?"

"good afternoon, gibson. i have an appointment with mrs. trentham at
four-fifteen."

"yes, of course, sir," said gibson. as daniel had anticipated, the
butler would assume that someone who knew his name must indeed have an
appointment. "please come this way, sir," he said before taking daniel's
trenchcoat. when they reached the door of the drawing room gibson
inquired, "may i say who is calling?"

"captain daniel trentham."

the butler seemed momentarily taken aback but opened the door of the
drawing room and announced, "captain daniel trentham, madam."

mrs. trentham was standing by the window when daniel entered the room.
she swung round, stared at the young man, took a couple of paces
forward, hesitated and then fell heavily onto the sofa.

for god's sake don 'tfaint was daniel's first reaction as he stood in
the center of the carpet facing his grandmother.

"who are you?" she whispered at last.

don't let's play games, grandmother. you know very well who i am," said
daniel, hoping he sounded confident.

"she sent you, didn't she?"

"if you are referring to my mother, no, she did not. in fact she doesn't
even know that i'm here."

mrs. trentham's mouth opened in protest, but she did not speak. daniel
swayed from foot to foot during what seemed to him to be an unbearably
long silence. his eye began to focus on an mc that stood on the
mantelpiece.

"so what do you want?" she asked.

"i've come to make a deal with you, grandmother."

"what do you mean, a deal? you're in no position lo make any deals."

"oh, i think i am, grandmother. you see, i've just come back from a trip
to australia." he paused. "which fumed out to be very revealing."

mrs. trentham flinched, but her eyes did not leave him for a moment.

"and what i reamed about my father while i was there doesn't bear
repeating. i won't go into any details, as i suspect you know every bit
as much as i do."

her eyes remained fixed on him and she slowly began to show signs of
recovery.

"unless, of course, you want to know where they had planned to bury my
father originally, because it certainly wasn't in the family plot at
ashurst parish church."

"what do you want?" she repeated.

"as i said, grandmother, i've come to make a deal."

"i'm listening."

"i want you to abandon your plans for building those dreadful flats in
chelsea terrace, and at the same time withdraw any objections you may
have to the detailed planning permission trumper's has applied for."

"never."

"then i fear the time may have come for the world to be infommed of the
real reason for your vendetta against my mother."

"but that would harm your mother every bit as much as me."

"oh, i don't think so, grandmother," said daniel. "especially when the
press find out that your son resigned his commission with far from
glowing testimonials, and later died in melbourne in even less
auspicious circumstances despite the fact he was finally laid to rest in
a sleepy village in berkshire after you had shipped the body home,
telling your friends that he had been a successful carafe broker and
died tragically of tuberculosis."

"but that's blackmail."

"oh, no, grandmother, just a troubled son, desperate to discover what
had really happened to his lone-lost father and shocked when he found
out the truth behind the trentham family secret. i think the press would
describe such an incident quite simply as 'an internal feud.' one
thing's for certain my modher would come out smelling of roses, though
i'm not sure how many people would still want to play bridge with you
once they reamed all the finer details."

mrs. trentham rose quickly to her feet, clenched both her fists and
advanced towards him menacingly. daniel stood his ground.

"no hysterics, grandmodher. don't forget i know everything about you."
he felt acutely aware that he actually knew very little.

mrs. trentham stopped, and even retreated a pace. "and if i agree to
your demands?"

"i shawl walk out of this room and you will never hear from me again as
long as you live. you have my word on it."

she let out a long sigh, but it was some time before she replied.

"you win," she eventually said, sounding remarkably composed. "but i
have a condition of my own if i am expected to comply with your
demands."

daniel was taken by surprise. he hadn't planned for any conditions
coming from her side. "what is it?" he asked suspiciously.

he listened carefully to her request and, although puzzled by it, could
see no cause for any alarm.

"i accept your terms," he said finally.

"in writing," she added quietly. "and now."

"then i shall also require our little arrangement in writing," said
daniel, trying to score a point oasis own.

"agreed."

mrs. trentham walked shakily towards the writing desk. she sat down,
opened the center drawer, and took out two sheets of purple-headed
paper. painstakingly she wrote out separate agreements before passing
them over for daniel to consider. he read through the drafts slowly. she
had covered all the points he had demanded and had left nothing out
including the one rather long-winded clause she had herself insisted
upon. danie) nodded his agreement and passed the two pieces of paper
back to her.

she signed both copies, then handed daniel her pen. he in turn added his
signature below hers on both sheets of paper. she returned one of the
agreements to daniel before rising to pull the bell rope by the
mantelpiece. the butler reappeared a moment later.

4sa "gibson, we need you to witness our signatures on two documents.
once you have done that the gentleman will be leaving," she announced.
the butler penned his signature on both sheets of paper without question
or comment.

a few moments later daniel found himself out on the street with an
uneasy feeling everything hadn't gone exactly as he had anticipated.
once he was seated in a taxi and on his way back to the dorchester hotel
he reread the sheet of paper they had both signed. he could not
reasonably have asked for more but remained puzzled by the clause mrs.
trentham had insisted on inserting as it made no sense to him. he pushed
any such disquiet to the back of his mind.

on arrival at the dorchester hotel, in the privacy of room 309 he
quickly changed out of the unifomm and back into his civilian clothes.
he felt clean for the first time that day. he then placed the uniform
and cap in his suitcase before going back down to reception, where he
handed in the key, paid the bill in cash and checked out.

another taxi resumed him to kensington, where the hairdresser was
disappointed to be told that his new customer now wished all signs of
the bleach to be removed, the waves to be straightened out and the
parting to be switched back.

daniel's final stop before resuming home was to a deserted building site
in pimlico. he stood behind a large crane and when he was certain no one
could see him he dropped the uniform and cap into a rubbish tip and set
light to the photograph.

he stood shivering as he watched his father disappear in a purple flame.

ma tre~rn~

ivly purpose in inviting you up to yorkshire this weekend is to let you
know exactly what i have planned for you in my will."

my father was seated behind his desk while i sat in a leather chair
facing him, the one my mother had always favored. he had named me
hmargaret ethelh after her but there the resemblance ended as he never
stopped reminding me. i watched him as he carefully pressed some tobacco
down into the well of his briar pipe, wondering what he could possibly
be going to say. he took his time before looking up at me again and
announcing, hi have made the decision to leave my entire estate to
daniel trumper."

i was so stunned by this revelation that it was several seconds before i
could think of an acceptable response.

hbut, father, now that guy has died surely nigel must be the legitimate
heir?h hdaniel would have been the legitimate heir if your son had done
the honorable thing. guy should have returned from india and married
miss. salmon the moment he realized she was having his child."

"but trumper is daniel's father,h i protested. hlndeed, he has always
admitted as much. the birth certificate_ h

"he has never denied it, i grant you that. but don't take me for a fool,
ethel. the birth certificate only proves that, unlike my late grandson,
charlie trumper has some sense of responsibility. in any case, those of
us who have watched guy in his formative years and have also followed
daniel's progress can be in little doubt about the relationship between
the two mend i wasn't certain i had heard my father correctly. hyou've
actually seen daniel trumper?h "oh, ye5,h he replied matter-of-factly,
picking up a box of matches from his desk. hi made a point of visiting
st. paul's on two separate occasions. once when the boy was performing
in a concert i was able to sit and watch him at close quarters for over
two hours he was rather good, actually. and then a year later on
founders' day when he was awarded the newton mathematics prize, i
shadowed him while he accompanied his parents to afternoon tea in the
headmaster's garden. so i can assure you that not only does he look like
guy, but he's also inherited some of his late father's mannerisms. h
hbut surely nigel deserves to be treated as his equal?h i protested,
racking my brains to think of some rational response that would make my
father reconsider his position.

"niger is not his equal and never will be,h replied my father, as he
struck a match before beginning that endless sucking that always
preceded his attempt to light a pipe. hdon't let's fool ourselves,
ethel. we've both known for some time that the lad isn't even worthy of
a place on the board of hardcastle's, let alone to be considered as my
successor. h while my father puffed energetically at his pipe, i stared
blindly at the painting of two horses in a paddock that hung on the wall
behind him and tried to collect my thoughts.

hl'm sure you haven't forgotten, my dear, that nigel even failed to pass
out of sandhurst, which i'm told takes some doing nowadays. i have also
recently been informed that he's only holding down his present job with
kitcat and aitken because you led the senior partner to believe that in
time they will be administering the hardcastle portfolio." he punctuated
each statement with a puff from his pipe. "and i can assure you that
will not be the case."

i found myself unable to look straight at him. instead my eyes wandered
from the stubbs on the wall behind his desk to the row upon row of books
he had spent a lifetime collecting. dickens, every first edition; henry
james, a modern author he admired, and countless blakes of every
description from treasured handwritten letters to memorial editions.
then came the second blow.

has there isn't a member of the family who can readily replace me as
head of the firm," he continued, hi have reluctantly come to the
conclusion that with war daily becoming more likely i will have to
reconsider the future of hardcastle's." the pungent smell of tobacco
hung in the air.

hyou would never allow the business to fall into anyone else's hands?" i
said in disbelief. hyour father would "

hmy father would have done what was best for all concerned, and no doubt
expectant relations would have been fairly low down on his list of
priorities." his pipe refused to stay alight so a second match was
brought into play. he gave a few more sucks before a look of
satisfaction appeared on his face and he began to speak again. hl've sat
on the boards of harrogate haulage and the yorkshire bank for several
years, and more recently john brown engineering where i think i've
finally found my successor. sir john's son may not be an inspired
chairman of the company but he's capable, and more important, he's a
yorkshireman. anyway i have come to the conclusion that a merger with
that company will be best for all concerned."

i was still unable to look directly at my father as i tried to take in
all that he was saying.

"they've made me a handsome offer for my shares," he added, "which will
in time yield an income for you and amy that will more than take care of
your needs once i've gone."

"but, father, we both hope you will live for many more years."

"don't bother yourself, ethel, with trying to flatter an old man who
knows death can't be far away. i may be ancient but i'm not yet senile."

"father," i protested again but he simply returned to the sucking of his
pipe, showing total lack of concern at my agitation. so i tried another
ploy.

hdoes that mean nigel will receive nothing?h hnigel will receive what i
consider right and proper in the circumstances. h hltm not sure i fully
understand you, father. h hthen i shall explain. i've left him five
thousand pounds which after my death he may dispose of in any manner he
wishes. h he paused as if considering whether he should add to this
piece of information. hi have at least saved you one embarrassment," he
offered at last. halthough, following your death, daniel trumper will
inherit my entire estate, he won't learn of his good fortune until his
thirtieth birthday, by which time you will be well over seventy and
perhaps find it easier to live with my decision. h twelve more years, i
thought, as a tear fell from my eye and began to run down my cheek.

hyou needn't bother with crying, ethel, or hysterics, or even reasoned
argument for that matter." he exhaled a long plume of smoke. "i have
made up my mind, and nothing you can say or do is going to budge me. h
his pipe was now puffing away like an express train. i removed a
handkerchief from my handbag in the hope it would give me a little more
time to think.

"and should it cross your mind to try and have the will revoked at some
later date, on the grounds of my insanity" i looked up aghast "of which
you are quite capable, i have had the document drawn up by mr.
baverstock and witnessed by a retired judge, a cabinet minister and,
perhaps more relevant, a specialist from sheffield whose chosen subject
is mental disorders."

i was about to protest further when there was a muffled knock on the
door and amy entered the room.

"i do apologize for interrupting you, papa, but should i have tea served
in the drawing room or would you prefer to take it in here?"

my father smiled at his elder daughter. athe drawing room is just fine,
my dear," he said in a far gentler tone than he ever adopted when
addressing me. he rose unsteadily from behind his desk, emptied his pipe
in the nearest ashtray and, without another word, followed my sister
slowly out of the room.

i remained fairly uncommunicative during tea while i tried to think
through the implications of all my father had just told me. amy, on the
other hand, prattled happily on about the effect the recent lack of rain
was having on the petunias in the flower bed directly under my father's
room. "they don't catch the sun at any hour of the day,h she confided to
us in worried tones as her cat jumped up onto the sofa and settled in
her lap. the old tortoise-shell whose name i could never remember had
always got on my nerves but i never said as much because i knew amy
loved the see jpppl2ey ancher~

creature second only to my father. she began to stroke the animal,
obviously unaware of the unease caused by the conversation that had just
taken place in the study.

i went to bed early that evening and spent a sleepless night trying to
work out what course of action had been left open to me. i confess i
hadn't expected anything substantial from the will for amy or myself, as
we were both women in our sixties and without a great need of any extra
income. however, i had always assumed that i would inherit the house and
the estate while the company would be left to guy and, following his
death, nigel.

by the morning i had come to the reluctant conclusion that there was
little i could do about my father's decision. if the will had been drawn
up by mr. baverstock, his long-serving solicitor and friend, f. e. smith
himself would not have been able to find a loophole. i began to realize
that my only hope of securing nigel's rightful inheritance would have to
involve daniel trumper himself.

after all, my father would not live forever.

we sat alone almost unsighted in the darkest corner of the room. he
began clicking the knuckles of his right hand one by one.

hwhere is it at this moment?" i asked, looking across at a man to whom i
had paid thousands of pounds since we had first met almost twenty years
ago. he still turned up for our weekly meetings at the st. agnes wearing
what seemed to be the same brown tweed jacket and shiny yellow tie, even
if he did appear to have acquired one or two more shirts lately. he put
down his whisky, pulled out a brown paper package from under his chair
and handed it over to me.

hhow much did you have to pay to get it back?"

"fifty pounds."

"i told you not to offer him more than twenty pounds without consulting
me."

"i know, but there was a west end dealer nosing around the shop at the
time. i just couldn't risk it, could 1?"

i didn't believe for one moment that it had cost harris fifty pounds.
however, i did accept that he realized how important the picture was to
my future plans.

hwould you like me to hand the painting over to the police?" he asked.
"i could then drop a hint that perhaps-"

"certainly not,h i said without hesitation. "the police are far too
discreet in these matters. besides, what i have in mind for mr. trumper
will be a great deal more humiliating than a private interview in the
privacy of scotland yard."

mr. harris leaned back in the old leather chair and began clicking the
knuckles of his left hand.

"what else do you have to report?"

hdaniel trumper has taken up his place at trinity college. he's to be
found on new court, staircase b. room 7."

hthat was all in your last report."

both of us stopped speaking while an elderly guest selected a magazine
from a nearby table.

"also, he's started seeing quite a lot of a girl called marjorie
carpenter. she's a third-year mathematician from girton college. h his
that so? well, if it begins to look at all serious let me know at once
and you can start a file on her. h i glanced around to be sure no one
could overhear our conversation. the clicking began again and i looked
back to find harris staring fixedly at me.

his something worrying you?" i asked as i poured myself another cup of
tea.

hwell, to be honest with you there is one thing, mrs. trentham. i feel
the time might have come for me to ask for another small rise in my
hourly rate. after all, i'm expected to keep so many secrets" he
hesitated for a moment "secrets that might ..."

"that might what?"

"prove to be invaluable to other equally interested parties."

hare you threatening me, mr. harris?"

hcertainly not, mrs. trentham, it's just that ~

hl'll say this once and once only, mr. harris. if you ever reveal to
anyone anything that has passed between us it won't be an hourly rate
that you'll be worrying about but the length of time you'll be spending
in prison. because i also have kept a file on you which i suspect some
of your former colleagues might well be interested to learn about. not
least the pawning of a stolen picture and the disposal of an army
greatcoat after a crime had been committed. do i make myself clear?"

harris didn't reply, just clicked his fingers back into place, one by
one.

some weeks after war was declared i learned that daniel trumper had
avoided being called up. it transpired that he was now to be found
serving behind a desk in bletchley park and was therefore unlikely to
experience the wrath of the enemy unless a bomb were to land directly on
top of him.

as it happened, the germans did manage to drop a bomb, right in the
middle of my flats, destroying them completely. my initial anger at this
disaster evaporated when i saw the chaos it left behind in chelsea
terrace. for several days i gained considerable satisfaction from just
standing on the opposite side of the road admiring the germans'
handiwork.

a few weeks later it was the turn of the musketeer and trumper's
greengrocer shop to feel the brunt of the luftwaffe. the only
perceptible outcome of this second bombing was that charlie trumper
signed up for the fusiliers the following week. however much i might
have desired to see daniel disposed of by a stray bullet, i still
required charlie trumper to remain very much alive: it was a more public
execution i had in mind for him.

it didn't require harris to brief me on charlie trumper's new
appointment at the ministry of food because it was fully reported in
every national paper. however, i made no attempt to take advantage of
his prolonged absence as i reasoned there could be little purpose in
acquiring further property in the terrace while war was still being
waged, and in any case harris' monthly reports revealed that trumper's
was steadily losing money.

then, when i was least prepared for it, my father died of a heart
attack. i immediately dropped everything and hurried off to yorkshire in
order to oversee the arrangements for the burial.

two days later i led the mourners at the funeral, which was held in
wetherby parish church. as titular head of the family, i was placed on
the left-hand end of the front pew with gerald and nigel on my right.
the service was well attended by family, friends and business associates
alike, including the solemn mr. baverstock, clutching onto his
inevitable gladstone bag that i noticed he never let out of his sight.
amy, who sat in the row directly behind me, became so distressed during
the archdeacon's address that i don't believe she would have got through
the rest of the day had i not been there to comfort her.

after the mourners had left i decided to stay on in yorkshire for a few
more days while gerald and nigel returned to london. amy spent most of
the time in her bedroom, which gave me the chance to look around the
house and check if there was anything of real value that could be
rescued before i returned to ashurst. after all, the property would once
the will had been administered at worst end up being divided between us.

i came across my mother's jewelry, which had obviously never been
touched since her death, and the stubbs that still hung in my father's
study. i removed the jewelry from my father's bedroom, and as for the
stubbs, amy agreed over a light supper in her room  that for the time
being i could hang the painting at ashurst. the only other item left of
any real value, i concluded, was my father's magnificent library.
however, i already had long-term plans for the collection that did not
involve the sale of a single book.

on the first of the month i traveled down to london to attend the
offices of baverstock, dickens and cobb to be informed officially of the
contents of my father's will.

mr. baverstock seemed disappointed that amy had felt unable to make the
journey but accepted the fact that my sister had not yet recovered
sufficiently from the shock of my father's death to contemplate such a
trip. several other relations, most of whom i saw only at christenings,
weddings and funerals, sat around looking hopeful. i knew exactly what
they could expect.

mr. baverstock took over an hour performing what seemed to me a simple
enough responsibility, though to be fair he managed with some
considerable dexterity not to reveal the name of daniel trumper when it
came to explaining what would eventually happen to the estate. my mind
began to wander as minor relations were informed of the thousand-pound
windfalls they would inherit and was only brought sharply back to the
droning voice of mr. baverstock when he uttered my own name.

"mrs. gerald trentham and miss. amy hardcastle will both receive during
their lifetimes in equal part any income derived from the trust." the
solicitor stopped to turn a page before placing the palms of his hands
on the desk. "and finally, the house, the estate in yorkshire and all
its contents plus the sum of twenty thousand pounds," he continued, "i
bequeath to my elder daughter, miss. amy hardcastle. h god morning, mr.
sneddles."

the old bibliophile was so surprised the lady knew his name that for a
moment he just stood and stared at her.

eventually he shuffled across to greet the lady, giving her a low bow.
she was, after all, the first customer he had seen for over a week that
is if he did not count dr. halcombe, the retired headmaster, who would
happily browse around the shop for hours on end but who had not actually
purchased a book since 1937.

"good morning, madam," he said in turn. "was there a particular volume
that you were hoping to find?" he looked at the lady, who wore a long
face dress and a large wide-brimmed hat with a veil that made it
impossible to see her face.

"no, mr. sneddles," said mrs. trentham. "i have not come to purchase a
book, but to seek your ser vices." she stared at the stooping old man in
his mittens, cardigan and overcoat, which she assumed he was wearing
because he could no longer afford to keep the shop heated. although his
back seemed to be permanently semicircular and his head stuck out like a
tortoise's from its overcoat shell, his eyes were clear and his mind
appeared sharp and alert.

"my services, madam?" the old man repeated.

"yes. i have inherited an extensive library that i require to be
catalogued and valued. you come highly recommended."

"it's kind of you to say so, madam."

mrs. trentham was relieved that mr. sneddles did not inquire as to who
had made the particular recommendation.

"and where is this library, might i be permitted to ask?"

"a few miles east of harrogate. you will find that it is quite an
extraordinary collection. my late father, sir raymond hardcastle you may
have heard of him.?_ devoted a considerable part of his life to putting
it together."

"harrogate?" said sneddles as if it was a few miles east of bangkok.

"of course i would cover all your expenses, however long the enterprise
might take."

"but it would mean having to close the shop," he murmured as if talking
to himself.

"i would naturally also compensate you for any loss of earnings."

mr. sneddles removed a book from the counter and checked its spine. "i
fear it's out of the question, madam, quite impossible, you see "

"my father specialized in william blake, you know. you will find that he
managed to get hold of every first edition, some still in mint
condition. he even secured a handwritten manuscript of ..."

* * *

amy hardcastle had gone to bed even before her sister arrived back in
yorkshire that evening.

"she gets so tired nowadays," the housekeeper explained.

mrs. trentham was left with little choice but to have a light supper on
her own before retiring to her old room a few minutes after ten. as far
as she could tell nothing had changed: the view over the yorkshire
dales, the black clouds, even the picture of york minster that hung
above the walnut-framed bed. she slept soundly enough and resumed
downstairs at eight the following morning. the cook explained to her
that miss. amy had not yet risen so she ate breakfast alone.

once all the covered dishes had been cleared away mrs. trentham sat in
the drawing room reading the yorkshire post while she waited for her
sister to make an appearance. when over an hour later the old cat
wandered in, mrs. trentham shooed the animal away with a vicious wave of
the folded newspaper. the grandfather clock in the hall had already
struck eleven when amy finally entered the room. she walked slowly
towards her sister with the aid of a stick.

"i'm so sorry, ethel, that i wasn't here to greet you when you arrived
last night," she began. "i fear my arthritis has been playing me up
again."

mrs. trentham didn't bother to reply, but watched her sister as she
hobbled towards her, unable to believe the deterioration in her
condition in less than three months.

although amy had in the past appeared slight she was now frail. and even
if she had always been quiet she was now almost inaudible. if she had
been perhaps a little pale, she was now gray and the lines on her face
were so deeply etched she looked far older than her sixy-nine years.

amy lowered herself onto the chair next to her sis ter and for some
seconds continued to breathe deeply, leaving her visitor in no doubt
that the walk from the bedroom to the drawing room had been something of
an ordeal.

"it's so kind of you to leave your family and come up to be with me in
yorkshire," amy said as the tortoiseshell cat climbed onto her lap. "i
must confess that since dear papa died i don't know where to turn."

"that's quite understandable, my dear." mrs. trentham smiled thinly.
"but i felt it was nothing more than my duty to be with you as well as
being a pleasure, of course. in any case, father warned me this might
happen once he had passed away. he gave me specific instructions, you
know, as to exactly what should be done in the circumstances."

"oh, i'm so glad to hear that." amy's face lit up for the first time.
"please do tell me what papa had in mind."

"father was adamant that you should sell the house as quickly as
possible and either come and live with gerald and me at ashurst "

"oh, i could never dream of putting you to so much trouble, ethel."

" or alternatively you could move into one of those nice little hotels
on the coast that cater specially for retired couples and single people.
he felt that way you could at least make new friends and indeed even
have an extended lease on life. i would naturally prefer you to join us
in buckingham, but what with the bombs "

"he never mentioned selling the house to me," murmured amy anxiously.
"in fact, he begged me_ n "i know, my dear, but he realized only too
well what a strain his death would be on you and asked me to break the
news gently. you will no doubt recall the long meeting we held in his
study when i last came up to see him."

amy nodded her acknowledgment but the look of bewilderment remained on
her face.

"i remember every word he said," mrs. trendham went on. "naturally, i
shall do my utmost to see his wishes are carried out."

"but i wouldn't know how or where to begin."

"there's no need for you to give it a second thought, my dear." she
patted her sister's arm. "that's exactly why i'm here."

"but what will happen to the servants and my dear garibaldi?" amy asked
anxiously as she continued stroking the cat. "father would never forgive
me if they weren't all properly taken care of."

"i couldn't agree more," mrs. trentham said. "however, as always he
thought of everything and gave me explicit instructions as to what
should be done with all the staff."

"how thoughtful of dear papa. however, i am not altogether certain ..."

it took mrs. trentham two more days of patient encouragement before she
was finally able to convince her sister that her plans for the future
would all work out for the best and, more important, it was what "dear
papa" wanted.

from that moment on amy only came down in the afternoons to take a short
walk around the garden and occasionally attend to the petunias. whenever
mrs. trentham came across her sister she begged her not to overdo
things.

three days later amy dispensed with her afternoon walk.

the following monday mrs. trendham gave the staff a week's notice, widh
dhe exception of the cook whom she told to stay on until miss. amy had
been setded. that same afternoon she sought out a local agent and placed
dhe house and dhe sixty-acre estate on dhe market.

on the following thursday mrs. trentham made an appointment to see a mr.
althwaite, a solicitor in harrogate. on one of her sister's infrequent
visits downstairs she explained to amy that it had not been necessary to
bother mr. baverstock: she felt certain any problem that arose
concerning the estate could be more easily dealt with by a local man.

three weeks later mrs. trentham was able to move her sister and a few of
her belongings into a small residential hotel overlooking the east coast
a few miles north of scarborough. she agreed with the proprietor that it
was unfortunate that they could not allow pets but felt sure that her
sister would fully understand. mrs. trentham's final instruction was to
send the monthly bills direct to coutts in the strand, where they would
be settled immediately.

before mrs. trentham bade farewell to amy she got her sister to sign
three documents. "so that you will have nothing more to worry about, my
dear," mrs. trentham explained in a gentle tone.

amy signed all three of the forms placed in front of her without
bothering to read them. mrs. trentham quickly folded up the legal papers
prepared by the local solicitor and deposited them in her handbag.

"i'll see you soon," she promised amy before kissing her sister on the
forehead. a few minutes later she began her journey back to ashurst.

the bell above the door clanged noisily in the musty silence as mrs.
trentham stepped smartly into the shop. at first there was no sign of
movement until at last mr. sneddles appeared from his little room at the
rear carrying three books under his arm.

"good moming, mrs. trentham," he said. "how kind of you to respond to my
note so quickly. i felt i had to contact you as a problem has arisen."

"a problem?" mrs. trentham drew back the veil that covered her face.

"yes. as you are aware, i have almost completed my work in yorkshire. i
am sorry it has taken so long, madam, but i fear i have been
overindulgent with my time, such was my appreciation of "

mrs. trentham waved a hand in a manner that indicated she was not
displeased.

"and i fear," he continued, "that despite enlisting the good services of
dr. halcombe as my assistant and also remembering the time it takes to
travel up and down to yorkshire it may still take us several more weeks
to both catalogue and value such a fine collection always aware that
your late father spent a lifetime putting the library together."

"it's of no consequence," mrs. trentham assured him. "you see, i'm not
in a hurry. do take your time, mr. sneddles, and just let me know when
you have completed the task."

the antiquarian smiled at the thought of being allowed to continue his
cataloguing uninterrupted.

he escorted mrs. trentham back to the front of the shop and opened the
door to let her out. no one who saw them together would have believed
they had been born in the same year. she stared up and down chelsea
terrace before quickly dropping the veil across her face.

mr. sneddles closed the door behind her and rubbed his mittens together,
then shuffled back to his room to join dr. halcombe.

lately he had been annoyed whenever a customer entered the shop.

"after thirty years, i have no intention of changing my stockbrokers,"
gerald trentham said curtly as he poured himself a second cup of coffee.

"but can't you understand, my dear, just what a boost it would give
nigel to secure your account for his company?"

"and what a blow it would be for david cartwright and vickers da costa
to lose a client whom they have served so honorably for over a hundred
years? no ethel, it's high time nigel carried out his own airy work.
damn it all, he's over fory."

"all the more reason to help," his wife suggested as she buttered a
second piece of toast.

"no, ethel. i repeat, no."

"but can't you see that one of nigel's responsibilities is to bring new
clients into the fimn? it's particularly important at this moment, as i
feel sure that now the war is over, they will soon be offering him a
partner ."

s ip.

major trentham didn't try to hide his incredulity at this piece of news.
"if that is the case, he should be making more use of his own contacts
preferably the ones he made at school and at sandhurst, not to mention
the ciy. he shouldn't always expect to fall back on his father's
friends."

"that's hardly fair, gerald. if he can't rely on his own flesh and
blood, why should he expect anyone else to come to his aid?"

"come to his aid? that just about sums it up." gerald's voice rose with
every word. "because that's exactly what you've been doing since the day
he was born, which is perhaps the reason he is still unable to stand on
his own two feet."

"gerald," mrs. trentham said, removing a handkerchief from her sleeve.
"i never thought "

"in any case," the major replied, trying to restore some calm, "it's not
as if my portfolio is all that impressive. as you and mr. attlee know
only too well, all our capital is bound up in land and has been for
generations."

"it's not the amount that matters," mrs. trentham chided him. "it's the
principle."

"couldn't agree with you more," said gerald as he folded his napkin,
rose from the breakfast table and left the room before his wife could
utter another word.

mrs. trentham picked up her husband's morning paper and ran her finger
down the names of those who had been awarded knighthoods in the birthday
honors. her shaking finger stopped at the ps.

during his summer vacation, according to max harris, daniel trumper had
taken the queen mary to america. however, the private detective was
quite unable to answer mrs. trentham's next question  why? all that
harris could be sure of was that daniel's college still expected the
young don back for the start of the new academic year.

during the weeks that daniel was away in america mrs. trentham spent a
considerable amount of time closeted with her solicitors in lincoln's
inn fields while they prepared a building application for her.

she had already sought out three architects, all of whom had recently
qualified. she instructed them to prepare outline drawings for a block
of flats to be built in chelsea. the winner, she assured them, would be
offered the commission while the other two would receive one hundred
pounds each in compensation. all three happily agreed to her terms.

some twelve weeks later, each presented his portfolio but only one of
them had come up with what mrs. trentham was hoping for.

in the opinion of the senior partner of the law practice, the submission
by the youngest of the three, justin talbot, would have made battersea
power station look like the palace of versailles. mrs. trentham did not
divulge to her solicitor that she had been influenced in her selection
by the fact that mr. talbot's uncle was a member of the planning
committee of the london county council.

even if talbot's uncle were to come to his nephew's aid, mrs. trentham
remained unconcerned that a majority of the committee would accept such
an 5is outrageous offering. it resembled a bunker that even hitler might
have rejected. however, her lawyers suggested that she should state in
her application that the primary purpose of the new building was to
create some low-cost housing in the center of london to help students
and single unemployed men who were in dire need of temporary
accommodation. second, any income derived from the flats would be placed
in a charitable trust to help other families suffering from the same
problem. third, she should bring lo the committee's attention the
painstaking efforts that have been made to give a young, recently
qualified architect his first break.

mrs. trentham didn't know whether to be delighted or appalled when the
lcc granted its approval. after long deliberation over several weeks,
they insisted on only a few minor modifications to young talbot's
original plans. she gave her architect immediate instructions to clear
the bombed-out site so that the building could begin without delay.

the application to the lcc by sir charles trumper for a new store to be
erected in chelsea terrace came in for considerable national publicity,
most of it favorable. however, mrs. trentham noted that in several
articles written about the proposed new building, there was mention of a
certain mr. martin simpson who described himself as the president of the
save the small shops federation a body that objected to the whole
concept of trumper's. mr. simpson claimed it could only harm the little
shopkeeper in the long run; their livelihoods were, after all, being put
at risk. he went on to complain that what made it even more unfair was
that none of the local shopkeepers had the means of taking on a man as
powerful and wealthy as sir charles trumper.

"oh, yes, they have," mrs. trentham said over breakfast that morning.

"have what?"

"nothing important," she reassured her husband but later that day she
supplied harris with the financial wherewithal to allow mr. simpson to
lodge an official objection to the trumper scheme. mrs. trentham also
agreed to cover any out-of-pocket costs mr. simpson might incur while
carrying out his endeavors.

she began to follow the results of mr. simpson's efforts daily in the
national press, even confiding to harris that she would have been happy
to pay the man a fee for the service he was rendering; but like so many
activists the cause was all he seemed to care about.

once the bulldozers had moved in on mrs. trentham's site and work had
come to a standstill on trumper's, she turned her attention back to
daniel and the problem of his inheritance.

her lawyers had confirmed that there was no way of reversing the
provisions in the will unless daniel trumper were voluntarily to resign
all his rights. they even presented her with a form of words that would
be necessary for him to sign in such circumstances, leaving mrs.
trentham the daunting task of actually getting his signature affixed to
the paper.

as mrs. trentham was unable to imagine any situation in which she and
daniel would ever meet she considered the whole exercise futile.
however, she carefully locked the lawyer's draft in the bottom drawer of
her desk in the drawing room along with all the other trumper documents.

"how nice to see you again, madam," said mr. sneddles. "i cannot
apologize too profusely over the length of time i have taken to complete
your commission. i shall naturally charge you no more than the sum on
which we originally agreed."

the bookseller was unable to see the expression on mrs. trentham's face
as she had not yet removed her veil. she followed the old man past shelf
after shelf of dust-covered books until they reached his little room at
the back of the shop. there she was introduced to dr. halcombe who, like
sneddles, was wearing a heavy overcoat. she declined to take the offered
chair when she noticed that it too was covered in a thin layer of dust.

the old man proudly pointed to eight boxes that lay on his desk. it took
him nearly an hour to explain, with the occasional interjection from dr.
halcombe how they had catalogued her late father's entire library first
alphabetically under authors, then by categories and finally with a
separate cross-section under titles. a rough valuation of each book had
also been penciled neatly in the bottom right-hand comer of every card.

mrs. trentham was surprisingly patient with mr. sneddles, occasionally
asking questions in whose answer she had no interest, while allowing him
to indulge in a long and complicated explanation as to how he had
occupied his time during the past five years.

"you have done a quite remarkable job, mr. sneddles," she said after he
flicked over the last card "zola, emile (1840-1902)."

"i could not have asked for more."

"you are most kind, madam," said the old man bowing low, "but then you
have always shown such a genuine concern in these matters. your father
could have found no more suitable person to be responsible for his
life's work."

"fifty guineas was the agreed fee, if i remember correctly," said mrs.
trentham, removing a check from her handbag and passing it over to the
owner of the bookshop.

"thank you, madam," mr. sneddles replied, taking the check and placing
it absentmindedly in an ashtray. he refrained from adding, "i would
happily have paid you double the sum for the privilege of carrying out
such an exercise."

"and i see," she said, studying the accompanying papers closely, "that
you have placed an overall value on the entire collection of a little
under five thousand pounds., "that is correct, madam. i should warn you,
however, that if anything i have erred on the conservative side. you
see, some of these volumes are so rare it would be difficult to say what
they might fetch on the open market."

"does that mean you would be willing to offer such a sum for the library
should i wish to dispose of it?" asked mrs. trentham, looking directly
at him.

"nothing would give me greater pleasure, madam," replied the old man.
"but alas, i fear that i quite simply do not have sufficient funds to do
so."

"what would your attitude be were i to entrust you with the
responsibility for their sale?" asked mrs. trentham, her eyes never
leaving the old man.

"i can think of no greater privilege, madam, but it might take me many
months possibly even years to carry out such an enterprise."

"then perhaps we should come to some arrangement, mr. sneddles."

"some arrangement? i'm not sure i fully understand you, madam."

"a partnership perhaps, mr. sneddles?"

chap m rs. trentham approved of nigel's choice of bride; but then it was
she who had selected the young lady in the first place.

veronica berry possessed all the attributes her future mother-in-law
considered necessary to become a trentham. she came from a good family:
her father was a vice-admiral who had not yet been placed on the reserve
list and her mother was the daughter of a suffragan bishop. they were
comfortably off without being wealthy and, more important, of their
three children, all daughters, veronica was the eldest.

-the wedding was celebrated at kimmeridge parish church in dorset where
veronica had been christened by the vicar, confirmed by the suffragan
bishop and was now to be married by the bishop of bath and wells. the
reception was grand enough without being lavish and "the children," as
mrs. trentham referred to them, would, she told everyone, be spending
their honeymoon on the family estate in aberdeen before resuming to a
mews house in cadogan place that she had selected for them. it was so
convenient for chester square, she explained when asked, and also when
not asked.

every one of the thirty-two partners of kitcat and aitken, the
stockbrokers for whom nigel worked, was invited to the nuptial feast,
but only five felt able to make the journey to dorset.

during the reception, held on the lawn of the viceadmiral's home, mrs.
trentham made a point of speaking to all those partners present. to her
consternation none was particularly forthcoming about nigel's future.

mrs. trentham had rather hoped that her son might have been made a
partner soon after his fortieth birthday as she was well aware that
several younger men had seen their names printed on the top left-hand
side of the letter paper despite having joined the firm some time after
nigel.

just before the speeches were about to begin a shower sent the guests
scurrying back into the marquee. mrs. trentham felt the bridegroom's
speech could have been received a little more warmly. however, she
allowed that it was quite hard to applaud when you were holding a glass
of champagne in one hand and an asparagus roll in the other. indeed,
nigel's best man, hugh folland, hadn't done a great deal better.

after the speeches were over mrs. trentham sought out miles renshaw, the
senior partner of kitcat and airken, and after taking him on one side
revealed that in the near future she intended to invest a considerable
sum of money in a company that was planning to go public. she would
therefore be in need of his advice as to what she described as her
long-term strategy.

this piece of information did not elicit any particular response from
renshaw, who still remembered mrs. trentham's assurance over the future
management of the hardcastle portfolio once her father had died.
however, he suggested that perhaps she should drop

into their city office and go over the details of the transaction once
the official tender document had been released.

mrs. trentham thanked mr. renshaw and continued to work her way round
the assembled gathering as if it were she who was the hostess.

she didn't notice veronica's scowl of disapproval on more than one
occasion.

it was the last friday in september 1947 that gibson tapped quietly on
the door of the living room, entered and announced, "captain daniel
trentham."

when mrs. trentham first saw the young man dressed in the uniform of a
captain in the royal fusiliers, her legs almost gave way. he marched in
and came to a halt in the middle of the carpet. the meeting that had
taken place in that room more than twentyfive years before immediately
sprang to her mind. somehow she managed to get herself across the room
before collapsing onto the sofa.

gripping its arm to make sure she didn't pass out completely mrs.
trentham stared up at her grandson. she was horrified at his resemblance
to guy, and felt quite sick by the memories he evoked. memories which
for so many years she had managed to keep at the back of her mind.

once she had composed herself mrs. trentham's first reaction was to
order gibson to throw him out, but she decided to wait for a moment as
she was anxious to discover what the young man could possibly want. as
daniel delivered his carefully rehearsed sentences she began to wonder
if possibly the meeting might be fumed to her advantage.

her grandson started by telling her how he had been to australia that
summer, not america as harris had led her to believe. he went on to show
he knew of her ownership of the flats, her attempt to block the

planning permission for the store and the wording on the grave in
ashurst. he continued his rendering with an assurance that his parents
were unaware he had come to visit her that afternoon.

mrs. trentham concluded that he must have discovered the full
circumstances of her son's death in melboume. otherwise why would he
have stressed that, if the infommation he possessed were to fall into
the hands of the popular press, it could only result in  to put it
mildly embarrassment for all concemed?

mrs. trentham allowed daniel to continue his speech while at the same
time thinking furiously. it was during his prognosis on the future
development of chelsea terrace that she wondered just how much the young
man standing before her actually did know. she decided there was only
one way of finding out, and that would require her to take one big risk.

when daniel had finally come out with his specific demand, mrs. trentham
simply replied, "i have a condition of my own."

"what condition?"

"that you relinquish any claim you might have to the hardcastle estate."

daniel looked uncertain for the first time. it was obviously not what he
had expected. mrs. trentham suddenly felt confident that he had no
knowledge of the will: after all, her father had briefed baverstock not
to allow the young man to be privy to its contents until his thirtieth
birthday; and mr. baverstock was not a man to break his word.

"i can't believe you ever intended to leave me anything in the first
place," was daniel's first response.

she didn't reply and waited until daniel at last nodded his agreement.

"in writing," she added.

"then i shall also require our arrangement in writing," he demanded
brusquely.

mrs. trentham felt certain that he was no longer relying on the safety
of a prepared script and was now simply reacting to events as they took
place.

she rose, walked slowly over to her desk and unlocked a drawer. daniel
remained in the middle of the room, swaying slightly from foot to foot.

having located two sheets of paper and retrieving the lawyer's draft
wording that she had left locked in the bottom drawer, mrs. trentham
wrote out two identical agreements which included daniel's demand for
her withdrawal of both her application to build the flats and her
objections to his father's application for planning permission to build
trumper towers. she also included in the agreements her lawyer's exact
words for daniel's waiver of his rights to his great-grandfather's
estate.

she handed over the first draft for her grandson to study. at any moment
she expected him to work out what he must be sacrificing by signing such
a document.

daniel finished reading the first copy of the agreement, then checked to
see that both drafts were identical in every detail. though he said
nothing, mrs. trentham still felt he must surely fathom out why she
needed the agreement so badly. in fact, had he demanded chat she also
sell the land in chelsea terrace to his father at a commercial rate she
would happily have agreed, just to have daniel's signature on the bottom
ot the agreement.

the moment daniel had signed both documents mrs. trentham rang the bell
and called for dhe louder to witness the two signatures. once this task
had been completed she said curtly, "show the gentleman out, gibson." as
the uniformed figure left the room she found herself wondering just how
long it would be before the boy realized what a poor bargain he had
struck.

when on dhe following day mrs. trentham's solici

tors studied the one-page document they were stunned by the simplicity
of the transaction. however, she offered no explanation as to how she
had managed to achieve such a coup. a slight bow of the head from the
senior partner acknowledged that the agreement was watertight.

every man has his price, and once martin simpson realized his source of
income had dried up, a further fifty pounds in cash convinced him that
he should withdraw his objection to trumper towers from proceeding as
planned.

the following day mrs. trentham turned her attention to other matters:
the understanding of offer documents.

in mrs. trentham's opinion veronica became pregnant far too quickly. in
may 1948 her daughter-in-law produced a son, giles raymond, only nine
months and three weeks after she and nigel had been married. at least
the child had not been born prematurely. as it was, mrs. trentham had
already observed the servants counting the months on their fingers on
more than one occasion.

it was after veronica had returned from hospital with the child that
mrs. trentham had the first difference of opinion with her
daughter-in-law.

veronica and nigel had wheeled giles round to chester square for the
proud grandmother to admire. after mrs. trentham had given the infant a
cursory glance gibson pushed the pram out and the tea trolley in.

"of course you'll want the boy to be put down for asgarth and harrow
without delay," said mrs. trentham, even before nigel or veronica had
been given a chance to select a sandwich. "after all, one wants to be
certain that his place is guaranteed."

"actually, nigel and i have already decided how our son will be
educated," said veronica, "and neither

of those schools have entered our deliberations."

mrs. trentham placed her cup back on its saucer and stared at veronica
as if she had announced the death of the king. "i'm sorry, i don't think
i heard you correctly, veronica."

"we are going to send giles to a local primary school in chelsea and
then on to bryanston."

"bryanston? and where is that, may one ask?"

"in dorset. it's my father's old school," veronica added before removing
a salmon sandwich from the plate in front of her.

nigel looked anxiously across at his mother as he touched his blue and
silver striped tie.

"that may well be the case," said mrs. trentham. "however, i feel sure
we still need to give a lithe more consideration as to how young raymond
she stressed the name should start off incite."

"no, that will be unnecessary," said veronica. "niger and i have already
given quite sufficient thought as to how giles should be educated. in
fact, we registered him for bryanston last week. after all, one wants to
be certain that his place is guaranteed."

veronica leaned forward and helped herself to another salmon sandwich.

three chimes echoed from the little carriage clock that stood on the
mantelpiece on the far side of the room.

max harris pushed himself up out of the armchair in the comer of the
lounge the moment he saw mrs. trentham enter the hotel lobby. he gave a
half bow as he waited for his client to be seated in the chair opposite
him.

he ordered tea for her and another double whisky for himself. mrs.
trentham frowned her disapproval as the waiter scurried off to carry out
the order. her attention fixed on max harris the moment she heard the
inevitable clicks.

"i assume you would not have requested this meeting, mr. harris, unless
you had something important to tell me."

"i think i can safely say that i am the bearer of glad tidings. you see,
a lady by the name of mrs. bennett has recently been arrested and
charged with shoplifting. a fur coat and a leather belt from harvey
nicholls, to be exact."

"and of what possible interest could this lady be to me?" asked mrs.
trentham as she looked over his shoulder, annoyed to see that it had
started raining, remembering that she had left the house without an
umbrella.

"she turns out to have a rather interesting relationship with sir
charles trumper."

"relationship?" said mrs. trentham, looking even more puzzled.

"yes," said harris. "mrs. bennett is none other than sir charles'
youngest sister."

mrs. trentham turned her gaze back on max harris. "but trumper only has
three sisters if i remember correctly," she said. "sal, who is in
toronto and married to an insurance salesman; grace, who has recently
been appointed matron of guy's hospital, and kitty, who left england
some time ago to join her sister in canada."

"and has now returned."

"returned?"

"yes, as mrs. kitty bennett."

"i don't begin to understand," said mrs. trentham, becoming exasperated
by the cat and mouse game harris was so obviously enjoying.

"while she was in canada," harris continued, oblivious to his client's
irritation, "she married a certain mr. bennett, a longshoreman. not
unlike her old man, in fact. it lasted for almost a year before ending
in a messy divorce in which several men were petitioned.

she returned to england a few weeks ago, but only after her sister sal
had refused to take her back."

"how did you come by this information?"

"a friend of mine at wandsworth nick pointed me in the right direction.
once he had read the charge sheet in the name of bennett, ne'e trumper,
he decided to double-check. it was 'kitty' that gave the game away. i
popped round immediately to be sure we had the right woman." harris
stopped to sip his whisky.

"go on," said mrs. trentham impatiently.

"for five pounds she sang like a canary," said harris. "if i were in a
position to offer her fifty i've a feeling she'd sound awfully like a
nightingale."

when trumper's announced they were preparing to go public mrs. trentham
was holidaying on her husband's estate in aberdeenshire. having read the
short piece in the telegraph, she concluded that, although she now had
control over the combined monthly incomes left to her sister as well as
herself and a further windfall of twenty thousand pounds, she would
still need all the capital she had acquired from the sale of the
yorkshire estate if she was going to be able to purchase a worthwhile
holding in the new company. she made three trunk calls that morning.

earlier in the year she had given instructions for her own portfolio to
be transferred to kitcat and aitken, and after several months of
continually badgering her husband she had finally bludgeoned him into
following suit. despite this further commitment on her son's behalf
nigel was still not offered a partnership. mrs. trentham would have
advised him to resign had she been confident his prospects elsewhere
would have been any better.

despite this setback she continued to invite the partners of kitcat to
dinner at chester square in regular rotation. gerald left his wife in no
doubt that he did not approve of such tactics, and remained unconvinced
that they helped their son's cause. he had been, however, aware that his
opinion in such matters had made little impression on her for some time.
in any case, the major had now reached an age when he had become too
weary to put up more than token resistance.

after mrs. trentham had studied the finer details of the trumper's
proposals in her husband's copy of the times, she instructed nigel to
apply for five percent of the company's shares the moment the prospectus
was launched.

however, it was a paragraph towards the end of an article in the daily
mail, written by vincent mulcrone and headed "the triumphant trumpers,"
that reminded her that she was still in possession of a picture that
needed to fetch its proper price.

whenever mr. baverstock requested a meeting with mrs. trentham it always
seemed to her to be more of a summons than an invitation. perhaps it was
because he had acted for her father for over thirty years.

she was only too aware that, as her father's executor, mr. baverstock
still wielded considerable influence, even if she had managed to clip
his wings recently over the sale of the estate.

having offered her the seat on the other side of the partner's desk mr.
baverstock resumed to his own chair, replaced his half-moon spectacles
on the end of his nose and opened the cover of one of his inevitable
gray files.

he seemed to conduct all his correspondence, not to mention his
meetings, in a manner that could only be described as distant. mrs.
trentham often wondered if he had treated her father in the same way.

"mrs. trentham," he began, placing the palms of his hands on the desk in
front of him and pausing to stare down at the notes he had written the
previous evening. "may i first thank you for taking the trouble to come
and see me in my offices and add how sad i am that your sister felt she
had to once again decline my invitation. however, she has made it clear
to me in a short letter i received last week that she is happy for you
to represent her on this and indeed on any future occasion."

"dear amy," said mrs. trentham. "the poor creature took the death of my
father rather badly, even though i have done everything in my power to
soften the blow."

the solicitor's eyes returned to the file which contained a note from a
mr. althwaite of bird, collingwood and althwaite in harrogate,
instructing them to see that in future miss. amy's monthly check should
be sent direct to courts in the strand for an account number that
differed by only one digit from that to which mr. baverstock already
sent the other half of the monthly revenue.

"although your father left you and your sister the income derived from
his trust," the solicitor continued, "the bulk of his capital will, as
you know, in time be passed on to dr. daniel trumper."

mrs. trentham nodded, her face impassive.

"as you are also aware," mr. baverstock continued "the trust is
currently holding stocks, shares and gilts that are being administered
for us by the merchant bankers hambros and company. whenever they
consider it prudent to make a sizable investment on behalf of the trust,
we feel it equally important to keep you informed of their intentions,
despite the fact that sir raymond gave us a free hand in these matters."

"that's most considerate of you, mr. baverstock."

the solicitor's eyes returned to the file where he studied another note.
this time it was from an estate agent in bradford. the estate, house and
contents of the late sir raymond hardcastle had without his knowledge
been sold for forty-one thousand pounds. after deducting commissions and
legal fees, the agent had sent the balance of the monies direct to the
same account at courts in the strand as received miss. amy's monthly
payment.

"bearing this in mind," continued the family lawyer, "i felt it nothing
less than my duty to inform you that our advisers are recommending a
considerable investment in a new company that is about to come onto the
market."

"and which company might that be?" inquired mrs. trentham.

"trumper's," said baverstock, watching carefully for his client's
reaction.

"and why trumper's in particular?" she asked, the expression on her face
revealing no particular surprise.

"principally because hambros consider it a sound and prudent investment.
but, perhaps more important in time the bulk of the company's stock will
be owned by daniel trumper, whose father, as i feel sure you know, is
currently chairman of the board."

"i was aware of that," said mrs. trentham, without further comment. she
could see that it worried mr. baverstock that she took the news so
calmly.

"of course, if you and your sister were both to object strongly to such
a large commitment being made by the trust it is possible our advisers
might reconsider their position."

"and how much are they thinking of investing?"

"around two hundred thousand pounds," the solicitor informed her. "this
would make it possible for the trust to purchase approximately ten
percent of the shares that are on offer."

"is that not a considerable stake for us to be holding in one company?"

"it certainly is," said mr. baverstock. "but still well within the
trust's budget."

"then i am happy to accept hambros' judgment," said mrs. trentham. "and
i feel sure i speak for my sister in this matter."

once again mr. baverstock looked down at the file where he studied an
affidavit signed by miss. amy hardcastle, virtually giving her sister
carte blanche when it came to decisions relating to the estate of the
late sir raymond hardcastle, including the transfer of twenty thousand
pounds from her personal account. mr. baverstock only hoped that miss.
amy was happy at the cliff top residential hotel. he looked up at sir
raymond's other daughter.

"then all that is left for me to do," he concluded, "is to advise
hambros of your views in this matter and brief you more fully when
trumper's eventually allocates their shares."

the solicitor closed the file, rose from behind his desk and began to
walk towards the door. mrs. trentham followed in his wake, happy in the
knowledge that both the hardcastle trust and her own advisers were now
working in tandem to help her fulfill her long-term purpose without
either side being aware of what she was up to. it pleased her even more
to think that the day trumper's went public she would have control of
fifteen percent of the company.

when they reached the door mr. baverstock fumed to shake mrs. trentham's
hand.

"good day, mrs. trentham."

"good day, mr. baverstock. you have been most punctilious, as always."

she made her way back to the car where a chauffeur held open the back
door for her. as she was driven away she turned to look out of the rear
window. the lawyer was standing by the door of his offices, the worried
expression remaining on his face.

"where to, madam?" asked the chauffeur as they joined the afternoon
traffic.

she checked her watch: the meeting with baverstock had not taken as long
as she had anticipated and she now found herself with some spare time
before her next appointment. nevertheless she still gave the
instruction. "the st. agnes hotel," as she placed a hand on the brown
paper parcel that lay on the seat beside her.

she had told harris to book a private room in the hotel and slip kitty
bennett up in the lift at a time when he felt confident that no one was
watching them.

when she arrived at the st. agnes clutching the parcel under one arm,
she was annoyed to find that harris was not waiting for her in his usual
place by the bar. she intensely disliked standing alone in the corridor
and reluctandy went over to the hall porter to ask the number of the
room harris had booked.

"fourteen," said a man in a shiny blue uniform with buttons that did not
shine. "but you can't "

mrs. trentham was not in the habit of being told uyou can't" by anyone.
she turned and slowly climbed the stairs that led up to the bedrooms on
the first floor. the hall porter quickly picked up the phone on the
counter beside him.

it took mrs. trentham a few minutes to locate room 14 and harris almost
as long to respond to her sharp knock. when mrs. trentham was eventually
allowed to enter the room she was surprised to discover how small it
was: only just large enough to accommodate one bed, one chair and a
washbasin. her eyes settled on the woman who was sprawled across the
bed. she was wearing a red silk blouse and a black leather skirt far too
short in mrs. trentham's opinion, not to mention the fact that two of
the top buttons of the blouse were undone.

as kitty made no attempt to remove an old raincoat that had been thrown
across the chair, mrs. trentham was left with little choice but to
remain standing.

she fumed to harris, who was checking his tie in the only mirror. he had
obviously decided that any introduction was superfluous.

mrs. trentham's only reaction was to get on with the business she had
come to transact so that she could return to civilization as quickly as
possible. she didn't wait for harris to start the proceedings.

"have you explained to mrs. bennett what is expected of her?"

"i most certainly have," said the detective, as he put on his jacket.
"and kitty is more than ready to carry out her part of the bargain."

"can she be trusted?" mrs. trentham glanced doubtfully down at the woman
on the bed.

"'course i can, long as the money's right," were kity's first words.
"all i want to know is, 'ow much do i get?"

"whatever it sells for, plus fifty pounds," said mrs. trentham.

"then i expect twenty quid up front."

mrs. trentham hesitated for a moment, then nodded her agreement.

"so what's the catch?"

"only that your brother will try to talk you out of the whole idea,"
said mrs. trentham. "he may even attempt to bribe you in exchange for "

"not an 'ape," said kitty. "'e can talk 'is 'ead off as far as i'm
concerned but it won't make a blind bit of difference. you see, i 'ate
charlie almost as much as you do "

mrs. trentham smiled for the first time. she then placed the brown paper
parcel on the end of the bed.

harris smirked. "i knew you two would find you had something in common."

1 ~ ight after night i would lie awake worrying that daniel must
eventually work out that charlie wasn't his father.

whenever they stood next to each other, daniel tall and slim, with fair
wavy hair and deep blue eyes, charlie at least three inches shorter,
stocky, with dark wiry hair and brown eyes, i assumed daniel must in
time comment on the disparity. it didn't help that my complexion is also
dark. the dissimilarities might have been comic had the implications not
been so serious. yet daniel has never once mentioned the differences in
physical makeup or character between himself and charlie.

charlie wanted to tell daniel the truth about guy right from the start,
but i convinced him that we should wait until the boy was old enough to
understand all the implications. but when guy died of tuberculosis there
no longer seemed any point in burdening daniel with the past.

later, after years of anguish and charlie's continued remonstrations, i
finally agreed to tell daniel everything. i phoned him at trinity the
week before he was due to sail for america and asked if i could drive
him down to southampton; that way at least i knew we would be
uninterrupted for several hours. i mentioned that there was something
important i needed to discuss with him.

i set out for cambridge a little earlier than was necessary and arrived
well in time to help daniel with his packing. by eleven we were heading
down the a30. for the first hour he chatted away happily enough about
his work at cambridge too many students, not enough time for research
but the moment the conversation switched to the problems we were facing
with the flats, i knew he had presented me with the ideal opportunity to
tell him the truth about his parentage. then quite suddenly he changed
the subject and i lost my nerve. i swear i would have broached the topic
right there and then, but the moment had passed.

because of all the unhappiness we subsequently experienced with the
death of my mother and with the life of mrs. trentham while daniel was
away in america, i decided my best chance of ever being frank with my
son had been squandered. i begged charlie to allow the matter to drop
once and for all. i have a fine husband. he told me i was wrong; that
daniel was mature enough to handle the truth, but he accepted that it
had to be my decision. he never once referred to the matter again.

when daniel returned from america i traveled back down to southampton to
pick him up. i don't know what it was about him but he seemed to have
changed. for a start he looked different more at ease and the moment he
saw me gave me a big hug, which quite took me by surprise. on the way
back to london he discussed his visit to the states, which he had
obviously enjoyed, and without going into great detail i brought him up
to date on what was happening to our planning application for chelsea
terrace. he didn't seem all that interested in my news, but to be fair
charlie never involved daniel in the day-to-day working of trumper's
once we both realized he was destined for an academic career.

daniel spent the next two weeks with us before returning to cambridge,
and even charlie, not always the most observant of people, commented on
how much he had changed. he was just as serious and quiet, even as
secretive, but he was so much warmer towards us both that i began to
wonder if he had met a girl while he had been away. i hoped so, but
despite the odd hint clumsily dropped, daniel made no mention of anyone
in particular. i rather liked the idea of him marrying an american. he
had rarely brought girls home in the past and always seemed so shy when
we introduced him to the daughters of any of our friends. in fact he was
never to be found if clarissa wiltshire put in an appearance which was
quite often nowadays, as during their vacations from bristol university
both the twins were to be found working behind the counter at number 1.

it must have been about a month after daniel returned from america that
charlie told me mrs. trentham had withdrawn all her objections to our
proposed scheme for joining the two tower blocks together. i leaped with
joy. when he added that she was not going ahead with her own plans to
rebuild the flats i refused to believe him and immediately assumed that
there had to be some catch. even charlie admitted, "i've no idea what
she's up to this time." certainly neither of us accepted daphne's theory
that she might be mellowing in her old age.

two weeks later the lcc confirmed that all objections to our scheme had
been withdrawn and we could begin on our building program. that was the
signal charlie had been waiting for to inform the outside world that we
intended to go public.

charlie called a board meeting so that all the necessary resolutions
could be passed.

mr. merrick, whom charlie had never forgiven for causing him to sell the
van gogh, advised us to appoint robert fleming to be our merchant
bankers in the runup to the flotation. the banker also added that he
hoped the newly formed company would continue to use child and company
as their clearing bank. charlie would have liked to have told him to get
lost but knew only too well that if he changed banks a few weeks before
going public, eyebrows would be raised in the city. the board accepted
both pieces of advice, and tim newman of robert fleming's was duly
invited to join the board. tim brought a breath of fresh air to the
company, representing a new breed of bankers. however, although 1, like
charlie, immediately took to mr. newman i never really got on the same
wavelength as paul merrick.

as the day for issuing the tender documents drew nearer, charlie spent
more and more of his time with the merchant banker. meanwhile tom arnold
took overall control of the running of the shops, as well as overseeing
the building program with the exception of number 1, which still
remained my domain.

i had decided several months before the final announcement that i wanted
to mount a major sale at the auction house just before charlie's
declaration of going public, and i was confident that the italian
collection to which i had been devoting a great deal of my time would
prove to be the ideal opportunity to place number 1 chelsea terrace on
the map.

it had taken my chief researcher francis lawson nearly two years to
gather some fifty-nine canvases together, all painted between 1519 and
1768. our

biggest coup was a canaletto the basilica of st. mark's a painting that
had been left to daphne by an old aunt of hers from cumberland. "it
isn't," she characteristically told us, "as good as the two percy
already has in lanarkshire. however, i still expect the painting to
fetch a fair price, my darling. failure will only result in offering any
future custom to sotheby's," she added with a smile.

we placed a reserve on the painting of thirty thousand pounds. i had
suggested to daphne that this was a sensible figure, remembering that
the record for a canaletto was thirty-eight thousand pounds, bid at
christie's the previous year.

while i was in the final throes of preparation for the sale charlie and
tim newman spent most of their time visiting institutions, banks,
finance companies and major investors, to brief them on why they should
take a stake in the "biggest barrow in the world. h tim was optimistic
about the outcome and felt that when the stock applications came to be
counted we would be heavily oversubscribed. even so, he thought that he
and charlie should travel to new york and drum up some interest among
american investors. charlie timed his trip to the states so that he
would be back in london a couple of days before my auction was to take
place and a clear three weeks before our tender document was to be
offered to the public.

it was a cold monday morning in may, and i may not have been at my
brightest but i could have sworn i recognized the customer who was in
deep conversation with one of our new counter assistants. it worried me
that i couldn't quite place the middle-aged lady who was wearing a coat
that would have been fashionable in the thirties and looked as if she
had fallen on hard times and might be having to sell off one of the
family heirlooms.

once she had left the building i walked over to the desk and asked
cathy, our most recent recruit, who she was.

"a mrs. bennett," said the young girl behind the counter. the name meant
nothing to me so i asked what she had wanted.

cathy handed me a small oil painting of the virgin mary and child. hthe
lady asked if this could still be considered for the italian sale. she
knew nothing of its provenance, and looking at her i have to say i
wondered if it might have been stolen. i was about to have a word with
mr. lawson."

i stared at the little oil and immediately realized it had been
charlie's youngest sister who had brought the painting in.

hleave this one to me."

hcertainly, lady trumper."

i took the lift to the top floor and walked straight past jessica allen
and on into charlie's office. i handed over the picture for him to study
and quickly explained how it had come into our possession.

he pushed the paperwork on his desk to one side and stared at the
painting for some time without saying a word.

"well, one thing's for certain," charlie eventually offered, "kitty is
never going to tell us how or where she got hold of it, otherwise she
would have come to me direct."

hso what shall we do?"

nput it in the sale as she instructed, because you can be sure that no
one is going to bid more for the picture than i will."

"but if all she's after is some cash, why not make her a fair offer for
the picture?"

"if all kitty is after was some cash, she would be standing in this
office now. no, she would like nothing better than to see me crawling to
her for a change. h "but if she stole the painting?"

"from whom? and even if she did there's nothing to stop us stating the
original provenance in our catalogue. after all, the police must still
have all the details of the theft on their files. h "but what if guy
gave it to her?"

hguy," charlie reminded me, "is dead."

i was delighted by the amount of interest the press and public were
beginning to take in the sale. another good omen was that several of the
leading art critics and collectors were spotted during the preview week
studying the pictures on display in the main gallery.

articles about charlie and me began to appear, first in the financial
sections, then spreading over to the feature pages. i didn't care much
for the sound of

"the triumphant trumpers," as one paper had dubbed us, but tim newman
explained to us the importance of public relations when trying to raise
large sums of money. as feature after feature appeared in newspapers and
magazines, our new young director became daily more confident that the
flotation was going to be a success.

francis lawson and his new assistant cathy ross worked on the auction
catalogue for several weeks, painstakingly going over the history of
each painting, its previous owners and the galleries and exhibitions in
which each had been exhibited before they were offered to trumper's for
auction. to our surprise, what went down particularly well with the
public was not the paintings themselves but our catalogue, the first
with every plate in color. it cost a fortune to produce, but as we had
to order two reprints before the day of the sale and we sold every
catalogue at five shillings a time, it wasn't long before we recovered
our costs. i was able to inform the board at our monthly meeting that
following two more reprints we had actually ended up making a small
profit. "perhaps you should close the art gallery and open a publishing
house," was charlie's helpful comment.

the new auction room at number 1 held two hundred and twenty
comfortably. we had never managed to fill every seat in the past, but
now, as applications for tickets kept arriving by every post, we quickly
had to sort out the genuine bidders from the hangers-on.

despite cutting, pruning, being offhand and even downright rude to one
or two persistent individuals, we still ended up with nearly three
hundred people who expected to be found seats. several journalists were
among them, but our biggest coup came when the arts editor of the hthird
programme" phoned to inquire if they could cover the auction on radio.

charlie arrived back from america two days before the sale and told me
in the brief moments we had together that the trip had proved most
satisfactory  whatever that meant. he added that daphne would be
accompanying him to the auction "got to keep the major clients happy." i
didn't mention the fact that i had quite forgotten to allocate him a
seat, but simon matthews, who had recently been appointed as my deputy,
squeezed a couple of extra chairs on the end of the seventh row and
prayed that no one from the fire department would be among the bidders.

we decided to hold the sale at three o'clock on a tuesday afternoon,
after tim newman advised us that timing was all important if we were to
ensure the maximum coverage in the national papers the following day.

simon and i were up all night before the auction with the saleroom
staff, removing the pictures from the walls and placing them in the
correct order ready for sale. next we checked the lighting of the easel
which would display each painting and finally placed the chairs in the
auction room as close together as possible. by pulling the stand from
which simon would con duct the auction back by a few feet we were even
able to add another row. it may have left less room for the spotters who
always stand by the side of the auctioneer during a sale searching for
the bidders but it certainly solved fourteen other problems.

on the morning of the auction we carried out a dress rehearsal, the
porters placing each picture on the easel as simon called the lot
number, then removing it once he had brought the hammer down and called
for the next lot. when eventually the canaletto was lifted up onto the
easel, the painting displayed all the polished technique and minute
observation which had been the hallmark of the master. i could only
smile when a moment later the masterpiece was replaced by charlie's
little picture of the virgin mary and child. despite considerable
research, cathy ross had been quite unable to trace its antecedents, so
we had merely reframed the painting and attributed it in the catalogue
as sixteenth-century school. i marked it up in my book at an estimated
two hundred guineas, although i was fully aware that charlie intended to
buy back the little picture whatever the price. it still worried me how
kitty had got hold of the oil, but charlie told me continually to hstop
fussing." he had bigger problems on his mind than how his sister had
come into possession of tommy's gift.

on the afternoon of the auction some people were already in their seats
by two-fifteen. i spotted more than one major buyer or gallery owner who
had not previously encountered a packed house at trumper's and
consequently had to stand at the back.

by two forty-five there were only a few seats left, and latecomers were
already crammed shoulder to shoulder down the side walls, with one or
two even perched on their haunches in the center aisle. at two
fifty-five daphne made a splendid entrance, wearing a finely tailored
cashmere suit of midnight-blue which i had seen featured in vogue the
previous month. charlie, whom i felt looked a little tired, followed
only a pace behind. they took their seats on the end of the seventh row
for sentimental reasons he had explained. daphne appeared very satisfied
with herself while charlie fidgeted impatiently.

at exactly three o'clock i took my place next to the auctioneer's stand
while simon climbed the steps to his little box, paused for a moment as
he scrutinized the crowd to work out where the major buyers were seated,
then banged his gavel several times.

"good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he announced. "welcome to
trumper's, the fine art auctioneers." he managed somehow to emphasize
lithe" in a most agreeable fashion. as he called for lot number 1 a hush
came over the room. i checked the painting in my catalogue although i
think i knew the details of all fifty-nine lots by heart. it was a
depiction of st. francis of assisi by giovanni battista crespi, dated
1617. i had the little oil marked in our code as qihh pounds, so when
simon brought down the hammer at two thousand, two hundred seven hundred
pounds more than i had estimated, i felt we were off to a good start.

of the fifty-nine works on sale the canaletto had been left until lot
number 37 as i wanted an atmosphere of excitement to build before the
painting reached the stand, while not leaving it so late that people
started to drift away. the first hour had raised fortyseven thousand
pounds and we still had not come to the canaletto. when eventually the
four-foot-wide canvas was placed in the glare of the spotlight, a gasp
came from those in the audience who were seeing the masterpiece for the
first time.

ha painting of st. mark's basilica by canaletto," said simon, "dated
1741" as if we had another half dozen stored away in the basement.
hconsiderable interest has been shown in this item and i have an opening
bid of ten thousand pounds." his eyes scanned the hushed room, as i and
my spotters searched to see where the second bid might come from.

hfifteen thousand,h said simon as he looked towards a representative
from the italian government who was seated in the fifth row.

htwenty thousand pounds at the back of the room" i knew it had to be the
representative from the mellon collection. he always sat in the second
to back row, a cigarette dangling from his lips to show us he was still
bidding.

htwenty-five thousand,h said simon, turning again towards the italian
government representative.

hthirty thousand." the cigarette was still emanating smoke: mellon
remained in the chase.

hthirty-five thousand." i spotted a new bidder, sitting in the fourth
row to my right: mr. randall, the manager of the wildenstein gallery in
bond street.

hforty thousand," said simon as a fresh puff of smoke emanated from the
back. we were past the estimate i had given daphne, although no emotion
showed on her face.

hdo i hear fifty thousandth said simon. this was far too big a hike at
this stage in my opinion. looking towards the box, i noticed that
simon's left hand was shaking.

hfifty thousand," he repeated a little nervously, when a new bidder in
the front row, whom i didn't recognize, started nodding furiously.

the cigarette puffed once again. hfifty-five thousand. h hsixty
thousand." simon had turned his attention back in the direction of the
unknown bidder, who confirmed with a sharp nod that he remained in the
hunt.

hsixty-five thousand." the mellon representative still kept puffing
away, but when simon turned his attention back to the bidder in the
front row he received a sharp shake of the head.

"sixty-five thousand then, the bid is at the back of the room.
sixty-five thousand, are there any more bidders?" once again simon
looked towards the underbidder in the front row. hthen i'm offering the
canaletto at sixty-five thousand pounds, sixty-five thousand pounds for
the second time, then it's sold for sixty-five thousand pounds." simon
brought the gavel down with a thud less than two minutes after the first
bid had been offered, and i marked zihhh in my catalogue as a round of
applause spontaneously burst from the audience something i had never
experienced before at number 1.

noisy chatter broke out all over the room as simon turned round to me
and said in a low voice, "sorry about the mistake, becky," and i
realized that the jump from forty to fifty thousand had been nothing
more than a bout of auctioneer's nerves.

i began to compose a possible headline in tomorrow's papers: "record
amount paid for canaletto in auction at trumper's." charlie would be
pleased.

"can't see charlie's little picture fetching quite that sum,h simon
added with a smile, as the virgin mary and child replaced the canaletto
on the stand and he turned to face his audience once again.

hquiet please," he said. hthe next item, lot number 38 in your
catatogue, is from the school of bronzino. h he scanned the room. hl
have a bid of one hundred and fifty" he paused for a second "pounds for
this lot. can i ask for one hundred and seventy-five? daphne, whom i
assumed was charlie's plant, raised her hand and i stifled a smile. hone
hundred and seventy-five pounds. do i see two hundred?h simon looked
around hopefully but received no response. "then i'll offer it for the
first time at one hundred and seventy-five pounds, for the second time,
for the third time then ... h but before simon could bring the gavel
down a stocky man with a brownish moustache and graying hair, dressed in
a tweed jacket, checked shirt and a yellow tie, leaped up from the back
of the room and shouted, "that painting is not 'from the school of,'
it's an original bronzino, and it was stolen from the church of st.
augustine, near reims, during the first world war. h pandemonium broke
out as people stared first at the man in the yellow tie, then at the
little picture. simon banged his gavel repeatedly but could not regain
control as the journalists began to scribble furiously across their
pads. i glanced across to see charlie and daphne, their heads bowed in
frantic conversation.

once the outcry had died down, attention began to focus on the man who
had made the claim. he remained standing in his place.

"i believe you are mistaken, sir," said simon firmly. has i can assure
you, this painting has been known to the gallery for some years."

"and i assure you, sir,h replied the man, hthe painting is an original,
and although i do not accuse the previous owner of being a thief, i can
nevertheless prove it was stolen." several in the audience immediately
glanced down at their catalogues to see the name of the most recent
owner. hfrom the private collection of sir charles trumper" was printed
in bold letters along the top line.

the hubbub, if anything, was now even louder, but still the man remained
standing. i leaned forward and tugged simon's trouser leg. he bent over
and i whispered my decision in his ear. he banged his gavel several
times and at last the audience began to quiet. i looked across at
charlie who was as white as a sheet, then at daphne, who remained quite
calm and was holding his hand. as i believed there had to be a simple
explanation to the mystery, i felt curiously detached. when simon had
finally restored order he announced, "i am advised that this lot will be
withdrawn until further notice."

hlot number 39," he added quickly as the man in the brown tweed jacket
rose and hurriedly departed from the room, pursued by a gaggle of
journalists.

none of the remaining twenty-one items reached their reserve prices, and
when simon brought the gavel down for the final time that afternoon,
although we had broken every house record for an italian sale, i was
only too aware what the story in the next day's papers was bound to be.
i looked across at charlie who was obviously trying his best to appear
unruffled. instinctively i turned towards the chair which had been
occupied by the man in the brown tweed jacket. the room was beginning to
empty as people drifted towards the doors and i noticed for the first
time that directly behind the chair sat an elderly lady sitting bolt
upright, leaning forward, her two hands resting on the head of a
parasol. she was staring directly at me.

once mrs. trentham was sure she had caught my eye, she rose serenely
from her place and glided slowly out of the gallery.

the following morning the press had a field day. despite the fact that
neither charlie nor i had made any statement our picture was on every
front page except that of the times alongside a picture of the little
oil of the virgin mary and child. there was hardly a mention of the
canaletto in the first ten paragraphs of any report and certainly no
accompanying photograph.

the man who made the accusation had apparently disappeared without trace
and the whole episode might have died down if monsignor pierre guichot,
the bishop of reims, hadn't agreed to be interviewed by freddie barker,
the saleroom correspondent of the daily telegraph, who had uncovered the
fact that guichot had been the priest at the church where the original
picture had hung. the bishop confirmed to barker that the painting had
indeed mysteriously disappeared during the great war and, more
important, he had at the time reported the theft to the appropriate
section of the league of nations responsible for seeing that, under the
geneva convention, stolen works of art were returned to their rightful
owners once hostilities had ceased. the bishop went on to say that of
course he would recognize the picture if he ever saw it again the
colors, the brushwork, the serenity of the virgin's face; indeed the
genius of bronzino's composition would remain clearly in his memory
until the day he died. barker quoted him word for damning word.

the telegraph correspondent rang my office the day the interview
appeared and informed me that his paper intended to fly the
distinguished cleric over at their expense so that he could study the
painting firsthand and thus establish its provenance beyond doubt. our
legal advisers warned us that we would be unwise not to allow the bishop
to view the painting; to deny him access would be tantamount to
acknowledging we were trying to hide something. charlie agreed without
hesitation and simply added, hlet the man see the picture. i'm confident
that tommy left that church with nothing other than a german officer's
helmet."

the next day, in the privacy of his office, tim newman warned us that if
the bishop of reims identified the picture as the original bronzino,
then the launch of trumper's as a public company would have to be held
up for at least a year, while the auction house might never recover from
such a scandal.

the following thursday the bishop of reims flew into london, to be
greeted by a bank of photographers whose flashbulbs popped again and
again before the monsignor was driven off to westminster, where he was
staying as a guest of the archbishop.

55a the bishop had agreed to visit the gallery at four the same
afternoon, and anyone walking through chelsea terrace that thursday
might have been forgiven for thinking frank sinatra was about to make a
personal appearance. a large gathering had formed on the curbside as
they waited keenly for the cleric's arrival.

i met the bishop at the entrance to the gallery and introduced him to
charlie, who bowed before kissing the episcopal ring. i think the bishop
was somewhat surprised to discover that charlie was a roman catholic. i
smiled nervously at our visitor, who appeared to have a perpetual beam
on his face a face that was red from wine, not sun, i suspected. he
glided off down the passage in his long purple cassock as cathy led him
in the direction of my room, where the picture awaited him. barker, the
reporter from the telegraph, introduced himself to simon as if he were
dealing with someone from the underworld. he made no attempt to be civil
when simon tried to strike up a conversation with him.

the bishop came through to my little office and accepted a proffered cup
of coffee. i had already placed the picture on an easel, having at
charlie's insistence refitted the original old black frame on the
painting. we all sat round the table in silence as the priest stared at
the virgin mary.

"vous permeaez'" he asked, holding out his arms.

"certainly," i replied, and handed over the little oil.

i watched his eyes carefully as he held the painting in front of him. he
seemed to take just as much interest in charlie, whom i had never seen
so nervous, as he did in the picture itself. he also glanced at barker,
who in contrast had a look of hope in his eyes. after that the bishop
returned his attention to the painting, smiled and seemed to become
transfixed by the virgin mary.

hwell?" inquired the reporter.

"beautiful. an inspiration for any nonbeliever. h barker also smiled and
wrote his words down.

hyou know," the priest added, "this painting brings back many many
memories" he hesitated for a moment and i thought my heart was going to
stop before he pronounced "but, helas, i must inform you, mr. barker,
that she is not the original. a mere copy of the madonna i knew so well.
h the reporter stopped writing. honly a copy?h hyes, je le regrette. an
excellent copy, peut-etre painted by a young pupil of the great man
would be my guess, but nonetheless a copy."

barker was unable to hide his disappointment as he placed his pad down
on the table, looking as if he wished to make some protest.

the bishop rose and bowed in my direction. hit is my regret that you
have been troubled, lady trumper."

i too rose and accompanied him to the door, where he was faced once
again with the assembled press. the journalists fell silent as they
waited for the priest to utter some revelation and i felt for a moment
that he might actually be enjoying the experience.

his it the real thing, bishop?h shouted a reporter in the crowd.

he smiled benignly. hit is indeed a portrait of the blessed virgin, but
this particular example is only a copy, and of no great significance. h
he did not add a word to this statement before climbing back into his
car to be whisked away.

"what a relief," i said once the car was out of sight. i turned round to
look for charlie, but he was nowhere to be seen. i rushed back to my
office and found him holding the picture in his hands. i closed the door
behind me so that we could be alone.

hwhat a relief,h i repeated. "now life can return to normal. h

"you realize, of course, that this is the bronzino,h charlie said,
looking straight at me.

"don't be silly," i said. hthe bishop "

"but did you see the way he held her?" said charlie. "you don't cling to
a counterfeit like that. and then i watched his eyes while he came to a
decision."

ha decision?"

hyes, as to whether or not to ruin our lives, in exchange for his
beloved virgin."

"so we've been in possession of a masterpiece without even knowing it?"

hit would seem so, but i'm still not sure who removed the painting from
the chapel in the first place."

"surely not guy ..."

"why not, he's more likely to have appreciated its value than tommy."

"but how did guy discover where it ended up, let alone what it was
really worth?"

hcompany records, perhaps, or a chance conversation with daphne might
have put him in the right direction. h hbut that still doesn't explain
how he found out it was an original."

hl agree,h said charlie. hi suspect he didn't, and simply saw the
picture as another way of discrediting me. h hthen how the blazes ...?h
hwhereas mrs. trentham has had several years to stumble across "

hgood god, but where does kitty fit in?"

hshe was a distraction, nothing more, used by mrs. trentham simply to
set us up. h hwill that woman go to any lengths to destroy us?h hi
suspect so. and one thing's for certain, she isn't going to be pleased
when she discovers her 'best laid plans' have once again been scuppered.
h i collapsed on the chair beside my husband. hwhat shall we do now?h
charlie continued to cling to the little masterpiece as if he were
afraid someone might try to seize it from him.

"there's only one thing we can do."

i drove us to the archbishop's house that night and parked the car
outside the tradesmen's entrance. hhow appropriate,h charlie remarked,
before knocking quietly on an old oak door. a priest answered our call
and without a word ushered us in before leading us through to see the
archbishop, whom we found sharing a glass of wine with the bishop of
reims.

hsir charles and lady trumper,h the priest intoned.

hwelcome, my children,h said the archbishop as he came forward to greet
us. hthis is an unexpected pleasure,h he added, after charlie kissed his
ring. hbut what brings you to my homed hwe have a small gift for the
bishop,h i said as i handed over a little paper parcel to his grace. the
bishop smiled the same smile as when he had declared the picture to be a
copy. he opened the parcel slowly, like a child who knows he's being
given a present when it isn't his birthday. he held the little
masterpiece in his hands for some time before passing it to the
archbishop for his consideration.

htruly magnificent,h said the archbishop, who studied it carefully
before handing it back to the bishop. hbut where will you display it?"

habove the cross in the chapel of st. augustine i consider would be
appropriate," the bishop replied. hand possibly in time someone far more
scholarly on such matters than myself will declare the picture to be an
original. h he looked up and smiled, a wicked smile for a bishop.

the archbishop turned towards me. nwould you and your husband care to
join us for dinner?h i thanked him for the kind offer and muttered some
excuse about a previous engagement before we both bade them good night
and quietly slipped out the way we had come.

as the door closed behind us i heard the archbishop say: "you win your
bet, pierre."

tweny thousand pounds?" said becky as she came to a halt outside number
141. "you must be joking."

"that's the price the agent is demanding," said tim newman.

"but the shop can't be worth more than three thousand at most," said
charlie, staring at the only building on the block he still didn't own,
other than the flats. "and in any case i signed an agreement with mr.
sneddles that when "

"not for the books, you didn't," said the banker.

"but we don't want the books," said becky, noticing for the first time
that a heavy chain and bolt barred them from entering the premises.

"then you can't take possession of the shop, because until the last book
is sold your agreement with mr. sneddles cannot come into operation."

"what are the books really worth?" becky asked.

"in his typical fashion, mr. sneddles has penciled a price in every one
of them," said tim newman. "his colleague, dr. halcombe, tells me the
total comes to around five thousand pounds with the exception "

"so buy the lot," said charlie, "because knowing sneddles he probably
undervalued them in the first place. then becky can auction the entire
collection some time later in the year. that way the shortfall shouldn't
be more than about a thousand."

"with the exception of a first edition of blake's songs of innocence,"
added newman. "vellum bound, that is marked up in sneddles' inventory at
fifteen thousand pounds."

"fifteen thousand pounds at a time when i'm expected to watch every
penny. who imagines that ... ?"

"someone who realizes you can't go ahead with the building of a
department store until you are in possession of this particular shop?"
suggested newman.

"but how could she ?"

"because the blake in question was originally purchased from the heywood
hill bookshop in curzon street for the princely sum of four pounds ten
shillings and i suspect the inscription solves half the mystery."

"mrs. ethel trentham, i'll be bound," said charlie.

"no, but not a bad guess. the exact words on the flyleaf, if i remember
correctly, read: 'from your loving grandson, guy. 9 july 1917."'

charlie and becky stared at tim newman for some time until charlie
finally asked, "what do you mean half the mystery?"

"i also suspect she needs the money," replied the banker.

"what for?" asked becky incredulously.

"so she can purchase even more shares in trumper's of chelsea."

on 19 july 1948, two weeks after the bishop had resumed to reims, the
official tender document for trumper's was released to the press to
coincide with full-page advertisements taken in the times and the
financial times. all charlie and becky could do now was sit and wait for
the public's response. within three days of the announcement the share
issue was oversubscribed and within a week the merchant bankers had
received double the applications necessary. when all the requests had
been counted, charlie and tim newman were left with only one problem:
how to allocate the shares. they agreed that institutions who had
applied for a large holding should be taken up first, as that would give
the board easy access to the majority of shares should any problem arise
in the future.

the only application that puzzled tim newman came from hambros who
offered no explanation as to why they should wish to purchase one
hundred thousand shares, which would give them control of ten percent of
the company. however, tim recommended that the chairman should accept
their application in full while at the same time offering them a place
on the board. this charlie agreed to do, but only after hambros had
confirmed that the bid had not come from mrs. trentham or one of her
proxies. two other institutions applied for five percent: prudential
assurance, which had serviced the company from its outset, and a united
states source which becky discovered was simply a front for one of the
field family trusts. charlie readily accepted both these applications
and the rest of the shares were then divided between another one
thousand, seven hundred ordinary investors, including one hundred
shares, the minimum allowed, which were taken up by an old age pensioner
living in chelsea. mrs. symonds had dropped charlie a line to remind him
that she had been one of his original customers when he opened his first
shop.

having distributed the shares, tim newman felt the next matter charlie
should consider was further appoint meets to the board. hambros put up a
mr. baverstock, a senior partner of the solicitors baverstock, dickens
and cobb, whom charlie accepted without question. becky suggested that
simon matthews, who virtually ran the auction house whenever she was
absent, should also be appointed. again charlie acquiesced, bringing the
full complement on the board to nine.

it was daphne who had told becky that 17 eaton square was coming on the
market, and charlie only needed to see the eight-bedroom house once
before he decided that was where he wanted to spend the rest of his
life. it didn't seem to cross charlie's mind that someone would have to
supervise the move at the same time as trumper's was being built. becky
might have complained if she too hadn't fallen in love with the house.

a couple of months later becky held a housewarming party at eaton
square. over a hundred guests were invited to join the trumpers for a
dinner that had to be served in five different rooms.

daphne arrived late and complained about being held up in a traffic jam
on her way back from sloane square, while the colonel traveled down from
skye without a murmur. daniel came over from cambridge accompanied by
marjorie carpenter and to becky's surprise simon matthews arrived with
cathy ross on his arm.

after dinner, daphne made a short speech and presented charlie with a
scale model of trumper's crafted in the form of a silver cigar case.

becky judged the gift to be a success because after the last guest had
left, her husband carried the case upstairs and placed it on his bedside
table.

charlie climbed into bed and took one last look at his new toy as becky
came out of the bathroom.

"have you considered inviting percy to be a director?" she said as she
climbed into bed.

charlie looked at her skeptically.

uthe shareholders might appreciate having a mar guess on the company
letterhead. it would give them a feeling of confidence."

"you're such a snob, rebecca salmon. always were and always will be."

"you didn't say that when i suggested the colonel should be our first
chairman twenty-~ve years ago."

"true enough," said charlie, "but i didn't think he'd say yes. in any
case if i wanted another outsider i'd rather have daphne on the board.
that way we get the name as well as her particular brand of common
sense."

"i should have thought of that."

when becky approached daphne with an invitation to join dhe board of
trumper's as a non-executive director the duchess was overwhelmed and
accepted without a second thought. to everyone's surprise daphne
approached her new responsibilities with immense energy and enthusiasm.
she never missed a board meeting, always read the papers thoroughly and
whenever she considered charlie hadn't fully covered an item under
discussion or, worse, was trying to get away with something, she nagged
at him until she got a full explanation as to what he was up to.

"are you still hoping to build trumper's at the price you recommended in
your original offer document, mr. chairman?" she asked time and time
again during the next two years.

"i'm not so sure it was a good idea of yours to invite daphne to become
a director," charlie grumbled to becky following one particularly
raucous meeting in which the marchioness had got the better of him.

"don't blame me," becky replied. "i would have happily setded for percy,
but then i'm a snob. "

it took nearly two years for the architects to com plete the twin towers
of trumper's, their adjoining walkway and the five floors of offices
above mrs.

trentham's empty space. the task was not made any easier by charlie's
expecting business in the remaining shops to proceed as if nothing was
going on around them. it was a source of wonder to all concerned that
during the changeover period trumper's lost only nineteen percent of its
annual revenue.

charlie set about supervising everything, from the exact siting of the
one hundred and eighteen departments to the color of the tweny-seven
acres of carpet, from the speed of the twelve lifts to the wattage of
the one hundred thousand light bulbs, from the displays in the niney-six
windows to the unifomms of over seven hundred employees, each of whom
displayed a lithe silver barrow on his lapel.

once charlie realized how much storage space he would need, not to
mention facilities for an underground car park now so many customers had
their own vehicles, the costs went considerably over budget. however,
the contractors somehow managed to complete the building by 1 september
1949, mainly because charlie appeared on the site at four-thiry every
morning and often didn't go back home much before midnight.

on 18 october 1949 the marchioness of wiltshire, escorted by her
husband, perfommed the official opening ceremony.

a thousand people raised their glasses once daphne had declared the
building open. the assembled quests then did their best to eat and drink
their way through the company's first year's profits. but charlie didn't
seem to notice; he moved happily from floor to floor checking that
everything was exactly as he expected it to be and made sure that the
major suppliers were being properly looked after.

friends, relations, shareholders, buyers, sellers, journalists,
hangers-on, gatecrashers and even customers were celebrating on every
floor. by one o'clock becky was so tired that she decided to start
looking for her husband in the hope that he might agree to go home. she
found her son in the kitchen department examining a refrigerator that
would have been too large for his room in trinity. daniel assured his
mother that he had seen charlie leaving the building about half an hour
before.

"leaving the building?" becky said, in disbelief. "surely your father
wouldn't have gone home without me?" she took the lift to the ground
floor and walked quickly towards the main entrance. the doorman saluted
her as he held open one of the massive double doors that led out onto
chelsea terrace.

"have you seen sir charles, by any chance?" becky asked him.

"yes, m'lady." he nodded in the direction of the far side of the road.

becky looked across to see charlie seated on his bench, an old man
perched by his side. they were chatting animatedly as they stared across
at trumper's. the old man pointed at something that had attracted his
attention and charlie smiled. becky quickly crossed the road but the
colonel had sprung to attention long before she had reached his side.

-  "how lovely to see you, my dear," he said as he leaned forward to
kiss becky on the cheek. "i only wish elizabeth had lived to see it."

"as i understand it, we're being held to ransom," said charlie. "so
perhaps it's time we took a vote on the issue."

becky looked around the boardroom table, wonderinc which way the vote
would fall. the full board had been working together for three months
since trumper's had opened its doors to the public, but this was the
first major issue on which there had been any real disagreement.

charlie sat at the head of the table, looking unusu ally irritable at
the thought of not getting his own way. on his right was the company
secretary, jessica allen. jessica did not have a vote but was there to
see that whenever a vote occurred it would be faithfully recorded.
arthur selwyn, who had worked with charlie at the ministry of food
during the war, had recently left the civil service to replace tom
arnold on his retirement as managing director. selwyn was proving to be
an inspired choice, shrewd and thorough, while being the ideal foil to
the chairman as he tended to avoid confrontation whenever possible.

tim newman, the company's young merchant banker, was sociable and
friendly and almost always backed charlie, though he was not averse to
giving a contrary view if he felt the company finances might suffer.
paul merrick, the finance director, was neither sociable nor friendly
and continued to make it abundantly clear that his first loyalty would
always be to child's bank and its investment. as for daphne, she rarely
voted the way anyone might expect her to, and certainly was no placeman
for charlie or anyone else, for that matter. mr. baverstock, a quiet,
elderly solicitor who represented ten percent of the company stock on
behalf of hambros, spoke rarely, but when he did everyone listened,
including daphne.

ned denning and bob makins, both of whom had now served charlie for
nearly thirty years, would rarely go against their chairman's wishes,
while simon matthews often showed flashes of independence that only
confirmed becky's initial high opinion of him.

"the last thing we need at the moment is a strike," said merrick. "just
at a time when it looks as if we've turned the corner."

"but the union's demands are simply outrageous," said rim newman. "a
ten-shilling raise, a forty-fourhour week before overtime becomes
automatic i repeat, they're outrageous."

"most of the other major stores have already agreed to those terms,"
interjected merrick, consulting an article from the financial times that
lay in front of him.

"chucked the towel in would be nearer the mark," came back newman. "i
must warn the board that this would add to our wages bill by some twenty
thousand pounds for the current year and that's even before we start to
consider overtime. so there's only one group of people who will suffer
in the long run, and that's our shareholders."

"just how much does a counter assistant earn nowadays?" asked mr.
baverstock quietly.

"two hundred and sixty pounds a year," said arthur selwyn without having
to check. "with incremental raises so that if they have completed
fifteen years' service with the company, the sum could be as high as
four hundred and ten pounds a year."

"we've been over these figures on countless occasions," said charlie
sharply. "the time has come to decide do we stand firm or just give in
to the union's demands?"

"perhaps we're all overreacting, mr. chairman," said daphne, who hadn't
spoken until then. "it may not prove to be quite as black or white as
you imagine."

"you have an alternative solution?" charlie made no attempt to hide his
incredulity.

"i might have, mr. chairman. hrst, let's consider what's at stake if we
do give our staff the raise. an obvious drain on resources, not to
mention what the japanese would call 'face.' on the other hand, if we
don't agree to their demands, it's possible that we might lose some of
the better as well as the weaker brethren to one of our main rivals."

"so what are you suggesting, lady w~ltshire?" asked charlie, who always
addressed daphne by her title whenever he wished to show he didn't agree
with her.

"compromise, perhaps," replied daphne, refusing to rise. "if mr. selwyn
considers that to be at all possible at this late stage. would the trade
unions, for example, be willing to contemplate an alternative proposal
on wages and hours, drawn up in negotiation with our managing director?"

"i could always have a word with don short, the leader of usdaw, if the
board so wishes," said arthur selwyn. "in the past i've always found him
a decent, fair-minded man and he's certainly shown a consistent loyalty
to trumper's over the years."

"the managing director dealing direct with the trade union's
representative?" barked charlie. "next you'll want to put him on the
board."

"then perhaps mr. selwyn should make an informal approach," said daphne.
"i'm confident he can handle mr. short with consummate skill."

"i agree with lady wiltshire," said mr. baverstock.

"then i propose that we allow mr. selwyn to negotiate on our behalf,"
continued daphne. "and let's hope he can find a way of avoiding an
all-out strike without actually giving in to everything the unions are
demanding."

"i'd certainly be willing to have a try," said selwyn. "i could report
back to the board at our next meeting."

once again becky admired the way daphne and arthur selwyn between them
had defused a time bomb the chairman would have been only too happy to
let explode on the boardroom table.

"thank you, arthur," charlie said a little begrudgingly. "so be it. any
other business?"

"yes," said becky. "i would like to bring to the board's attention a
sale of georgian silver that will be taking place next month. catalogues
will be sent out during the coming week and i do hope any directors who
are free on that particular day will try to attend."

"how did the last antiques sale work out?" asked mr. baverstock.

becky checked her file. "the auction raised twenyfour thousand, seven
hundred pounds, of which trumper's kept seven and a half percent of
everything that came under the hammer. only three items failed to reach
their reserve prices, and they were called back in."

ui'm only curious about the success of the sale," said mr. baverstock,
ubecause my dear wife purchased a charles ii court cupboard."

"one of the finest items in the sale," said becky.

"my wife certainly thought so because she bid far more for the piece
than she had intended. i'd be obliged if you didn't send her a catalogue
for the silver sale."

the other members of the board laughed.

"i've read somewhere," said tim newman, that sotheby's is considering
raising their commision to ten percent."

"l know," said becky. "that's exactly why i can't contemplate the same
move for at least another year. if i'm to go on stealing their best
customers i must stay competitive in the short term."

newman nodded his understanding.

however," becky continued, uby remaining at seven and a half percent, my
profits for 1950 won't be as high as i might have hoped. but until the
leading sellers are willing to come to us, that's a problem i'll
continue to face."

"what about the buyers?" queried paul merrick.

uthey aren't the problem. if you have the product to sell, the buyers
will always beat a path co your door. you see, it's the sellers that are
the life blood of an auction house, and they're every bit as important
as the buyers."

"funny old outfit you're running," said charlie with a grin. "any other
business?"

as no one spoke, charlie thanked all the members of the board for their
attendance and rose from his

place, a signal he always gave to indicate that the meeting was finally
over.

becky collected her papers and started walking back to the gallery with
simon.

"have you completed dhe estimates on dhe silver sale yet?" she asked as
they jumped into dhe lift just before the doors closed. she touched the
"g" and dhe lift began its slow journey to the ground floor.

"yes. finished them last night. one hundred and thirty-two items in all.
i reckon they might raise somewhere in the region of seven thousand
pounds."

"i saw the catalogue for the first time this morning," said becky. "it
looks to me as if cathy has done another first-class job. i was only
able to pick up one or two minor errors but i'd still like to check over
the final proofs before they go back to the printer."

"of course," said simon. "i'll ask her to bring all the loose sheets up
to your office this afternoon." they stepped out of the lift.

"that girl has turned out to be a real find," said becky. "heaven knows
what she was doing working in a hotel before she came to us. i shall
certainly miss her when she goes back to australia."

"rumor has it that she's thinking of staying."

"that's good news," said becky. "i thought she was only hoping to spend
a couple of years in london before she resumed to melbourne?"

"that's what she had originally planned. however, i may have been able
to convince her that she should stay on a little longer."

becky would have asked simon to explain in greater detail but once they
had set foot in the gallery she was quickly surrounded by staff anxious
to gain her attention.

after becky had dealt with several queries, she asked one of the girls
who worked on the counter if she could locate cathy.

"she's not actually around at the moment, lady trumper," the assistant
told her. "l saw her go out about an hour ago."

"do you know where she went?"

"no idea, i'm sorry."

"well, ask her to come to my office the moment she returns. meanwhile,
could you send up those catalogue proofs for the silver sale?"

becky stopped several times on the way back to her room to discuss other
gallery problems that had arisen in her absence, so that by the time she
sat down at her desk, the proofs for the silver sale were already
awaiting her. she began to turn the pages slowly, checking each entry
against its photograph and then the detailed description. she had to
agree with becky cathy ross had done a first-class job. she was studying
the photograph of the georgian mustard pot that charlie had overbid for
at christie's some years before when there was a knock on the door and a
young woman popped her head in.

uyou asked to see me?"

"yes. do come in, cathy." becky looked up at a tall, slim girl with a
mass of curly fair hair and a face that hadn't quite lost all its
freckles. she liked to think that her own figure had once been as good
as cathy's but the bathroom mirror unflatteringly reminded her that she
was fast approaching her fiftieth birthday. "i only wanted to check over
the final catalogue proofs for the silver sale before they went back to
the printer."

"i'm sorry i wasn't around when you returned from the board meeting,"
cathy said. "it's just that something came up that worried me. i may be
overreacting, but i felt you ought to know about it in any case."

becky took off her classes, placed them on the desk and looked up
intently. "i'm listening.

"do you remember that man who stood up during the italian auction and
caused all that trouble over the bronzino?"

"will i ever forget him?"

"well, he was in the gallery again this morning."

"can you be sure?"

"i'm fairly confident. well-built, graying hair, a brownish moustache
and sallow complexion. he even had the nerve to wear that awful tweed
jacket and yellow tie again."

"what did he want this time?"

"i can't be certain of that, although i kept a close eye on him. he
didn't speak to any member of the staff, but took a great deal of
interest in some of the items that were coming up in the silver sale in
particular lot 19."

becky replaced her glasses and turned the catalogue pages over quickly
until she came to the item in question: "a georgian silver tea set made
up of four pieces, teapot, sugar bowl, tea strainer and sugar tongs,
hallmarked with an anchor. becky looked down at the letters "ah" printed
in the margin. "estimated value seventy pounds. one of our better
items."

"and he obviously agrees with you," cathy replied, "because he spent a
considerable time studying each individual piece, then made copious
notes before he left. he even checked the teapot against a photograph he
had brought with him."

"our photograph?"

"no, he seemed to have one of his own."

"did he now?" said becky as she rechecked the catalogue photo.

"and i wasn't around when you came back from the board meeting because
when he left the gallery i decided to follow him."

"quick thinking," said becky, smiling. "and where did our mystery man
disappear to?

"ended up in chester square," said cathy. "a large house haley down on
the right-hand side. he dropped a package through the letter box but
didn't go in."

"number 19?"

uthat's right," said cathy, looking surprised. "do you know the house?"

uonly from the outside," said becky without explanation.

"ls there anything else i can do to help?"

"yes, there is. to start with, can you remember anything about the
customer who brought that particular lot in for salem ucertainly can n
replied cathy "because i was called to the front desk to deal with the
lady." she paused for a moment before adding, "can't remember her name
but she was elderly and rather genteel is the way i think you would
describe herd cathy hesitated then continued. "as i remember, she had
taken a day trip down from nottingham. she told me that she'dbeen left
the tea set by her mother. she didn't want to sell a family heirloom but
'needs must." i remember that expression, because i'd never heard it
before.n "and what was mr. fellowes' opinion~when you showed him the
set?"

"as fine an example of the period as he'd seen come under the hammer
each piece is still in almost mint condition. peter's convinced the lot
will fetch a good price, as you can see from his estimate."

"then we'd better call in the police straight away," said becky. uwe
don't need our mystery man standing up again announcing that this
particular item has been stolen too.n she picked up the telephone on her
desk and asked to be put through to scotland yard. a few moments later
an inspector deak~ns of the cid came on the line and, having listened to
the details of what had taken place that moming, agreed to come round to
the gallery during the afternoon.

the inspector arrived a little after three, accompanied by a sergeant.
becky took them both straight through to meet the head of the
department. peter so lepprby ancheu fellowes pointed to a minute scratch
he had come across on a silver salver. becky frowned. he stopped what he
was doing and walked over to the center table where the four-piece tea
set was already out on display.

"beautiful," said the inspector as he bent over and checked the
hallmark. "birmingham around 1820 would be my guess."

becky raised an eyebrow.

"it's my hobby," the inspector explained. "that's probably why i always
end up getting these jobs." he removed a file from the briefcase he was
carrying and checked through several photographs along with detailed
written descriptions of recently missing pieces of silverware from the
london area. an hour later he had to agree with fellowes: none of them
fitted the description of the georgian tea set.

"well, we've had nothing else reported as stolen that matches up with
this particular lot," he admitted. "and you've polished them so
superbly," he said, tuming to cathy, "that there's no hope of our
identifying any prints."

"sorry," said cathy, blushing slightly.

"no, miss, it's not your fault, you've done a fine job. i only wish my
little pieces looked so good. still, i'd better check with the
nottingham police in case they have something on their files. if they
haven't, i'll issue a description to all forces throughout the united
kingdom, just in case. and i'll also ask them to check on mrs... ?"

"dawson," said cathy.

"yes, mrs. dawson. that may take a little time, of course, but i'll come
back to you the moment i hear anything."

"meanwhile our sale takes place three weeks next tuesday," becky
reminded the inspector.

"right, i'll try and give you the all-clear by then," he promised.

"should we leave that page in the catalogue, or would you prefer the
pieces to be withdrawn?" asked cathy.

"oh, no, don't withdraw anything. please leave the catalogue exactly as
it is. you see, someone might recognize the set and then get in touch
with us."

someone has already recognized the set, thought becky.

"while you're at it," continued the inspector, "i'd be obliged if you
could give me a copy of the catalogue picture, as well as use of one of
the negatives for a day or two."

when charlie was told about the georgian tea set over dinner that night
his advice was simple: withdraw the pieces from the sale and promote
cathy.

"your first suggestion isn't quite that easy," said becky. "the
catalogue is due to be sent out to the general public later this week.
what explanation could we possibly give to mrs. dawson for removing her
dear old mother's family heirloom?"

"that it wasn't her dear old mother's in the first place and you
withdrew it because you've every reason to believe that it's stolen
property."

"if we did that, we could find ourselves being sued for breach of
contract," said becky, "when we later discover that mrs. dawson's
totally innocent of any such charge. if she then took us to court we
wouldn't have a leg to stand on."

"if this dawson lady is as totally innocent as you think, then why is
mrs. trentham showing such an interest in her tea set? because i can't
help feeling she already has one of her own."

becky laughed. "she certainly has. i know, because i've even seen it,
though i never did get the promised cup of tea."

three days later inspector deakins telephoned becky to let her know that
the nottingham police had no record of anything that had been stolen in
their patch fitting the tea set's description and they were also able to
confirm that mrs. dawson was not previously known to them. he had
therefore sent the details out to every other constabulary in the land.
"but," he added, "outside forces aren't always that cooperative with the
met when it comes to trading information."

as becky put the phone down, she decided to give the green light and
send the catalogues out, despite charlie's apprehension. they were
posted the same day along with invitations to the press and selected
customers.

a couple of journalists applied for tickets to the sale. an unusually
sensitive becky checked them out, only to find that both worked for
national newspapers, and had covered trumper's sales several times in
the past.

simon matthews considered that becky was overreacting, while cathy
tended to agree with sir charles that the wise course would be to
withdraw the tea set from the auction until they had been given the
all-clear by deakins.

"if we're to withdraw a lot every time that man takes an interest in one
of our sales we may as well close our front doors and take up
stargazing," simon told them.

the monday before the sale was to take place insdector deakins
telephoned to ask if he could see becky urgently. he arrived at the
gallery thirty minutes later, again accompanied by his sergeant. this
time the only item he removed from his briefcase was a copy of the
aberdeen evening express dated 15 october 1949.

deakins asked to be allowed to inspect the georgian tea set once more.
becky nodded her agreement and the policeman studied each piece
carefully against a photograph that was on an inside page of the
newspaper.

"that's them all right," he said, after double-checking. he showed becky
the photograph.

cathy and peter fellowes also studied each item while looking carefully
at the picture from the newspaper and had to agree with deakins that the
match was perfect.

"this little lot was stolen from the aberdeen museum of silver some
dhree months ago," the inspector informed them. "the bloody loca] police
didn't even bother to let us know. no doubt they considered it was none
of our business."

"so what happens now?" asked becky.

"the nottingham constabulary have already visited mrs. dawson, where
they found several other pieces of silver and jewelry hidden around the
house. she's been taken to her local station in order to, as the press
would have it, help the police with their inquiries." he placed dhe
newspaper back in his briefcase. "after i've phoned them to confirm my
piece of news, i expect that she'll be charged later today. however, i'm
afraid i shall have to take the tea set away with me for processing at
scotland yard."

"of course," said becky.

"my sergeant will write out a receipt for you, lady trumper, and i'd
like to thank you for your cooperation." the inspector hesitated as he
looked lovingly at the tea set. "a month's salary," he said with a sigh,
"and stolen for all the wrong reasons." he raised his hat and the two
policemen lent the gallery.

"so what do we do now?" said cadhy.

"not much we can do." becky sighed. "carry on with the auction as if
nothing had taken place and when the lot comes up, simply announce chat
the piece has been withdrawn."

"but then our man will leap up and say, 'isn't this yet another example
of advertising stolen goods and then having to withdraw them at dhe last
moment?' we won't look so much like an auction house," said simon, his
voice rising with anger. "more like a pawnbroker. so why don't we just
put three balls outside dhe front door, and a fence to give a clue as to
the class of person we're hoping to attract?"

becky didn't react.

"if you feel so strongly about it, simon, why not try and turn the whole
episode to our advantage?" suggested cathy.

"what do you mean?" asked becky as both she and simon swung round to
face the young australian.

"we must get the press on our side for a change."

"i'm not sure i understand what you're getting at."

"phone that journalist from the telegraph what was his name? barker and
give him the inside story."

"what good would that do?" asked becky.

"he'll have our version of what happened this time, and he'll be only
too pleased to be the one journalist on the inside, especially after
that fiasco with the bronzino.

"do you think he'd be at all interested in a silver set worth seventy
pounds?"

"with a scottish museum involved and a professional fence arrested in
nottingham? he'll be interested all right. especially if we don't tell
anyone else."

"would you like to handle mr. barker yourself, cathy?" becky asked.

"just give me the chance."

the following moming, the daily telegraph had a small but prominent
piece on page three reporting that trumper's, the fine art auctioneers,
had called in the police after they had become suspicious about the
ownership of a georgian tea set that was later discovered to have been
stolen from the aberdeen museum of silver. the nottingham police had
since arrested a woman whom theylater charged with handling stolen
goods. the article went on to say that inspector deakins of scotland
yard had told the telegraph: "we only wish every auction house and
gallery in london were as conscientious as trumper's."

the sale that afternoon was well attended, and despite losing one of the
centerpieces of the auction trumper's still managed to exceed several of
the estimates. the man in the tweed coat and yellow tie didn't make an
appearance.

when charlie read the telegraph in bed that night he remarked, "so you
didn't take my advice?"

"yes and no," said becky. "i admit i didn't withdraw the tea set
immediately, but i did promote cathy."

on 9 november 1950 trumper's held their second annual general meeting.

the directors met at ten o'clock in the boardroom so that arthur selwyn
could take them slowly through the procedure he intended to follow once
they faced the shareholders.

at eleven o'clock sharp he guided the chaimman and the eight directors
out of the boardroom and into the main hall as if they were school
children being led in a crocodile on their way to morning assembly.

charlie introduced each member of the board to the assembled gathering,
who numbered around one hundred and twenty a respectable turnout for
such an occasion, tim newman whispered in becky's ear. charlie went
through the agenda without a prompt from his managing director and was
only asked one awkward question. "why have your costs gone so much over
budget in the first full year of trading?"

arthur selwyn rose to explain that the expense of s7s the building had
exceeded their original estimate and that the launching had incurred
certain one-off costs which would not arise again. he also pointed out
that, strictly on a trading basis, trumper's had managed to break even
in the first quarter of their second year. he added that he remained
confident about the year ahead, especially with the anticipated rise in
the number of tourists who would be attracted to london by the festival
of britain. however, he warned shareholders it might be necessary for
the company to raise even more capital, if they hoped to increase their
facilities.

when charlie declared the agm closed he remained seated because the
board received a small ovation, which quite took the chairman by
surprise.

becky was about to return to number 1 and continue wit-in her work on an
impressionist sale she had planned for the spring when mr. baverstock
came over and touched her gently on the elbow.

"may i have a word with you in private, lady trumper?"

"of course, mr. baverstock." becky looked around for a quiet spot where
they could talk.

"i feel that perhaps my office in high holbom would be more
appropriate," he suggested. uyou see, it's a rather delicate matter.
would tomorrow, three o'clock suit you?"

daniel had phoned from cambridge that morning and becky couldn't
remember when she had heard him sounding so chatty and full of news.
she, on the other hand, was not chatty or full of news: she still hadn't
been able to fathom why the senior partner of baverstock, dickens and
cobb should want to see her on ua rather delicate matter."

she couldn't believe that mr. baverstock's wife wanted to return the
charles 11 court cupboard or kquikd mom details on the forthcoming
impressionist sale, but as in her case anxiety always ruled over
optimism, becky spent the next twenty-six hours fearing the worst.

she didn't burden charlie with her troubles, because the little she did
know of mr. baverstock made her certain that if her husband were
involved the lawyer would have asked to see them both. in any case,
charlie had quite enough problems of his own to deal with without being
weighed down with hers.

becky couldn't manage any lunch and arrived at the solicitor's office a
few minutes before the appointed hour. she was ushered straight through
to mr. baverstock's rooms.

she was greeted with a warm smile by her fellow director, as if she were
some minor relation of his large family. he offered her the seat
opposite his on the other side of a large mahogany desk.

mr. baverstock, becky decided, must have been about fifty-five, perhaps
sixty, with a round, friendly face and the few strands of gray hair that
were left were parted neatly down the center. his dark jacket,
waistcoat, gray striped trousers and black tie could have been worn by
any solicitor who practiced within five square miles of the building in
which they now sat. having resumed to his own chair he began to study
the pile of documents that lay in front of him before removing his
half-moon spectacles.

"lady trumper," he began. "it's most kind of you to come and see me." in
the two years they had known each other he had never once addressed her
by her christian name.

"i shall," he continued, "come straight to the point. one of my clients
was the late sir raymond hardcastle.n becky wondered why he had never
mentioned this fact before and was about to protest when mr. baverstock
quickly added, "but i hasten to say that mrs. gerald trentham is not and
never has been a client of this fimm."

becky made no effort to disguise her relief.

"i must also let you know that i had the privilege of serving sir
raymond for over thirty years and indeed considered myself not only to
be his legal adviser but towards the end of his life a close friend. i
tell you this as background information, lady trumper, for you may feel
such facts are relevant when you've heard all that i have to say."

becky nodded, still waiting for mr. baverstock to get to the point.

"some years before he died," continued the solicitor "sir raymond drew
up a will. in it he divided the income from his estate between his two
daughters an income, i might add, that has grown considerably since his
death, thanks to some prudent investment on his behalf. the elder of his
daughters was miss. amy hardcastle, and the younger, as i feel sure you
know, mrs. gerald trentham. the income from the estate has been
sufficient to give both these ladies a standard of living equal to, if
not considerably higher than, the one to which they had grown accustomed
before his death. however "

will dear mr. baverstock ever get to the point? becky was beginning to
wonder.

" sir raymond decided, in his wisdom, that the share capital should
remain intact, after he allowed the firm that his father had founded and
he had built up so successfully to merge with one of his greatest
rivals. you see, lady trumper, sir raymond felt there was no member of
the family who could obviously fill his shoes as the next chairman of
hardcastle's. neither of his two daughters, or his grandsons for that
matter of whom i shall have more to say in a moment did he consider
competent to run a public company."

the solicitor removed his glasses, cleaned them with a handkerchief
which he took out of his top pocket and peered through the lenses
critically before returning to the task at hand.

usir raymond, you see, had no illusions about his immediate pith and
kin. his elder daughter, amy, was a gende, shy lady who nursed her
father valiantly through his final years. when sir raymond died she
moved out of the family house into a small seaside hotel where she
resided until her death last year.

"his younger daughter, ethel trentham " he continued. "let me put this
as delicately as i can sir raymond considered she had perhaps lost touch
with reality and certainly no longer acknowledged any attachment to her
past. anyway, i know it particularly saddened the old man not to have
produced a son of his own, so when guy was born his hopes for the future
became focused on the young grandson. from that day he lavished
everything on him. lamr he was to blame himself for the boy's eventual
downfall. he did not make the same mistake when nigel was born, a child
for whom he had neither affection nor respect.

"however, this firm was instructed to keep sir raymond briefed at all
times with any information that came into our hands concerning members
of his immediate family. thus when captain trentham resigned his
commission in 1922, somewhat abruptly, we were asked to try to find out
the real cause behind his leaving the colors. sir raymond certainly did
not accept his daughter's star about an appointment as a partner with an
austrafan cattle broker, and indeed at one stage was sufficicndy
concerned that he even contemplated sending me to chat continent to find
out dhe real story. then guy died."

becky sat in her chair wanting to wind mr. baverstock up like a
gramophone and set him going well above 78 rpm, but she had already come
to the conclusion dlat nodhing she said was going to accelerate him
along dhe track he had set himself.

"the result of our investigations," continued baverstock, "led us to
believe and at dhis point, lady trumper, i must apologize for any
indelicacy, for i do not intend to offend that guy trentham and not
charles trumper was the fadher of your child."

becky bowed her head and mr. baverstock apologized once again before he
continued.

"sir raymond, however, needed to be convinced dial daniel was his
great-grandson, and to chat end he made two separate visits to st.
paul's after dhe boy had won a scholarship to chat school."

becky stared at dhe old lawyer.

uon dhe first occasion he watched dhe boy perform in a school concert
brahms, if i remember correcdy  and on a second saw daniel receive dhe
newton prize for mathematics from the high master on founders' day. i
believe you were also present on chat occasion. on both visits sir
raymond went out of his way to be sure chat the boy was unaware of his
presence. after the second visit, sir raymond was totally convinced that
daniel was his great-grandchild. i'm afraid all dhe men in that family
are stuck widh dial hardcasde jaw, not to mention a tendency to sway
from foot to foot when agitated. sir raymond accordingly altered his
will the following day."

the solicitor picked up a document bound in a pink ribbon which lay on
his desk. he untied the ribbon slowly. "l was instructed, madam, to read
dhe relevant clauses of his will to you at a time i considered
appropriate but not until shordy before dhe boy celebrates his thirtieth
birthday. daniel will be dhirty next mondh, if i am not mistaken."

becky nodded.

baverstock acknowledged the nod and slowly unfolded the stiff sheets of
parchment.

ul have already explained to you dhe arrangements concerning the
disposal of sir raymond's estate. however, since miss. amy's deadh mrs.
trendham has had the full benefit of any interest earned from the trust,
now amounting to some forty thousand pounds a year. at no time to my
knowledge did sir raymond make any provision for his elder grandson, mr.
guy trentham, but since he is now deceased that has become irrelevant.
subsequently he made a small settlement on his other grandson, mr. nigel
trentham." he paused. "and now i must quote sir raymond's exact words,"
he said, looking down at the will. he cleared his throat before
continuing.

"'after all other commitments have been honored and bills paid, i leave
the residue of my messuage and estate to mr. daniel trumper of trinity
college, cambridge, the full benefit of which will come into his
possession on the death of his grandmother, mrs. gerald trentham."'

now that the lawyer had at last come to the point becky was stunned into
silence. mr. baverstock paused for a moment in case becky wished to say
something, but as she suspected that there was still more to be revealed
she remained silent. the lawyer's eyes returned to the papers in front
of him.

"i feel i should add at this point that i am aware  as indeed sir
raymond was of the treatment you have suffered at the hands both of his
grandson and his daughter, so i must also let you know that although
this bequest to your son will be considerable, it does not include the
farm at ashurst in berkshire or the house in chester square. both
properties, since the death of her husband, are now owned by mrs. gerald
trentham. nor does it include and i suspect this is of more importance
to you the vacant land in the center of chelsea terrace, which forms no
part of sir raymond's estate. however, everything else he controlled
will eventually be inherited by daniel, although, as i explained, not
until mrs. trentham has herself passed away."

"is she aware of all this?"

ulndeed, mrs. trentham was made fully conversant with the provisions in
her father's will sometime before his death. she even took advice as to
whether the new clauses inserted after sir raymond's visits to st.
paul's could be contested."

"did that result in any legal action?"

"no. on the contrary, she quite suddenly, and i must confess
inexplicably, instructed her lawyers to withdraw any objections. but
whatever the outcome, sir raymond stipulated most clearly that the
capital could never be used or controlled by either of his daughters.
that was to be the privilege of his next of ~ ."

on.

mr. baverstock paused and placed both palms down on the blotting paper
in front of him.

"now i will lankily have to tell him," murmured becky under her breath.

"i feel that may well be the case, lady trumper. indeed, the purpose of
this meeting was to brief you fully. sir raymond was never quite sure if
you had informed daniel who his father was."

"no, we never have."

baverstock removed his glasses and placed them on the desk. "please take
your time, dear lady, and just let me know when i have your permission
to contact your son and acquaint him with his good fortune."

"thank you," said becky quietly, sensing the inadequacy of her words.

"finally," said mr. baverstock, "i must also let you know that sir
raymond became a great admirer of your husband and his work, indeed of
your partnership together. so much so that he left a recommendation with
this office that, were trumper's ever to go public, which he anticipated
they would, we were to invest a sizable stake in the new company. he was
convinced that such an enterprise could only flourish and therefore
prove to be a first-class investment."

"so that's why hambros invested ten percent when we went public," said
becky. "we always wondered."

"precisely," mr. baverstock added with a smile, almost of satisfaction.
"it was on my specific instructions that hambros applied for the shares
on behalf of the trust, so that there could never be any reason for your
husband to be apprehensive about such a large outside shareholder.

"the amount was in fact considerably less than the estate received from
dividends during that year. however, more important, we were aware from
the offer documents that it was sir charles' intention to retain
fifty-one percent of the company, and we therefore felt it might be some
relief for him to know that he would have a further ten percent under
his indirect control should any unforeseen problem arise at some time in
the future. i can only hope that you feel we have acted in your best
interests, as it was always sir raymond's wish that you should be told
the full facts at a time that i considered appropriate, the only
stipulation as i have already explained was that such information was
not to be revealed to your son before his thirtieth birthday."

"you couldn't have been more considerate, mr. baverstock," said becky.
"i know charlie will want to thank you personally."

"that is most kind of you, lady trumper. may i also add that this
meeting has been a genuine delight for me. like sir raymond, i have had
considerable pleasure over the years in following the careers of all
three of you, and i am delighted to be playing a small part in the
company's future."

having completed his task, mr. baverstock rose from his side of the desk
and accompanied becky silently to the front door of the building. becky
began to wonder if the solicitor spoke only when he had a brief.

"i shall wait to hear from you, dear lady, as to when i may be permitted
to contact your son."

the weekend after becky's visit to mr. baverstock she and charlie drove
to cambridge to see daniel. charlie had insisted that they could
procrastinate no longer and had telephoned daniel that evening to warn
him that they were coming up to trinity as there was something of
importance they needed to ted him. on hearing this piece of news daniel
had replied, "good, because i've also got something rather important to
tell you."

on the journey to cambridge, becky and charlie rehearsed what they would
say and how they were going to say it, but still came to the conclusion
that however carefully they tried to explain what had happened in the
past, they could not anticipate how daniel would react.

"i wonder if he'll ever forgive us?" said becky. "you know, we should
have told him years ago."

"but we didn't."

"and now we're only letting him know at a time when it could be to our
financial benefit."

"and ultimately to his. after all, he'll eventually inherit ten percent
of the company, not to mention the entire hardcastle estate. we'll just
have to see how he takes the news and react accordingly." charlie
accelerated when he came to a stretch of dual carriageway the other side
of rickmansworth. for some time neither of them spoke until charlie
suggested, "let's go through the order once again. you'll start by
telling him how you first met guy "

"perhaps he already knows," said becky.

"then he surely would have asked "

"not necessarily. he's always been so secretive in the past, especially
when dealing with us."

the rehearsal continued until they had reached the outskirts of the
city.

charlie drove slowly down the backs past queens college, avoiding a
bunch of undergraduates who had strayed onto the road, and finally right
into trinity lane. he brought his car to a halt in new court and he and
becky walked across to entrance c and on up the worn stone staircase
until they reached the door with "dr. daniel trumper" painted above it.
it always amused becky that she hadn't even discovered that her son had
been awarded his ph. d. until someone addressed him as dr. trumper in
her presence.

charlie gripped his wife's hand. "don't worry, becky," he said.
"everything will be all right, you'll see." he gave her fingers a
squeeze before knocking fimmly on daniel's door.

"come on in," shouted a voice that could only have been daniel's. the
next moment he pulled open the heavy oak door to greet them. he gave his
mother a huge hug before ushering them both through to his untidy little
study where tea was already laid out on a table in the center of the
room.

charlie and becky sat down in two of the large and battered leather
chairs the college had provided. they had probably been owned by the
past six inhabitants of the room, and brought back memories for becky of
the chair that she had once removed from charlie's home in whitechapel
road and sold for a shilling.

daniel poured them both a cup of tea and began to toast a crumpet over
the open fire. nobody spoke for some time and becky wondered where her
son had come across such a modern cashmere sweater.

"good journey down?" daniel asked eventually.

"not bad," said charlie.

"and how's the new car running in?"

"fine."

"and trumper's?"

"could be worse."

uquite a little conversationalist, aren't you, dad? you ought to apply
for the recently vacated chair of professor of english."

usorry, daniel," said his mother. ult's just that he's got rather a lot
on his mind at the moment, not least the subject we have to discuss with
you."

"couldn't be better timing," said daniel, fuming the crumpet over.

"why's that?" asked charlie.

"because, as i warned you, there's something rather important i have to
discuss with you. so who goes first?"

"let's hear your news," said becky quickly.

uno, i think it might be wise if we went first," charlie intervened.

usuits me." daniel dropped a toasted crumpet onto his mother's plate.
ubutter, jam and honey," he added, pointing to three small dishes that
rested on the table in front of her.

uthank you, darling," said becky.

uget on with it then, dad. the tension's becoming too much for me to
bear." he fumed a second crumpet over.

"well, my news concerns a matter we should have told you about many
years ago and indeed would have done so only "

"crumpet, dad?"

"thank you," said charlie, ignoring the steaming offering that daniel
dropped onto his plate, " circumstances and a chain of events somehow
stopped us from getting round to it."

daniel placed a third crumpet on the end of his long toasting fork. "eat
up, mum," he said. "otherwise yours will only get cold. in any case,
there'll be another one on its way soon."

"i'm not all that hungry," admitted becky.

"well, as i was saying," said charlie. "a problem has arisen concerning
a large inheritance that you will eventually "

there was a knock on the door. becky looked desperately towards charlie,
hoping that the interruption was nothing more than a message that could
be dealt with quickly. what they didn't need at that moment was an
undergraduate with an interminable problem. daniel rose from the hearth
and went over to the door.

"come in, darling," they heard him say and charlie stood up as daniel's
guest entered the room.

"how nice to see you, cathy," charlie said. ul had no idea you were
going to be in cambridge today."

"isn't that typical of daniel," said cathy. "l wanted to warn you both,
but he wouldn't hear of it." she smiled nervously at becky before
sitting down in one of the vacant chairs.

becky glanced across at the two of them seated next to each other
something worried her.

"pour yourself some tea, darling," said daniel. "you're just in time for
the next crumpet and you couldn't have arrived at a more exciting
moment. dad was just about to let me into the secret of how much i might
expect to be left in his will. am i to inherit the trumper empire or
shall i have lo be satisfied with his season ticket to the west ham
football club?"

"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 lithe 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. "l 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 chink we should meet as soon as possible."

"do you consider it's chat important?" said becky, still mystified.

"i do. would seven o'clock this evening suit you?"

"yes, i feel sure we'll be back by dhen."

"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 apolo~ze about the mystery but i fear i have been left widh
fitde choice. goodbye, dear lady."

"goodbye," said becky and put dhe 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 dhe time being."

"now that does sound mysterious," said daniel, fuming to cadhy. "mr.
baverstock, my darling, is on dhe board of dhe 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
exacdy memorable."

"who painted that picture?" said charlie suddenly, staring at a
watercolor of the cam that hung above daniefs desk.

becky only hoped dhe 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 posse bly 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 chatiie as they left the a10 to go
through whitechapel and on into the ciy. it alv~ys 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 lo a halt, fumed 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 whitechapeb"

"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. ubut 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.

uthis 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. ato 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 dlat at that meeting daniel came to an agreement widh mrs.
trendlam."

"and what was the nature of this agreement?" asked charlie.

the old solicitor extracted yet anodher piece of paper from dhe file in
front of him and reread mrs. trend~am's handwritten words: "'in exchange
for mrs. trentham's withdrawing her opposition to any planning
permission for dhe building to be known as trumper towers, and in
addition for agreeing not to proceed with her own scheme for dhe
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 hardcasde estate.' at dlat time, of course, daniel had no idea
blat he was dhe 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 widhout even letting us know," said becky as her
husband began to read through dhe document.

"that would appear to be dhe case, lady trumper."

"and is it legally binding?" were charlie's first words after he had
finished reading dhe page of mrs. trendham's handwriting.

"yes, i'm afraid it is, sir charles."

"but if he didn't know the full extent of dhe inheritance ?"

"this is a contract between two people. the courts would have to assume
daniel had relinquished his interest to any claim in dhe hardcasde
estate, once mrs. trendlam had kept her part of dhe bargain."

"but what about coercion?"

"of a tweny-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 dhe lawyer. "it seems dlat she didn't confide
the full circumstances of dhe meeting even to her own solicitors.
however, i'm sure you now understand why i considered tills wasn't dhe
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."

ucharlie, 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.

ui'm only glad it was you who has brought us this unhappy news," said
becky, turning back to the solicitor. "you've always been so considerate
when it comes to our affairs."

"thank you, lady trumper, but i fear i have yet more unpalatable news to
impart."

becky gripped charlie's hand.

ul have to report that on this occasion mrs. trentham has not satisfied
herself with one blow at a time."

uwhat else can she do to us?" asked charlie.

ult seems that she is now willing to part with her land in chelsea
terrace."

ul don't believe it," said becky.

"l do," said charlie. "but at what price?"

uthat is indeed the problem," said mr. baverstock, who bent down to
remove another file from his old leather bag.

charlie and becky exchanged a quick glance.

umrs. trendham will offer you the freehold on her site in chelsea
terrace in exchange for ten percent of trumper's shares" he paused uand
a place on dhe board for her son nigel."

"never," said charlie flady.

uif you should reject her offer," the solicitor continued, ushe intends
to sell dhe property on the open market and accept the highest bidder
whoever that might be."

uso be it's said charlie. "we would undoubtedly end up buying dhe land
ourselves."

"at a far higher price than the value of ten percent of our shares, i
suspect," said becky.

"that's a price worth paying after what she's put us through."

"mrs. trentham has also requested," continued mr. baverstock, "that her
offer should be presented to the board in detail at your next meeting
and then voted only "but she doesn't have the authority to make such a
demand," said charlie.

"if you do not comply with this request," said mr. baverstock, "it is
her intention to circulate all the shareholders with the offer and then
call an extraordinary general meeting at which she will personally
present her case and brim the issue to a vote."

"can she do that?" for the first time charlie sounded worried.

"from everything i know about that lady, i suspect she wouldn't have
thrown down such a gauntlet before taking legal advice."

"it's almost as if she can always anticipate our next move," said becky
with feeling.

charlie's voice revealed the same anxiety. "she wouldn't need to bother
about our next move if her son was on the board. he could just report
back to her direct after every meeting."

"so what it comes to is that we may well have to give in to her
demands," said becky.

"i agree with your judgment, lady trumper," said mr. baverstock.
"however, i felt it was only proper that i should give you as much
notice as possible of mrs. trentham's demands as it will be my painful
duly to acquaint the board with the details when we next meet."

there was only one "apology for absence" when the board met the
following tuesday. simon matthews had to be in geneva to conduct a rare
gems sale and charlie had assured him that his presence would not be
vital. once mr. baverstock had finished explaining the consequences of
mrs. trentham's offer to the board, everyone around the table wanted to
speak at once.

when charlie had restored some semblance of order, he said, "i must make
my position clear from the outset. i am one hundred percent against this
offer. i don't trust the lady in question and never have. what's more, i
believe that in the long term her only purpose is to harm the company."

"but, surely, mr. chairman," said paul merrick, "if she is considering
selling her land in chelsea terrace to the highest bidder, she could
always use the cash from that sale to purchase another ten percent of
the company's shares at any time that suited her. so what real choice
are we left with?"

"not having to live with her son," said charlie. "don't forget, part of
this package means offering him a place on the board."

"but if he were in possession of ten percent of the company," said paul
merrick, "and perhaps an even higher stake for all we know, it would be
nothing less than our duly to accept him as a director."

"not necessarily," said charlie. "especially if we believed his sole
reason for joining the board was eventually to take over the company.
the last thing we need is a hostile director."

"the last thing we need is to pay more than is necessary for a hole in
the ground."

for a moment no one spoke while the rest of the board considered these
contrary statements.

"let's assume for one moment," said tim newman, "the consequences of not
accepting mrs. trentham's terms but instead bidding for the empty plot
ourselves on the open market. that mightn't prove to be the cheapest
route, sir charles, because i can assure you that sears, boots, the
house of fraser and the john lewis partnership to name but four would
derive considerable pleasure from-opening a new store right in the
middle of trumper's."

"rejecting her offer may therefore turn out to be even more expensive in
the long run, whatever your personal views are of the lady, mr.
chairman," said merrick "in any case, i have another piece of
information that the board may feel is relevant to this discussion."

"what's that?" asked charlie, warily.

"my fellow directors may be interested to know," began merrick rather
pompously, "that nigel trentham has just been made redundant by kitcat
and aitken, which is simply a euphemism for being sacked. it seems he's
not proved up to the task in these leaner times. so i can't imagine his
presence around this table is likely to provide us with a great deal of
anxiety now or at any time in the future."

"but he could still keep his mother briefed on every move we make," said
charlie.

"perhaps she needs to know how well the knickers are selling on the
seventh floor?" suggested merrick. "not to mention the trouble we had
with that burst water main in the gents' lavatory last month. no,
chairman, it would be foolish, even irresponsible, not to accept such an
offer."

"as a matter of interest, mr. chairman, what would you do with the extra
space, should trumper's suddenly get hold of mrs. trentham's land?"
asked daphne, throwing everyone off balance for a moment.

"expand," said charlie. "we're already bulging at the seams. that piece
of land would mean at least fifty thousand square feet. if i could only
get my hands on it it would be possible for me to open another twenty
departments."

"and what would such a building program cost?" daphne continued.

"a lot of money," paul merrick interjected, "which we may not have at
our disposal if we are made to pay well over the odds for that vacant
site in the first place."

"may i remind you that we're having an exceptionally good year," said
charlie, banging the table.

"agreed, mr. chairman. but may i also remind you, that when you last
made a similar statement, within five years you were facing bankruptcy."

"but that was caused by an unexpected war," insisted charlie.

"and this isn't," said merrick. the two men stared at each other, unable
to disguise their mutual loathing. "our first duty must always be to the
shareholders," continued merrick, as he looked around the boardroom
table. "if they were to find out that we had paid an excessive amount
for that piece of land simply because of and i put this as delicately as
i can a personal vendetta between the principals, we could be heavily
censured at the next agm and you, mr. chairman, might even be called on
to resign."

"i'm willing to take that risk," said charlie, by now almost shouting.

"well, i'm not," said merrick calmly. "what's more, if we don't accept
her offer we already know that mrs. trentham will call an extraordinary
general meeting in order to put her case to the shareholders, and i've
little doubt where their interests will lie. i consider the time has
come to take a vote on this matter, rather than carry on with any
further pointless discussion."

"but wait a moment " charlie began.

"no. i will not wait, mr. chairman, and i propose that we accept mrs.
trentham's generous offer of releasing her land in exchange for ten
percent of the company's shares."

"and what do you propose we do about her son?" asked charlie.

"he should be invited to join the board without delay," replied merrick.

"but " began charlie.

"no buts, thank you, mr. chairman," said merrick. "the time has come to
vote. personal prejudices shouldn't be allowed to cloud our better
judgment. "

there was a moment's silence before arthur selwyn said, "as a formal
proposal has been made will you be kind enough to record the votes,
miss. allen?" jessica nodded and glanced round at the nine members of
the board.

"mr. merrick?"

"for."

"mr. newman?"

afor."

"mr. denning?"

"against."

"mr. makins?"

"against."

"mr. baverstock?"

the lawyer placed the palms of his hands on the table and seemed to
hesitate, as if in some considerable dilemma over the decision.

"for," he said finally.

"lady trumper?"

"against," becky said without hesitation.

"lady wiltshire?"

"for," said daphne quietly.

"why?" said becky unable to believe her response.

daphne turned to face her old friend. "because i'd rather have the enemy
inside the boardroom causing trouble, than outside in the corridor
causing even more."

becky couldn't believe her ears.

"i assume you're against, sir charles?"

charlie nodded vigorously.

mr. selwyn raised his eyes.

"does that mean it's four votes each?" he inquired of jessica.

"yes, that's correct, mr. selwyn," said jessica after she had run her
thumb down the list of names a second time.

everyone stared across at the managing director. he placed the pen he
had been writing with on the blotting pad in front of him. "then i can
only do what i consider to be in the best long-term interests of the
company. i cast my vote in favor of accepting mrs. trentham's offer."

everyone round the table except charlie started to talk

mr. selwyn waited for some time before adding "the motion has been
carried, mr. chairman, by five votes to four. i will therefore instruct
our merchant bankers and solicitors to carry out the necessary financial
and legal arrangements to ensure that this transaction takes place
smoothly and in accordance with company regulations."

charlie made no comment, just continued to stare in front of him.

"and if there is no other business, chairman, perhaps you should declare
the meeting closed."

charlie nodded but didn't move when the other directors rose to leave
the boardroom. only becky remained in her place, halfway down the long
table. within moments they were alone.

"i should have got my hands on those flats thirty years ago, you know."

beck v made no comment.

"and we should never have gone public while that bloody woman was still
alive."

charlie rose and walked slowly over to the window, but his wife still
didn't offer an opinion as he stared down at the empty bench on the far
side of the road.

"and to think i told simon that his presence wouldn't be vital."

still becky said nothing.

"well, at least i now know what the bloody woman has in mind for her
precious nigel."

becky raised an eyebrow as charlie turned to face her.

"she plans that he will succeed me as the next chairman of trumper's."

con p tee ~3=

the one question i was never able to answer as a child was, hwhen did
you last see your father?"

unlike the young cavalier, i simply didn't know the answer. in fact i
had no idea who my father was, or my mother for that matter. most people
don't realize how many times a day, a month, a year one is asked such a
question. and if your reply is always, hi simply don't know, because
they both died before i can remember," you are greeted with looks of
either surprise or suspicion or, worse still, disbelief. in the end you
learn how to throw up a smokescreen or simply avoid the issue by
changing the subject. there is no variation on the question of parentage
for which i haven't developed an escape route.

the only vague memory i have of my parents is of a man who shouted a lot
of the time and of a woman who was so timid she rarely spoke. i also
have a feeling she was called anna. other than that, both of them remain
a blur.

how i envied those children who could immediately tell me about their
parents, brothers, sisters, even second cousins or distant aunts. all i
knew about myself was that i had been brought up in st. hilda's
orphanage, park hill, melbourne. principal: miss. rachel benson.

many of the children from the orphanage did have relations and some
received letters, even the occasional visit. the only such person i can
ever recall was an elderly, rather severe-looking woman, who wore a long
black dress and black lace gloves up to her elbows, and spoke with a
strange accent. i have no idea what her relationship to me was, if any.

miss. benson treated this particular lady with considerable respect and
i remember even curtsied when she left, but i never learned her name and
when i was old enough to ask who she was miss. benson claimed she had no
idea what i was talking about. whenever i tried to question miss. benson
about my own upbringing, she would reply mysteriously, hlt's best you
don't know, child." i can think of no sentence in the english language
more likely to ensure that i try even harder to find out the truth about
my background.

as the years went by i began to ask what i thought were subtler
questions on the subject of my parentage  of the vice-principal, my
house matron, kitchen staff, even the janitor but i always came up
against the same blank wall. on my fourteenth birthday i requested an
interview with miss. benson in order to ask her the question direct.
although she had long ago dispensed with hlt's best you don't know,
child," she now replaced this sentiment with, hln truth, cathy, i don't
know myself. h although i didn't question her further, i didn't believe
her, because some of the older members of the staff would from time to
time give me strange looks, and on at least two occasions began to
whisper behind my back once they thought i was out of earshot.

i had no photographs or mementos of my parents, or even any proof of
their past existence, except for a small piece of jewelry which i
convinced myself was silver. i remember that it was the man who shouted
a lot who had given me the little cross and since then it had always
hung from a piece of string around my neck. one night when i was
undressing in the dormitory miss. benson spotted my prize and demanded
to know where the pendant had come from; i told her betsy compton had
swapped it with me for a dozen marbles, a fib that seemed to satisfy her
at the time. but from that day onwards i kept my treasure well hidden
from anyone's prying eyes.

i must have been one of those rare children who loved going to school
from the first day its doors were opened to me. the classroom was a
blessed escape from my prison and its warders. every extra minute i
spent at the local school was a minute i didn't have to be at st.
hilda's, and i quickly discovered that the harder i worked the longer
the hours i was allowed to remain behind. these became even more
expandable when, at the age of eleven, i won a place at melbourne church
of england girls' grammar school, where they had so many extracurricular
activities going on, from first thing in the morning until late every
evening, that st. hilda's became little more than the place where i
slept and had breakfast.

while at mgs i took up painting, which made it possible for me to spend
several hours in the art room without too much supervision or
interference; tennis, where by dint of sheer hard work and application i
managed to gain a place in the school second six, which produced the
bonus of being allowed to practice in the evening until it was dusk; and
cricket, for which i had no talent, but as team scorer not only was i
required never to leave my place until the last ball had been bowled but
every other saturday i was able to escape on a bus for a fixture against
another school. i was one of the few children who enjoyed away matches
in preference to home fixtures.

at sixteen i entered the sixth form and began to work even harder: it
was explained to miss. benson that i might possibly win a scholarship to
the university of melbourne not an everyday occurrence for an inmate
from st. hilda's.

whenever i received any academic distinction or reprimand the latter
became rarer once i had discovered school i was made to report to miss.
benson in her study, where she would deliver a few words of
encouragement or disapproval, before placing the slip of paper that
marked these occurrences in a file which she would then return to a
cabinet that stood behind her desk. i always watched her most carefully
as she carried out this ritual. first she would remove a key from the
top left-hand drawer of her desk, then she would go over to the cabinet,
check my file under "qrs," place the credit or misdemeanor inside my
entry, lock the cabinet and then replace the key in her desk. it was a
routine that never varied.

another fixed point in miss. benson's life was her annual holiday, when
she would visit hher people" in adelaide. this took place every
september and i looked forward to it as others might a holiday.

once war had been declared i feared she might not keep to her schedule,
especially as we were told we would all have to make sacrifices.

miss. benson appeared to make no sacrifices despite travel restrictions
and cutbacks and departed for adelaide on exactly the same day that
summer as she always had. i waited until five days after the taxi had
driven her off to the station before i felt it was safe to carry out my
little escapade.

on the sixth night i lay awake until just after one in the morning, not
moving a muscle until i was certain all sixteen girls in the dormitory
were fast asleep. then i rose, borrowed a pen torch from the drawer of
the girl who slept next to me and headed off across the landing towards
the staircase. had i been spotted en route, i already had an excuse
prepared about feeling sick, and as i had rarely entered the sanatorium
at any time during my twelve years at st. hilda's, i felt confident i
would be believed.

i crept cautiously down the staircase without having to use the torch:
since miss. benson had departed for adelaide, i had practiced the
routine each morning with my eyes closed. once i had reached the
principal's study, i opened the door and slipped in, only then switching
on the pen torch. i tiptoed over to miss. benson's desk and cautiously
pulled open the top lefthand drawer. what i hadn't been prepared for was
to be faced with about twenty different keys, some in groups on rings
while others were detached but unmarked. i tried to remember the size
and shape of the one miss. benson had used to unlock the filing cabinet,
but i couldn't, and with only a pen torch to guide me several trips to
the cabinet and back were necessary before i discovered the one that
would turn one hundred and eighty degrees.

i pulled open the top drawer of the filing cabinet as slowly as i could
but the runners still seemed to rumble like thunder. i stopped, and held
my breath as i waited to hear if there was any movement coming from the
house. i even looked under the door to be sure no light was suddenly
switched on. once i felt confident i hadn't disturbed anyone i leafed
through the names in the "qrs" box file: roberts, rose, ross ... i
pulled out my personal folder and carried the heavy bundle back to the
principal's desk. i sat down in miss. benson's chair and, with the help
of the torch, began to check each page carefully. as i was fifteen and
had now been at st. hilda's for around twelve years, my file was nec
essarily thick. i was reminded of misdemeanors as long ago as wetting my
bed, and several credits for painting, including the rare double credit
for one of my watercolors that still hung in the dining room. yet
however much i searched through that folder there was no trace of
anything about me before the age of three. i began to wonder if this was
a general rule that applied to everyone who had come to live at st.
hilda's. i took a quick glance at the details of jennie rose's record.
to my dismay, i found the names of both her father (ted, deceased) and
her mother (susan). an attached note explained that mrs. rose had three
other children to bring up and since the death of her husband from a
heart attack had been quite unable to cope with a fourth child.

i locked the cabinet, returned the key to the top left-hand drawer of
miss. benson's desk, switched off the pen torch, left the study and
walked quickly up the stairs to my dormitory. i put the pen torch back
in its rightful place and slipped into bed. i began to wonder what i
could possibly do next to try and find out who i was and where i'd come
from.

it was as if my parents had never existed, and i had somehow started
life aged three. as the only alternative was virgin birth and i didn't
accept that even for the blessed mary, my desire to know the truth
became irrepressible. i must eventually have fallen asleep, because all
i remember after that is being woken by the school bell the following
morning.

when i was awarded my place at the university of melbourne i felt like a
long-term prisoner who has finally been released. for the first time, i
was given a room of my own and was no longer expected to wear a uniform
not that the range of clothes i could afford was going to set the
melbourne fashion houses afire. i remember working even longer hours at
university than i had done at school, as i was apprehensive that if i
didn't 61s as the crow pe1es pass my first year general papers, they
would send me back to spend the rest of my days at st. hilda's.

in my second year i specialized in the history of art and english while
continuing with painting as a hobby, but i had no idea what career i
wanted to pursue after leaving university. my tutor suggested i should
consider teaching, but that sounded to me rather like an extension of
st. hilda's, with me ending up as miss. benson.

i didn't have many boyfriends before going to university, because the
boys at st. hilda's were kept in a separate wing of the house and we
were not allowed to talk to them before nine in the morning and after
five o'clock at night. until the age of fifteen i thought kissing made
you pregnant so i was determined not to make that mistake, especially
after my experience of growing up with no family of my own.

my first real boyfriend was mel nicholls, who was captain of the
university football team. having finally succeeded in getting me into
bed he told me that i was the only girl in his life and, more important,
the first. after i had admitted it was true for me too and lay back on
the pillow mel leaned over and began to take an interest in the only
thing i was still wearing.

"i've never seen anything quite like that before,h he said, taking my
little piece of jewelry between his fingers.

"another first."

anot quite." he laughed. hbecause i've seen one very similar."

hwhat do you mean?"

"it's a medal," he explained. "my father won three or four of them
himself but none of them's made of silver."

looking back on it now, i consider that this particular piece of
information was well worth losing my virginity for.

in the library of the university of melbourne there is a large selection
of books covering the first world war, biased not unnaturally towards
gallipoli and the far east campaign rather than the d day landings and
el alamein. however, tucked away among the pages of heroic deeds
performed by australian infantrymen was a complete with several colored
plates.

i discovered that there were vcs, dsos, dscs, cbes, obes the variations
seemed endless until finally on page four hundred and nine i found what
i was searching for: the military cross, a ribbon of white watered silk
and purple horizontal stripes and a medal forged in silver with the
imperial crown on each of its four arms. it was awarded to officers
below the rank of major "for conspicuous gallantry when under fire." i
began to hypothesize that my father was a war hero who had died at an
early age from terrible wounds. at least that would have explained his
perpetual shouting as something that had been brought on by so much
suffering.

my next piece of detective work came when i visited an antiques shop in
melbourne. the man behind the counter simply studied the medal, then
offered me five pounds for it. i didn't bother to explain why i wouldn't
have parted with my prize had he offered me five hundred pounds, but at
least he was able to inform me that the only real medal dealer in
australia was a mr. frank jennings, of number 47 mafeking street,
sydney.

at that time i considered sydney to be the other side of the globe, and
i certainly couldn't afford to make such a long journey on my tiny
grant. so i had to wait patiently until the summer term when i applied
to be scorer for the university cricket team. they turned me down on
account of my sex. women couldn't really be expected to understand the
game fully, it was explained to me by a youth who used to sit behind me
in lectures so that he could copy my notes. this left me with no choice
but to spend hours of practice on my ground strokes and almost as many
on my overhead smash until i was selected for the ladies' second tennis
team. not a major achievement but there was only one match on the
calendar that interested me: sydney (a).

on the morning we arrived in sydney i went straight to mafeking street
and was struck by how many young men who passed me on the street were in
uniform. mr. jennings himself studied the medal with considerably more
interest than the dealer from melbourne had shown.

hlt's a miniature mc all right," he told me, peering at my little prize
through a magnifying glass. hit would have been worn on a dress uniform
for guest nights in the regimental mess. these three initials engraved
down the edge of one of the arms, barely discernible to the naked eye,
ought to give us a clue as to who was awarded the decoration."

i stared through mr. jennings' magnifying glass at something i had never
been aware of until then, but i could now clearly see the initials
hg.f.t."

his there any way of finding out who 'g.f.t.' actually is?"

hoh, yes," said mr. jennings, turning to a shelf behind him, from which
he removed a leather-bound book and flicked through its pages until he
came to godfrey s. thomas and george victor taylor, but could find no
trace of anyone with the initials hg.f.t."

hsorry, but i can't help you on this one,h he said. hyour particular
medal can't have been awarded to an australian, otherwise it would be
catalogued right here. h he tapped the leather cover. hyou'll have to
write to the war office in london if you want any further information.
they still keep on file the names of every member of the armed forces
awarded any decoration for gallantry."

i thanked him for his help but not before he had offered me ten pounds
for the medal. i smiled and returned to join the tennis team for my
match against sydney university. i lost 6-0, 6-1, being quite unable to
concentrate on anything except g.f.t. i wasn't selected for the
university tennis team again that season.

the next day i followed mr. jennings' advice and wrote to the war office
in london. i didn't get a letter back from them for several months,
which was hardly surprising as everyone knew they had other things on
their mind in 1944. however, a buff envelope eventually came and when
opened informed me that the holder of my medal could have been either
graham frank turnbull of the duke of wellington's regiment or guy
francis trentham of the royal fusiliers.

so was my real name turnbull or trentham?

that same evening i wrote to the british high commissioner's office in
canberra asking whom i should contact for information regarding the two
regiments referred to in the letter. i received a reply a couple of
weeks later. with the new leads i had acquired i dispatched two more
letters to england: one to halifax, the other to london. i then sat back
again, and resigned myself to another long wait. when you have already
spent eighteen years of your life trying to discover your true identity
another few months doesn't seem all that important. in any case, now
that i had begun my final year at university i was up to my eyes in
work.

the duke of wellington's were the first to reply, and they informed me
that lieutenant graham frank turnbull had been killed at passchendaele
on 6 november 1917. as i was born in 1924 that let lieutenant turnbull
off the hook. i prayed for guy francis trentham.

it was several weeks later that i received a reply from the royal
fusiliers to inform me that captain guy francis trentham had been
awarded the mc on 18 july 1918, following the second battle of the
marne. fuller details could be obtained from the regimental museum
library at their headquarters in london, but this had to be done in
person as they had no authority to release information about members of
the regiment by post.

as i had no way of getting to england i immediately began a new line of
investigation, only this time i drew a complete blank. i took a whole
morning off in order to search for the name of htrentham" in the birth
records of the melbourne city registry on queen street. i found there
was not one trentham listed. there were several rosses but none came
anywhere near my date of birth. i began to realize that someone had gone
to considerable lengths to make sure i was unable to trace my roots. but
why?

suddenly my sole purpose in life switched to how i could get myself to
england, despite the fact that i had no money and the war had only
recently ended. i checked every graduate and undergraduate course that
was on offer, and all that my tutor considered it might be worth
applying for was a scholarship to the slade school of art in london,
which offered three places each year to students from commonwealth
countries. i began to put in hours that even i hadn't realized existed,
and was rewarded by a place on the shortlist of six for a final
interview to be held in canberra.

although i became extremely nervous on the train journey to the
australian capital, i felt the interview went well and indeed the
examiners told me that my papers on the history of art were of
particular merit, even if my practical work was not of the same high
standard.

an envelope marked the slade was dropped in my cubbyhole a month later.
i ripped it open in anticipation and extracted a letter that began:

dear miss. ross, we are sorry to inform you * * *

the only worthwhile thing that came out of all the extra work i had put
in was that i sailed through my finals and was awarded with a
first-class honors degree when the graduation results were announced.
but i was still no nearer to getting myself to england.

in desperation i telephoned the british high commission and was put
through to the labor attache. a lady came on the line and informed me
that with my qualifications there would be several teaching posts on
offer. she added that i would have to sign a three-year contract and be
responsible for my own travel arrangements nicely worded, i considered,
as i still wasn't able to afford the trip to sydney, let alone the
united kingdom. in any case, i felt i would only need to spend about a
month in england to track down guy francis trentham.

the only other jobs that were available, the lady explained the second
time i called, were known as "slave traders." these consisted of
positions in hotels, hospitals or old people's homes, where you were
virtually unpaid for one year in return for your passage to england and
back. as i still had no plans for any particular career and realized
this was virtually the only chance i might ever have of getting myself
to england and finding someone i was related to, i called into the labor
attache's department and signed on the dotted line. most of my friends
at university thought i had taken leave of my senses, but then they had
no idea of my real purpose in wanting to visit britain.

the boat we sailed to southampton on couldn't have been much of an
improvement on the one the first australian immigrants took coming the
other way some one hundred and seventy years before. they put three of
us hslave traders" to a cabin no larger than my room on the university
campus, and if the ship listed more than ten degrees pam and maureen
ended up in my bunk. we had all signed on to work at the melrose

hotel in earl's court, which we were assured was in central london.
after a journey of some six weeks we were met at the dockside by a
clapped-out army lorry which took us up to the capital and deposited us
on the steps of the melrose hotel.

the housekeeper allocated our accommodation and i ganged up with pam and
maureen again. i was surprised to discover that we were expected to
share a room of roughly the same size as the cabin in which we had
suffered together on board ship. at least this time we didn't fall out
of bed unexpectedly.

it was over two weeks before they gave me enough time off to visit
kensington post office and check through the london telephone directory.
there wasn't a trentham to be found.

hcould be ax-directory," the girl behind the counter explained. "which
means they won't take your call in any case."

hor there just isn't a trentham living in london,h i said, and accepted
that the regimental museum was now my only hope.

i thought i had worked hard at the university of melbourne, but the
hours they expected us to do at the meirose would have brought a combat
soldier to his knees. all the same, i was damned if i was going to admit
as much, especially after pam and maureen gave up the struggle within a
month, cabled their parents in sydney for some money and returned to
australia on the first available boat. at least it meant i ended up with
a room to myself until the next boatload arrived. to be honest i wish i
could have packed up and gone home with them, but i hadn't anyone in
australia to whom i could cable back for more than about ten pounds.

the first full day i had off and wasn't totally exhausted, i took a
train to hounslow. when i left the station the ticket collector directed
me to the royal fusiliers' depot, where the museum was situated now.

after walking about a mile i eventually reached the building i was
looking for. it seemed to be uninhabited except for a single
receptionist. he was dressed in khaki uniform, with three stripes on
both arms. he sat dozing behind a counter. i walked noisily over and
pretended not to wake him.

"can i 'elp you, young lady?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"i hope so."

haustral fan ?"

"is it that obvious?"

"i fought alongside your chaps in north africa," he explained. "damned
great bunch of soldiers, i can tell you. so 'ow can i help you, missile
"i wrote to you from melbourne,h i said, producing a handwritten copy of
the letter. habout the holder of this medal. h i slipped the piece of
string over my head and handed my prize to him. "his name was guy
francis trentham. h hminiature mc,h said the sergeant without hesitation
as he held the medal in his hand. "guy francis trentham, you say?h
hthat's right. h "good. so let's look 'im up in the great book,
1914-1918, yes?h i nodded.

he went over to a massive bookshelf weighed down by heavy volumes and
removed a large leatherbound book. he placed it on the counter with a
thud, sending dust in every direction. on the cover were the words,
printed in gold, hroyal fusiliers, decorations,

1914-1918h.

hlet's have a butcher's, then,h he said as he started to flick through
the pages. i waited impatiently. hthere's our man,h he announced
triumphantly. hguy francis trentham, captain. h he swung the book round
so that i could study the entry more carefully. i was so excited it was
several moments before i could take the words in.

captain trentham's citation went on for twenty two lines and i asked if
i might be allowed to copy out the details in full.

"of course, miss," he said. "be my guest." he handed over a large sheet
of ruled paper and a blunt army-issue pencil. i began to write:

on the morning of 18 july, 1918, captain guy trentham of the second
battalian of the royal fusiliers led a company of men from the allied
trenches towards the enemy lines, killing several german soldiers before
reaching their dugouts, where he wiped out a complete army unit
single-handed. captain trentham continued in pursuit of two other german
soldiers and chased them into a nearby forest, where he succeeded in
killing them both.

the same evening, despite being surrounded by the enemy, he rescued two
men of his own company, private t. prescott and corporal c. trumpes, wo
had strayed from the battlefield, and were hiding in a nearby church.
after nightfall, he led them back across green terrain while the enemy
continued to fire intermittently in their direction.

private prescott was killed by a stray german tracer bullet before he
managed to reach the safety of his own trenches. corporal trumper
survived despite a continual barrage of fire power from the enemy.

for this singular act of leadership and heroism in the face of the
enemy, captain trentham was awarded the m.c.

having written out every word of the citation in my neatest hand, i
closed the heavy cover and turned the book back round to face the
sergeant.

"trentham," he said. "if i remember correctly, miss,'e still 'as'is
picture up on the wall." the sergeant picked up some crutches,
maneuvered himself from behind the counter and limped slowly to the far
corner of the museum. i hadn't realized until that moment that the poor
man only had one leg. "over 'ere, miss," he said. "follow me."

my palms began to sweat and i felt a little sick at the thought of
discovering what my father looked like. i wondered if i might resemble
him in any way.

the sergeant hobbled straight past the vcs before we came to a row of
mcs. they were all lined up, old sepia pictures, badly framed. his
finger ran along them--stevens, thomas, tubbs. "that's strange. i could
have sworn 'is photo was there. well, i'll be damned. must 'ave got lost
when we moved from the tower."

"could his picture be anywhere else?"

"not to my knowledge, miss," he said. "i must 'ave imagined it all
along, but i'd swear i'd seen 'is photo when the museum was at the
tower. well, i'll be damned," he repeated.

i asked him if he could supply me with any more details of captain
trentham and what might have happened to him since 1918. he hobbled back
to the counter and looked up his name in the regimental handbook.
"commissioned 1915, promoted to first lieutenant 1916, captain 1917,
india 1920-1922, resigned 'is commission august 1922. since then nothing
known of 'im, miss."

"so he could still be alive?" "certainly could, miss. he'd only be
fifty, fifty-five, most." i checked my watch, thanked him and ran
quickly out of the building, suddenly aware of how much time i had spent
at the museum and fearful that i might miss the train back to london and
wouldn't be in time to clock on for my five o'clock shift.

after i had settled in a corner of a dingy third-class compartment i
read over the citation again. it pleased me to think that my father had
been a first world war hero; but i still couldn't fathom out why miss.
benson had been so unwilling to tell me anything about him. why had he
gone to australia? had he changed his name to ross? i felt i would have
to return to melbourne if i was ever going to find out exactly what had
happened to guy francis trentham. had i possessed the money to pay for
my return fare, i would have gone back that night, but as i had to work
out my contract at the hotel for another nine months before they would
advance me enough cash to cover the one-way ticket home i settled down
to complete my sentence.

london in 1947 was an exciting city for a twenty-three-year-old so
despite the dreary work there were many compensations. whenever i had
any time off i would visit an art gallery, a museum or go to a cinema
with one of the girls from the hotel. on a couple of occasions i even
accompanied a group of friends to a dance at the mecca ballroom just off
the strand. one particular night i remember a rather good-looking bloke
from the raf asked me for a dance and, just moments after we had started
going round the hall, he tried to kiss me. when i pushed him away he
became even more determined and only a firm kick on his ankle followed
by a short dash across the dance floor made it possible for me to
escape. a few minutes later i found myself out on the pavement and
heading back to the hotel on my own.

as i strolled through chelsea in the general direction of earl's court i
stopped from time to time to admire the unattainable goods on display in
every shop window. i particularly craved a long blue silk shawl draped
over the shoulders of an elegant slim mannequin. i stopped
window-shopping for a moment and glanced up at the name over the door:
htrumper's." there was something familiar about the name but i couldn't
think what. i walked slowly back to the hotel but the only trumper i
could recall was the legendary australian cricketer who had died before
i was born. then in the middle of the night it came back to me. trumper,
c. was the corporal mentioned in the citation written about my father. i
jumped out of bed, opened the bottom drawer of my little desk and
checked the words i had copied out during my visit to the royal
fusiliers museum.

the name was not one i'd come across since arriving in england, so i
wondered if the shopkeeper might be related in some way to the corporal
and therefore might help me find him. i decided to return to the museum
in hounslow on my next day off and see if my one-legged friend could be
of any further assistance.

"nice to see you again, miss," he said as i walked up to the counter. i
was touched that he remembered me.

"more information you're after?"

"you're right," i told him. "corporal trumper, he's not the .. . ?

"charlie trumper the 'onest trader. certainly is, miss; but now 'e's sir
charles and owns that large group of shops in chelsea terrace."

"i thought so."

"i was about to tell you all about'im when you ran off last time, miss."
he grinned. hcould 'ave saved you a train journey and about six months
of your timed the following evening, instead of going to see greta garbo
at the gate cinema in notting hill, i sat on an old bench on the far
side of chelsea terrace and just stared at a row of windows. sir charles
seemed to own almost every shop on the street. i could only wonder why
he had allowed such a large empty space to remain right in the middle of
the block.

my next problem was how i could possibly get to see him. the only idea
that occurred to me was that i might take my medal into number 1 for a
valuation  and then pray.

during the next week i was on the day shift at the hotel so i was unable
to return to number 1 chelsea terrace before the following monday
afternoon, when i presented the girl on the front counter with my mc and
asked if the medal could be valued. she considered my tiny offering,
then called for someone else to examine it more carefully. a tall,
studious-looking man spent some time checking the piece before he
offered an opinion. ha miniature mc," he declared, "sometimes known as a
dress mc because it would be worn on a mess or dinner jacket for
regimental nights, value approximately ten pounds." he hesitated for a
moment. "but of course spinks at 5 king street sw1 would be able to give
you a more accurate assessment should you require it."

hthank you," i said, having learned nothing new and finding myself quite
unable to think of any way i might phrase a question about sir charles
trumper's war record.

hanything else i can help you with?" he asked as i remained rooted to
the spot.

hhow do you get a job here?h i bleated out, feeling rather stupid.

hjust write in, giving us all the details of your qualifications and
past experience and we'll be back in touch with you within a few days."

hthank you," i said and left without another word.

i sat down that evening and drafted a long handwriken leper, seeing out
my qualifications as an art historian. they appeared a bit slender to me
when i looked at them on paper.

the next morning i rewrote the leper on the hotel's finest stationery
before addressing the envelope to "job inquiries" as i had no name as a
contact other than trumper's number 1 chelsea terrace, london sw7.

the following afternoon i hand-delivered the missive to a girl on the
front desk of the auction house, never really expecting to receive a
reply. in any case, i wasn't actually sure what i would do if they did
offer me a job, as i planned on returning to melbourne in a few months
and i still couldn't imagine how working at trumper's would ever lead to
my meeting sir charles.

ten days later i received a leper from the personnel officer, saying
they would like to interview me. i spent four pounds fifteen shillings
of my hard-earned wages on a new dress that i could ill afford and
arrived over an hour early for the interview. i ended up having to walk
round the block several times. during that hour i discovered that sir
charles really did seem to sell everything any human being could desire,
as long as you had enough money to pay for it.

at last the hour was up and i marched in and presented myself at the
front counter. i was taken up some stairs to an office on the top floor.
the lady who interviewed me said she couldn't understand what i was
doing stuck in a hotel as a chambermaid with my qualifications, until i
explained to her that hotel work was the only job available to those who
couldn't afford to pay their passage over to england.

she smiled before warning me that if i wanted to work at number 1
everyone started on the front desk. if they proved to be any good they
were promoted fairly quickly.

"i started on the front desk at sotheby's," my interviewer went on to
explain. i wanted to ask her how long she'd lasted.

hltd love to come and work at trumper's," i told her, "but i'm afraid i
still have two months of my contract to complete before i can leave the
melrose hotel."

"then we'll have to wait for you," she replied without hesitation. "you
can start at the front desk on first of september, miss. ross. i will
confirm all the arrangements in writing by the end of the week."

i was so excited by her offer that i quite forgot why i'd applied for
the job in the first place: until my interviewer sent her promised
letter and i was able to decipher her signature scribbled across the
foot of the page.

cathy had worked on the front desk of trumper's auction house for just
eleven days when simon matthews asked her to help him prepare the
catalogue for the italian sale. he was the first to spot how, as the
auction house's premier line of defense, she handled the myriad
inquiries that were thrown at her without constantly having to seek a
second opinion. she worked just as hard for trumper's as she had done at
the melrose hotel, but with a difference: she now enjoyed what she was
doing.

for the first time in her life cathy felt she was part of a family,
because rebecca trumper was invariably relaxed and friendly with her
staff, treating them all as equals. her salary was far more generous
than the bare minimum she had received from her previous emdloyer, and
the room they gave her above the butcher's shop at number 135 was
palatial in comparison with her hideaway at the back of the hotel.

trying to find out more about her father began to seem less important to
cathy as she set about proving she was worth her place at number 1
chelsea terrace. her primary task in preparing the catalogue for the
italian sale was to check the history of every one of the fify-nine
pictures that were to come under the hammer. to this end she traveled
right across london from library to library and telephoned gallery after
gallery in her quest to track down every attribution. in the end only
one picture completely baffled her, that of the virgin mary and child,
which bore no signature and had no history attached except that it had
originally come from the private collection of sir charles trumper and
was now owned by a mrs. kitty bennett.

cathy asked simon matthews if he could rive any lead on the picture and
was told by her head of department that he felt it might have come from
the school of bronzino.

simon, who was in charge of the auction, went on to suggest that she
should check through the press cuttings books.

almost everything you need to know about the trumpers is in there
somewhere."

"and where will i find them?"

"on the fourth floor in that funny little room at the end of the
passage."

when she eventually found the cubicle that housed the files she had to
brush off a layer of dust and even remove the odd cobweb as she browsed
through the annual offerings. she sat on the floor, her legs tucked
beneath her, as she continued to turn the pages, becoming more and more
engrossed in the rise of charles trumper from his days when he owned his
first barrow in whitechapel to the proposed plans for trumper's of
chelsea. although the press references were sketchy in those early
years, it was a small article in the evening standard that stopped cathy
in her tracks. the page had yellowed with age and on the top right-hand
comer, barely discemible, was printed the date: 8 september 1922.

a tall man in his late twenties, unshaven and dressed in an old army
greatcoat, broke into the home of mr. and mrs. charles trumper of 11
gilston road, chelsea, yesterday moming. though the intruder escaped
with a small oil painting thought to be of little value, mrs. trumper,
seven months pregnant with her second child, was in the house at the
time and collapsed from the shock. she was later rushed to guy's
hospital by her husband.

on arrival an emergency operation was carried out by the senior surgeon
mr. armitage, but their little girl was stillborn. mrs. trumper is
expected to remain at guy's hospital under observation for several days.

the police would like to interview anyone who may have been in the
vicinity at the time.

cathy's eyes moved on to a second piece, dated some three weeks later.

police have come into possession of an abandoned army greatcoat that may
have been wom by the man who broke into 11 gilston road, chelsea, the
home of mr. and mrs. charles trumper, on the morning of 7 september. the
ownership of the coat has been traced to a captain guy trentham,
formerly of the royal fusiliers, who until recently was serving with his
regiment in india.

cathy read the two pieces over and again. could she really be the
daughter of a man who had tried to rob sir charles and had been
responsible for the death of his second child? and where did the
painting fit in? just how had mrs. bennett come into possession of it?
more important, why had lady trumper taken such an interest in a
seemingly unimportant oil by an unknown artist?

unable to answer any of these questions, cathy closed the cuttings book
and pushed it back to the bottom of the pile. after she had washed her
hands she wanted to return downstairs and ask lady trumper all her
questions one by one, but knew that wasn't possible.

when the catalogue had been completed and on sale for over a week lady
trumper asked to see cathy in her office. cathy only hoped that some
frightful mistake hadn't been unearthed, or someone hadn't come across
an attribution for the painting of the virgin mary and child that she
should have discovered in time to be credited in the catalogue.

as cathy stepped into the office becky said, "my congratulations. "

"thank you," said cathy, not quite sure what she was being praised for.

"your catalogue has been a sell-out and we're having to rush through a
reprint."

"i'm only sorry that i couldn't discover any worthwhile attribution for
your husband's painting," said cathy, feeling relieved that was not the
reason rebecca had wanted to see her. she also hoped her boss might
confide in her how sir charles had come into possession of the little
oil in the first place, and perhaps even throw some light on the
connection between the trumpers and captain trentham.

"i'm not that surprised," becky replied, without offering any further
explanation.

you see, i came across an article in the f les that mentioned a certain
captain guy trentham and i wondered ... cathy wanted to say, but she
remained silent.

"would you like to be one of the spotters when the sale takes place next
week?" becky asked.

on the day of the italian sale, cathy was accused by simon of being
"full of beans" although in fact she had been unable to eat a thing that
morning.

once the sale had started, painting after painting passed its estimate
and cathy was delighted when the basilica of st. mark s reached a record
for a canaletto.

when sir charles' little oil replaced the masterpiece she suddenly felt
queasy. it must have been the way the light caught the canvas, because
there was now no doubt in her mind that it too was a masterpiece. her
immediate thought was that if only she possessed two hundred pounds she
would have put in a bid for it herself.

the uproar that followed once the little picture had been removed from
the easel made cathy yet more anxious. she felt the accuser might well
be right in his claim that the painting was an original by bronzino. she
had never seen a better example of his classic chubby babies with their
sunlit halos. lady trumper and simon placed no blame on cathy's
shoulders as they continued to assure everyone who asked that the
picture was a copy and had been known to the gallery for several years.

when the sale eventually came to an end, cathy began to check through
the dockets to be sure that they were in the correct order so that there
could be no doubt who had purchased each item. simon was standing a few
feet away and telling a gallery owner which pictures had failed to reach
their reserve price and might therefore be sold privately. she froze
when she heard lady trumper turn to simon, the moment the dealer had
left, and say, "it's that wretched trentham woman up to her tricks
again. did you spot the old horror at the back of the room?" simon
nodded, but had made no further comment.

it must have been about a week after the bishop of reims had made his
pronouncement that simon invited cathy to dinner at his flat in pimlico.
"a little celebration," he added, explaining he had asked all those who
had been directly involved with the italian sale.

cathy arrived that night to find several of the staff 63s from the old
masters department already enjoying a glass of wine, and by the time
they sat down to dinner only rebecca trumper was not present. once again
cathy felt aware of the family atmosphere the trampers created even in
their absence. the guests all enjoyed a sumptuous meal of avocado soup
followed by wild duck which they reamed simon had spent the whole
afternoon preparing. she and a young man called julian, who worked in
the rare books department, stayed on after the others had left to help
clear up.

"don't bother with the washing up," said simon. "my lady who 'does' can
deal with it all in the moming."

"typical male attitude," said cathy as she continued to wash the dishes.
"however, i admit that i remained behind with an ulterior motive."

"and what might that be?" he asked as he picked up a dish cloth and made
a token attempt to help julian with the drying.

"who is mrs. trentham?" cathy asked abruptly. simon swung round to face
her, so she added awkwardly, "l heard becky mention her name to you a
few minutes after the sale was over and that man in the tweed jacket who
made such a fuss had disappeared."

simon didn't answer her question for some time, as if he were weighing
up what he should say. two dry dishes later he began.

"it goes back a long way, even before my time. and don't forget i was at
sotheby's with becky for five years before she asked me to join her at
trumper's. to be honest, i'm not sure why she and mrs. trentham loathe
each other quite so much, but what i do know is that mrs. trentham's son
guy and sir charles served in the same regiment during the first world
war, and that guy trentham was somehow involved with that painting of
the virgin mary and child that had to be withdrawn from the sale. the
only other piece of information that i've picked up over the years is
that guy trentham disappeared off to australia soon after ... hey, that
was one of my finest coffee cups."

"i'm so sorry," said cathy. "how clumsy of me." she bent down and
started picking up the little pieces of china that were scattered over
the kitchen floor. "where can i find another one?"

"in the china department of trumper's," said simon. "they're about two
shillings each." cathy laughed. "just take my advice," he added.
"remember that the older staff have a golden rule about mrs. trentham."

cathy stopped gathering up the pieces.

"they don't mention her name in front of becky unless she raises the
subject. and never refer to the name of 'trentham' in the presence of
sir charles. if you did, i think he'd sack you on the spot."

"i'm not likely to be given the chance," cathy said. "i've never even
met him. in fact, the nearest i've been to the man was watching him in
the seventh row at the italian sale."

"well, at least we can do something about that," said simon. "how would
you like to accompany me to a housewarming party the trumpers are giving
next monday at their new home in eaton square?"

"are you serious?"

"i certainly am," replied simon. "anyway, i don't think sir charles
would altogether approve of my taking julian."

"mightn't they consider it somewhat presumptuous for such a junior
member of staff to turn up on the arm of the head of the department?"

"not sir charles. he doesn't know what the word 'presumptuous' means."

cathy spent many hours during her lunch breaks poking around the dress
shops in chelsea before she selected what she considered was the
appropriate outfit for trumpers' housewarming party. her final choice
was a sunflower-yellow dress with a iarge sash around the waist which
the assistant who served her described as suitable for a cocktail party.
cathy became fearful at the last minute that its length, or lack of
length, might be a little too daring for such a grand occasion. however,
when simon came to pick her up at 135 his immediate comment was "you'll
be a sensation, i promise you." his unreserved assurance made her feel
more confident at least until they arrived on the top step of the
trumpers' home in eaton square.

as simon knocked on the door of his employers' residence, cathy only
hoped that it wasn't too obvious that she had never been invited to such
a beautiful house before. however, she lost all her inhibitions the
moment the butler invited them inside. her eyes immediately settled on
the feast that awaited her. while others drank from the seemingly
endless bottles of champagne and helped themselves from the passing
trays of canapes, she fumed her attention elsewhere and even began to
climb the staircase, savoring each of the rare delicacies one by one.

first came a courbet, a still life of magnificent rich reds, oranges and
greens; then a picasso of two doves surrounded by pink blossoms, their
beaks almost touching; after a further step her eyes fell on a pissarro
of an old woman carrying a bundle of hay, dominated by different shades
of green. but she gasped when she first saw the sisley, a stretch of the
seine with every touch of pastel shading being made to count.

"that's nay favorite n said a voice from behind her. cathy fumed to see
a tall, tousle-haired young man give her a grin that must have made many
people return his smile. his dinner jacket didn't quite fit, his bow tie
needed adjusting and he lounged on the banisters as if without their
support he might collapse completely.

"quite beautiful," she admitted. when i was younger i used to try and
paint a little myself, and it was sisley who finally convinced me i
shouldn't bother."

"why?"

cathy sighed. "sisley completed that picture when he was seventeen and
still at school."

"good heavens," the young man said. "an expert in our presence." cathy
smiled at her new companion. "perhaps we should sneak a look at some
more works on the upper corridor?"

"do you think sir charles would mind?"

"wouldn't have thought so," the young man replied. "after all, what's
the point of being a collector if other people are never given the
chance to admire what you've acquired?"

buoyed up by his confidence cathy mounted another step. "magnificent,"
she said. "an early sickert. they hardly ever come on the market."

"you obviously work in an art gallery."

"i work at trumper's," cathy said proudly. "number 1 chelsea terrace.
and you?"

"i sort of work for trumper's myself," he admitted. out of the corner of
her eye, cathy saw sir charles appearing from a room on the upstairs
landing her first close encounter with the chairman. like alice, she
wanted to disappear through a keyhole, but her companion remained
unperturbed, seemingly quite at home.

her host smiled at cathy as he came down the stairs. "hello," he said
once he'd reached them. "i'm charlie trumper and i've already heard all
about you, young lady. i saw you at the italian sale, of course, and
becky tells me that you're doing a superb job. by the way,
congratulations on the catalogue."

"thank you, sir," said cathy, unsure what else she should say as the
chairman continued on down the stairs, delivering a rat-a-tat-tat of
sentences while ignoring her companion.

"i see you've already met my son," sir charles added as he looked back
towards her. "don't be taken in by his donnish facade; he's every bit as
much of a rogue as his father. show her the bonnard, daniel." with this
sir charles disappeared into the drawing room.

"ah yes, the bonnard. father's pride and joy," said daniel. "i can think
of no better way of luring a girl into the bedroom."

"you're daniel tramper?"

"no. raffles, the well-known art thief," daniel said as he took cathy's
hand and guided her up the stairs and on into his parents' room.

"well what about that?" he asked.

"stunning" was all cathy could think of saying as she stared up at the
vast bonnard nude of his mistress michelle drying herself that hung
above the double bed.

"father's immensely proud of that particular lady," daniel explained.
"as he never stops reminding us, he only paid three hundred guineas for
her. almost as good as the ..." but daniel didn't complete the sentence.

"he has excellent taste."

"the best untrained eye in the business, mother always says. and as he's
selected every picture that hangs in this house, who's to argue with
her?"

"your mother chose none of them?"

"certainly not. my mother's by nature a seller, while my father's a
buyer, a combination unequaled since duveen and bernstein cornered the
art market."

"these two should have ended up in jail," said cathy.

"whereas," said daniel, "i suspect my father will end up in the same
place as duveen." cathy laughed. "and now i think we ought to go back
downstairs and grab some food before it all disappears."

once they entered the dining room cathy watched as daniel walked over to
a table on the far side of the

room and switched round two of the placecards.

"well, i'll be browed, miss. ross," daniel said, pulling back a chair
for her as other guests searched for their places. "after all that
unnecessary banter, i find we're sitting next to each other."

cathy smiled as she sat down beside him and watched a rather shy looking
girl circle the table desperately hunting for her placecard. soon daniel
was answering all her questions about cambridge while he in rum wanted
to know everything about melboume, a city he had never visited, he told
her. inevitably the question arose, "and what do your parents do?" cathy
replied without hesitation, "i don't know. i'm an orphan."

daniel smiled. "then we're made for each other."

"why's that?"

"i'm the son of a fruit and veg man and a baker's daughter from
whitechapel. an orphan from melbourne you say? you'll certainly be a
step up the social ladder for me, that's for sure.

cathy laughed as daniel recalled his parents' early careers, and as the
evening went on she even began to feel this might be the first man she
would be willing to talk to about her somewhat unexplained and
unexplainable background.

when the last course had been cleared away and they sat lingering over
their coffee, cathy noticed that the shy girl was now standing
immediately behind her chair. daniel rose to introduce her to marjorie
carpenter, a mathematics don from girton. it became obvious that she was
daniel's guest for the evening and had been surprised if not a littee
disappointed to find that she had not been seated next to him at dinner.

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 moming. 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 moming," he added. she
heard a click.

daniel telephoned a little after eight the following moming.

"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."

"l 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 moming.

"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 triniy 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
triniy 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 triniy,
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 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.

1 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 auc lion 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 moming.

"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 blat 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 dhe
subject and inquired who had painted the watercolor that hung above
daniel's desk.

"cadhy," 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. '

"win you paint one for me?" asked charlie, after he had studied dhe
lithe watercolor more carefully.

"i'd be delighted to," cathy replied. "but where would you hang it? in
dhe garage?"

after tea dhe four of dhem all walked along the backs and cathy was
disappointed blat 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.

on thursday morning cathy picked up off the front doormat a purple
envelope with her name written in spidery handwriting. she nervously
opened the letter to find it contained two sheets of thick paper of the
same color. the contents perplexed her, but at the same time brought her
considerable relief.

19 chester square london sw1 november 29th, 1950

dear miss. ross, thank you for your letter of last monday, but i fear i
can be of little assistance to you with your enquiries. i had two sons,
the younger of whom is nigel who recently separated. his wife now
resides in dobet, with my only grandson giles raymond, aged two.

my elder son was indeed guy francis trentham, who was awarded the
military cross at the second battle of the mavre, but he died of
tuberculosis in 1922 after a long illness. he ever married and left no
dependents.

the miniature version of his mc went missing soon after guy had paid a
fleeting visit to distant relatives in melbourne. i am happy to learn of
its reappearance after all these years, and would be most greatful if
you felt able to return the medal to me at your earliest convenience. i
feel sure you would no longer wish to hold on to a family heirloom now
that you are fully acquainted with its origins.

yours sincerely. ethel trentham cathy was delighted to discover that guy
trentham had died two years before she was bom. that meant it was quite
impossible for her to be related to the man who had caused her future
parents-in-law so much distress. the mc must somehow have got into the
hands of whoever her father was, she concluded; on balance she felt she
ought, however reluctantly, to return the medal to mrs. trentham without
delay.

after the revelations of mrs. trentham's letter, cathy was doubtful that
she would ever be able to find out who her parents were, as she had no
immediate plans to return to australia now that daniel was so much part
of her future. in any case, she had begun to feel that further pursuit
of her father had become somewhat pointless.

as cathy had already told daniel on the day they met that she had no
idea who her parents were, she traveled down to cambridge that friday
evening with a clear conscience. she was also relieved that her period
had at last begun. as the train bumped over the points on its journey to
the university city, cathy could never remember feeling so happy. she
fingered the little cross that hung around her neck, now hanging from a
gold chain daniel had given her on her birthday. she was sad to be
wearing the memento for the last time: she had already made the decision
to send the medal back to mrs. trentham following her weekend with
daniel.

the train drew into cambridge station only a few minutes after its
scheduled time of arrival.

cathy picked up her small suitcase and strolled out onto the pavement,
expecting to find daniel parked and waiting for her in his mg: he had
never once been late since the day they had met. she was disappointed to
find no sign of him or his car, and even more surprised when twenty
minutes later he still hadn't shown up. she walked back onto the station
concourse and placed two pennies in the telephone box before dialing the
number that went straight through to daniel's room. the ringing tone
went on and on, but she didn't need to press button a because no one
answered.

puzzled by not being able to locate him, cathy left the station once
again and asked one of the drivers from the rank to take her to trinity
college.

when the taxi drove into new court cathy was even more bemused to
discover daniel's mg was parked in its usual space. she paid the fare
and walked across the court to the now familiar staircase.

cathy felt the least she could do was tease daniel for failing to pick
her up. was this to be the sort of treatment she could expect once they
were married?

was she now on the same level as any undergraduate who fumed up without
his weekly essay? she climbed the worn stone steps up to his room and
knocked quietly on the door in case he still had a pupil with him. as
there was no answer after a second knock, she pushed open the heavy
wooden door, having decided that she would just have to wait around
until he resumed.

her scream must have been heard by every resident on staircase b.

the first undergraduate to arrive on the scene found the prostrate body
of a young woman lying face down in the middle of the floor. the student
fell to his knees, dropped the books he had been canying by her side and
proceeded to be sick all over her. he took a deep breath, fumed round as
quickly as he could and began to crawl back out of the study past an
overturned chair. he was unable to look up again at the sight that had
met him when he had first entered the room.

dr. trumper continued to swing gently from a beam in the center of the
room.

couldn't sleep for three days. on the fourth morning, along with so many
of daniel's friends, colleagues and undergraduates, i attended his
funeral service at trinity chapel. i somehow survived that ordeal and
the rest of the week, thanks not least to daphne's organizing everything
so calmly and efficiently. cathy was unable to attend the service as
they were still detaining her for observation at addenbrooke's hospital.

i stood next to becky as the choir sang out hfast falls the eventide."
my mind drifted as i tried to reconstruct the events of the past three
days and make some sort of sense of them. after daphne had told me that
daniel had taken his own life whoever selected her to break the news
understood the meaning of the word "compassionh i immediately drove up
to cambridge, having begged her not to tell becky anything until i knew
more of what had actually happened myself. by the time i arrived at
trinity great court some two hours later, daniel's body had already been
removed, and they had taken cathy off to addenbrooke's, where she was
not surprisingly still in a state of shock. the police inspector in
charge of the case couldn't have been more considerate. later, i visited
the morgue and identified the body, thanking god that at least becky
hadn't experienced that ice-cold room as the last place she was alone
with her son.

'`lord, with me abide ..."

i told the police that i could think of no reason why daniel should want
to take his own life that in fact he had just become engaged and i had
never known him happier. the inspector then showed me the suicide note:
a sheet of foolscap containing a single handwritten paragraph.

"they generally write one, you know," he said.

i didn't know.

i began to read daniel's neat academic hand:

act hat ~ ac. t0 .~ - ~:~ `;~< cat ~ my- i- at, 1 ~ `

icon f0 ~' - . ~ go so 4~, cow ~ 1~ c4; - .

i must have repeated those twenty-eight words to myself over a hundred
times and still i couldn't make any sense out of them. a week later the
doctor confirmed in his report to the coroner that cathy was not
pregnant and had certainly not suffered a miscarriage. i returned to
those words again and again. was i missing some subtle inference, or was
his final message something i could never hope to comprehend fully?

"when other helpers fail ..."

a forensic expert later discovered some writing paper in the grate, but
it had been burned to a cinder and the black, brittle remains yielded no
clue. then they showed me an envelope that the police believed the
charred letter must have been sent in and asked if i could identify the
writing. i studied the stiff, thin upright hand that had written the
words

"dr. daniel trumper" in purple ink.

hno," i lied. the letter had been hand-delivered, the detective told me,
some time earlier that afternoon by a man with a brown moustache and a
tweed coat. this was all the undergraduate who caught sight of him could
remember, except that he seemed to know his way around.

i asked myself what that evil old lady could possibly have written to
daniel that would have caused him to take his own life; i felt sure the
discovery that guy trentham was his father would not have been
sufficient for such a drastic cause of action especially as i knew that
he and mrs. trentham had already met and come to an agreement some three
years before.

the police found one other letter on daniel's desk. it was from the
provost of king's college, london, formally offering him a chair in
mathematics.

"and comforts flee ... "

after i had left the mortuary i drove on to addenbrooke's hospital,
where they allowed me to spend some time at cathy's bedside. although
her eyes were open, they betrayed no recognition of me: for nearly an
hour she simply stared blankly up at the ceiling while i stood there.
when i realized there was nothing i could usefully do i left quietly.
the senior psychiatrist, dr. stephen atkins, came bustling out of his
office and asked if i could spare him a moment.

the dapper little man in a beautifully tailored suit and large bow tie
explained that cathy was suffering from psychogenic amnesia, sometimes
known as hysterical amnesia, and that it could be some time before he
was able to assess what her rate of recovery might be. i thanked him and
added that i would keep in con stant touch. i then drove slowly back to
london.

"help of the helpless, o abide with me ..."

daphne was waiting for me in my office and made no comment about the
lateness of the hour. i tried to thank her for such endless kindness,
but explained that i had to be the one who broke the news to becky. god
knows how i carried out that responsibility without mentioning the
purple envelope with its telltale handwriting, but i did. had i told
becky the full story i think she would have gone round to chester square
that night and killed the woman there and then with her bare hands i
might even have assisted her.

they buried him among his own kind. the college chaplain, who must have
carried out this particular duty so many times in the past, stopped to
compose himself on three separate occasions.

"in life, in death, o lord, abide with me ..."

becky and i visited addenbrooke's together every day that week, but dr.
atkins only confirmed that cathy's condition remained unchanged; she had
not yet spoken. nevertheless, just the thought of her lying there alone
needing our love gave us something else to worry about other than
ourselves.

when we arrived back in london late on friday afternoon arthur selwyn
was pacing up and down outside my office.

hsomeone's broken into cathy's flat, the lock's been forced," he said
even before i had a chance to speak.

hbut what could a thief possibly hope to find?"

hthe police can't fathom that out either. nothing seems to have been
disturbed."

to the puzzle of what mrs. trentham could have written to daniel i added
the mystery of what she could possibly want that belonged to cathy.
after checking over the little room myself i was none the wiser.

becky and i continued to travel up and down to cambridge every other
day, and then midway through the third week cathy finally spoke,
haltingly to start with, then in bursts while grasping my hand. then
suddenly, without warning, she would go silent again. sometimes she
would rub her forefinger against her thumb just below her chin.

this puzzled even dr. atkins.

dr. atkins had since then, however, been able to hold extensive
conversations with cathy on several occasions and had even started
playing word games to probe her memory. it was his opinion that she had
blotted out all recollection of anything connected with daniel trumper
or with her early life in australia. it was not uncommon in such cases,
he assured us, and even gave the particular state of mind a fine greek
name.

"should i try and get in touch with her tutor at the university of
melbourne? or even talk to the staff of the melrose hotel and see if
they can throw any light on the problem?"

"no," he said, straightening his spotted bow tie. "don't push her too
hard and be prepared for that part of her mind to take some considerable
time to recover."

i nodded my agreement.

hback offh seemed to be dr. atkins' favorite expression. hand never
forget your wife will be suffering the same trauma. h seven weeks later
they allowed us to take cathy back to eaton square where becky had
prepared a room for her. i had already transferred all cathy's
possessions from the little flat, still unsure if anything was missing
following the break-in.

becky had stored all cathy's clothes neatly away in the wardrobe and
drawers while trying to make the room look as lived in as possible. some
time before, i had taken her watercolor of the cam from above

daniel's desk and rehung it on the staircase between the courbet and the
sisley. yet when cathy first walked up those stairs on the way to her
new room, she passed her own painting without the slightest sign of
recognition.

i inquired once again of dr. atkins if perhaps we should now write to
the university of melbourne and try to find out something about cathy's
past, but he still counseled against such a move, saying that she must
be the one who came forward with any information, and then only when she
felt able to do so, not as the result of any pressure from outside.

hbut how long do you imagine it might be before her memory is fully
restored?"

"anything from fourteen days to fourteen years, from my experience."

i remember returning to cathy's room that night, sitting on the end of
her bed and holding her hand. i noticed with pleasure that a little
color had returned to her cheeks. she smiled and asked me for the first
time how the "great barrow'' was rumbling along.

"we've declared record profits," i told her. "but far more important,
everyone wants to see you back at number 1."

she thought about this for some time. then quite simply she said, hi
wish you were my father."

in february 1951 nigel trentham joined the board of trumper's. he took
his place next to paul merrick, to whom he gave a thin smile. i couldn't
bring myself to look directly at him. he was a few years younger than me
but i vainly considered no one round that table would have thought so.

the board meanwhile approved the expenditure of a further half a million
pounds "to fill the gap," as becky referred to the half-acre that had
for ten years lain empty in the middle of chelsea terrace. hso at last
trumper's can all be housed under one roof," i

declared. trentham made no comment. my fellow directors also agreed to
an allocation of one hundred thousand pounds to rebuild the whitechapel
boys' club, which was to be renamed the "dan salmon center." i noticed
trentham whispered something in merrick's ear.

in the event, inflation, strikes and escalating builders' costs caused
the final bill for trumper's to be nearer seven hundred and thirty
thousand pounds than the estimated half million. one outcome of this was
to make it necessary for the company to offer a further rights issue in
order to cover the extra expense. another was that the building of the
boys' club had to be postponed.

the rights issue was once again heavily oversubscribed, which was
flattering for me personally, though i feared mrs. trentham might be a
major buyer of any new stock: i had no way of proving it. this dilution
of my equity meant that i had to watch my personal holding in the
company fall below forty percent for the first time.

it was a long summer and as each day passed cathy became a little
stronger and becky a little more communicative. finally the doctor
agreed that cathy could return to number 1. she went back to work the
following monday and becky said it was almost as if she had never been
away except that no one ever mentioned daniel's name in her presence.

one evening, it must have been about a month later, i returned home from
the office to find cathy pacing up and down the hall. my immediate
thoughts were that she must be agonizing over the past. i could not have
been more wrong.

hyou've got your staffing policy all wrong," she said as i closed the
door behind me.

"i beg your pardon, young lady?" i had not even been given enough time
to shed my topcoat.

"it's all wrong," she repeated. hthe americans are saving thousands of
dollars in their stores with time and motion studies while trumper's is
behaving as if they're still roaming around on the ark."

hcaptive audience on the ark,h i reminded her.

huntil it stopped raining," she replied. hcharlie, you must realize that
the company could be saving at least eighty thousand a year on wages
alone. i haven't been idle these last few weeks. in fact, i've put
together a report to prove my point." she thrust a cardboard box into my
arms and marched out of the room.

for over an hour after dinner i rummaged into the box and read through
cathy's preliminary findings. she had spotted an overmanning situation
that we had all missed and characteristically explained in great detail
how the situation could be dealt with without offending the unions.

over breakfast the following morning cathy continued to explain her
findings to me as if i had never been to bed. hare you still listening,
chairman?" she demanded. she always called me hchairmanh when she was
wanted to make a point. a ploy i felt sure she had picked up from
daphne.

hyou're all talk," i told her, which caused even becky to glance over
the top of her paper.

hdo you want me to prove i'm right?" cathy asked.

hbe my guest."

from that day on, whenever i carried out my morning rounds, i would
invariably come across cathy working on a different floor, questioning,
watching or simply taking copious notes, often with a stopwatch in her
other hand. i never asked her what she was up to and if she ever caught
my eye all she would say was, "good day, chairman."

at weekends i could hear cathy typing away in her room for hour after
hour. then, without warning, one morning at breakfast i discovered a
thick file waiting for me in the place where i had hoped to find an egg,
two rashers of bacon and the sunday times.

that afternoon i began reading through what cathy had prepared for me.
by the early evening i had come to the conclusion that the board must
implement most of her recommendations without further delay.

i knew exactly what i wanted to do next but felt it needed dr. atkins'
blessing. i phoned addenbrooke's that evening and the ward sister kindly
entrusted me with his home number. we spent over an hour on the phone.
he had no fears for cathy's future, he assured me, especially since
she'd begun to remember little incidents from her past and was now even
willing to talk about daniel.

when i came down to breakfast the following morning i found cathy
sitting at the table waiting for me. she didn't say a word as i munched
through my toast and marmalade pretending to be engrossed in the
financial times.

"all right, i give in," she said.

"better not," i warned her, without looking up from my paper. "because
you're item number seven on the agenda for next month's board meeting."

hbut who's going to present my case?" asked cathy, sounding anxious.

hnot me, that's for sure," i replied. "and i can't think of anyone else
who'd be willing to do so."

for the next fortnight whenever i retired to bed i became aware when
passing cathy's room that the typing had stopped. i was so filled with
curiosity that once i even peered through the half-open bedroom door.
cathy stood facing a mirror, by her side was a large white board resting
on an easel. the board was covered in a mass of colored pins and dotted
arrows.

"go away," she said, without even turning round. i realized there was
nothing for it but to wait until the board was due to meet.

dr. atkins had warned me that the ordeal of hav ing to present her case
in public might turn out to be too much for the girl and i was to get
her home if she began to show any signs of stress. hbe sure you don't
push her too far," were his final words.

"i won't let that happen," i promised him.

that thursday morning the board members were all seated in their places
round the table by three minutes to ten. the meeting began on a quiet
note, with apologies for absence, followed by the acceptance of the
minutes of the last meeting. we somehow still managed to keep cathy
waiting for over an hour, because when we came to item number three on
the agenda a rubber stamp decision to renew the company's insurance
policy with the prudential nigel trentham used the opportunity simply as
an excuse to irritate me hoping, i suspected, that i would eventually
lose my temper. i might have done, if he hadn't so obviously wanted me
to.

"i think the time has come for a change, mr. chairman," he said. "i
suggest we transfer our business to legal and general. h i stared down
the left-hand side of the table to focus on the man whose very presence
always brought back memories of guy trentham and what he might have
looked like in late middle age. the younger brother wore a smart
well-tailored double-breasted suit that successfully disguised his
weight problem. however, there was nothing that could disguise the
double chin or balding pate.

"i must point out to the board`" i began, "that trumper's has been with
the prudential for over thirty years. and what is more, they have never
let the company down in the past. just as important, legal and general
are highly unlikely to be able to offer more favorable terms."

"but they're in possession of two percent of the company's stock,n
trentham pointed out.

"the pru still have five percent," i reminded my fellow directors, aware
that once again trentham hadn't done his homework. the argument might
have been lobbed backwards and forwards for hours like a drobny-fraser
tennis match had daphne not intervened and called for a vote.

although trentham lost by seven to three, the altercation served to
remind everyone round that table what his long-term purpose must be. for
the past eighteen months trentham had, with the help of his mother's
money, been building up his shareholding in the company to a position i
estimated to be around fourteen percent. this would have been
controllable had i not been painfully aware that the hardcastle trust
also held a further seventeen percent of our stock stock which had
originally been intended for daniel but which would on the death of mrs.
trentham pass automatically to sir raymond's next of kin. although nigel
trentham lost the vote, he showed no sign of distress as he rearranged
his papers, casting an aside to paul merrick who was seated on his left.
he obviously felt confident that time was on his side.

"item seven,h i said, and leaning over to jessica i asked if she would
invite miss. ross to join us. when cathy entered the room every man
around that table stood. even trentham half rose from his place.

cathy placed two boards on the easel that had already been set up for
her, one full of charts, the other covered in statistics. she turned to
face us. i greeted her with a warm smile.

"good morning, ladies and gentlemen," she said. she paused and checked
her notes. "i should like to begin by ..."

she may have started somewhat hesitantly, but she soon got into her
stride as she explained, point by point, why the company's staffing
policy was outdated and the steps we should take to rectify the
situation as quickly as possible. these included early retirement for
men of sixty and women of fifty-five; the leasing of shelf space, even
whole floor sections, to recognized brand names, which would produce a
guaranteed cash flow without financial risk to trumper's, as each lessee
would be responsible for supplying its own staff; and a larger
percentage discount on merchandise for any firms who were hoping to
place orders with us for the first time. the presentation took cathy
about forty minutes, and when she concluded it was several moments
before anyone round the table spoke.

if her initial presentation was good, her handling of the questions that
followed was even better. she dealt with all the banking problems tim
newman and paul merrick could throw at her, as well as the trade union
anxieties arthur selwyn raised. as for nigel trentham, she handled him
with a calm efficiency that i was only too painfully aware i could never
equal. when cathy left the boardroom an hour later all the men rose
again except trentham, who stared down at the report in front of him.

as i walked up the path that evening cathy was on the doorstep waiting
to greet me.

swells'

"well?"

"don't tease, charlie," she scolded.

"you were appointed to be our new personnel director," i told her,
grinning. for a moment even she was speechless.

"now you've opened this can of worms, young lady," i added as i walked
past her, "the board rather expects you to sort the problem out."

cathy was so obviously thrilled by my news that i felt for the first
time perhaps daniel's tragic death might be behind us. i phoned dr.
atkins that evening to tell him not only how cathy had fared but that,
as a result of her presentation, she had been elected to the board.
however, what i didn't tell either of them was that i had been forced to
agree to another of trentham's nominations to the board in order to
ensure that her appointment went through without a vote being called
for.

from the day cathy arrived at the boardroom table it was clear for all
to see that she was a serious contender to succeed me as chairman and no
longer simply a bright girl from becky's fold. however, i was well aware
that cathy's advancement could only be achieved while trentham remained
unable to gain control of fifty-one percent of trumper's shares. i also
realized that the only way he could hope to do that was by making a
public bid for the company, which i accepted could well become possible
once he got his hands on the money held by hardcastle trust. for the
first time in my life i wanted mrs. trentham to live long enough to
allow me to build the company to such a position of strength that even
the trust money would prove inadequate for nigel trentham to mount a
successful takeover bid.

on 2 june 1953 queen elizabeth was crowned, four days after two men from
different parts of the commonwealth conquered everest. winston churchill
best summed it up when he said: "those who have read the history of the
first elizabethan era must surely look forward with anticipation to
participating in the second."

cathy took up the prime minister's challenge and threw all her energy
into the personnel project the board had entrusted her with, and was
able to show a saving of forty-nine thousand pounds in wages during 1953
and a further twenty-one thousand pounds in the first half of 1954. by
the end of that fiscal year i felt she knew more about the running of
trumper's at staff level than anyone around that table, myself included.

during 1955 overseas sales began to fall sharply, and as cathy no longer
seemed to be extended and i was keen for her to gain experience of other
departments i asked her to sort out the problems of our international
department.

she took on her new position with the same enthusiasm with which she
tackled everything, but during the next two years began to clash with
nigel trentham over a number of issues, including a policy to return the
difference to any customer who could prove he had paid less for a
standard item when shopping at one of our rivals. trentham argued that
trumper's customers were not interested in some imagined difference in
price that could be compared with a lesser known store, but only in
quality and service, to which cathy replied, "it isn't the customers'
responsibility to be concerned with the balance sheet, it's the board's
on behalf of our shareholders."

on another occasion trentham came near to accusing cathy of being a
communist when she suggested a "workers' share participation scheme"
which she felt would create company loyalty that only the japanese had
fully understood a country, she explained, where it was not uncommon for
a company to retain ninety-eight percent of its staff from womb to tomb.
even i was unsure about this particular idea, but becky warned me in
private that i was beginning to sound like a "fuddy buddy," which i
assumed was some modern term not to be taken as a compliment.

when legal and general failed to get our insurance business they sold
their two percent holding outright to nigel trentham. from that moment i
became even more anxious that he might eventually get his hands on
enough stock to take over the company. he also proposed another
nomination to the board which, thanks to paul merrick's seconding, was
accepted.

hi should have secured that land thirty-five years ago for a mere four
thousand pounds," i told becky.

"as you have reminded us so often in the past, and what's worse," becky
reminded me, his that mrs. trentham is now more dangerous to us dead
than al ive."

trumper's took the arrival of elvis presley, teddy boys, stilettos and
teenagers all in its stride. "the customers may have changed, but our
standards must not be allowed to," i continually reminded the board.

in 1960 the company declared a
seven-hundredand-fifty-seven-thousand-pound net profit, a fourteen
percent return on capital, and a year later went on to top this
achievement by being granted a royal warrant from the monarch. i
instructed that the house of windsor's coat of arms should be hung above
the main entrance to remind the public that the queen shopped at the
barrow on a regular basis.

i couldn't pretend that i had ever seen her majesty carrying one of our
familiar blue bags with its silver motif of a barrow, or spotted her as
she traveled up and down the escalators during peak hours, but we still
received regular telephone calls from the palace when they found
themselves running short of supplies: which only proved yet again my old
granpa's theory that an apple is an apple whoever bites it.

the highlight of 1961 for me was when becky finally opened the dan
salmon centre in whitechapel road another building that had run
considerably over cost. however, i didn't regret one penny of the
expenditure despite merrick's niggling criticism as i watched the next
generation of east end boys and girls swimming, boxing, weightlifting
and playing squash, a game i just couldn't get the hang of.

whenever i went to see west ham play soccer on a saturday afternoon, i
could always drop into the new club on my way home, and watch the
african, west indian and asian children the new east enders battle
against each other just as determinedly as we had done against the irish
and eastern european immigrants.

hthe old order changeth, yielding place to new; and god fulfils himself
in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world." tennyson's
words, chiseled in the stone on the archway above;the center, brought my
mind back to mrs. trentham, who was never far from my thoughts,
especially while her three representatives sat around the boardroom
table eager to carry out her bidding. nigel, who now resided at chester
square, seemed happy to wait for everything to fall into place before he
marshaled his troops ready for the attack.

i continued to pray that mrs. trentham would live to a grand old age as
i still needed more time to prepare some blocking process to ensure that
her son could never take over the company.

it was daphne who first warned me that mrs. trentham had taken to her
bed and was receiving regular visits from the family gp. nigel trentham
still managed to keep a smile on his face during those months of
waiting.

without warning on 7 march 1962 mrs. trentham, aged eighty-eight, died.

"peacefully in her sleep," daphne informed me.

chap tee if=

daphne attended mrs. trentham's funeral, "just to be certain that the
wretched woman really was buried," she explained to charlie later,
"though it wouldn't surprise me if she found some way of rising from the
dead." she went on to warn charlie that nigel had been overheard, even
before the body had been lowered into the ground, telling everyone that
we should expect thunderbolts as soon as the board met. again. he only
had a few days to wait.

that first tuesday of the following month charlie checked around the
boardroom table to see that every director was present. he could sense
they were all waiting to see who would strike first. nickel trentham and
his two colleagues wore black ties dike some official badge of office,
reminding the board of their newly acquired status. in contrast, for the
first time in charlie's memory, mr. baverstock wore a garish
pastelcolored tie.

charlie had already worked out that trentham would wait until item
number six a proposal to expand the banking facilities on the ground
floor before he made any move. the original scheme had been one of
cathy's brainchilds, and soon after returning from one of her monthly
trips to the states she had presented a detailed proposal to the board.
although the new department had experienced some teething problems, by
the end of its second year it was just about breaking even.

the first half hour was peaceful enough as charlie took the board
through items one to five. but when he called for "item number six. the
expansion of "

"let's close the bank and cut our losses," were trentham's opening words
even before charlie had been given the chance to offer an opinion.

"for what reason?" asked cathy defiantly.

"because we're not bankers," said trentham. "we're shopkeepers or barrow
pushers, as our chairman so often likes to remind us. in any case, it
would give us a saving on expenditure of nearly thirty thousand pounds a
year."

"but the bank is just beginning to pay its way," said cathy. "we should
be thinking of expanding the facilities, not curtailing them. and with
profits in mind, who knows how much money cashed on the premises is then
spent on the premises?"

"yes, but look at the amount of extra counter space the banking hall is
taking up."

"in return we give our customers a valuable service."

"and lose money hand over fist by not using the space for more
profitable lines of business," fired back trentham.

"like what, for example?" said cathy. "just tell me one other department
that would provide a more useful service for our customers and at the
same time show a better return on our investment. do that and i'll be
the first to agree we should close down the banking hall."

"we're not a service industry. it's our duty to show a decent return on
capital for our shareholders," said trentham. "i demand a vote on this,"
he added, not bothering to rebut cathy's arguments any further.

trentham lost the vote by six to three and charlie assumed after such an
outcome they would then pass on to item number seven a proposed staff
outing to the film of west side story, playing at the odeon, leicester
square. however, once jessica allen had recorded the names for the
minutes, nigel trentham rose quickly to his feet and said, "i have an
announcement to make, mr. chairman."

"wouldn't it be more appropriate under 'any other business'?" asked
charlie innocently.

"i will no longer be here when you come to discuss any other business,
mr. chairman," said trentham coldly. he proceeded to remove a piece of
paper from an inside pocket, unfolded it and began reading from what was
obviously a prepared script.

"i feel it is my duty to inform the board," he seated, "that within a
few weeks i will be the sole owner of thirty-three percent of trumper's
shares. when we next meet, i shall be insisting that several changes be
made to the structure of the company, not least in the composition of
those presently seated around this table." he stopped to stare at cathy
before he added, "i intend to leave now, in order that you can discuss
more fully the implications of my statement."

he pushed back his chair as daphne said, "i'm not quite sure i fully
understand what you're suggesting, mr. trentham."

trentham hesitated for a moment before he replied, "then i shall have to
explain my position more fully, lady wileshire."

"how kind of you."

"at the next board meeting," he continued unabashed, "i shall allow my
name to be proposed and seconded as chairman of trumper's. should i fail
to be elected, i shall immediately resign from the board and issue a
press statement of my intention to make a full takeover bid for the
remaining shares in the company. you must all be aware by now that i
will have the necessary facility to mount such a challenge. as i only
require a further eighteen percent of the stock to become the majority
shareholder, i suggest it might be wise for those of you who are
currently directors to face up to the inevitable and offer your
resignations in order to avoid the embarrassment of being dismissed. i
look forward to seeing one or two of you again at next month's board
meeting." he and his two colleagues rose and followed him out of the
room.

the silence that followed was broken only by another question from
daphne.

"what's the collective noun for a group of shits?"

everybody laughed, except baverstock, who said under his breath, "a
heap."

"so, now we've been given our battle orders," said charlie. "let's hope
we all have the stomach for a fight." turning to mr. baverstock he
asked, "can you advise the board on the present position concerning
those shares currently held by the hardcastle trust?"

the old man raised his head slowly and looked up at charlie. "no, mr.
chairman, i cannot. indeed, i'm sorry to have to inform the board that
1, too, must tender my resignation."

"but why?" asked becky, aghast. "you've always supported us in the past
through thick and thin."

"i must apologize, lady trumper, but i am not at liberty to disclose my
reasons."

"couldn't you possibly reconsider your position?" charlie asked.

"no, sir," baverstock replied firmly.

charlie immediately closed the meeting, despite everyone trying to talk
at once, and quickly followed baverstock out of the boardroom.

"what made you resign?" charlie asked. "after all these years?"

"perhaps we could meet and discuss my reasons tomorrow, sir charles?"

"of course. but just tell me why you felt it necessary to leave us at
exactly the time when i most need you."

mr. baverstock stopped in his tracks. "sir raymond anticipated this
might happen," he said quietly. "and instructed me accordingly."

"i don't understand."

"that is why we should meet tomorrow, sir charles."

"do you want me to bring becky along?"

mr. baverstock considered this suggestion for some time before saving,
"i think not. if i am to break a confidence for the first time in forty
years, i'd prefer to have no other witnesses present."

when charlie arrived at the offices of baverstock dickens and cobb the
following morning, the senior partner was standing at the door waiting
to greet him. although charlie had never once been late for an
appointment with mr. baverstock in the fourteen years they had known
each other, he was touched by the oldworld courtesy the solicitor always
extended to him.

"good moming, sir charles," said baverstock before guiding his guest
along the conidor to his office. charlie was surprised to be offered a
seat near the unlit fire rather than his usual place on the other side
of the partner's desk. there wasn't a clerk or secretary in attendance
on this occasion to keep a record of the minutes and charlie also
noticed that the phone on mr. baverstock's desk had been taken off the
hook. he sat back realizing that this was not going to be a short
meeting.

"many years ago when i was a young man," began baverstock, "and i sat my
pupil's exams, i swore to keep a code of confidentiality when dealing
with my clients' private affairs. i think i can safely say that i have
honored that undertaking throughout my professional life. however, one
of my clients, as you well know, was sir raymond hardcastle and he "
there was a knock on the door and a young girl entered, with a tray
bearing two cups of hot coffee and a sugar bowl.

"thank you, miss. burrows," said baverstock as one of the cups was
placed in front of him. he did not continue with his exposition until
the door was closed behind her. "where was 1, old fellow?" baverstock
asked, as he dropped a sugar lump into his cup.

"your client, sir raymond."

"oh, yes," said baverstock. "now, sir raymond left a will of which you
may well feel you are cognizant. what you could not know, however, is
that he attached a letter to that document. it has no legal standing, as
it was addressed to me in a personal capacity."

charlie's coffee lay untouched as he listened intently to what
baverstock had to say. "it is because that letter is not a legal
document but a private communication between old friends that i have
decided you should be a party to its contents."

baverstock leaned forward and opened the file that lay on the table in
front of him. he removed a single sheet of paper transcribed in a bold,
firm hand. "i should like to point out, sir charles, before i read this
letter to you that it was written at a time when sir raymond assumed
that his estate would be inherited by daniel and not by his next of
kin."

mr. baverstock pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, cleared
his throat and began to read:

dear baverstock, despite everything i have done to ensure that my final
wishes are carried out to the letter, it may still be possible that ...
will find some way of seeing that my great-grandson, davie trusper, does
not inherit the residue of my estate. if such cicumstances should come
about, please use your common sense and allow those most affected by the
decisions in my will to be privy to its finer details.

old friend, you know exactly to whom and what i am referring.

yours as ever ray.

baverstock placed the letter back on the table and said, "i fear he knew
my little weaknesses every bit as much as his daughter's." charlie
smiled for he appreciated the ethical dilemma with which the old lawyer
was so obviously grappling.

"now, before i make reference to the will itself i must let you into
another confidence."

charlie nodded.

"you are painfully aware, sir charles, that mr. nigel trentham is now
the next of kin. however, it should not pass unobserved that the will is
so worded that sir raymond couldn't even bring himself actually to name
him as the recipient. i suspect that he hoped that daniel might produce
progeny of his own who would have taken precedence over his grandson.

"the current position is that mr. nigel trentham will, as sir raymond's
closest living descendant, be entitled to the shares in trumper's and
the residue of the hardcastle estate a considerable fortune, which i can
confirm would provide him with adequate funds to mount a full takeover
bid for your company. however, that was not my purpose in wanting to see
you this morning. no, that was because there is one clause in the will
you could not have previously been aware of. after taking into account
sir raymond's letter, i believe it to be nothing less than my duty to
inform you of its import."

baverstock burrowed into his file and retrieved a sheaf of papers,
sealed in wax and bound in pink ribbon.

"the first eleven clauses of sir raymond's testament took me some
considerable time to compose. however, their substance is not relevant
to the issue at hand. they relate to minor legacies left by my client to
nephews, nieces and cousins who have already received the sums
bequeathed.

"clauses twelve to tweny-one go on to name charities, clubs and academic
institutions with which sir raymond had long been associated, and they
too have received the benefit of his munificence. but it is clause
twenty-two that i consider crucial." baverstock cleared his throat once
again before looking down at the will and turning over several pages.

"'the residue of my estate shall pass to mr. daniel trumper of trinity
college, cambridge, but should he fail to survive my daughter ethel
trentham then that sum shall be equally divided between his offspring.
should he have no issue, then the estate shall pass to my closest living
descendant.' now to the relevant paragraph, sir charles. 'if these
circumstances arise i instruct my executors to go to any lengths they
feel necessary to find someone entitled to make a claim on my
inheritance. in order that this option might be properly executed, i
also deem that final payment of the residue of the estate shall not be
made until a-further two years after my daughter's death."'

charlie was about to ask a question when mr. baverstock raised his hand.

"it has become clear to me," continued baverstock "that sir raymond's
purpose in including clause twenty-two was simply to give you enough
time to marshal your forces and hght any hostile takeover bid mr. nigel
trentham might have in mind.

"sir raymond also left instructions that, at a suitable time following
his daughter's death, an advertisement should be placed in the times,
the telegraph and the guardian and any other newspaper i considered
appropriate when seeking to discover if there were any other persons who
feel they might have some claim on the estate. if this should be the
case, they can then do so by making direct contact with this firm.
thirteen such relations have already received the sum of one thousand
pounds each, but it is just possible there could be other cousins or
distant relatives of whom sir raymond was unaware who may still be
entitled to make such a claim. this provision simply gave the old man an
excuse for the two-year clause. as i understand it, sir raymond was
quite happy to allocate another thousand pounds to some unknown relative
if at the same time it afforded you some breathing space. by the way,"
said baverstock, "i have decided to add the yorkshire post and the
huddersfield daily examiner to the list of newspapers named in the will
because of the family connections in that county."

"what a shrewd old buzzard he must have been," said charlie. "i only
wish i'd known him."

"i think i can say with some confidence, sir charles, that you would
have liked him."

"it was also extremely kind of you to put me in the picture, old
fellow."

"not at all. i feel sure," said baverstock, "that had he been placed in
my position it is no more and certainly no less than sir raymond would
have done himself."

"if only i'd told daniel the truth about his father ... "

"if you save your energies for the quick," said baverstock, "it is
possible sir raymond's foresight may still not have been wasted."

on 7 march 1962, the day on which mrs. trentham died, trumper's shares
stood at one pound two shillings on the ft index; only four weeks later
they had risen by a further three shillings.

tim newman's first piece of advice to charlie was to cling to every
share he still possessed and under no circumstances during the next
couple of years to agree to any further rights issues. if between them
charlie and becky were able to lay their hands on any spare cash, they
should purchase shares as and when they came on the market.

the problem with following this particular piece of advice was that
every time a substantial block of shares did come on to the market they
were immediately taken up by an unknown broker who so obviously had
instructions to purchase stock whatever the price. charlie's stockbroker
managed to get his hands on a few shares but only from those unwilling
to trade on the open market. charlie was loath to pay over the odds, as
he had never forgotten how close he had come to bankruptcy when he last
extended his credit. by the end of the year trumper's shares stood at
one pound seventeen shillings. there were even fewer sellers left in the
marketplace after the financial times had warned their readers of a
possible takeover battle for the company and gone on to predict it would
take place within the next eighteen months.

"that damned paper seems to be as well briefed as any member of the
board," daphne complained to charlie at their next meeting, adding that
she no longer bothered with the minutes of the past meeting as she could
always read an excellent summary of what had taken place on the front
page of the financial times, which appeared to have been dictated to
them verbatim. as she delivered these words her eyes never left paul
merrick.

the paper's latest story was inaccurate in only one small detail, as the
battle for trumper's was no longer taking place in the boardroom. as
soon as it became known that a two-year holding clause existed in sir
raymond's will nigel trentham and his nominees had stopped attending the
monthly meetings.

trentham's absence particularly annoyed cathy, as quarter after quarter
the new in-house bank began to show increased profits. she found herself
addressing her opinions to three empty chairs though she too suspected
merrick was reporting back every detail to chester square. as if to
compound matters, in 1963 charlie informed the shareholders at their agm
that the company would be declaring another record profit for the year.

"you may have spent a lifetime building up trumper's only to hand it
over on a plate to the trenthams," tim newman reflected.

"there's certainly no need for mrs. trentham to be turning in her
grave," admitted charlie. "ironic, after all she managed during her life
that it's only by her death that she's been given the chance to deliver
the coup de grace"

when, early in 1964, the shares rose yet again  this time to over two
pounds charlie was informed by tim newman that nigel trentham was still
in dhe marketplace with instructions to buy.

"but where's he getting hold of all the extra cash that would be needed
to bankroll such an operation  when he's still not yet got his hands on
his grandfather's money?"

"i picked up a hint from a former colleague," replied tim newman, "that
a leading merchant bank has granted him a large overdraft facility in
anticipation of his gaining control of the hardcastle trust. only wish
you had a grandfather who'd left you a fortune," he added.

"i did," said charlie.

nigel trendham chose charlie's sixty-fourth birthday to announce to dhe
world that he would be makin~ a full bid for trumper's shares at a price
of two pound four shillings, a mere six weeks before he was enticed to
lay claim to his inheritance. charlie still felt confident that with the
help of friends and institutions like the prudential as well as some
shareholders who were waiting for the price to rise even higher he could
still lay his hands on almost forty percent of the stock. tim newman
estimated that trentham must now have at least twenty percent, but once
he was able to add the trust's seventeen percent he might then be in
possession of as much as forty-two to forty-three. picking up dhe extra
eight or nine percent required to gain control should not prove too hard
for him, newman warned charlie.

that night daphne threw a birthday party in charlie's honor at her home
in eaton square. no one mentioned the name of "trentham" until the port
had been passed round for a second time, when a slightly maudlin charlie
recited the relevant clause in sir raymond's will, which he explained
had been put there with the sole purpose of trying to save him.

"i give you sir raymond hardcasde," said charlie, raising his glass. "a
good man to have on your team."

"sir raymond," the guests echoed, all raising their glasses, with the
exception of daphne.

"what's the problem, old gel?" asked percy. "port not up to scratch?"

"no, as usual it's you lot who aren't. you've all totally failed to work
out what sir raymond expected of you."

"what are you on about, old gel?"

"i should have thought it was obvious for anyone to see, especially you,
charlie," she said, turning from her husband to the guest of honor.

"i'm with percy i haven't a clue what you're on about."

by now everyone round the table had fallen silent, while they
concentrated on what daphne had to say.

"it's quite simple really," continued daphne. "sir raymond obviously
didn't consider it likely that mrs. trentham would outlive daniel."

"so?" said charlie.

"and i also doubt if he thought for one moment that daniel would have
any children before she died."

"possibly not," said charlie.

"and we are all painfully aware that nigel trentham was a last resort
otherwise sir raymond would happily have named him in his will as the
next beneficiary and not have been willing to pass his fortune on to an
offspring of guy trentham, whom he had never even met. 'he also wouldn't
have added the words: should he have no issue, then the estate shall
pass to my closest living descendant."'

"where's all this leading?" asked becky.

"back to the clause charlie has just recited. 'please go to any lengths
you feel necessary to find someone entitled to make a claim on my
inheritance."' daphne read from the jottings she had scribbled in
ballpoint on her damask tablecloth. "are those the correct words, mr.
baverstock?" she asked.

"they are, lady wiltshire, but i still don't see "

"because you're as blind as charlie," said daphne. "thank god one of us
is still sober. mr. baverstock please remind us all of sir raymond's
instructions for placing the advertisement."

mr. baverstock touched his lips with his napkin, folded the linen square
neatly and placed it in front of him. "an advertisement should be placed
in the times the telegraph and the guardian and any other newspaper i
consider relevant and appropriate."

"that you consider 'relevant and appropriate,"' said daphne, slowly
enunciating each word. "as broad a hint as you might hope from a sober
man, i would have thought." every eye was now fixed on daphne and no one
attempted to interrupt her. "can't you see those are the crucial words?"
she asked. "because if guy trentham did have any other children, you
certainly wouldn't find them by advertising in the london times, the
telegraph, the guardian, the yorkshire post or for that matter the
huddersf eld daily examiner. "

charlie dropped his slice of birthday cake back onto his plate and
looked across at mr. baverstock. "good heavens, she's right, you know."

"she certainly may not be wrong," admitted baverstock, shuffling
uneasily in his chair. "and i apologize for my lack of imagination,
because as lady wiltshire rightly points out i've been a blind fool by
not following my master's instructions when he advised me to use my
common sense. he so obviously worked out that guy might well have
fathered other children and that such offspring were most unlikely to be
found in england."

"well done, mr. baverstock," said daphne. "i do believe i should have
gone to university and read for the bar."

mr. baverstock felt unable to correct her on this occasion.

"there may still be time," said charlie. "after all, there's another six
weeks left before the inheritance has to be handed over, so let's get
straight back to work. by the way, thank you," he added, bowing towards
daphne.

charlie rose from his chair and headed towards the nearest phone. "the
first thing i'm going to need is the sharpest lawyer in australia."
charlie checked his watch. "and preferably one who doesn't mind getting
up early in the moming."

mr. baverstock cleared his throat.

during the next two weeks large box advertisements appeared in every
newspaper on the australian continent with a circulation of over fifty
thousand. each reply was quickly followed up with an interview by a firm
of solicitors in sydney that mr. baverstock had been happy to recommend.
every evening charlie was telephoned by trevor roberts, the senior
partner, who remained on the end of the line for several hours when
charlie would learn the latest news that had been gathered from their
offices in sydney, melbourne, perth, brisbane and adelaide. however,
after three weeks of sorting out the cranks from the genuine inquirers
roberts came up with only three candidates who fulfilled all the
necessary criteria. however, once they had been interviewed by a partner
of the firm they also failed to prove any direct relationship with any
member of the trentham family.

roberts had discovered that there were seventeen trenthams on the
national register, most of them from tasmania, but none of those could
show any direct lineace with guy trentham or his mother, although one
old lady from hobart who had emigrated from ripon after the war was able
to present a legitimate claim for a thousand pounds, as it turned out
she was a third cousin of sir raymond.

charlie thanked mr. roberts for his continued diligence but told him not
to let up, as he didn't care how many staff were allocated to the job
night or day.

at the final board meeting to be called before nigel trentham officially
came into his inheritance, charlie briefed his colleagues on the latest
news from australia.

"doesn't sound too hopeful to me," said newman. "after all, if there is
another trentham around he or she must be well over thirty, and surely
would have made a claim by now."

"agreed, but australia's an awfully big place and they might even have
left the country."

"never give up, do you?" remarked daphne.

"be that as it may," said arthur selwyn, "i feel the time is long
overdue for us to try and come to some agreement with trentham, if there
is to be a responsible takeover of the company. in the interests of
trumper's and its customers, i would like to see if it is at all
possible for the principals involved to come to some amicable
arrangement "

"amicable arrangement!" said charlie. "the only arrangement trentham
would agree to is that he sits in this chair with a built-in majority on
the board while i am left twiddling my thumbs in a retirement home."

"that may well be the case," said selwyn. "but i must point out,
chairman, that we still have a duty to our shareholders."

"he's right," said daphne. "you'll have to try, charlie, for the
long-term good of the company you founded." she added quietly, "however
much it hurts."

becky nodded her agreement and charlie turned to ask jessica to make an
appointment with trentham at his earliest convenience. jessica returned
a few minutes later to let the board know that nigel trentham had no
interest in seeing any of them before the march board meeting, when he
would be happy to accept their resignatlons in person.

"seventh of march: two years to the day since the death of his mother,"
charlie reminded the board.

"and mr. roberts is holding for you on the other line," jessica
reported.

charlie rose and strode out of the room. the moment he reached the phone
he grabbed at it as a drowning sailor might a lifeline. "roberts, what
have you got for me?"

"guy trentham!"

"but he's already buried in a grave in ashurst."

"but not before his body was removed from a jail in melbourne."

"a jail? i thought he died of tuberculosis."

"i don't think you can die of tuberculosis while you're hanging from the
end of a six-foot rope, sir charles."

"hanged?"

"for the murder of his wife, anna helen," said the solicitor.

"but did they have any children?"

"there's no way of knowing the answer to that."

"why the hell not?"

"it's against the law for the prison service to release the names of the
next of kin to anyone."

"but why, for heaven's sake?"

"for their own protection."

"but this could only be to their benefit."

"they've heard that one before. indeed, i have had it pointed out to me
that in this particular case we've already advertised for claimants from
one coast to the other. what's worse, if any of trentham's offspring had
changed their name, for understandable reasons, we've little chance of
tracing him or her at all. but be assured i'm still working flat out on
it, sir charles."

"get me an interview with the chief of police."

"it won't make any difference, sir charles. he won't " began roberts,
but charlie had already hung up.

"you're mad," said becky, as she helped her husband pack a suitcase an
hour later.

"true," agreed charlie. "but this may well be the last chance i have of
keeping control of the company, and i'm not willing to do it on the end
of a phone, let alone twelve thousand miles away. i have to be there
myself, so at least i know it's me who's failed and not a third party."

"but what exactly are you hoping to find when you get there?"

charlie looked across at his wife as he fastened his suitcase. "i
suspect only mrs. trentham knows the answer to that."

cat p tee - 3=

when thirty-four hours later on a warm, sunlit evening, flight 012
touched down at kingsford smith airport in sydney, charlie felt what he
most needed was a good night's sleep. after he had checked through
customs he was met by a tall young man dressed in a light beige suit who
stepped forward and introduced himself as trevor roberts, the lawyer who
had been recommended by baverstock. roberts had thick, rusty-colored
hair and an even redder complexion. he was of a solid build and looked
as if he might still spend his saturday afternoons in a different type
of court. he immediately took over charlie's laden trolley and pushed it
smartly towards the exit marked "car park."

"no need to check this lot into a hotel," said roberts as he held the
door open for charlie. "just leave everything in the car."

"is this good legal advice you're giving me?" asked charlie, already out
of breath trying to keep up with the young man.

"it certainly is, sir charles, because we've no time to waste." he
brought the trolley to a halt at the curbside and a chauffeur heaved the
bags into the boot while charlie and mr. roberts climbed into the back.
"the british governor-general has invited you for drinks at six at his
residence, but i also need you to be on the last flight to melbourne
tonight. as we only have six days left, we can't afford to waste any of
them being in the wrong ciy."

charlie knew he was going to like mr. roberts from the moment the
australian passed over a thick file. charlie began to listen attentively
to the young lawyer as he went over the proposed schedule for the next
three days while the car traveled on towards the outskirts of the city.
charlie continued to pay attention to everything he had to say, only
occasionally asking for something to be repeated or gone over in greater
detail as he tried to accustom himself to the difference in style
between mr. roberts and any solicitor he had dealt with in england. when
he had asked mr. baverstock to find him the sharpest young lawyer in
sydney, charlie hadn't imagined that he would select someone in quite
such a different mold from his old friend.

as the car sped along the highway towards the governor-general's
residence roberts, with several files balanced on his knees, continued
with his detailed briefing. "we're only attending this cocktail party
with the governor-general," he explained, "in case during the next few
days we need some help in opening heavy doors. then we're off to
melbourne because every time someone from my office comes up with
anything that might be described as a lead it always seems to end up on
the chief commissioner of police's desk in that ciy. i've made an
appointment for you to see the new chief in the morning, but as i warned
you the commissioner's not proving to be at all cooperative with my
people."

"why's that?"

"he's recently been appointed to the job, and is now desperately trying
to prove that everyone will be treated impartially except poms."

"so what's his problem?"

"like all second-generation australians he hates the british, or at
least he has to pretend he does." roberts grinned. "in fact, i think
there's only one group of people he dislikes more."

"criminals?"

"no, lawyers," replied roberts. "so now you'll realize why the odds are
stacked against us."

"have you managed to get anything out of him at all?"

"not a lot. most of what he has been willing to reveal was already on
public record, namely that on 27 july 1926 guy trentham, in a fit of
temper, killed his wife by stabbing her several times while she was
taking a bath. he then held her under the water so as to be sure that
she didn't survive page sixteen in your file. we also know that on 23
april 1927 he was hanged for the crime, despite several appeals for
clemency to the governor-general. what we've been quite unable to
discover is if he was survived by any children. the melbourne age was
the one newspaper that carried a report of the trial, and they made no
mention of a child. however, that's hardly surprising, as the judge
would have ruled against any such reference in court unless it threw
some light on the crime."

"but what about the wife's maiden name? surely that's a better route to
take."

"you're not going to like this, sir charles," said roberts.

"try me."

"her name was smith anna helen smith that's why we concentrated what
little time we had on trentham."

ubut you've still come up with no firm leads?"

"i'm afraid not," said roberts. "if there was a child in australia at
the time bearing the name of 'trentham' we certainly haven't been able
to trace him. my staff have interviewed every trentham that's shown up
on the national register, including one from coorabulka which has a
population of eleven and takes three days to reach by car and foot."

"despite your valiant efforts, roberts, my guess is there might still be
some stones we need to look under."

"possibly," said roberts. "i even began to wonder if perhaps trentham
had changed his name when he first came to australia, but the chief of
police was able to confimm that the file he holds in melbourne is under
the name of guy francis trentham."

"so if the name's unchanged then surely any child would be traceable?"

"not necessarily. i dealt with a case quite recently in which i had a
client whose husband was sent to jail for manslaughter. she reverted to
her maiden name, which she also gave to her only child, and was able to
show me a foolproof system for then having the original name expunged
from the records. also, remember that in this case we're dealing with a
child who could have been born any time between 1923 and 1925, and the
removal of just one piece of paper could well have been enough to
eliminate any connection he or she might have with guy trentham. if
that's the case, finding such a child in a country the size of australia
would be like searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack."

"but i've only got six days," said charlie plaintively.

"don't remind me," said roberts, as the car drove through the gates of
the govemor-general's residence at govemment house, dropping its speed
to a more sedate pace as they continued up the drive. "i've allocated
one hour for this party, no more," the young lawyer wamed. "all i want
out of the govemor-general is a promise that he'll telephone the chief
of police in melbourne before our meeting tomorrow, to ask him to be as
cooperative as possible. but when i say we must leave, sir charles, i
mean we must leave."

"understood," said charlie, feeling like a private back on parade in
edinburgh.

"by the way," said roberts, "the govemor-general is sir oliver williams.
sixty-one, former guards officer, comes from some place called tunbridge
wells."

two minutes later they were striding into the grand ballroom of
government house.

"so glad you could make it, sir charles," said a tall, elegantly dressed
man who wore a double-breasted striped suit and a guards tie.

"thank you, sir oliver."

"and how was the journey over, old chap?"

"five stops for refueling and not one airport that knew how to brew a
decent cup of tea."

"then you'll need one of these," suggested sir oliver, handing charlie a
large whisky that he removed deftly from a passing tray. "and to think,"
continued the diplomat, "they're predicting that our grandchildren will
be able to fly the entire journey from london to sydney nonstop in less
than a day. still, yours was a lot less unpleasant an experience than
the early settlers had to endure."

"a small compensation." charlie couldn't think of a more appropriate
reply as he considered what a contrast mr. baverstock's nominee in
australia was to the queen's representative.

"now, do tell me what brings you to sydney," continued the
govemor-general. "are we to anticipate that the second 'biggest barrow
in the world' is about to be pushed round to this side of the globe?"

"no, sir oliver. you'll be saved that. i'm here on a brief private
visit, trying to sort out some family business."

"well, if there's anything i can do to assist you," said his host,
taking a gin from another passing tray, "just let me know."

"that's kind of you, sir oliver, because i do need your help over one
small matter."

"and what might that be?" asked his host, at the same moment allowing
his eyes to wander over charlie's shoulder in the direction of some late
arrivals.

"you could call the chief of police in melbourne and ask him to be as
cooperative as possible when i visit him tomorrow moming."

"consider the call made, old fellow," said sir oliver as he leaned
forward to shake the hand of an arab sheikh. "and don't forget, sir
charles, if there's anything i can do to help and i mean anything just
let me know. ah, monsieur l'ambassadeur, comment alley roust charlie
suddenly felt exhausted. he spent the rest of the hour just trying to
remain on his feet while talking to diplomats, politicians and
businessmen, all of whom seemed well acquainted with the biggest barrow
in the world. eventually a firm touch on his elbow from roberts signaled
that the proprieties had been observed and he must now leave for the
airport.

on the flight to melbourne charlie was just about able to stay awake,
even if his eyes weren't always open. in answer to a question from
roberts he confirmed that the governor-general had agreed to telephone
the chief of police the following morning. "but i'm not certain he
appreciated how important it was."

"i see," said roberts. "then i'll be back in touch with his office first
thing tomorrow. sir oliver's not renowned for remembering promises he
makes at cocktail parties. 'if there's anything i can do to assist you,
old chap, and i mean anything"' which even managed to elicit a sleepy
grin from charlie.

at melbourne airport another car was waiting for them. charlie was
whisked away, and this time he did fall asleep and didn't wake again
until they drew up outside the windsor hotel some twenty minutes later.
the manager showed his guest to the prince edward suite and as soon as
he had been left on his own charlie quickly undressed, had a shower and
climbed into bed. a few minutes later he fell into a heavy sleep.
however, he still woke around four the next moming.

propped uncomfortably up in bed supported by foam rubber pillows that
wouldn't stay in one place, charlie spent the next three hours going
through roberts' files. the man might not have looked or sounded like
baverstock but the same stamp of thoroughness was evident on every page.
by the time charlie let the last file drop to the floor he had to accept
that roberts' firm had covered every angle and followed up every lead;
his only hope now rested with a cantankerous melbourne policeman.

charlie had a cold shower at seven and a hot breakfast just after eight.
although his only appointment that day was at ten o'clock he was pacing
round his suite long before roberts was due to pick him up at
nine-thirty, aware that if nothing came out of this meeting he might as
well pack his bags and fly back to england that afternoon. at least that
would give becky the satisfaction of being proved right.

at nine twenty-nine roberts knocked on his door; charlie wondered how
long the young lawyer had been standing outside in the corridor waiting.
roberts reported that he had already telephoned the governorgeneral's
office and that sir oliver had promised to call the chief of police
within the hour.

"good. now tell me everything you know about the man."

"mike cooper is forry-seven, efficient, prickly and brash. climbed up
through the ranks but still finds it necessary to prove himself to
everyone, especially when he's in the presence of a lawyer, perhaps
because crime statistics for melbourne have risen at an even faster rate
than our test averages against england."

"you said yesterday he was second generation. so where does he hail
from?"

roberts checked his file. "his father emigrated to australia at the turn
of the century from somewhere called deptford."

"deptford?" repeated charlie with a grin. "that's almost home
territory." he checked his watch. "shall we be off? 1 think i'm more
than ready to meet mr. cooper."

when twenty minutes later roberts held open the door of the police
headquarters for his client, they were greeted with a large formal
photograph of a man in his late forties that made charlie feel every day
of his sixyfour years.

after roberts had supplied the officer on duty with their names they
were kept waiting for only a few minutes before charlie was ushered
through to the chiefs office.

the policeman's lips formed a reluctant smile when he shook hands with
charlie. "l am not sure there's a lot i can do to help you, sir
charles," began cooper, motioning him to take a seat. "despite your
governorgeneral taking the trouble to call me." he ignored roberts, who
remained standing a few feet behind his client.

"i know that accent," said charlie, not taking the offered chair.

ul beg your pardon?" replied cooper, who also remained standing.

uhalf a crown to a pound says your father hails from london."

"yes, you're right."

"and the east end of that city would be my bet."

"deptford," said the chief.

"i knew it the moment you opened your mouth," said charlie, now sinking
back into a leather chair. "l come from whitechapel myself. so where was
he born?"

"bishop's way," said the chief. "just off "

"just a stone's throw away from my part of the world," said charlie, in
a thick cockney accent.

roberts had not yet uttered a word, let alone given a professional
opinion.

utottenham supporter, i suppose," said charlie.

"the gunners," said cooper firmly.

"what a load of rubbish," said charlie. "arsenal are the only team i
know who read the names of the crowd to the players."

the chief laughed. "i agree," he said. "i've almost given up hope for
them this season. so who do you support?"

"i'm a west ham man myself."

uand you were hoping i'd cooperate with you?"

charlie laughed. "well, we did let you beat us in the cup."

uln 1923," said cooper, laughing.

uwe've got long memories down at upton park."

well, i never expected you to have an accent like that, sir charles."

ucall me charlie, all my friends do. and another thing, mike, do you
want him out of the way?" charlie cocked a thumb at trevor roberts, who
still hadn't been offered a seat.

"might help," said the chief.

wait outside for me, roberts," said charlie, not even bothering to
glance in the direction of his lawyer.

"yes, sir charles." roberts turned and started walking towards the door.

once dley were alone charlie leaned across the desk and said, ``soddin,
lawyers, they're all the same. overpaid toffee-nosed brussels sprouts,
charge the earth and then expect you to do all the work."

cooper laughed. "especially when you're a grasshopper," he confided.

charlie laughed. "haven't heard a copper described that way since i left
whitechapel." the older man leaned forward. "this is between you and me,
mike. two east end boys together. can you tell me anything about guy
francis trentham that he doesn't know?" charlie pointed his thumb
towards the door.

"i'm afraid there isn't a lot roberts hasn't already dug up, to be fair
to him, sir charles."

"charlie."

"charlie. look, you already know that trentham murdered his wife and you
must be aware by now that he was later hanged for the crime."

"yes, but what i need to know, mike, is, were there any children?"
charlie held his breath as the policeman seemed to hesitate.

cooper looked down at a charge sheet that lay on the desk in front of
him. "it says here, wife deceased, one daughter."

charlie tried not to leap out of his chair. "don't suppose that piece of
paper tells you her name?"

"margaret ethel trentham," said the chief.

charfie knew he didn't have to recheck the name in the files that
roberts had left with him overnight. there hadn't been a margaret ethel
trentham mentioned in any of them. he could recall the names of the
three trenthams born in australia between 1924 and 1925, and all of
those were boys.

"date of birth?" he hazarded.

"no clue, charlie," said cooper. "it wasn't the girl who was being
charged." he pushed the piece of paper over the desk, so that his
visitor could read everything he had already been told. "they didn't
bother too much with those sort of details in the twenties."

"anything else in that file you think might 'elp an east end boy not on
his 'ome ground?" asked charlie, only hoping e wasn't overdoing it.

cooper studied the papers in the trentham file for some time before he
offered an opinion. "there are two entries on our records that might
just be of some use to you. the first was penciled in by my predecessor
and there's an even earlier entry from the chief before him, which i
suppose just might be of interest."

"i'm all ears, mike."

"chief parker was paid a visit on 24 april 1927 by a mrs. ethel
trentham, the deceased's mother."

ugood god," said charlie, unable to hide his surprise. "but why?"

"no reason given, nor any record of what was said at that meeting
either. sorry."

uand the second entry?"

uthat concerns another visitor from england inquiring after guy
trentham. this time on 23 august 1947" the police chief looked down at
the file again to check the name_"a mr. daniel trentham."

charlie went cold as he gripped the arms of his chair.

"you all right?" asked cooper, sounding genuinely concemed.

ufine," said charlie. "it's only the effects of jet lag. any reason
riven for daniel trentham's visit?"

according to the attached note, he claimed to be the deceased's son,"
said the chief. charlie tried not to show any emotion. the policeman sat
back in his chair. uso now you know every bit as much about the case as
idol"

"you've been very 'elpful, mike," said charlie as he pushed himself up
to his feet before leaning across to shake hands. uand if you should
ever find yourself back in deptford, look me up. i'd be only too happy
to take you to see a real football team."

cooper smiled and continued to trade stories with charlie as the two men
made their way out of his office to the lift. once they were on the
ground floor the policeman accompanied him to the steps of police
headquarters, where charlie shook hands with the chief once again before
joining trevor roberts in the car.

"right, roberts, it seems we've got ourselves some work to do."

"may i be permitted to ask one question before we begin, sir charles?"

"be my guest."

"what happened to your accent?"

"i only save that for special people, mr. roberts. the queen, winston
churchill and when i'm serving a customer on the barrow. today i felt it
necessary to add melbaurne's chief of police to my list."

"i can't begin to think what you said about me and my profession."

"i told him you were an overpaid, toffee-nosed boy scout who expected me
to do all the work."

"and did he offer an opinion?"

"thought i might have been a little too restrained."

"that's not hard to believe," said roberts. "but were you able to prise
any fresh information out of him?"

"i certainly was," said charlie. "it seems guy trentham had a daughter."

"a daughter?" repeated roberts, unable to hide his excitement. "but did
cooper let you know her name, or anything about her?"

"margaret ethel, but our only other clue is that mrs. trentham, guy's
mother, paid a visit to melbourne in 1927. cooperdidn'tknowwhy."

"good heavens," said roberts. "you've achieved more in twenty minutes
than i achieved in twenty days."

"ah, but i had the advantage of birth," said charlie with a grin. "now
where would an english lady have rested her genteel head in this city
around that time?"

"not my hometown," admitted roberts. "but my partner neil mitchell
should be able to tell us. his family settled in melbourne over a
hundred years ago."

"so what are we waiting for?"

neil mitchell frowned when his colleague put the same question to him.
"i haven't a clue," he admitted, "but my modher's sure to know." he
picked up his phone and started dialing. "she's scottish, so she'll try
and charge us for dhe information." charlie and trevor roberts stood in
front of mitchell's desk and waited, one patiently, one impatiently.
after a few preliminaries expected of a son, he put his question and
listened carefully to her reply.

"thank you, mother, invaluable as always," he said. "see you at the
weekend," he added before putting down the phone.

"well?" said charlie.

"the victoria country club apparently was the only place someone from
mrs. trendham's background would have dreamed of staying in the
twenties," mitchell said. "in those days melbourne only had two decent
hotels and the ocher one was strictly for visiting businessmen."

"does dhe place still exist?" asked roberts.

"yes, but it's badly run-down nowadays. what i imagine sir charles would
describe as 'seedy.'"

"then telephone ahead and let them know you want a table for lunch in
the name of sir charles trumper. and stress 'sir charles."'

"certainly, sir charles," said roberts. "and which accent will we be
using on this occasion?"

"can't tell you chat until i've weighed up dhe opposition," said charlie
as they made their way back to dhe car.

"ironic when you chink about it," said roberts, as the car headed out
onto the freeway.

"ironic?"

"yes," said roberts. "if mrs. trentham went to all this trouble to
remove her granddaughter's very existence from the records, she must
have required the services of a first-class lawyer to assist her."

"so?"

"so there must be a file buried somewhere in this city that would tell
us everything we need to know."

"possibly, but one thing's for certain: we don't have enough time to
discover whose filing cabinet it's hidden in."

when they arrived at the victoria country club they found the manager
standing in the hallway waiting to greet them. he led his distinguished
guest through to a quiet table in the alcove. charlie was only
disappointed to find how young he was.

charlie chose the most expensive items from the a la carte section of
the menu, then selected a 1957 bottle of chambertin. within moments he
was receiving attention from every waiter in the room.

"and what are you up to this time, sir charles?" asked roberts, who had
satisfied himself with the set menu.

"patience, young man," charlie said in mock disdain as he tried to cut
into an overcooked, tough piece of lamb with a blunt knife. he
eventually gave in, and ordered a vanilla ice cream, confident they
couldn't do much harm to that. when finally the coffee was served, the
oldest waiter in the room came slowly-over to offer them both a cigar.

"a monte cristo, please," said charlie, removing a pound note from his
wallet and placing it on the table in front of him. a large old humidor
was opened for his inspection. "worked here for a long time, have you?"
charlie added.

"forty years last month," said the waiter, as another pound note landed
on top of the first.

"good memory?"

70s as thr c'20w floes

"i like to think so, sir," said the waiter, staring at the two
banknotes.

"remember someone called mrs. trentham? english, strait-laced, might
have stayed for a couple of weeks or more round 1927," said charlie,
pushing the notes towards the old man.

"remember her?" said the waiter. "i'll never forget her. i was a trainee
in those days and she did nothing except grumble the whole time about
the food and the service. wouldn't drink anything but water, said she
didn't trust australian wines and refused to spend good money on the
french ones that's why i always ended up having to serve on her table.
end of the month, she ups and offs without a word and didn't even leave
me a tip. you bet i remember her."

"that sounds like mrs. trentham all right," said charlie. "but did you
ever find out why she came to australia in the first place?" he removed
a third pound note from his wallet and placed it on top of the others.

"i've no idea, sir," said the waiter sadly. "she never talked to anyone
from morning to night, and i'm not sure even mr. sinclair-smith would
know the answer to that question."

"mr. sinclair-smith?"

the waiter motioned over his shoulder to the far comer of the room where
a gray-haired gentleman sat alone, a napkin tucked into his collar. he
was busy attacking a large piece of stilton. "the present owner," the
waiter explained. "his father was the only person mrs. trentham ever
spoke civilly to."

"thank you," said charlie. "you've been most helpful." the waiter
pocketed the three banknotes. "would you be kind enough to ask the
manager if i could have a word with him?"

"certainly, sir," said the old waiter, who closed the humidor and
scurried away.

"the manager is far too young to remember "

"just keep your eyes open, mr. roberts, and possibly you might just
learn a trick or two they failed to teach you in the business contracts
class at law school," said charlie as he clipped the end of his cigar.

the manager arrived at their table. "you asked to see me, sir charles?"

"i wonder if mr. sinclair-smith would care to join me for a liqueur?"
said charlie, passing the young man one of his cards.

"i'll have a word with him immediately, sir," said the manager who at
once turned and walked towards the other table.

"it's back to the lobby for you, roberts," said charlie, "as i suspect
that my conduct over the next half hour might just offend your
professional ethics." he glanced across the room, where the old man was
now studying his card.

roberts sighed, rose from his chair and left.

a large smile appeared on mr. sinclair-smith's pudgy lips. he pushed
himself up out of his chair and waddled over to join his english
visitor.

"sinclair-smith," he said in a high-pitched english accent before
offering a limp hand.

"good of you to join me, old chap," said charlie. "i know a fellow
countryman when i see one. can i interest you in a brandy?" the waiter
scurried away.

"how kind of you, sir charles. i can only hope that my humble
establishment has provided you with a reasonable cuisine."

"excellent," said charlie. "but then you were recommended," he said as
he exhaled a plume of cigar smoke.

"recommended?" said sinclair-smith, trying not to sound too surprised.
"may i ask by whom?"

"my ancient aunt, mrs. ethel trentham."

"mrs. trentham? good heavens, mrs. trentham, we haven't seen the dear
lady since my late father's time."

charlie frowned as the old waiter returned with two large brandies.

"i do hope she's keeping well, sir charles."

"never better," said charlie. "and she wished to be remembered to you."

"how kind of her," replied sinclair-smith, swirling the brandy round in
his balloon. "and what a remarkable memory, because i was only a young
man at the time and had just started working in the hotel. she must now
be ..."

"over ninety," said charlie. "and do you know the family still has no
idea why she ever came to melbourne in the first place," he added.

"nor me," said sinclair-smith as he sipped his brandy.

"you never spoke to her?"

uno, never," said sinclair-smith. "although my father and your aunt had
many long conversations, he never once confided in me what passed
between them."

charlie tried not to show his frustration at this piece of information.
"well, if you don't know what she was up to," he said, "i don't suppose
there's anyone alive who does."

"oh, i wouldn't be so sure of that," said sinclairsmith. "siade would
know that is, if he hasn't gone completely ga-ga."

uslade?"

"yes, a yorkshireman who worked at the club under my father, in the days
when we still had a resident chauffeur. in fact, the whole time mrs.
trentham stayed at the club she always insisted on using slade. said no
one else should drive her."

"is he still around?" asked charlie as he blew out another large cloud
of smoke.

"good heavens no," said sinclair-smith. "retired years ago. not even
sure he's still alive."

"do you get back to the old country much nowadays?" inquired charlie,
convinced that he had extracted every piece of relevant information that
could be gained from this particular source.

"no, unfortunately what with ..."

for the next twenty minutes, charlie setded back and enjoyed his cigar
as he listened to sinclair-smith on everything from the demise of the
empire to the parlous state of english cricket. eventually charlie
called for the bill, at which the owner took his leave and slipped
discreetly away.

the old waiter shuffled back the moment he saw another pound note appear
on the tablecloth.

"something you needed, sir?"

"does the name 'slade' mean anything to you?"

uold walter slade, the club's chauffeur?"

"that's the man."

"retired years ago."

ul know that much, but is he still alive?"

"no idea," said the waiter. "last i heard of him he lived somewhere out
in the ballarat area."

"thank you," said charlie, as he stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray,
removed another pound note and left to join roberts in the lobby.

utelephone your office immediately," he instructed his solicitor. uask
them to track down a walter slade who may be living at somewhere called
ballarat."

roberts hurried off in the direction of the telephone sign, while
charlie paced up and down the corridor praying the old man was still
alive. his solicitor returned a few minutes later. "am i allowed to know
what you're up to this time, sir charles?" he asked as he passed over a
piece of paper with walter slade's address printed out in capital
letters.

"no good, that's for sure," said charlie, as he took in the information.
"don't need you for this one, young man, but i will require the car. see
you back at the office and i can't be sure when." he gave a small wave
as he pushed through the swing doors leaving a bemused roberts standing
on his own in the lobby.

charlie handed over the slip of paper to the chauffeur who studied the
address. "but it's nearly a hundred miles," said the man, looking over
his shoulder.

"then we haven't a moment to waste, have we?"

the driver switched on the engine and swung out of the country club
forecourt. he drove past the melbourne cricket ground where charlie
could see someone was 2 for 147. it annoyed him that on his first trip
to australia he didn't even have enough time to drop in and see the test
match. the journey on the north highway lasted for another hour and a
half, which gave charlie easily enough time to consider what approach he
would use on mr. slade, assuming he wasn't, to quote sinclair-smith,
"completely ga-ga." after they had sped past the sign for ballarat, the
driver pulled into a petrol station. once the attendant had filled the
tank he gave the driver some directions and it took another fifteen
minutes before they came to a halt outside a small terraced house on a
run-down estate.

charlie jumped out of the car, marched up a short, weed-covered path and
knocked on the front door. he waited for some time before an old lady
wearing a pinafore and a pastel-colored dress that nearly reached the
ground answered his call.

"mrs. slade?" asked charlie.

"yes," she replied, peering up at him suspiciously.

"would it be possible to have a word with your husband?"

"why?" asked the old lady. "you from the social services?"

"no, i'm from england," said charlie. "and i've brought your husband a
small bequest from my aunt mrs. ethel trentham, who has recently died."

"oh, how kind of you," said mrs. slade. "do come 7to

in." she guided charlie through to the kitchen, where he found an old
man, dressed in a cardigan, clean check shirt and baggy trousers, dozing
in a chair in front of the fireplace.

"there's a man come all the way from england, specially to see you,
walter."

"what's that?" said the man, raising his bony fingers to rub the sleep
out of his eyes.

"a man come from england," repeated his wife. "with a present from that
mrs. trentham."

"i'm too old to drive her now." his tired eyes blinked at charlie.

"no, walter, you don't understand. he's a relative come all the way from
england with a gift. you see, she died."

"died?"

both of them were now staring quizzically at charlie as he quickly took
out his wallet and removed every note he possessed before handing the
money over to mrs. slade.

she began to count the notes slowly as walter slade continued to stare
at charlie, making him feel distinctly uneasy as he stood on their
spouess stone floor.

"eighty-five pounds, walter," she told him, passing the money over to
her husband.

"why so much?" he asked. "and after so long?"

"you did her a great service," said charlie, "and she simply wished to
repay you."

the old man began to look more suspiciously at charlie.

"she paid me at the time," he said.

"i realize that," said charlie, "but "

"and i've kept my mouth shut," he said.

"that's just another reason why she had cause to be grateful to you,"
said charlie.

"are you saying that you came all the way from england, just to give me
eighy-five pounds?" said mr. slade. "doesn't make any sense to me, lad."
he suddenly sounded a lot more awake.

"no, no," said charlie, feeling that he was losing the initiative. "i've
had a dozen other bequests to deliver before coming out here, but you
weren't that easy to find."

"i'm not surprised. i've stopped driving these twenty years."

"you're from yorkshire, aren't you?" said charlie with a grin. "i'd know
that accent anywhere."

"aye, lad, and you're from london. which means you're not to be trusted.
so why did you really come to see me? because it wasn't to give us
eighty-five pounds, that's for sure."

"l can't find the little girl who was with mrs. trentham when you drove
her," said charlie, risking everything. "you see, she's been left a
large inheritance."

"fancy that, walter," said mrs. slade.

walter slade's face registered nothing.

"and it's my duty somehow to locate her and then inform the lady of her
good fortune."

slade's face remained impassive as charlie battled on. "and i thought
you'd be the one person who might be able to help.

"no, i won't," slade replied. "what's more you can have your money
back," he added, throwing the notes at charlie's feet. "and don't bother
to show your face round these parts again, with your phony trumped-up
stories about fortunes. show the gentleman the door, elsie."

mrs. slade bent down and carefully picked up the scattered notes before
passing them up to charlie. when she had handed over the last one, she
silently led the stranger back towards the front door.

"i do apologize, mrs. slade," said charlie. "i had no intention of
offending your husband."

ul know, sir," said mrs. slade. "but then walter has always been so
proud. heaven knows, we could have done with the money." charlie smiled
as he stuffed dhe bundle of notes into the old lady's pinafore and
quickly put a finger up to his lips. "if you don't tell him, i won't,"
he said. he gave a slight bow before turning to walk back down the
tittle path towards the car.

"i never saw no lithe girl," she said in a voice that barely carried.
charlie froze on the spot. "but walter once took a snooty lady up to
that orphanage on park hill in melbourne. i know because i was walking
out with the gardener at the time, and he told me."

chartie turned to thank her, but she had already closed dhe door and
disappeared back into the house.

charlie climbed into the car, penniless and with just one name to cling
to, aware that the old man could undoubtedly have solved the entire
mystery for him. otherwise he would have said "no, i can't" and not "no,
i won't" when he had asked for his help.

he cursed his stupidity several times on the long journey back to the
city.

"roberts, is there an orphanage in melbourne?" were charlie's opening
words as he strode into the lawyer's office.

"st. hilda's," said neil mitchell, before his partner could consider the
question. "yes, it's up on park hill somewhere. why?"

"that's the one," said charlie, checking his watch. "it's about seven
o'clock in the morning london time and i'm shattered, so i'm off to my
hotel to try and grab some sleep. in the meantime i need a few questions
answered. to start with, i want to know everything that can possibly be
found out about st. hilda's starting widh the names of every member of
staff who worked there between 1923 and 1927, from the head honcho down
to the scullery maid. and if anyone's still around from that period find
them because i want to see them and within the next twenty-four hours."

two of the staff in mitchell's office had begun scribbling furiously as
they tried to take down every word sir charles said.

"i also want to know the name of every child registered at that
orphanage between 1923 and 1927. remember, we're looking for a girl who
couldn't have been more than two years old, and may have been called
margaret ethel. and when you've found the answers to all those questions
wake me whatever time it is."

1 revor roberts arrived back at charlie's hotel a few minutes before
eight the following morning to find his client bucking into a large
breakfast of eggs, tomato, mushrooms and bacon. although roberts looked
unshaven and tired, he was the bearer of news.

"we've been in touch with the principal of st. hilda's, a mrs. culver,
and she couldn't have been more cooperative." charlie smiled. "it turns
out thee nineteen children were registered with the orphanage between
1923 and 1927. eight boys and eleven girls. of the eleven girls we now
know that nine of them didn't have a mother or father alive at the time.
of those nine we have managed to contact seven, five of whom have a
relative still alive who could vouch for who their father was, one whose
parents were killed in a car wash and the other who is an aboriginal.
the last two, however, are proving more difficult to track down, so i
thought you might like to visit se. hilda's and study the files
yourself."

"what about the staff at the orphanage?"

"only a cook survives from around that period, and she says there never
was a child at st. hilda's called trentham or any name like that, and
she can't even remember a margaret or an ethel. so our last hope may
prove to be a miss. benson.

"miss. benson?"

"yes, she was the principal at the time and is now a resident at an
exclusive old people's home called maple lodge on the other side of the
city."

"not bad, mr. roberts," said charlie. abut how did you manage to get
mrs. culver to be so cooperative at such short notice?"

"i resorted to methods that i suspect are more familiar to the
whitechapel school of law than harvard, sir charles."

charlie looked at him quizzically.

"it seems that st. hilda's is currently organizing an appeal for a
minibus "

"a minibus?"

"so badly needed by the orphanage for trips "

"and so you hinted that i "

" might be possible to help with a wheel or two if "

" they in return felt able to "

" cooperate. precisely."

"you're a quick reamer, roberts, i'll give you that.n "and as there's no
more time to be wasted, we ought to leave for st. hilda's immediately so
you can go over those files."

"but our best bet must surely be miss. benson."

"i agree with you, sir charles. and i've planned for us to pay her a
visit this aftemoon, just as soon as you've finished at st. hilda's. by
the way, when miss. benson was principal, she was known as 'the dragon'
not drily by the children but also by the staff, so there's no reason to
expect she'll be any more cooperative than walter slade."

when charlie arrived at the orphanage he was greeted at the front door
by the principal. mrs. culver wore a smart green dress that looked as if
it might have been freshly pressed. she had obviously decided to treat
her potential benefactor as if he were nelson rockefeller because all
that was lacking was a red carpet as charlie was ushered through to her
study.

two young lawyers who had been going assiduously through files all night
and reaming all there was to know about dormitory times, exacts, kitchen
duties credits and misdemeanors stood as charlie and trevor roberts
entered the room.

"any further progress with those two names?" asked roberts.

"oh, yes, down to two. isn't this exciting?" said mrs. culver, as she
bustled round the room moving anything that seemed to be out of place.
"i was wondenng "we have no proof as yet," said a bleary-eyed young man,
"but one of them seems to fit the bill perfecely. we can come up with no
infommation on the girl before the age of two. what's more important,
she was registered with st. hilda's at precisely the same time as
captain trentham was awaiting execution."

"and the cook also remembers from the days when she was a scullery
maid," said mrs. culver, jumping in, "that the girl came in the middle
of the night, accompanied by a well-dressed, severe looking lady who had
a lah-de-dah accent who then "

"enter mrs. trentham," said charlie. "only the girl's name is obviously
not trentham."

the young assistant checked the notes that lay spread across the table
in front of him. "no, sir," he said. "this particular girl was
registered under the name of miss. cathy ross."

charlie felt his legs give way as roberts and mrs. culver rushed forward
to help him into the only com fortable chair in the room. mrs. culver
loosened his tie and undid his collar.

"are you feeling all right, sir charles?" she asked. "i must say you
don't look too "

"right in front of my eyes all the time," said charlie. "blind as a bat
is how daphne would rightly describe me."

"i'm not sure i understand," said roberts.

"i'm not sure i do myself as yet." charlie fumed back to face the
anxious messenger responsible for delivering the news.

"did she leave st. hilda's to take up a place at melbourne university?"
he asked.

this time the assistant double-checked his notes. "yes, sir. she signed
on for the class of '42, leaving in '46."

"where she studied history of art and english."

the assistant's eyes again scanned the papers in front of him. "that's
correct, sir," he said, unable to hide his surprise.

"and did she play tennis, by any chance?"

"the occasional match for the university second six."

"but could she paint?" asked charlie.

the assistant continued to leaf through the files.

"oh, yes," said mrs. culver, "and very good she was too, sir charles. we
still have an example of her work hanging in the dining room, a woodland
scene influenced by sisley, i suspect. indeed, i would go as far as to
say "

"may i be allowed to see the picture, mrs. culver?"

"of course, sir charles." the principal removed a key from the top right
hand drawer of her desk and said, "please follow me."

charlie rose unsteadily to his feet and accompanied mrs. culver as she
marched out of her study and down a long corridor towards the dining
room, the door of 71b

which she proceeded to unlock. trevor roberts, striding behind charlie,
continued to look puzzled, but refrained from asking any questions.

as they entered the dining room charlie stopped in his tracks and said,
"i could spot a ross at twenty paces."

"i beg your pardon, sir charles?"

"it's not important, mrs. culver," charlie said as he stood in front of
the picture and stared at a woodland scene of dappled browns and greens.

"beautiful, isn't it, sir charles? a real understanding of the use of
color. i would go as far as to say "

"l wonder, mrs. culver, if you would consider that picture to be a fair
exchange for a minibus?"

"a very fair exchange," said mrs. culver without hesitation. "in fact i
feel sure ..."

"and would it be too much to ask that you write on the back of the
picture, 'painted by miss. cathy ross,' along with the dates that she
resided at st. hilda's?"

"delighted, sir charles." mrs. culver stepped forward andlifted the
picture off its hook, then fumed the frame round for all to see. what
sir charles had requested, although faded with age, was already written
and clearly legible to the naked eye.

"i do apologize, mrs. culver," said charlie. "by now i should know
better of you." he removed his wallet from an inside pocket, signed a
blank check and passed it over to mrs. culver.

"but how much ?" began the astonished principal.

"whatever it costs," was all charlie replied, having finally found a way
of rendering mrs. culver speechless.

the three of them resumed to the principal's study where a pot of tea
was waiting. one of the assistants set about making two copies of
everything in cathy's file while roberts rang ahead to the nursing home
where miss. benson resided to warn the matron to expect

them within the hour. once both tasks had been completed ch'arlie
thanked mrs. culver for her kindness and bade her farewell. although she
had remained silent for some time she somehow managed, "thank you, sir
charles. thank you."

charlie clung tightly to the picture as he walked out of the orphanage
and back down the path. once he was in the car again he instructed the
driver to guard the package with his life.

certainly, sir. and where to now?"

"maple lodge residential home on the north side," instructed roberts,
who had climbed into the other side. "i do hope you're going to explain
to me what happened back there at st. hilda's. because i am, as the good
book would have it, 'sore amazed."'

"i'll tell you as much as i know myself," said charlie. he began to
explain how he had first met cathy almost fifteen years before at a
housewarming party in his home at eaton square. he continued with his
story uninterrupted until he had arrived at the point when miss. ross
had been appointed a director of trumper's and how since daniel's
suicide she had been unable to tell them much about her background
because she still hadn't fully recovered her memory of those events that
had taken place before she came to england. the lawyer's opening
response to this information took charlie by surprise.

"you can be sure it wasn't a coincidence that miss. ross visited england
in the first place, or for that matter that she applied for a job at
trumper's."

"what are you getting at?" said charlie.

"she must have left australia with the sole purpose of trying to find
out about her father, believing him still to be afive, perhaps even
living in england. that must have been her original motivation to visit
london, where she undoubtedly discovered some connection between his and
your family. and if you can find that link between her father, her going
to england and trumper's, you will then have your proof proof that cathy
ross is in fact margaret ethel trentham."

"but i have no idea what that link could be," said charlie. "and now
that cathy remembers so little of her early life in australia i may
never be able to find out."

"well, let's hope miss. benson can point us in the right direction,"
said roberts. "although, as i warned you earlier, no one who knew her at
st. hilda's has a good word to say for the woman."

"if walter slade's anything to go by, it won't be that easy to get the
time of day out of her. it's becoming obvious that mrs. trentham cast a
spell over everyone she came into contact with."

"i agree," said the lawyer. "that's why i didn't reveal to mrs.
campbell, the matron of maple lodge, our reason for wanting to visit the
home. i couldn't see any point in warning miss. benson of our impending
arrival. it would only give her enough time to have all her answers well
prepared."

charlie grunted his approval. "but have you come up with any ideas as to
what approach we should take with her?" he asked, because i certainly
made a ballsup of my meeting with walter slade."

"no, i haven't. we'll just have to play it by ear and hope she'll prove
to be cooperative. though heaven knows which accent you will be required
to call on this time, sir charles."

moments later they were driven between two massive wrought-iron gates
and on down a long shaded drive which led to a large turn-of-the-century
mansion set in several acres of private grounds.

"this can't come cheap," said charlie.

"agreed," said roberts. "and unfortunately they don't look as if they're
in need of a minibus."

the car drew up outside a heavy oak door. trevor roberts jumped out and
waited until charlie had joined him before pressing the bell.

they did not have long to wait before a young nurse answered their call,
dhen promptly escorted them down a highly polished tiled corridor to the
matron's office.

mrs. campbell was dressed in dhe familiar starched blue uniform, white
collar and cuffs associated widh her profession. she welcomed charlie
and trevor roberts in a deep scottish burr, and had it not been for the
uninterrupted sunshine coming through dhe windows, charlie might have
been forgiven for chinking chat the matron of maple lodge residential
home was unaware that she had ever left scotland.

after the introductions had been completed mrs. campbell asked how she
could be of help.

"i was hoping you might allow us to have a word widh one of your
residents."

"yes, of course, sir charles. may i inquire who it is you wish to see?"
she asked.

"a miss. benson," explained charlie. "you see "

"oh, sir charles, haven't you heard?"

"heard?" said charlie.

"yes. miss. benson's been dead this past week. in fact, we buried her on
thursday."

for a second time that day charlie's legs gave way and trevor roberts
had quickly to take his client by the elbow and guided him to the
nearest chair.

"oh, i am sorry," said the matron. "i had no idea you were such a close
friend." charlie didn't say anything. "and have you come all the way
from london especially to see her?"

"yes, he did," said trevor roberts. "has miss. benson had any other
visitors from england recently?"

"no," said the matron without hesitation. "she received very few callers
towards the end. one or two from adelaide but never one from britain,"
she added with an edge to her voice.

"and did she ever mention to you anyone called cadhy ross or margaret
trentham?"

jepprey arcner mrs. campbell thought deeply for a moment. "no," she said
eventually. "at least, not to my recollection."

"then i think perhaps we should leave, sir charles, as there's no point
in taking up any more of mrs. campbell's time."

"1 agree," said charlie quietly. "and thank you, matron." roberts helped
him to his feet and mrs. campbell accompanied them both back along the
corridor towards the front door.

"will you be returning to britain shortly, sir charles?" she asked.

"yes, probably tomorrow."

`'would it be a terrible inconvenience if i were to ask you to post a
letter for me once you are back in london?"

"it would be my pleasure," said charlie.

"i wouldn't have bothered you with this task in normal circumstances,"
said the matron, "but as it directly concerns miss. benson ..."

both men stopped in their tracks and stared down at the prim scottish
lady. she also came to a halt and held her hands together in front of
her.

"it's not simply that i wish to save the postage, you understand, sir
charles, which is what most folk would accuse my clan of. in fact, the
exact opposite is the case, for my only desire is to make a speedy
refund to miss. benson's benefactors."

"miss. benson's benefactors?" said charlie and roberts in unison.

"aye," the matron said, standing her full height of five feet and half
an inch. "we are not in the habit at maple lodge of charging residents
who have died, mr. roberts. after all, as i'm sure you would agree, that
would be dishonest."

"of course it would be matron."

"and so, although we insist on three months' payment in advance, we also
refund any sums left over when a resident has passed away. after any
outstanding bills have been covered, you understand."

"i understand," said charlie as he stared down at the lady, a look of
hope in his eyes.

"so if you will be kind enough to wait just a wee moment, i'll be away
and retrieve the letter from my office." she turned and headed back to
her room a few yards farther down the corridor.

"start praying," said charlie.

"i already have," said roberts.

mrs. campbell returned a few moments later holding an envelope, which
she handed over for charlie's safekeeping. in a bold copperplate hand
were written the words: "the manager, courts and company, the strand,
london wc2."

"l do hope you won't find my request too much of an imposition, sir
charles."

"it's a greater pleasure than you may ever realize, mrs. campbell,"
charlie assured her, as he bade the matron farewell.

once they were back in the car, roberts said, "it would be quite
unethical of me to advise you as to whether you should or should not
open that letter, sir charles. however_ n but charlie had already ripped
open the envelope and was pulling out its contents.

a check for niney-two pounds was attached to a detailed, itemized bill
for the years 1953 to 1964: in full and final settlement for the account
of miss. rachel benson.

"god bless the scots and their puritan upbringing," said charlie, when
he saw to whom the check had been made out.

of you were quick, sir charles, you could still catch the earlier
flight," said trevor roberts as the car pulled into the hotel forecourt.

"then i'll be quick," said charlie, "as i'd like to be back in london as
soon as possible."

"right, i'll check you out, then phone the airport to see if they can
change your reservation."

"good. although i've a couple of days to spare there are still some
loose ends i'd like to tidy up at the london end."

charlie had jumped out of the car even before the driver could reach the
door to open it for him. he made a dash for his room and quickly threw
all his possessions into a suitcase. he was back in the lobby twelve
minutes later, had settled the bill and was making a dash towards the
hotel entrance within fifteen. the driver was not only standing by the
car waiting for him but the boot was already open.

once the third door had been closed, the chauffeur immediately
accelerated out of the hotel forecourt and swung the car into the fast
lane, as he headed towards the freeway.

"passport and ticket?" said roberts.

charlie smiled and removed them both from an inside pocket like a child
having his prep list checked.

"good, now let's hope we can still reach the airport in time."

"you've done wonders," said charlie.

"thank you, sir charles," said roberts. "but you must understand that
despite your gathering a considerable amount of evidence to substantiate
your case, most of it remains at best circumstantial. although you and i
may be convinced that cathy ross is in fact margaret ethel trentham,
with miss. benson in her rrave and miss. ross unable to recall all the
relevant details of her past there's no way of predicting whether a
court would find in your favor."

"i hear what you're saying," said charlie. "but at least i now have
something to bargain with. a week ago i had nothing."

"true. and having watched you operate over the nest few days i'm bound
to say that i'd give you odds of better than fifty-fifty. but whatever
you do, don't let that picture out of your sight: it's as convincing as
any fingerprint. and see that at all times you keep mrs. campbell's
letter in a safe place until you've been able to make a copy. also be
sure that the original plus the accompanying cheque are then posted on
to coutts. we don't want you arrested for stealing ninety-two pounds.
now, is there anything else i can do for you at this end?"

"yes, you could try to ret a written statement out of walter slade
admitting that he took mrs. trentham and a little girl called margaret
to st. hilda's, and that she left without her charge. you might also
attempt to pin slade down to a date."

"that might not prove easy after your encounter," suggested roberts.

"well, at least have a go. then see if you can find out if miss. benson
was in receipt of any other payments from mrs. trentham before 1953 and
if so the amounts and dates. i suspect she's been receiving a banker's
order every quarter for over thirty-five years, which would explain why
she was able to end her days in such comparative luxury."

"agreed, but once again it's entirely circumstantial and there's
certainly no way that any bank would allow me to delve into miss.
benson's private account."

"i accept that," said charlie. "but mrs. culver should be able to let
you know what miss. benson was earning while she was principal and if
she appeared to live beyond her salary. after all, you can always find
out what else st. hilda's needs other than a minibus."

roberts began to make notes as charlie rattled out a series of further
suggestions.

"if you were able to wrap up slade and prove there were any previous
payments made to miss. benson, i would then be in a far stronger
position to ask nigel trentham to explain why his mother was willing to
keep on doling out money to someone who was principal of an orphanage
situated on the other side of the globe if it wasn't for his elder
brother's offspring."

"i'll do what i can," promised roberts. "if i come up with anything i'll
contact you in london on your retum."

"thank you," said charlie. "now, is there anything i can do for you?"

"yes, sir charles. would you be good enough to pass on my kindest
regards to uncle emest?"

"uncle emest?"

"yes, emest baverstock."

"kindest regards be damned. i shall report him to the law society for
nepotism."

"i must advise you that there is no case to answer, sir charles, as
nepotism is not yet a crime. though to be honest it'S my mother who's to
blame. You see, she produced three sons all lawyers, and the other two
are now representing you in Perth and Brisbane."

The car drew up to the curb alongside the Qantas terminal. The driver
jumped out and removed the suitcases from the boot as Charlie ran off in
the direction of the ticket counter, with Roberts a yard behind carrying
Cathy's picture.

"Yes, you can still make the early flight to London," the girl at the
check-in desk assured Charlie. "But please be quick as we'll be closing
the gates in a few minutes' time." Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and
turned to say goodbye to Trevor Roberts as the driver arrived with his
suitcase and placed it on the weighing machine.

"Damn," said Charlie. "Can you lend me ten pounds?"

Roberts removed the notes from his wallet and Charlie quickly passed
them on to the driver, who touched his cap and resumed to the car.

"How do I ever begin to thank you?" he said as he shook Trevor Roberts
by the hand.

"Thank Uncle Ernest, not me," said Roberts. "He talked me into dropping
everything to take on this case."

Twenty minutes later Charlie was climbing up the steps of Qantas Flight
102 ready for the first stage of his journey back to London.

As the plane lifted off ten minutes after schedule, Charlie settled back
and tried, with the knowledge he had gained in the last three days, to
begin fitting the pieces together. He accepted Roberts' theory that it
was no coincidence that Cathy had come to work at Trumper's. She must
have discovered some connection between them and the Trenthams, even if
Charlie couldn't work out exactly what that connection was or her reason
for not telling either of them in the first place. Telling them ... ?
What right did he have to comment? If only he had told Daniel, the boy
might still be alive today. Because one thing was certain: Cathy could
not have realized that Daniel was her halfbrother, although he now
feared that Mrs. Trentham must have found out, then let her grandson
know the awful truth.

"Evil woman," said Charlie to himself.

"I beg your pardon," said the middle-aged lady who was seated on his
left.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Charlie. "I wasn't referring to you." He returned
to his reverie. Mrs. Trentham must have somehow stumbled on that truth.
But how? Did Cathy go to see her as well? Or was it simply the
announcement of their engagement in The Times that alerted Mrs. Trentham
to an illegal liaison that Cathy and Daniel could not have been aware of
themselves? Whatever the reason, Charlie realized that his chances of
piecing together the complete story were now fairly remote, with Daniel
and Mrs. Trentham in their graves and Cathy still unable to recall much
of what had happened to her before she arrived in England.

It was ironic, thought Charlie, that so much of what he had discovered
in Australia had all the time been lodged in a file at Number 1 Chelsea
Terrace, marked "Cathy Ross, job application." But not the missing link.
"Find that," Roberts had said, "and you will be able to show the
connection between Cathy Ross and Guy Trentham." Charlie nodded in
agreement.

Lately Cathy had been able to recollect some memories from her past, but
still nothing significant when it came to recalling her early days in
Australia. Dr. Atkins continued to advise Charlie not to press her, as
he was delighted with her progress, especially over her willingness to
talk quite openly about Daniel. But if he were to save Trumper's he
surely had to press her now? He decided that one of the first calls he
should make the moment the plane touched down on English soil would have
to be to Dr. Atkins.

"This is your captain speaking," said a voice over the intercom. "I'm
sorry to have to infomn you that we have encountered a slight technical
problem. Those of you seated on the right-hand side of the aircraft will
be able to see that I have fumed off one of the starboard engines. I can
assure you that there is no need for any anxiety, as we still have three
engines working at their full capacity and in any case this aircraft is
capable of completing any leg of the journey on just one." Charlie was
pleased to team this piece of news. "However," continued the cam fain,
"it is company policy, with your safety in mind, that when any such
fault arises we should land at the nearest airport, in order that
repairs can be carried out immediately." Charlie frowned. "As we have
not yet reached the halfway point on our outward leg of the journey to
Singapore, I am advised by air traffic control that we must return to
Melbourne at once." A chorus of groans went up throughout the aircraft.

Charlie made some hasty calculations about how much time he had to spare
before he needed to be back in London, then he remembered that the
aircraft he had been originally booked on was still due out of Melbourne
at eight-twenty that night.

He flicked open his seat belt, retrieved Cathy's picture from the rack
above him and moved across to the nearest available first-class seat to
the cabin door, his mind now fully concentrated on the problems of
getting himself rebooked on the BOAC carrier bound for London.

Qantas Flight 102 touched down at Melbourne Airport at seven minutes
past seven. Charlie was the first off the aircraft, running as fast as
he could, but having to lug Cathy's picture under one arm slowed

him down and made it possible for several other passengers, who
obviously had the same idea, to overtake him. However, once he'd reached
the booking counter Charlie still managed to be eleventh in the queue.
One by one the line shortened as those ahead of him were allocated
seats. But by the time Charlie reached the front they could only offer
him a standby. Despite pleading desperately with a BOAC official he
could make no headway: there were several other passengers who felt it
was every bit as important for them to be in London.

He walked slowly back to the Qantas desk to be informed that Flight 102
had been grounded for engine repairs and would not be taking off again
until the following morning. At eight-forty he watched the BOAC Comet
that he had been originally booked on lift off the tarmac without him.

All the passengers were found beds for the night at one of the local
airport hotels before having their tickets transferred to a ten-twenty
flight the following morning.

Charlie was up, dressed and back at the airport two hours before the
plane was due to take off, and when the flight was finally called he was
the first on board. If all went to schedule, he worked out, the plane
would still touch down at Heathrow early on Friday morning, giving him a
clear day and a half to spare before Sir Raymond's two- rear deadline
was up.

He breather first sigh of relief when the plane took off, his second as
the flight passed the halfway mark to Singapore, and his third when they
had landed at Changi airport a few minutes ahead of time.

Charlie left the plane, but only to stretch his legs. He was strapped
back into his seat and ready for takeoff an hour later. The second stage
from Singapore to Bangkok landed at Don Muang Airport only thirty
minutes behind schedule, but the plane then sat parked in a queue on the
runway for a further hour. It was later explained that they were
short-staffed at air traffic control. Despite the delay, Charlie was not
unduly worried, but that didn't stop him from checking his half hunter
every few minutes. They took off an hour behind schedule.

When the aircraft landed at Palam Airport in New Delhi, he began another
hour of strolling around the duty-free shop while the plane was being
refueled. He became bored by seeing the same watches, perfume and
jewelry being sold to innocent transit passengers at prices he knew
still had a fifty percent markup on them. When the hour had passed and
there had been no further announcements about reboarding, Charlie walked
over to the inquiry desk to discover what was causing the holdup.

"There seems to be some problem with the relief crew on this section of
the flight," he was told by the young woman behind the General Inquiries
sign. "They haven't completed their twenty-four hours' rest period, as
stipulated by IATA regulations."

"so how long have they had?"

Twenty hours," replied the girl, looking embarrassed.

"So that means we're stuck here for another four hours?"

al'm afraid so

"Where is the nearest phone?" Charlie asked, making no attempt to hide
his irritation.

"in the far corner, sir," said the girl, pointing to her right Charlie
joined yet another queue and when he reached the front managed to get
through to the operator twice, to be connected to London once but to
speak with Becky never. By the time he eventually climbed back onto the
aircraft, having achieved nothing, he was exhausted.

"This is Captain Parkhouse. We are sorry for the delay in this flight's
taking off," said the pilot in a soothing voice. "I can only hope that
the holdup has not caused you too much inconvenience. Please fasten your
seat belts and prepare for takeoff. Flight attendants place cabin doors
to automatic."

TLE four jets rumbled into action and the plane inched forward before
building up momentum as it sped along the tarmac. Then, quite suddenly,
Charlie was thrown forward as the brakes were locked in place and the
plane came to a screeching halt a few hundred yards from the end of the
runway.

"This is your captain speaking. I am sorry to have to tell you that the
hydraulic pumps that lift the undercarriage up and down at takeoff and
landing are indicating red on the control panel and I am not willing to
risk a takeoff at this time. We shall therefore have to taxi back to our
stand and ask the local engineers to fix the problem as quickly as
possible. Thank you for being so understanding."

It was the word "local" that worried Charlie.

Once they had disembarked from the plane, Charlie ran from airline
counter to airline counter trying to find out if there were any flights
bound for anywhere in Europe due out of New Delhi that night. He quickly
discovered that the only flight due out that night was destined for
Sydney. He began to pray for the speed and efficiency of Indian
engineers.

Charlie sat in a smoke-filled waiting lounge, leafing through magazine
after magazine, sipping soft drink after soft drink, as he waited for
any information he could garner on the fate of Flight 102. The first
news he picked up was that the chief engineer had been sent for.

"Sent for?" said Charlie. "What does that mean?"

"We have sent a car for him," explained a smiling airport official in a
clipped staccato accent.

"Sent a car?" said Charlie. "But why isn't he at the airport where he's
needed?"

"It's his day off."

"And haven't you got any other engineers?"

"Not for a job this big," admitted the harassed official.

Charlie slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "And where does
the chief engineer live?"

"Somewhere in New Delhi," came back the reply. "But don't you worry
yourself, sir, we should have him back within the hour."

The trouble with this country, thought Charlie, is they tell you exactly
what they think you want to hear.

For some reason the same official was unable to explain later why it had
taken two hours to locate the chief engineer, a further hour to bring
him back to the airport and yet another fifty minutes before he
discovered the job would require a full team of three qualified
engineers, who had themselves recently signed off for the evening.

A rickety old bus delivered all the passengers from Flight 102 to the
Taj Mahal Hotel in the center of the city where Charlie sat on his bed
and spent most of the night once more attempting to make contact with
Becky. When he eventually succeeded in reaching her he was cut off even
before he had time to explain where he was. He didn't bother to try and
sleep.

When the bus dropped them back at the airport the following morning the
Indian airport official was there to greet them, his large smile still
in place.

"The plane will take off on time," he promised.

On time, thought Charlie; in normal circumstances he would have laughed.

The plane did take off an hour later and when Charlie inquired of the
purser at what hour they expected to land at Heathrow he was told at
some time Saturday midmorning: it was hard to be precise.

When the aircraft made a further unscheduled landing at Leonardo da
Vinci on Saturday morning

Charlie telephoned Becky from the airport. He didn't even give her time
to speak. "I'm in Rome n he said, "and I'll need Sean to pick me up from
Heathrow. As I can't be sure what time I'll arrive, tell him to go out
to the airport right now and sit tight. Got that?"

"Yes," said Becky.

"And I'll also need Baverseock back in his office, so if he's already
disappeared off to the country for the weekend ask him to drop
everything and retum to London."

"You sound a little harassed, dear."

"Sorry," said Charlie. "It's not been the easiest of journeys."

With the picture under one arm and no interest as to what was wrong with
the aircraft this time or where his suitcase might end up, he took the
first European flight available that afternoon for London, and once it
had taken off checked his watch every ten minutes. When the pilot
crossed the English Channel at eight o'clock that evening, Charlie felt
confident that four hours would still be ample time for him to register
Cathy's claim so long as Becky had cracked down Baverseock.

As the plane began to circle London in a familiar holding pateem Charlie
looked out of the little oval window and seared down at the snakelike
Thames.

It was another twenty minutes before the lights of the runway glared up
in two straight lines at Charlie, followed by a puff of smoke as the
wheels couched the ground and the plane taxied to its alloted gate. The
doors of the aircraft were finally opened at eight twenty-nine.

Charlie grabbed the picture and ran all the way to passport control and
on through customs.

He didn't stop until he saw a telephone box, but as he hadn't any coins
to make a local call he told the operator his name and asked to transfer
the charge. A moment later he was put through.

"Becky, I'm at Heathrow. Where's Baverstock?"

"On his way back from Tewkesbury. Expects to be in his office around
nine-thirty, latest ten."

"Good, then I'll come straight home. I should be with you in about forty
minutes."

Charlie slammed down the phone, checked his watch and realized that he
hadn't left himself enough time to phone Dr. Atkins. He ran out onto the
pavement, suddenly aware of the chill breeze. Stan was waiting by the
car for him. Over the years the former sergeant major had become
accustomed to Charlie's impatience and drove him smoothly through the
outskirts of London ignoring the speed limit until they reached Chiswick
after which only a motorbike could have been stopped for speeding.
Despite the teeming rain he had his boss back at Eaton Square by
nine-sixteen.

Charlie was about halfway through telling a silent Becky all he had
discovered in Australia when Baverstock phoned to say he was back at his
office in High Holborn. Charlie thanked him, passed on his nephew's best
wishes and then apologized for ruining his weekend.

"You won't have ruined it if your news is positive," said Baverstock.

"Guy Trentham had another child," said Charlie.

"I didn't imagine that you'd dragged me back from Tewkesbury to tell me
the latest test score from Melbourne," said Baverstock. "Male or
female?"

"Female."

"Legitimate or illegitimate?"

"Legitimate."

"Then she can register her claim with the estate at any time before
midnight."

"She has to register her claim with you in person?"

"That is what the will stipulates," said Baverstock. "However, if she's
still in Australia she can register with Trevor Roberts, as I've given
him "

UNO, she's in England and I'll have her in your office by midnight."

UGOOD. By the way, what's her name?" asked Baverstock. "Just so that I
can prepare the paperwork."

"Cathy Ross," said Charlie. "But ask your nephew to explain everything
as I haven't a moment lo spare," he added, replacing the receiver before
Baverstock could react. He ran out into the hall searching for Becky.

UWHERE's Cathy?" he shouted, as Becky appeared at the top of the stairs.

"She went to a concert at the Festival Hall. Mozart, 1 think she said,
with some new beau from the City."

"Right, let's go," said Charlie.

"Go?"

UYES, go," said Charlie at the top of his voice. He had already reached
the door and climbed into the back seat of the car before he realized
there was no driver.

He jumped out and was on his way back to the house as Becky came rushing
out in the opposite direction.

UWHERE's Stan?"

UPROBABLY having some supper in the kitchen."

"Right," said Charlie, passing over his own keys. UYOU drive, I'll talk
"

"But where are we off to?"

"The Festival Hall."

UFUNNY," Becky said, "after all these years and I had no idea you cared
for Mozart." As she took her seat behind the wheel Charlie ran round to
join her in the front. She pulled out and moved deftly through the
evening traffic as Charlie continued to explain the full implications of
his discoveries in Australia and how imperative it was that they find
Cathy before midnight. Becky listened intendy but made no attempt to
inrerrupt her husband's flow.

By the time Charlie asked her if she had any ques lions they were
crossing Westminister Bridge, but Becky still remained silent.

Charlie waited for a few moments before he demanded, "Have you nothing
to say?"

"Yes," said Becky. "Don't let's make the same mistake with Cathy as we
did with Daniel."

"Namely?"

"Fail to tell her the whole truth."

"I'll have to speak to Dr. Atkins before I can even consider taking that
risk," said Charlie. "But our more immediate problem is to make sure she
registers in time."

"Not to mention the even more immediate problem of where you expect me
to leave the car," said Becky as they swung left into Belvedere Road and
on towards the entrance of the Royal Festival Hall with its double
yellow lines and "No Parking" signs.

"Right outside the front door," said Charlie, which Becky obeyed without
question.

As soon as the car had come to a halt Charlie jumped out, ran across the
pavement and pushed through the glass doors.

"What time does the concert end?" he asked the first uniformed official
he spotted.

"Ten thirty-five, sir, but you can't leave your car there."

"And where's the manager's office?"

"Fifth floor, turn right, second door on the left as you get out of the
lift. But ..."

"Thank you," shouted Charlie, already running past him towards the lift.
Becky had just about caught up with her husband by the time the light
above thelift indicated G. "Your car, sir " said the doorman, but the
lift doors were already closing on the gesticulating official.

When the lift doors slid apart at the fifth floor Charlie jumped out,
looked right and saw a door to his left marked "Manager." He knocked
once before charging in, to find two men dressed in dinner jackets
enjoying a cigarette and listening to the concert over an intercom. They
turned to see who had interrupted them.

"Good evening, Sir Charles," said the taller of the two as he rose,
stubbed out his cigarette, and stepped forward. Jackson. I'm the theater
manager. Can I help you in any way?"

"I only hope so, Mr. Jackson," said Charlie. "I have to get a young lady
out of your concert hall as quickly as possible. It's an emergency."

"Do you know her seat number?"

"No idea." Charlie looked towards his wife, who only shook her head.

"Then follow me," said the manager, who strode straight out of the door
and back towards the lift. When the doors reopened the first official
Charlie had come across was now standing in front of them.

"Any problems, Ron?"

"Only that this gentleman's left his car bang outside the front door,
sir."

"Then keep an eye on it, will you, Ron?" The manager pressed the
third-floor button and, turning to Becky, asked, "What was the young
lady wearing?"

"A burgundy dress with a white cape," said Becky urgently.

"Well done, madam," said the manager. He stepped out of the lift and led
them quickly through to a side entrance adjoining the ceremonial box.
Once inside Mr. Jackson removed a small picture of the Queen opening the
building in 1957 and flicked back a disguised shutter so that he could
observe the audience through a one-way mirror. "A security precaution in
case there's ever any trouble," he explained. The manager then unhooked
two pairs of opera glasses from theirlittle stands under the balcony and
handed one each to Charlie and Becky.

"It you can locate where the lady is seated, one of my staff will
discreetly pull her out." He turned to listen to the strains of the
final movement for a few seconds before adding, "You've got about ten
minutes before the concert ends, twelve at the most. There are no
encores planned for tonight."

"You take dhe stalls, Becky, and I'll cover dhe dress circle." Charlie
began to focus the lithe opera glasses on dhe audience seated below
dhem.

They both covered dhe one thousand, nine hundred seats, first quickly
then slowly up and down each row. Neither could spot Cadhy in the stalls
or dress circle.

"Try the boxes on the other side, Sir Charles," suggested the manager.

Two pairs of glasses swung over to the far side of the cheater. There
was still no sign of Cadhy, so Charlie and Becky turned their attention
back to the main auditorium, once again scanning quickly over the seats.

The conductor brought his baton down for the final time at ten
dhirty-two and the applause followed in waves as Charlie and Becky
searched the standing throng until the lights eventually went up and the
audience began to make their way out of the theater.

"You keep on looking, Becky. I'll go out front and see if I can spot
them as they're leaving." He dashed out of the ceremonial box and down
the stairs followed by Jackson, nearly knocking over a man who was
leaving the box below them. Charlie turned to apologize.

"Hello, Charlie, I didn't know you liked Mozart," a voice said.

"I never used to but suddenly he's top of the pops," said Charlie,
unable to mask his delight.

"Of course," said the manager. "The one place you couldn't see was the
box below ours."

"May I introduce "

"We haven't time for that," said Charlie. "Just follow me." He grabbed
Cathy by the arm. "Mr. Jackson, would you behind enough to ask my wife
to explain to this gentleman why I need Cathy. You can have her back
after midnight," said Charlie, smiling at the bemused young man. "And
thank you, Mr. Jackson."

He checked his watch: ten-forty. "We still have enough time."

"Enough time for what, Charlie?" said Cathy as she found herself being-
pulled across the foyer and out onto Belvedere Road. The uniformed man
was now standing to attention by the car.

"Thank you, Ron," said Charlie as he tried to open the front door.
"Damn, Becky's locked it," he said. He fumed to watch a cab as it came
off the waiting rank. He hailed it.

"I say, old fellow," said a man standing in the front of the taxi queue,
"I think you'll find that's my cab."

"She's just about to give birth," said Charlie as he opened the door and
pushed the wafer-thin Cathy into the back of the taxi.

"Oh, jolly good luck," said the man, taking a pace backwards.

"Where to, guvntr?" asked the cabbie.

"Number 110 High Holborn and don't hang about " said Charlie.

"i think we're more likely to find a solicitor than a gynecologist at
that particular address," suggested Cathy. "And I do hope you've a
worthwhile explanation as to why I'm missing dinner with the one man
who's asked me out on a date in weeks."

"Not right now," Charlie confessed. "All I need you to do for the moment
is sign a document before midnight, then I promise the explanations will
follow."

The taxi pulled up outside the solicitor's office a few minutes after
eleven. Charlie stepped out of the cab to find Baverstock was standing
by the door waiting to greet them.

"That'll be eight and six, govn'r."

"Oh, God," said Charlie, "I haven't got any money."

"That's the way he treats all his girls," said Cathy as she passed the
cabbie a ten-shilling note.

They both followed Baverstock through to his office where a set of
documents was already laid out on his desk. "Since you called I have had
a long conversation with my nephew in Australia," said Baverstock,
facing Charlie. "So l think I'm well acquainted with everything that
took place while you were over there."

"Which is more than I am," said Cathy, sounding bewildered.

"All in good time," said Charlie. "Explanations later." He turned back
to Baverstock. "So what happens now?"

"Miss. Ross must sign here, here and here," the solicitor said without
further explanation, indicating a space between two penciled crosses at
the bottom of three separate sheets of paper. "As you are in no way
related to the beneficiary or a beneficiary yourself, Sir Charles, you
may care to act as the witness to Miss. Ross' signature."

Charlie nodded, placed a pair of opera glasses beside the contract and
took a pen from his inside pocket.

"You've always taught me in the past, Charlie, to read documents
carefubly before putting my signature to them."

"Forget everything I've taught you in the past, my girl, and just sign
where Mr. Baverstock is pointing."

Cathy signed all three documents without another word.

"Thank you, Miss. Ross," said Mr. Baverstock. "And now if you could both
bear with me for one moment, I must inform Mr. Birkenshaw of what has
taken place."

"Birkenshaw?" said Charlie.

"Mr. Trentham's solicitor. I must obviously let him know immediately
that his client is not the only person who has registered a claim to the
Hardcastle estate."

Cathy, looking even more bewildered, turned to Charlie.

"Later," said Charlie. "I promise."

Baverstock dialed the seven digits of a Chelsea number.

No one spoke as they waited for the telephone to be answered. Eventually
Mr. Baverstock heard a sleepy voice say, "Kensington 7192.'~

"Good evening, Birkenshaw, Baverstock here. Sorry to have to bother you
at this time of night. Indeed, I wouldn't have done so if I hadn't
considered the circumstances fully warranted such an intrusion on your
privacy. But may I first ask what time you make it?"

"Have I heard you correctly?" said Birkenshaw, his voice now sounding
more alert. "You've telephoned me in the middle of the night to ask what
the time is?"

"Precisely," said Baverstock. "You see, I need to confirm that it is
still before the witching hour. So do be a good fellow and tell me what
time you make it."

"I make it eleven-seventeen, but I fail to understand_ n "I make it
eleven-sixteen," said Baverstock, "but on the matter of time I am happy
to bow to your superior judgment. The purpose of this call, by the way,"
he continued, "is to let you know that a second person  who appears to
be a more direct descendant of Sir Raymond than your client has laid
claim to the Hardcastle estate."

"What's her name?"

"I suspect you already know that," replied the old laborer before he
replaced the telephone. "Damn," he said, looking across at Charlie, "I
should have recorded the conversation."

"Why?"

"Because Birkenshaw is never going to admit that he said 'her.'"

"A re you saying that Guy Trentham was my father?" asked Cathy. "But how
... ?"

After waking up Dr. Atkins, a man more used to being disturbed~during
the night, Charlie felt able to explain to Cathy what he had discovered
during his visit to Australia, and how everything had been borne out by
the infommation she had supplied to Becky when she first applied for a
job at Trumper's. Baverstock 'ustened intently, nodding from time to
time, while regularly checking the copious notes he had made following a
long conversation with his nephew in Sydney.

Cathy listened to everything Charlie had to report and although she now
had some recollections of her life in Australia, she was still fairly
vague about her days at the University of Melbourne and could remember
almost nothing of St. Hilda's. The name "Miss. Benson" just didn't
register at all.

"I've tried so hard to recall more details of what happened before I
came to England, but nothing much comes back despite the fact that I can
remember almost everything that took place after I landed at
Southampton. Dr. Atkins isn't that optimistic, is he?"

"There are no rules, is all he keeps reminding me."

Charlie stood up, walked across the room and fumed Cathy's painting
round, a look of hope appearing on his face, but she just shook her head
as she stared at the woodland scene.

"I agree I must have painted it at some time, but I've no idea where or
when."

Around four the following morning Charlie phoned for a taxi to take them
back to Eaton Square, having agreed with Baverstock that he should set
up a face-toface meeting with the other side as soon as it could be
arranged. When they returned home Cathy was so exhausted that she went
straight to bed, but as Charlie's time clock didn't allow him to sleep
he closeted himself in the study and continued his mental search for the
missing link, only too aware of the legal bathe that lay ahead of him
even if he succeeded.

The following day he and Cathy traveled up to Cambridge together and
spent a fraught afternoon in Dr. Atkins' little office at Addenbrooke's.
For his part the consultant seemed far more interested in the file on
Cathy that had been supplied by Mrs. Culver than the fact she might in
some way be related to Mrs. Trentham and therefore eligible to inherit
the Hardcastle Trust.

He took her slowly through each item in the file art classes, credits,
misdemeanors, tennis matches, Melboume Church of England Girls' Grammar
School, Universiy of Melboume but he always met with the same response:
deep thought, but only vague recollections. He tried word associations
Melboume, Miss. Benson, cricket, ship, hotel to which he received the
replies, Australia, Hedges, scorer, Southampton, long hours.

"Scorer" was the only word that interested Dr. Atkins, but pressed
further, Cadhy's only memories of Australia remained a sketchy
description of a grammar school, some clear recollections of the
university and a boy called Mel Nicholls, followed by a long trip on a
ship to London. She could even tell them the names of Pam and Maureen,
who had traveled over with her, but not where they came from.

Cathy went into great detail when the subject turned to the Melrosehotel
and Charlie was able to confirm the accuracy of Cathy's recollection of
her early life at Trumper's.

The description of her first meeting with Daniel, down to his changing
the place cards at the Trumpers' housewarming party, brought tears to
Charlie's eyes. But on the subject of her parentage and the names of
Margaret Ethel Trentham and Miss. Rachel Benson, she still had nothing
to offer.

By six o'clock Cathy was drained. Dr. Atkins took Charlie on one side
and warned him chat in his opinion it was most unlikely that she would
remember much more of what took place in her life before she arrived in
London. Perhaps minor incidents might come back to her from time to
time, but nothing of any real significance.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't much help to you, was 1?" said Cathy as Charlie
drove her back to London.

He took her hand. "We're not beaten yet," he promised her, although he
was beginning to feel that Trevor Roberts' odds of fifty-fifry of
proving that Cathy was the rightful claimant to the Hardcastle Trust
were looking distinctly optimistic.

Becky was dhere to welcome them home and the three of them had a quiet
supper together. Charlie made no reference to what had taken place at
Cambridge earlier in the day until after Cathy had retired to her room.
When Becky heard how Cathy had responded to Dr. Atkins' examination she
insisted that from now on the girl was to be left in peace.

"I lost Daniel because of that woman," she told her husband. "I'm not
willing to lose Cathy as well. If you're going to continue your fight
for Trumper's you must do it without involving her."

Charlie nodded his agreement though he wanted to shout out: how am 1
expected to save everything I've built up from being taken away from me
by yet another Trentham without being allowed to push Cathy to the
brink?

lust before he switched out the bedroom light the phone rang. It was
Trevor Roberts calling from Sydney, but his news did not advance their
cause. Walter Slade had refused to release any new information on Ethel
Trentham and wouldn't even sign a document confirming he had known her.
Charlie once again cursed himself for the crass way he had handled the
interview with the old Yorkshireman.

"And the bank?" he asked, not sounding too hopeful.

"The Commercial Bank of Australia say they wouldn't allow access to the
details of Miss. Benson's private account unless we could prove a crime
had been committed. What Mrs. Trentham did to Cathy might well be
described as evil, but I fear it wasn't strictly criminal."

"It hasn't been a good day for either of us," admitted Charlie.

"Never forget that the other side doesn't know that."

"True, but how much do they know?"

"My uncle told me about Birkenshaw's slip of the tongue with 'her,' so
my bet is they know almost as much as we do. When you confront them,
better assume they do, while at the same time never stop looking for
that missing link."

After Charlie had put down the phone, he lay awake for some time and
didn't move again until he could hear Becky breathing deeply. Then he
slid out of bed, donned his dressing gown and crept down to his study.
He opened a notebook and began to write out every fact he had gathered
during the last few days in the hope that it might just trigger some
memory. The following morning Cathy found him slumped, head on his desk,
sound asleep.

"I don't deserve you, Charlie," she whispered, kissing him on the
forehead. He stirred and raised his eyes.

"We're winning," he said sleepily and even managed a smile, but he
realized from the expression on her face that she didn't believe him.

Becky joined them for breakfast an hour later and talked of everything
except the face-to-face meeting that had been arranged to take place in
Mr. Baverstock's rooms that aftemoon.

As Charlie stood up to leave the table, Cathy said, quite unexpectedly,
"I'd like to be present at the showdown."

"Do you think that's wise?" asked Becky, glancing anxiously towards her
husband.

"Perhaps not," said Cathy. "But I'm still certain I want to be there,
not just learn about the outcome later, second-hand."

"Good girl," said Charlie. "The meeting will be at three in Baverstock's
office, when we will get the chance to present our case. Trentham's
lawyer will be joining us at four. I'll pick you up at two-thirty, but
if you want to change your mind before then, it won't worry me in the
slightest."

Becky turned to see how Cathy had reacted to this suggestion and was
disappointed.

When Charlie marched into his office at exactly eight-thirty, Daphne and
Arthur Selwyn were already waiting for him as instructed.

"Coffee for three and please, no interruptions," Charlie told Jessica,
placing his night's work on the desk in front of him.

"So where do we start?" asked Daphne, and for the next hour and a half
they rehearsed questions, statements and tactics that could be used when
dealing with Trentham and Birkenshaw, trying to anticipate every
situation that might arise.

By the time a light lunch was sent in just before twelve they all felt
drained; no one spoke for some time.

"It's important for you to remember that you're dealing with a different
Trentham this time," said Arthur Selwyn eventually, as he dropped a
sugar lump into his coffee.

"They're all as bad as each other as far as I'm concemed," said Charlie.

"Perhaps Nigel's every bit as resolute as his brother, but I don't
believe for one moment that he has his mother's cunning or Guy's ability
to think on his feet."

"Just what are you getting at, Arthur?" asked Daphne.

"When you all meet this afternoon Charlie must keep Trentham talking as
much as possible, because I've noticed over the years during board
meetings that he often says one sentence too many and simply ends up
defeating his own case. I'll never forget the time he was against the
staff having their own canteen because of the loss of revenue it was
bound to incur, until Cathy pointed out that the food came out of the
same kitchen as the restaurant and we actually ended up making a small
profit on what would otherwise have been thrown away.

Charlie considered this statement as he took another bite out of his
sandwich.

"Wonder what his advisers are telling him are my weak points."

"Your temper," said Daphne. "You've always lived on a short fuse. So
don't give them the chance to light it."

At one o'clock Daphne and Arthur Selwyn left Charlie in peace. After the
door had closed behind them Charlie removed his jacket, went over to the
sofa, lay down and for the next hour slept soundly. At two o'clock
Jessica woke him. He smiled up at her, feeling fully refreshed: another
legacy from the war.

He returned to his desk and read through his notes once again before
leaving his office to walk three doors down the corridor and pick up
Cathy. He quite expected her to have changed her mind but she already
had her coat on and was sitting waiting for him. They drove over to
Baverstock's office, arriving a full hour before Trentham and Birkenshaw
were due to put in an appearance.

The old lawyer listened carefully to Charlie as he presented his case,
occasionally nodding or making further notes, though from the expression
on his face Charlie had no way of knowing what he really felt.

When Charlie had come to the end of his monologue Baverstock put his
fountain pen down on the desk and leaned back in his chair. For some
time he didn't speak.

"1 am impressed by the logic of your argument, Sir Charles," he said
eventually, as he leaned forward and placed the palms of his hands on
the desk in front of him. "And indeed with the evidence you have
gathered. However, I'm bound to say that without the corroboration of
your main witness and also with no written affidavits from either Walter
Slade or Miss. Benson Mr. Birkenshaw will be quick to point out that
your claim is based almost entirely on circumstantial evidence.

"Nonetheless," he continued, "we shall have to see what the other side
has to offer. I find it hard to believe following my conversation with
Birkenshaw on Saturday night that your findings will come as a complete
revelation to his client."

The clock on his mantelpiece struck a discreet four chimes; Baverstock
checked his pocket watch. There was no sign of the other side and soon
the old solicitor started drumming his fingers on the desk. Charlie
began to wonder if this was simply tactics on behalf of his adversary.

Nigel Trentham and his lawyer finally appeared at twelve minutes past
four; neither of them seemed to feel it was necessary to apologize for
their lateness.

Charlie stood up when Mr. Baverstock introduced him to Victor
Birkenshaw, a tall, thin man, not yet fifty, prematurely balding with
what little hair he had left combed over the top of his head in thin
gray strands. The only characteristic he seemed to have in common with
Baverstock was that their clothes appeared to have come from the same
tailor. Birkenshaw sat down in one of the two vacant seats opposite the
old lawyer without acknowledging that Cathy was even in the room. He
removed a pen from his top pocket, took out a pad from his briefcase and
rested it on his knee.

"My client, Mr. Nigel Trentham, has come to lay claim to his inheritance
as the rightful heir to the Hardcasde Trust," he began, "as clearly
stated in Sir Raymond's last will and testament."

"Your client," said Baverstock, picking up Birkenshaw's rather formal
approach, "may I remind you, is not named in Sir Raymond's will, and a
dispute has now arisen as to who is the rightful next of kin. Please
don't forget that Sir Raymond insisted that I call this meeting, should
the need arise, in order to adjudicate on his behalf."

"My client," came back Birkenshaw, "is the second son of the late Gerald
and Margaret Ethel Trentham and the grandson of Sir Raymond Hardcastle.
Therefore, following the death of Guy Trentham, his elder brother, he
must surely be the legitimate heir."

"Under the terms of the will, I am bound to accept your client's claim,"
agreed Baverstock, "unless it can be shown thee Guy Trentham is survived
bv a child or children. We already know that Guy was the father of
Daniel Trumper "

That has never been proven to my client's satisfaction," said
Birkenshaw, busily writing down Baverstock's words.

"It was proven sufficiently to Sir Raymond's satisfaction for him to
name Daniel in his wifl in preference to your client. And following the
meeting between Mrs. Trentham and her grandson we have every reason to
believe that she also was in no doubt as to who Daniel's father was.
Otherwise why did she bother to come to an extensive agreement with
him?"

"This is all conjecture," said Birkenshaw. "Only one fact is certain:
the gentleman in question is no longer with us, and as far as anyone
knows produced no children of his own." He still did not look in Cathy's
direction while she sat listening silently as the ball was tossed back
and forth between the two professionals.

"We were happy to accept that without question," said Charlie,
intervening for the first time. "But what we didn't know until recently
was that Guy Trentham had a second child called Margaret Ethel."

"What proof do you have for such an outrageous claim?" said Birkenshaw,
sitting bolt upright.

"The proof is in the bank statement that I sent round to your home on
Sunday morning."

"A statement, I might say," said Birkenshaw, "that should not have been
opened by anyone other than my client." He glanced towards Nigel
Trentham, who was busy lighting a cigarette.

"I agree," said Charlie, his voice rising. "But 1 thought I'd take a
leaf out of Mrs. Trentham's book for a change."

Baverstock winced, fearing his friend might be on the verge of losing
his temper.

"Whoever the girl was," continued Charlie, "she somehow managed to get
her name onto police files as Guy Trentham's only surviving child and to
paint a picture that remained on the dining room wall of a Melbourne
orphanage for over twenty years. A painting, I might add, that could not
be reproduced by anyone other than the person who originally created it.
Better than a fingerprint, wouldn't you say? Or is that also
conjecture?"

"The only thing the painting proves," retorted Birkenshaw, "is that
Miss. Ross resided at an orphanage in Melbourne at some time between
1927 and 1946. However, I'm given to understand that she is quite unable
to recall any details of her life at that orphanage, or indeed anything
about its principal. Is that not the case, Miss. Ross?" He turned to
face Cathy directly for the first time.

She nodded her reluctant agreement, but still didn't speak.

"Some witness," said Birkenshaw, not attempting to disguise the sarcasm.
"She can't even support the story you are putting forward on her behalf.
Her name is Cathy Ross, that much we do know, despite your socalled
evidence there's nothing to link her with Sir Raymond Hardcastle."

"There are several people who can support her 'story,' as you call it,"
said Charlie, jumping back in. Baverstock raised an eyebrow, as no
evidence had been placed before him to corroborate such a statement,
even if he did want to believe what Sir Charles was saying.

"Knowing that she was brought up in an orphanage in Melbourne doesn't
add up to corroboration," said Birkenshaw, pushing back a strand of hair
that had fallen across his forehead. "I repeat, even if we were to
accept all your wild claims about some imagined meeting between Mrs.
Trentham and Miss. Benson, that still doesn't prove Miss. Ross is of the
same blood as Guy Trentham."

"Perhaps you'd like to check her blood group for yourself?" said
Charlie. This time Mr. Baverstock raised both eyebrows: the subject of
blood groups had never been referred to by either party before.

UA blood group, I might add, Sir Charles, that is shared by half the
world's population." Birkenshaw tugged the lapels of his jacket.

UOH, so you've already checked it?" said Charlie with a look of triumph.
USO there must be some doubt in your mind."

UTHERE's no doubt in my mind as to who is the rightful heir to the
Hardcastle estate," Birkenshaw said before fuming to face Baverstock.
UHOW long are we expected to drag out this farce?" His question was
followed by an exasperated sigh.

UAS long as it takes for someone to convince me who is the rightful heir
to Sir Raymond's estate," said Baverstock, his voice remaining cold and
authoritative.

UWHAT more do you want?" Birkenshaw asked. "My client has nothing to
hide, whereas Miss. Ross seems to have nothing to offer."

"Then perhaps you could explain, Birkenshaw, to my satisfaction," said
Baverstock, "why Mrs. Ethel Trentham made regular payments over several
years to a Miss. Benson, the principal of St. Hilda's Orphanage in
Melbourne, where I think we all now accept Miss. Ross lived between 1927
and 1946?"

"I didn't have the privilege of representing Mrs. Trentham, or indeed
Miss. Benson, so I'm in no position to offer an opinion. Nor, sir, for
that matter, are you."

"Perhaps your client is aware of the reason for those payments and would
care to offer an opinion," interjected Charlie. They both turned to
Nieel Trentham, who calmly stubbed out the remains of his cigarette but
still made no attempt to speak.

UTHERE's no reason why my client should be expected to answer any such
hypothetical question," Birkenshaw suggested.

"But if your client is so unwilling to speak for himself," said.
Baverstock, "it makes it all the more difficult for me to accept that he
has nothing to hide."

UTHAT, sir, is unworthy of you," said Birkenshaw. "You of all people are
well aware that when a client is represented by a lawyer it is
understood he may not necessarily wish to speak. In fact, it was not
even obligatory for Mr. Trentham to attend this meeting."

"This isn't a court of law," said Baverstock sharply "In any case, I
suspect Mr. Trentham's grandfather would not have approved of such
tactics."

"Are you denying my client his legal rights?"

"Certainly not. However, if because of his unwillingness to offer any
opinion I feel unable to come to a decision myself I may have to
recommend to both parties that this matter be settled in a court of law,
as stated clearly in clause twenty-seven of Sir Raymond's will."

Yet another clause that he didn't know about, Charlie reflected
ruefully.

"But such a case might take years just to reach the courts," Birkenshaw
pointed out. "Furthermore, it could end up in vast expenses to both
sides. I cannot believe that would have been Sir Raymond's purpose."

"That may be so," said Baverstock. "But at least it would ensure that
your client was given the opportunity to explain those quarterly
payments to a jury that is, if he knew anything about them."

For the first time Birkenshaw seemed to hesitate but Trentham still
didn't speak. He just sat there, drawing on a second cigarette.

UA jury might also consider Miss. Ross to be nothing more than an
opportunist," suggested Birkenshaw, changing tack. "An opportunist who,
having stumbled upon rather a good tale, managed to get herself over to
England where she then made the facts fit in neatly with her own
circumstances."

"Very neatly indeed," said Charlie. UDIDN't she do 7SS AS THE CROW PLIES
well at the age of three to get herself registered at an orphanage in
Melboume? At exactly the same time as Guy Trentham was locked up in the
local jail "

"Coincidence," said Birkenshaw.

" having been left there by Mrs. Trentham, who then makes out a
quarterly payment to the principal of that orphanage which mysteriously
ceases the moment Miss. Benson dies. That must have been some secret she
was keeping."

"Once again circumstantial and, what's more, inadmissible," said
Birkenshaw.

Nigel Trentham leaned forward and was about to make a comment when his
lawyer placed his right hand firmly on his arm. "We shall not fall for
those sort of bully-boy tactics, Sir Charles, that I suspect are more
commonplace in the Whitechapel Road than in Lincoln's Inn."

Charlie leaped out of his chair, his fist clenched, and took a pace
towards Birkenshaw.

"Calm yourself, Sir Charles," said Baverstock sharply.

Charlie reluctantly came to a halt a couple of feet in front of
Birkenshaw, who did not flinch. After a moment's hesitation he recalled
Daphne's advice and returned to his chair. Treneham's lawyer continued
to stare defiantly at him.

"As I was saying," said Birkenshaw, "my client has nothing to hide. And
he will certainly not find it necessaty to resort to physical violence
to prove his case."

Charlie unclenched his fist but did not lower his voice: "I do hope your
client will resort to answering leading counsel when he inquires as to
why his mother continued to pay large sums of money to someone from the
other side of the world whom she, so you claim, never met. And why a Mr.
Walter Slade, a chauffeur with the Victoria Country Club, took Mrs.
Trentham to St. Hilda's on 20 April 1927 accompanied by a little girl of
Cathy's age called Margaret, but left without her. And I'll bet if we
ask a judge to delve into Miss. Benson's bank account, we'll find that
those payments go back to within a day of when Miss. Ross was registered
at St. Hilda's. After all, we already know that the banker's order was
canceled the week Miss. Benson died."

Once again Baverstock appeared horrified by Charlie's reckless nerve,
and raised a hand in the hope that he might stop any further outbursts.

Birkenshaw in contrast couldn't resist a wry smile. "Sir Charles, in
default of your being represented by a lawyer, I really should remind
you of one or two home truths. For a start, let me make one point
abundantly clear: my client has assured me that he had never heard of
Miss. Benson until yesterday. In any case, no English judge has the
jurisdiction to delve into an Australian bank account unless they have
reason to believe a crime has been committed in both countries. What is
more, Sir Charles, two of your key wimesses are sadly in their graves
while the third, Mr. Walter Slade, will not be making any trips to
London. What is more, you won't be able to subpoena him.

"So now let us turn to your claim, Sir Charles, that a jury would be
surprised if my client did not appear in the witness box to answer on
behalf of his mother. I suspect they would be even more staggered to
learn that the principal witness in this case, the claimant, was also
unwilling to take the stand to answer on her own behalf because she has
little or no recollection of what actually took place at the time in
question. I do not believe that you could find a counsel in the land who
would be willing to put Miss. Ross through such an ordeal if the only
words she is likely to utter in reply to every question put to her in
the witness box were, "Sorry, I can't remember.' Or is it possible that
she simply has nothing credible to say? Let me assure you, Sir Charles,
we would be only too happy to go to court, because you would be laughed
out of it."

Charlie could tell from the look on Baverstock's face thee he was
beaten. He glanced sadly across at Cathy, whose expression had not
changed for the past hour.

Baverstock slowly removed his spectacles and made great play of cleaning
them with a handkerchief he had taken out of his top pocket. Eventually
he spoke: "I confess, Sir Charles, that I cannot see any good reason to
take up the courts' time with this case. In fact, I believe it would be
irresponsible of me to do so, unless of course Miss. Ross is able to
produce some fresh evidence of her identity that has so far not been
considered or at least can corroborate all the statements you have made
on her behalf." He turned to Cathy. "Miss. Ross, is there anything you
would like to say at this juncture?"

All four men turned their attention to Cathy, who was sitting quietly,
rubbing a thumb against the inside of her forefinger, just below her
chin. "I apologize, Miss. Ross," said Baverstock. "I didn't realize that
you had been trying to gain my attention."

"No, no, it is I who should apologize, Mr. Baverstock," said Cathy. "I
always do that when l'rn nervous. It reminds me of the piece of jewelry
that my father Rave me when I was a child."

"The piece of jewelry your father gave you?" said Mr. Baverstock
quietly, not sure that he had heard her correctly.

"Yes," said Cathy. She undid the top button of her blouse and took out
the miniature medal that hung from the end of a piece of string.

"Your father gave you that?" said Charlie.

"Oh, yes," said Cathy. "It's the only tangible memory I have of him."

"May I see the necklace, please?" asked Baverstock.

"Certainly," said Cathy, slipping the thin gold chain over her head and
passing the medal to Charlie. He examined the miniature for some time
before handing it on to Mr. Baverstock.

"Although I'm no expert on medals I think it's a miniature MC," said
Charlie.

"Wasn't Guy Trentham awarded the MC?" asked Baverstock.

"Yes, he was," said Birkenshaw, "and he also went to Harrow, but simply
wearing their old school tie doesn't prove my client was his brother. In
fact, it doesn't prove anything and certainly couldn't be produced as
evidence in a court of law. After all, there must be hundreds of MCS
still around. Indeed, Miss. Ross could have picked up such a medal in
any junk shop in London once she'd planned to make the facts surrounding
Guy Trentham fit in with her background. You can't really expect us to
fall for that old trick, Sir Charles."

"I can assure you, Mr. Birkenshaw, that this particular medal was given
to me by my father," said Cathy, looking directly at the lawyer. "He may
not have been entitled to wear it, but I will never forget him placing
it around my neck."

"That can't possibly be my brother's MC," said Nigel Trentham, speaking
for the first time. "What's more, I can prove it."

"You can prove what?" asked Baverstock.

"Are you certain ?" began Birkenshaw, but this time it was Trentham who
placed a hand firmly on his lawyer's arm.

"I will prove to your satisfaction, Mr. Baverstock," continued Trentham,
"that the medal you now have in front of you could not have been the MC
won by my brother."

"And just how do you propose to do that?" asked Baverstock.

"Because Guy's medal was unique. After he had been awarded his MC my
mother sent the original to Spinks and at her request they engraved
Guy's initials down the edge of one of the arms. Those initials can only
be seen under a magnifying glass. I know, because the medal he was
presented with on the Mame still stands on the mantelpiece of my home in
Chester Square. If a miniature had ever existed my mother would have had
his initials engraved on it in exactly the same way.

No one spoke as Baverstock opened a drawer in his desk and took out an
ivory-handled magnifying glass that he nominally used to decipher
illegible handwriting. He held up the medal to the light and studied the
edges of the little silver arms one by one.

"You're quite right," admitted Baverstock, as he looked back up at
Trentham. "Your case is proven." He passed both the medal and the
magnifying glass over to Mr. Birkenshaw, who in turn studied the MC for
some time before resuming the medal to Cathy with a slight bow of the
head. He fumed to his client and asked, "Were your brother's initials
"G.F.T.'?"

"Yes, that's right. Guy Francis Trentham."

"Then I can only wish that you had kept your mouth shut."

chap TED -I When Charlie burst into the drawing room that evening it was
the first time that I really believed Guy Trentham was finally dead.

I sat in silence while my husband strode around the room recalling with
relish every last detail of the confrontation that had taken place in
Mr. Baverstock's office earlier that afternoon.

I have loved four men in my life with emotions ranging from adoration to
devotion, but only Charlie encompassed the entire spectrum. Yet, even in
his moment of triumph, I knew it would be left to me to take away from
him the thing he most loved.

Within a fortnight of that fateful meeting, Nigel Trentham had agreed to
part with his shares at the market price. Now that interest rates had
risen to eight percent it was hardly surprising that he had little
stomach for a protracted and bitter wrangle over any claim he might or
might not have to the Hardcastle estate.

Mr. Baverstock, on behalf of the Trust, purchased all his stock at a
cost of a little over seven million pounds. The old solicitor then
advised Charlie that he should call a special board meeting as it was
his duty to inform Companies House of what had taken place. He also
warned Charlie that he must, within fourteen days, circulate all other
shareholders with the details of the transaction.

It had been a long time since I'd looked forward to a board meeting with
such anticipation.

Although I was among the first to take my place at the boardroom table
that morning, every other director was present long before the meeting
was scheduled to begin.

"Apologies for absence?" requested the chairman on the dot of ten.

"Niger Trentham, Roger Gibbs and Hugh Folland," Jessica intoned in her
best matter-of-fact voice.

"Thank you. Minutes of the last meeting," said Charlie. "Is it your wish
that I should sign those minutes as a true record?H I glanced round the
faces at the boardroom table. Daphne, dressed in a perky yellow outfit,
was doodling away all over her minutes. Tim Newman was looking as suave
as ever and simply nodded, while Simon took a sip from the glass of
water in front of him and when he caught my eye raised it in a mock
toast. Ned Denning whispered something inaudible in Bob Makins' ear
while Cathy placed a tick by item number two. Only Paul Merrick looked
as if he wasn't enjoying the occasion. I turned my attention back to
Charlie.

As no one appeared to be showing any dissent, Jessica folded back the
last page of the minutes to allow Charlie to scrawl his signature below
the bottom line. I noticed Charlie smile when he reread the final
instruction the board had given him on the last occasion we had met:
HCHAIRMAN to try and come to some amicable

76S AS THE CROW PLIES agreement with Mr. Nigel Trentham concerning the
orderly takeover of Trumper's. H Matters arising from the minutes?"
Charlie asked. Still no one else spoke, so once again Charlie's eyes
returned to the agenda. "Item number four, the future of " he began, but
then every one of us tried to speak at once.

When some semblance of order had been regained, Charlie suggested that
it might be wise if the chief executive were to bring us up to date on
the latest position. I joined the "Hear, hearsh and nods that greeted
this suggestion.

"Thank you, Chairman," said Arthur Selwyn, removing some papers from a
briefcase by the side of his chair. The rest of the board waited
patiently. HMEMBERS of the board will be aware that," he began, sounding
like the senior civil servant he had once been, Following the
announcement by Mr. Nigel Trentham that it was no longer his intention
to mount a takeover bid for Trumper's, the company's shares subsequently
fell from their peak of two pounds four shillings to their present price
of one pound nineteen shillings.

"We're all capable of following the vagaries of the stock market,H said
Daphne, butting in. "What I would like to know is: what has happened to
Trentham's personal shareholding?''

I didn't join in with the chorus of approval that foliowed as I already
knew every last detail of the agreement.

"Mr. Trentham's stock," said Mr. Selwyn, continuing as if he had not
been interrupted, "was, following an agreement reached between his
lawyers and Miss. Ross', acquired a fortnight ago by Mr. Baverstock on
behalf of the Hardcastle Trust at a cost of two pounds one shilling per
share."

And will the rest of the board ever be privy to what brought about this
cozy little arrangements asked Daphne.

Nit has recently come to light," answered Selwyn, "that Mr. Trentham
has, during the past year, been building up a considerable holding in
the company on borrowed money, causing him to accumulate a large
overdraft an overdraft, I am given to understand, he can no longer
sustain. With that in mind he has sold his personal holding in the
company some twentyeight percent direct to the Hardcastle Trust at the
going market rate. H "Has he now?" said Daphne.

HYES," said Charlie. "And it may also interest the board to know that
during the past week I have received three letters of resignation, from
Mr. Trentham, Mr. Folland and Mr. Gibbs, which I took the liberty of
accepting on your behalf. H "That was indeed a liberty,H said Daphne
sharply.

HYOU feel we shouldn't have accepted their resignations?H HI certainly
do, Chairman. H HMAY one ask your reasons, Lady Wiltshire?H UTHEY're
purely selfish, Mr. Chairman. H I thought I detected a chuckle in her
voice, as Daphne waited to be sure she had the full attention of the
board. HYOU see, I'd been looking forward to proposing that all three of
them should be sacked. H Few members of the board were able to keep a
straight face at this suggestion.

HNOT to be recorded in the minutes,H said Charlie, turning towards
Jessica. HTHANK you, Mr. Selwyn, for an admirable summary of the present
situation. Now, as I cannot believe there is anything to be gained by
continuing to rake over those particular coals, let us move on to item
number five, the banking hall."

Charlie sat back contentedly while Cathy reported to us that the new
facility was making a respectable monthly return and she could see no
reason why the figures should not continue to improve for the foresee
able future. "In fact," she said, HI believe the time has come for
Trumper's to offer its regular customers their own credit card as . .."

I stared at the miniature MC that hung from a gold chain around Cathy's
neck, the missing link that Mr. Roberts always insisted had to exist.
Cathy was still unable to recall a great deal of what had taken place in
her life before she had come to work in London, but I agreed with Dr.
Atkins' assessment that we should no longer waste our time with the past
but let her concentrate on the future.

None of us doubted that when the time came to select a new chairman we
wouldn't have far to look. The only problem I had to face now was how to
convince the present chairman that perhaps the time had come for him to
make way for someone younger.

HDO you have any strong feelings about upper limits, Chairman?H asked
Cathy.

HNO, no, it all makes good sense to me," said Charlie, sounding
unusually vague.

Hl'm not so sure that I'm able to agree with you on this occasion,
Chairman," said Daphne.

HAND why's that, Lady Wiltshire?" asked Charlie, smiling benignly.

HPARTLY because you haven't been listening to a single word that's been
said for about the last ten minutes,H Daphne declared, H50 how can you
possibly know what you're agreeing to?H HGUILTY," said Charlie. HI
confess my mind was on the other side of the world. However," he
continued, HI did read Cathy's report on the subject and I suggest that
the upper limits will have to vary from customer to customer, according
to their credit rating, and we may well need to employ some new staff in
future who have been trained in the City, rather than on the high
street. Even so, I shall still require a detailed timetable if we're to
consider seriously the introduction of such a scheme, which should be
ready for presentation at the next board meeting. is that possible,
Miss. Ross?" Charlie asked firmly, no doubt hoping that yet another
example of his well-known Hthinking on his feet" had released him from
the jaws of Daphne.

"I will have everything ready for the board to consider at least a week
before our next meeting."

HTHANK you," said Charlie. "Item number six. Accounts."

I listened intently as Selwyn presented the latest figures, department
by department. Once again I became aware of Cathy questioning and
probing whenever she felt we were not being given a full enough
explanation for any loss or innovation. She sounded like a better
informed, more professional version of Daphne.

"What are we now projecting will be the profit forecast for the year
1965?H she asked.

NAPPROXIMATELY nine hundred and twenty thousand pounds," replied Selwyn,
running his finger down a column of figures.

That was the moment when I realized what had to be achieved before I
could convince Charlie he should announce his retirement.

HTHANK you, Mr. Selwyn. Shall we move on to item number seven?" said
Charlie. "The appointment of Miss. Cathy Ross as deputy chairman of the
board." Removing his glasses, Charlie added, HI don't feel it will be
necessary for me to make a long speech on why "

"Agreed," said Daphne. Hlt therefore gives me considerable pleasure to
propose Miss. Ross as deputy chairman of Trumper's."

"I should like to second that proposal," volunteered Arthur Selwyn. I
could only smile at the sight of Charlie with his mouth wide open, but
he still managed to ask, "Those in favor?" I raised my hand along with
ail but one director.

Cathy rose and gave a short acceptance speech in which she thanked the
board for their confidence in her and assured them of her total
commitment to the future of the company.

"Any other business?" asked Charlie, as he began stacking up his papers.

"Yes," replied Daphne. Heaving had the pleasure of proposing Miss. Ross
as deputy chairman I feel the time has come for me to hand in my
resignation."

"But why?" asked Charlie, looking shocked.

"Because I shall be sixty-five next month, Chairman, and I consider that
to be a proper age to make way for younger blood."

HTHEN I can only say " began Charlie and this time none of us tried to
stop him making a long and heartfelt speech. When he had finished we all
banged the table with the palm of a hand.

Once order had been regained, Daphne said simply, "Thank you. I could
not have expected such dividends from a sixty-pound investment."

Within weeks of Daphne's leaving the company, whenever a sensitive issue
came under discussion with the board Charlie would admit to me after the
meeting was over that he missed the marchioness' particular brand of
maddening common sense.

HAND I wonder if you'll miss me and my nagging tongue quite as much when
I hand in my resignation?" I asked.

HWHAT are you talking about, Becky?H

HONLY that I'll be sixty-five in a couple of years and intend to follow
Daphne's example."

But HNO buts, Charlie,H I told him. HNUMBER 1 now runs itself more than
competently since I stole young Richard Cartwright from Christie's. In
any case, Richard ought to be offered my place on the main board. After
all, he's taking most of the responsibility without gaining any of the
credit."

HWELL, I'll tell you one thing," Charlie retorted defiantly, "I don't
intend to resign, not even when I'm seventy."

During 1965, we opened three new departments: HTEENAGERS," which
specialized in clothes and records with its own coffee shop attached; a
travel agency, to cope with the growing demand for holidays abroad; and
a gift department, "for the man who has everything. H Cathy also
recommended to the board that after almost twenty years perhaps the
whole barrow needed a facelift. Charlie told me that he wasn't quite
sure about such a radical upheaval, reminding me of the Fordian theory
that one should never invest in anything that eats or needs to be
repainted. But as Arthur Selwyn and the other directors seemed in no
doubt that a refurbishment program was long overdue he only put up token
resistance.

I kept to my promise or threat as Charlie saw it  and resigned three
months after my sixty-fifth birthday, leaving Charlie as the only
director who still survived from the original board.

For the first time in my recollection, Charlie admitted that he was
beginning to feel his age. Whenever he called for the minutes of the
last meeting, he admitted, he would look around the boardroom table and
realize how little he had in common with most of his fellow directors.
The "bright new sparks," as Daphne referred to them, financiers,
takeover specialists, and public relations men, all seemed somehow
detached from the one element that had always mattered to Charlie the
customer.

They talked of deficit financing, loan option schemes and the necessity
to have their own computer, often without bothering to seek Charlie's
opinion.

HWHAT can I do about it?" Charlie asked me after a board meeting at
which he admitted he hardly opened his mouth.

He scowled when he heard my recommendation.

The following month Arthur Selwyn announced at the company's AGM that
the pretax profits for 1966 would be'1,078,600. Charlie stared down at
me as I nodded firmly from the front row. He waited for HANY other
business" before he rose to tell the assembled company that he felt the
time had come for him to resign. Someone else must push the barrow into
the seventies, he suggested.

Everyone in the room looked shocked. They spoke of the end of an era,
Hno possible replacement,H and said that it would never be the same
again; but not one of them suggested Charlie should reconsider his
position.

Twenty minutes later he declared the meeting closed.

chap TED It was Jessica Allen who told the new chairman that a Mr.
Corcran had Dhoned from the Lefevre Gallery to say that he accepted her
offer of one hundred and ten thousand pounds.

Cathy smiled. "Now all we have to do is agree on a date and send out the
invitations. Can you get Becky on the line for me, Jessica?"

The first action Cathy had proposed to the board after being elected
unanimously as the third chairman of Trumper's was to appoint Charlie as
Life President and hold a dinner in his honor at the Grosvenor House
Hotel. The occasion was attended by all Trumper's staff their husbands,
wives and many of the friends Charlie and Becky had made over nearly
seven decades. Charlie took his place in the center of the top table
that night, one of the one thousand, seven hundred and seventy people
who filled the great ballroom.

There followed a five-course meal that even Percy was unable to fault.
After Charlie had been supplied with a brandy and had lit up a large
Trumper's cigar, he leaned over and whispered to Becky, Ul wish your
father could have seen this spread." He added, "Of course, he wouldn't
have come unless he'd supplied everything from the meringues glaces to
the tread "I wish Daniel could have shared the evening with us as well,"
Becky replied quietly. A few moments later Cathy stood and delivered a
speech that could have left no one in any doubt that they had elected
the right person to follow Charlie. Cathy ended by inviting the
assembled company to toast the health of the founder and first Life
President. After the applause had died away, she bent down and removed
something from beneath her chair. "Charlie," she said, "This is a small
memento from us all to thank you for the sacrifice you once made in
order to keep Trumper's afloat." Cathy turned and handed over an oil
painting to Charlie, who beamed in anticipation until he saw what the
subject was. His mouth opened and his cigar fell on the table as he
stared in disbelief. It was some time before he could let go of The
Potato Eaters and rise to respond to the calls of "Speech, speech!"

Charlie began by reminding his audience once again how everything had
begun with his grandfather's barrow in Whitechapel, a barrow that now
stood proudly in the food hall of Trumper's. He paid tribute to the
colonel, long since dead, to the pioneers of the company, Mr. Crowther
and Mr. Hadlow, as well as to two of the original staff, Bob Makins and
Ned Dennina both of whom had retired only weeks before he himself had.
He ended with Daphne, Marchioness of Wiltshire, who had loaned them
their first sixty pounds to make it all possible.

"I wish I was fourteen years old again," he said wistfully. "Me, my
barrow, and my regulars in the Whitechapel Road. Those were the 'appiest
days of my life. Because at 'cart, you see, I'm a simple fruit and
vegetable man." Everybody laughed, except Becky, who gazed up at her
husband and recalled an eight-year-old boy in short trousers, cap in
hand, standing outside her father's shop, hoping to get a free bun.

"I am proud to 'ave built the biggest barrow in the world and tonight to
be among those who 'ave 'elped me push it from the East End all the way
into Chelsea Terrace. I'll miss you all and I can only 'ope you'll allow
me back into Trumper's from time to time."

As Charlie sat down, his staff rose to cheer him. He leaned over, took
Becky by the hand and said, "Forgive me, but I forgot to tell 'em it was
you what founded it in the first place."

Becky, who had never been to a football match in her life, had to spend
hours listening to her husband on the subject of the World Cup, and how
no fewer than three West Ham players had been selected for the England
squad.

For the first four weeks after Charlie had retired as chairman, he
seemed quim content to allow Stan to drive him from Sheffield to
Manchester, and from Liverpool to Leeds, so that they could watch the
early rounds together.

When England won a place in the semifinal Charlie used every contact he
could think of to obtain two stand tickets, and his efforts were
rewarded when the home side won a place in the final.

However, despite those contacts, a willingness to pay over the odds, and
even writing to Alf Ramsay, the England team manager, Charlie still
failed to get even a standing ticket for the final. He told Becky that
he had come to the reluctant conclusion that he and Stan would have to
watch the match on television.

On the morning of the game, Charlie came down to breakfast to find two
stand tickets wedged in the toast rack. He was unable to eat his eggs
and bacon for sheer excitement. "You're a genius, Mrs. Trumper," he said
several times, interspersed with: "However did you manage it?"

"Contacts," was all Becky would say, resolved not to let Charlie know
that the new computer had revealed that Mrs. Ramsay held an account at
Trumper's, and Cathy had suggested she should join that select group of
customers who received a ten percent discount.

The four-two victory over West Germany, with three goals scored by Geoff
Hurst of West Ham, not only brought Charlie to the edge of delirium but
even made Becky briefly wonder if her husband had now put Trumper's
behind him and would allow Cathy a free hand as chaimman.

Yet within a week of resuming home from Wembley Stadium Charlie seemed
perfectly content just to potter around the house, but it was during the
second week that Becky realized something had to be done if she wasn't
to be driven mad as well as lose most of her domestic staff at Eaton
Square. On the Monday of the third week, she dropped into Trumper's to
see the manager of the travel department and during the fourth week
tickets were delivered from the offices of Cunard to Lady Trumper for a
trip to New York on the In Ma~followed by an extensive tour of the
United States.

"I do hope she can run the barrow without me," said Charlie, as they
were driven down to Southampton.

"1 expect she'll just about scrape by," said Becky, who had planned that
they should be away for at least three months, to be sure that Cathy had
a free hand to Ret on with the refurbishment program, which they both
suspected Charlie would have done everything in his power to hold up.

Becky became even more convinced this would have been the case the
moment Charlie walked into Bloomingdale's and started grumbling about
the lack of proper space allocated to view the goods. She moved him on
to Macy's where he complained of the nonexistent service, and when they
arrived in Chicago he told Joseph Field that he no longer cared for the
window displays that had at one time been the hallmark of the great
store. "Far too garish, even for America," he assured the owner. Becky
would have mentioned the words "tact" and "subtlety" had Joseph Field
not agreed with his old friend's every pronouncement, while placing the
blame firmly on a new manager who believed in "flower power," whatever
that was.

Dallas, San Francisco and Los Angeles were no better, and when three
months later Becky and Charlie climbed back on board the great liner in
New York, the name of "Trumper's" was once again on Charlie's lips.
Becky began to dread what might happen when they set foot back on
English soil.

She only hoped that five days of calm seas and a warm Atlantic breeze
might help them relax and allow Charlie to forget Trumper's for a few
moments. But he spent most of the voyage back explaining his new ideas
for revolutionizing the company, ideas he felt should be put into
operation the moment they reached London. It was then that Becky decided
she had to make a stand on Cathy's behalf.

"But you're not even a member of the board any longer," Becky reminded
him, as she lay on the deck sunbathing.

"I'm the Life President," he insisted, after he had finished telling her
his latest idea for tagging garments to combat shoplifting.

"But that's a purely honorary position."

"Poppycock. I intend to make my views felt whenever "Charlie, that's not
fair to Cathy. She's no longer the junior director of a family venture
but chairman of a vast public company. The time has surely come for you
to stay away from Trumper's and allow Cathy to push the barrow along on
her own."

"So what am I expected to do?"

"I don't know, Charlie, and I don't care. But whatever you do it's no
longer going to take place anywhere near Chelsea Terrace. Do I make
myself clear?"

Charlie would have replied if a deck officer hadn't come to a halt
beside them.

"Sorry tointerrupt you sir."

"You're not interrupting anything," said Charlie. "So what do you want
me to do? Arrange a mutiny or organize the deck tennis draw?"

"Both those are the purser's responsibility, Sir Charles," said the
young man. "But the captain wonders if you would be kind enough to join
him on the bridge. He's received a cablegram from London which he feels
you would want to know about immediately."

"I hope it's not bad news," said Becky, as she sat up quickly and placed
the novel she had been trying to read on the deck beside her. "I told
them not to contact us unless it was an emergency."

"Rubbish," said Charlie. "You're such an old pessimist. With you a
bottle is always half empty." He stood up and stretched himself before
accompanying the young officer along the afterdeck towards the bridge,
explaining how he would organize a mutiny. Becky iollowed a yard behind,
offering no further comment.

As the officer escorted them onto the bridge the captain fumed to greet
them.

"A cablegram has just come over the wires from London, Sir Charles,
which I thought you would want to see immediately." He handed the
message over.

"Damn, I've left my glasses back on the deck," Charlie mumbled. "Becky,
you'd better read it to me." He passed the slip of paper to his wife.

Becky opened the cablegram, her fingers trembling slightly, and read the
message to herself first as Charlie studied his wife's face for a clue
as to its contents.

"Come on then, what is it? Half full or half empty?"

"It's a request from Buckingham Palace," she replied.

"What did I tell you," said Charlie, "you can't leave them to do
anything for themselves. First day of the month, bath soap, she prefers
lavender; toothpaste, he likes Colgate, and loo paper ... I did warn
Cathy "

"No, I don't think it's the loo paper Her Majesty is fussing about on
this occasion," said Becky.

"So what's the problem?" asked Charlie.

"They want to know what title you'll take."

"Title?" said Charlie.

"Yes," said Becky, turning to face her husband. "Lord Trumper of where?"

Becky was surprised and Cathy somewhat relieved to discover how quickly
Lord Trumper of Whitechapel appeared to become absorbed in the daily
workings of the Upper House. Becky's fears of his continually
interfering with the day-to-day business of the company evaporated the
moment Charlie had donned the red ermine. For his wife, the routine
brought back memories of those days during the Second World War when
Charlie had worked under Lord Woolton in the Ministry of Food and she
could never be sure what time of night he'd arrive home.

Six months after being told by Becky he was not to no anywhere near
Trumper's, Charlie announced that he had been invited to become a member
of the Agricultural Committee, where he felt he could once again use his
expertise to the benefit of his fellow members. He even resumed to his
old routine of rising at four-thirty each morning so that he could catch
up with those parliamentary papers that always needed to be read before
important meetings.

Whenever Charlie resumed home for dinner in the evening he was always
full of news about some clause he had proposed in committee chat day, or
how an old doffer had taken up tile House's time during dhe afternoon
widh coundess amendments to the hare coursing bill.

When in 1970 Britain applied to join the Common Market Charlie told his
wife that he had been approached by the chief whip to chair a
subcommittee on food distribution in Europe and felt it was his duty to
accept. From that day on, whenever Becky came down for breakfast she
would discover coundess order papers or copies of the Lords' daily
Hansard strewn untidily all the way from Charlie's study to the kitchen,
where dhe inevitable note had been left to explain that he had to attend
yet anodher early subcommittee meeting or briefing from some continental
supporter of Britain's entry into Europe who happened to be in London.
Until then Becky had no idea how hard members of the Upper House were
expected to work.

Becky continued to keep in touch widh Trumper's by regular Monday
morning visits. She would always go in at a time when business was
fairly quiet, and to her surprise had become Charlie's main source of
information as to what was happening at the store.

She always enjoyed spending a couple of hours strolling through the
different departments. She couldn't help noticing how quickly fashions
changed, and how Cadhy always managed to keep a step ahead of her
rivals, while never giving regular customers cause to grumble about
unnecessary change.

Becky's final call was inevitably at the auction house to see whose
paintings were due to come under the hammer. It had been some time since
she had handed over her responsibility to Richard Cartwright, the former
chief auctioneer, but he always made himself available to show her round
the latest preview of pictures to be auctioned. "Minor Impressionists on
this occasion," he assured her.

"Now at major prices," Becky replied as she studied works by Pissarro,
Bonnard and Vuillard. "But we'll still have to make sure Charlie doesn't
find out about this lot."

"He already has," Richard warned her. "Dropped in last Thursday on his
way to the Lords, put a reserve on Three lots and even found time to
complain about our estimates. Claimed he had bought a large Renoir oil
from you called L'homme'd la peche only a few years ago for the price I
was now expecting him to pay for a small pastel by Pissarro that was
nothing more than a study for a major work."

"I suspect he might be right about that n said Becky as she flicked
through dhe catalog ue to check the different estimates. "And heaven
heep your balance sheet if he finds out that you failed to reach the
reserve price on any picture he's interested in. When I ran this
department he was always known as 'our loss leader.'"

As they were chatting an assistant walked over to join Them, nodded
politely to Lady Trumper and handed Richard a note. He studied The
message before turning to Becky. "The chairman wonders if you would be
kind enough to drop in and see her before you leave. Somedhing she needs
to discuss widh you fairly urgency."

Richard accompanied her to the lift on the ground floor, where Becky
thanked him once again for indulging an old lady.

As dhe lift traveled grudgingly upwards somedhing else dlat Cadhy wanted
to change as part of dhe refurbish ment Plan Becky pondered on why The
chairman could possibly want to see her and only hoped chat she wasn't
going to have to cancel dinner widh Them chat night, as their guests
were to tee Joseph and Barbara Field.

Although Cathy had moved out of Eaton Square some eighteen months before
into a spacious flat in Chelsea Hoisters they still managed dinner
together at least once a month, and Cathy was always invited back to the
house whenever the Fields or the Bloomingdales were in town. Becky knew
that Joseph Field, who still sat on the board of the great Chicago
store, would be disappointed if Cathy was unable to keep her appointment
that night, especially as the American couple was due to return home the
following day.

Jessica ushered Becky straight through to the chairman's office, where
she found Cathy on the phone, her brow unusually furrowed. While she
waited for the chairman to finish her call, Becky stared out of the bay
window at the empty wooden bench on the far side of the road and thought
of Charlie, who had happily swapped it for the red leather benches of
the House of Lords.

Once Cathy had replaced the receiver, she immediately asked UHOW's
Charlie?"

UYOU tell me," said Becky. "I see him for the occasional dinner during
the week and he has even been known to attend breakfast on a Sunday. But
that's about it. Has he been seen in Trumper's lately?"

"Not that often. To be honest, I still feel guilty about banning him
from the store."

"No need to feel any guilt," Becky told her. UI've never seen the man
happier."

"I'm relieved to hear it," said Cathy. "But right now I need Charlie's
advice on a more urgent matter."

"And what's that?"

"Cigars," said Cathy. "I had David Field on the Shone earlier to sav
that his father would like a dozen boxes of his usual brand and not to
bother to send them round to the Connaught because he'll be only too
happy to pick them up when he comes to dinner tonight."

"So what's the problem?"

"Neither David Field nor the tobacco department has the slightest idea
what his father's usual brand is. It seems Charlie always dealt with the
order personally."

"You could check the old invoices."

"First thing I did," said Cathy. "But there's no record of any
transaction ever taking place. Which surprised me, because if I remember
correctly old Mr. Field regularly had a dozen boxes sent over to the
Connaught whenever he came to London." Cathy's brow furrowed again.
"That was something I always considered curious. After all, when you
think about it, he must have had a large tobacco department in his own
store."

"I'm sure he did," said Becky, "but it wouldn't have stocked any brands
from Havana."

"Havana? I'm not with you."

USOME time in the fifties U.S. Customs banned the import of all Cuban
cigars into America and David's father, who had been smoking a
particular brand of Havanas long before anyone had heard of Fidel Castro
saw no reason why he shouldn t be allowed to continue to indulge himself
with what he considered was no more than his '~oddamned right.'"

"So how did Charlie get round the problem?"

"Charlie used to go down to the tobacco department, pick up a dozen
boxes of the old man's favorite brand, return to his office, remove the
bands around each cigar then replace them with an innocuous Dutch label
before putting them back in an unidentifiable Trumper's box. He always
made sure that there was a ready supply on hand for Mr. Field in case he
ever ran out. Charlie felt it was the least we could do to repay all the
hospitality the Fields had lavished on us over the years."

Cathy nodded her understanding. "But I still need to know which brand of
Cuban cigar is nothing more than Mr. Field's 'goddamned right."'

"I've no idea," admitted Becky. "As you say Charlie never allowed anyone
else to handle the order."

"Then someone's going to have to ask Charlie, either to come in and
complete the order himself or at least tell us which brand Mr. Field is
addicted to. So where can I expect to find the Life President at
eleventhirty on a Monday morning?"

"Hidden away in some committee room at the House of Lords would be my
bet."

"No, he's not," said Cathy. UI've already phoned the Lords and they
assured me he hadn't been seen this morning and what's more they weren't
expecting him again this week."

"But that's not possible," said Becky. "He virtually lives in the
place."

"That's what I thought," said Cathy. UWHICH is why I called down to
Number 1 to ask for your help."

Ul'll sort this out in a trice," said Becky. Ulf.lessica can put me
through to the Lords, 1 know exactly the right person to speak to."

Jessica returned to her office, looked up the number and, as soon as she
had been connected, put the call through to the chairman's desk, where
Becky picked up the receiver.

"House of Lords?" said Becky. "Message board please ... Is Mr. Anson
there? No, well, I'd still like to leave an urgent message for Lord
Trumper ... of Whitechapel . .. Yes, I think he's in an agricultural
subcommittee this morning ... Are you sure? ... That can't be possible
... You do know my husband? ... Well, that's a relief ... Does he ... ?
How interesting ... No, thank you .. . No, I won't leave a message and
please don't trouble Mr. Anson. Goodbye."

Becky replaced the phone and looked up to find Cathy and Jessica staring
at her like two children at bedtime waiting to hear the end of a story.

"Charlie hasn't been seen in the Lords this morn ing. There isn't an
agricultural subcommittee. He's not even a member of the full committee,
and what's more they haven't set eyes on him for the past three months."

"But I don't understand," said Cathy. "How have you been getting through
to him in the past?"

"With a special number supplied by Charlie that I keep by the hall phone
in Eaton Square. It connects me to a Lords messenger called Mr. Anson,
who always seems to know exactly where Charlie can be found at any time
of the day or night."

"And does this Mr. Anson exist?" asked Cathy.

"Oh, yes," said Becky. "But it seems he works on another floor of the
Lords and on this occasion I was put through to general inquiries."

"So what happens whenever you do get through to Mr. Anson?"

"Charlie usually rings back within the hour."

"So there's nothing to stop you phoning Mr. Anson now?"

It'd rather not for the moment," said Becky. "1 think I'd prefer to find
out what Charlie's been up to for the past two years. Because one
thing's for certain, Mr. Anson isn't going to tell me."

"But Mr. Anson can't be the only person who knows," said Cathy. "After
all, Charlie doesn't live in a vacuum. n They both swung round to face
Jessica.

"Don't look at me," said Jessica. "He hasn't had any contact with this
office since the day you banned him from Chelsea Terrace. If Stan didn't
come into the canteen for lunch from time to time I wouldn't even know
Charlie was still alive."

"Of course," said Becky, snapping her fingers. "Stan's the one person
who must know what's going on. He still picks up Charlie first thing in
the morning and brings him home last thing at night. Charlie couldn't
get away with anything unless his driver was fully in his confidence."

78S As The CROW PLIES "Right, Jessica," said Cathy as she checked her
diary. USTART by canceling my lunch widh dhe managing director of Moss
Bros., dhen tell my secretary I'll take no calls and no interruptions
until we find out exacdy what our Life President has been up to. When
you've done that, go down and see if Stan's in dhe canteen, and if he is
phone me back immediately."

Jessica almost ran out of dhe room as Cadhy fumed her attention back to
Becky.

UDO you think he might have a mistress?" said Becky quiedy.

"Night and day for nearly two years at dhe age of seventy? If he has, we
ought to enter him as dhe Bull of dhe Year at dhe Royal Agricultural
Show."

"Then what can he be up to?"

UMY bet is chat he's taking his master's degree at London University,"
said Cathy. Ult's always riled Charlie whenever you tease him about
never properly completing his education."

"But I'd have come across dhe relevant books and papers all over dhe
house."

"You already have, but dhey were only the books and papers he intended
you to see. Don't let's forget how cunning he was when he took his BA.
He fooled you for eight years."

"Perhaps he's taken a job widh one of our rivals."

"Not his style," said Cadhy. "He's far too loyal for that. In any case,
we'd know which store it was widhin days, dhe staff and management alike
would be only too happy to keep reminding us. No, it has to be simpler
than that." The private phone rang on Cathy's desk. She grabbed the
receiver and listened carefully before saying, "Thank you, Jessica.
We're on our way.

ULET's go," she said, replacing the phone and jumping up from behind her
desk. "Stan's just finish ing his lunch." She headed towards the door.
Becky quicldy followed and without anodher word dhey took

the lift to the ground floor where Joe, the senior doorman, was
surprised to see the chairman and Lady Trumper hail a taxi when both
their drivers were patiently waiting for them on meters.

A few minutes later Stan appeared through the same door and climbed
behind the wheel of Charlie's Rolls before proceeding at a gentle pace
towards Hyde Park Corner, oblivious of the taxi that was following him.
The Rolls continued down Piccadilly and on through Trafalgar Square
before taking a left in the direction of the Strand.

"He's going to King's College," said Cathy. "I knew I was right it has
to be his master's degree."

UBUT Stan's not stopping," said Becky, as the Rolls passed the college
entrance and weaved its way into Fleet Street.

"I can't believe he's bought a newspaper," said Cathy.

"Or taken a job in the City," Becky added as the Rolls drove on down
towards the Mansion House.

"I've got it," said Becky triumphantly, as the Rolls left the City
behind them and nosed its way into the East End. "He's been working on
some project at his boys' club in Whitechapel."

Stan continued east until he finally brought the car to a halt outside
the Dan Salmon Center.

UBUT it doesn't make any sense," said Cathy. "If that's all he wanted to
do with his spare time why didn't he tell you the truth in the first
place? Why go through such an elaborate charade?"

"I can't work that one out either," said Becky. "In fact, I confess I'm
even more baffled."

"Well, let's at least go in and find out what he's up to."

"No," said Becky, placing a hand on Cathy's arm. "I need to sit and
think for a few moments before I decide what to do next. If Charlie is
planning something he doesn't want us to know about, I'd hate to be the
one who spoils his bit of fun, especially when it was me who banned him
from going into Trumper's in the first place."

"All right," said Cathy. "So why don't we just go back to my office and
say nothing of our little discovery? After all, we can always phone Mr.
Anson at the Lords, who as we know will make sure Charlie returns your
call within the hour. That will give me easily enough time to sort out
David Field and the problem of his cigars."

Becky nodded her agreement and instructed the bemused cabbie to return
to Chelsea Terrace. As the taxi swung round in a circle to begin its
journey back towards the West End, Becky glanced out of the rear window
at the center named after her father. "Stop," she said without warning.
The cabbie threw on the brakes and brought the taxi to a sudden halt.

"What's the matter?" asked Cathy.

Becky pointed out of the back window, her eyes now fixed on a figure who
was walking down the steps of the Dan Salmon Center dressed in a grubby
old suit and flat cap.

"I don't believe it," said Cathy.

Becky quickly paid off the cabdriver while Cathy jumped out and began to
follow Stan as he headed off down the Whitechapel Road.

"Where can he be going?" asked Cathy, as they kept Stan well within
their sights. The shabbily dressed chauffeur continued to march along
the pavement, leaving any old soldier who saw him in no doubt of his
former profession while causing the two ladies who were pursuing him to
have occasionally to break into a run.

"It ought to be Cohen's the tailor's," said Becky. "Because heaven knows
the man looks as if he could do with a new suit."

But Stan came to a halt some yards before the tailor's shop. Then, for
the first time, they both saw anodher man, also dressed in an old suit
and flat cap, standing beside a brand-new barrow on which was printed
the words: "Charlie Salmon, the honest trader. Founded in 1969."

"I don't offer You these at two pounds, ladies," declared a voice as
loud as that of any of the youngsters on dhe pitches nearby, "not one
pound, not even fifty pence. No, I'm going to give 'em away for twenty
pence."

Cathy and Becky watched in amazement as Stan Russell touched his cap to
Charlie, then began to fill a woman's basket, so chat his master could
deal with dhe next customer.

"So what'll it be today, Mrs. Bates? I've got some lovely bananas just
flown in from the West Indies. Ought to be selling 'em at ninety pence
dhe bunch, but to you, my old duck, fifty pence, but be sure you don't
tell the neighbors."

"What about those tatoes, Charlie?" said a heavily made-up, middle-aged
woman who pointed suspiciously at a box on the front of the barrow.

"As I stand 'ere, Mrs. Bates, new in from Jersey today and I'll tell you
what I'll do. I'll sell 'em at dhe same price as my so-called rivals are
still peddling Their old ones for. Could I be fairer, I ask?"

"I'll take four pounds, Mr. Salmon."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bates. Serve the lady, Stan, while I deal with the next
customer." Charlie stepped across to dhe other side of barrow.

"And 'ow nice to see you This fine afternoon, Mrs. Singh. Two pounds of
figs, nuts and raisins, if my memory serves me right. And how is Dr.
Singh keeping?"

"Very busy, Mr. Salmon, very busy."

"Then we must see chat 'e's well fed, mustn't we?" said Charlie.
"Because if this weather takes a turn for the worse, I may need to come
and seek 'is advice about my sinus trouble. And 'ow's lithe Suzika?"

"She's just passed three A-levels, Mr. Salmon, and will be going to
London University in September to read engineering."

"Can't see the point of it myself," said Charlie as he selected some
figs. UENGINEERIN', you say. What will they think of next? Knew a girl
once from these parts who took 'erself off to university and a fat lot
of good it did 'en Spent the rest of 'er life living off 'er 'usband,
didn't she? My old granpa always used to say "

Becky burst out laughing. "So what do we do now?" she asked.

"Go back to Eaton Square, then you can look up Mr. Anson's number at the
Lords and give him a call. That way at least we can be sure that Charlie
will contact you within the hour."

Cathy nodded her agreement but both of them remained transfixed as they
watched the oldest dealer in the market ply his trade.

"I don't offer you these for two pounds," he declared, holding up a
cabbage in both hands. "I don't offer 'em for one pound, not even fifty
pence."

"No, I'll give 'em away for twenty pence," whispered Becky under her
breath.

UNO, 1'-11 give 'em away for twenty pence," shouted Charlie at the top
of his voice.

"You do realize," said Becky as they crept back out of the market, That
Charlie's grandfather carried on to the ripe old age of eighty-three and
died only a few feet from where his lordship is standing now."

"He's come a long way since then," said Cathy, as she raised her hand to
hail a taxi.

"Oh, I don't know," Becky replied. "Only about a couple of miles as the
crow flies."

