As the Crow Flies

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 Wh

itechapel 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 Becky. “But be sure you’re in first thing tomorrow morning. 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, “you 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 learned 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 morning.”

“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 morning.”