As the Crow Flies

“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 gentleman 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 al

so 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 firmly.

“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 horn-rimmed spectacles. A silver chain dangled from his waistcoat pocket.