As the Crow Flies

“Now,” the colonel continued, “we have twenty-four shops and a staff of one hundred and seventy-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.” Turning to Charlie he raised his glass and said, “And I wish you luck, sir.”

They cheered when he resumed his seat as chairman for the 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. I 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 Arnold 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, Tru

mper’s of Chelsea Terrace. I give 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?”

CHAPTER

27

The 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 from 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 their 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 the preparation for the launching of the Queen Mary. He booked a cabin for two on her maiden voyage.