As the Crow Flies

Becky spent five glorious days on the Queen during the 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 Arnold, or even Daniel, who was settling into his first boarding school. In fact, once Charlie accepted that he couldn’t bother anyone he seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself as he discovered the various facilities that the liner had to offer a slightly overweight, unfit, middle-aged man.

The great Queen 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 the 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 twenty-six 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 back 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—”