As the Crow Flies

“I’ll wager Captain Trentham didn’t leave anything to anybody.”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal that,” I said. “But 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.”

“There 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.”

“Why?”

“You won’t get a word out of me,” he said, “Regimental secret,” he added, touching the side of his nose.

“But have you any idea where he went after he left India?”

“Cost you more than ten bob, that will,” said the old soldier, chuckling.

“What do you mean?”

“Buggered 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.”

“His picture?”

“Yes. 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.

CHAPTER

30

“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 gave 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 returned 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 Queen Mary for the exact date he had mentioned. It cost one hundred and three pounds and included an open-ended return.