As the Crow Flies

The moment Daniel had signed both documents Mrs. Trentham rang the bell and called for the butler to witness the two signatures. Once this task had been completed she said curtly, “Show the gentleman out, Gibson.” As the uniformed figure left the room she found herself wondering just now long it would be before the boy realized what a poor bargain he had struck.

When on the following day Mrs. Trentham’s solicitors studied the one-page document they were stunned by the simplicity of the transaction. However, she offered no explanation as to how she had managed to achieve such a coup. A slight bow of the head from the senior partner acknowledged that the agreement was watertight.

Every man has his price, and once Martin Simpson realized his source of income had dried up, a further fifty pounds in cash convinced him that he should withdraw his objection to Trumper Towers from proceeding as planned.

The following day Mrs. Trentham turned her attention to other matters: the understanding of offer documents.

In Mrs. Trentham’s opinion Veronica became pregnant far too quickly. In May 1948 her daughter-in-law produced a son, Giles Raymond, only nine months and three weeks after she and Nigel had been married. At least the child had not been born prematurely. As it was, Mrs. Trentham had already observed the servants counting the months on their fingers on more than one occasion.

It was after Veronica had returned from hospital with the child that Mrs. Trentham had the first difference of opinion with her daughter-in-law.

Veronica and Nigel had wheeled Giles round to Chester Square for the proud grandmother to admire. After Mrs. Trentham had given the infant a cursory glance Gibson pushed the pram out and the tea trolley in.

“Of course you’ll want the boy to be put down for Asgarth and Harrow without delay,” said Mrs. Trentham, even before Nigel or Veronica had been given a chance to select a sandwich. “After all, one wants to be certain that his place is guaranteed.”

“Actually, Nigel and I have already decided how our son will be educated,” said Veronica, “and neither of those schools have entered our deliberations.”

Mrs. Trentham placed her cup back on its saucer and stared at Veronica as if she had announced the death of the King. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly, Veronica.”

“We are going to send Giles to a local primary school in Chelsea and then on to Bryanston.”

“Bryanston? And where is that, may one ask?”

“In Dorset. It’s my father’s old school,” Veronica added before removing a salmon sandwich from the plate in front of her.

Nigel looked anxiously across at his mother as he touched his blue and silver striped tie.

“That may well be the case,” said Mrs. Trentham. “However, I feel sure we still need to give a little more consideration as to how young Raymond—she stressed the name—should start off in life.”

“No, that will be unnecessary,” said Veronica. “Nigel and I have already given quite sufficient thought as to how Giles should be educated. In fact, we registered him for Bryanston last week. After all, one wants to be certain that his place is guaranteed.”

Veronica leaned forward and helped herself to another salmon sandwich.

Three chimes echoed from the little carriage clock that stood on the mantelpiece on the far side of the room.

Max Harris pushed himself up out of the armchair in the corner of the lounge the moment he saw Mrs. Trentham enter the hotel lobby. He gave a half bow as he waited for his client to be seated in the chair opposite him.

He ordered tea for her and another double whisky for himself. Mrs. Trentham frowned her disapproval as the waiter scurried off to carry out the order. Her attention fixed on Max Harris the moment she heard the inevitable clicks.

“I assume you would not have requested this meeting, Mr. Harris, unless you had something important to tell me.”

“I think I can safely say that I am the bearer of glad tidings. You see, a lady by the name of Mrs. Bennett has recently been arrested and charged with shoplifting. A fur coat and a leather belt from Harvey Nicholls, to be exact.”

“And of what possible interest could this lady be to me?” asked Mrs. Trentham as she looked over his shoulder, annoyed to see that it had started raining, remembering that she had left the house without an umbrella.

“She turns out to have a rather interesting relationship with Sir Charles Trumper.”

“Relationship?” said Mrs. Trentham, looking even more puzzled.

“Yes,” said Harris. “Mrs. Bennett is none other than Sir Charles’ youngest sister.”

Mrs. Trentham turned her gaze back on Max Harris. “But Trumper only has three sisters if I remember correctly,” she said. “Sal, who is in

Toronto and married to an insurance salesman; Grace, who has recently been appointed matron of Guy’s Hospital, and Kitty, who left England some time ago to join her sister in Canada.”

“And has now returned.”

“Returned?”