“Yes, as Mrs. Kitty Bennett.”
“I don’t begin to understand,” said Mrs. Trentham, becoming exasperated by the cat and mouse game Harris was so obviously enjoying.
“While she was in Canada,” Harris continued, oblivious to his client’s irritation, “she married a certain Mr. Bennett, a longshoreman. Not unlike her old man, in fact. It lasted for almost a year before ending in a messy divorce in which several men were petitioned. She returned to England a few weeks ago, but only after her sister Sal had refused to take her back.”
“How did you come by this information?”
“A friend of mine at Wandsworth nick pointed me in the right direction. Once he had read the charge sheet in the name of Bennett, née Trumper, he decided to double-check. It was ‘Kitty’ that gave the game away. I popped round immediately to be sure we had the right woman.” Harris stopped to sip his whisky.
“Go on,” said Mrs. Trentham impatiently.
“For five pounds she sang like a canary,” said Harris. “If I were in a position to offer her fifty I’ve a feeling she’d sound awfully like a nightingale.”
When Trumper’s announced they were preparing to go public Mrs. Trentham was holidaying on her husband’s estate in Aberdeenshire. Having read the short piece in the Telegraph, she concluded that, although she now had control over the combined monthly incomes left to her sister as well as herself and a further windfall of twenty thousand pounds, she would still need all the capital she had acquired from the sale of the Yorkshire estate if she was going to be able to purchase a worthwhile holding in the new company. She made three trunk calls that morning.
Earlier in the year she had given instructions for her own portfolio to be transferred to Kitcat and Aitken, and after several months of continually badgering her husband she had finally bludgeoned him into following suit. Despite this further commitment on her son’s behalf Nigel was still not offered a partnership. Mrs. Trentham would have advised him to resign had she been confident his prospects elsewhere would have been any better.
Despite this setback she continued to invite the partners of Kitcat to dinner at Chester Square in regular rotation. Gerald left his wife in no doubt that he did not approve of such tactics, and remained unconvinced that they helped their son’s cause. He had been, however, aware that his opinion in such matters had made little impression on her for some time. In any case, the major had now reached an age when he had become too weary to put up more than token resistance.
After Mrs. Trentham had studied the finer details of the Trumper’s proposals in her husband’s copy of The Times, she instructed Nigel to apply for five percent of the company’s shares the moment the prospectus was launched.
However, it was a paragraph towards the end of an article in the Daily Mail, written by Vincent Mulcrone and headed “The Triumphant Trumpers,” that reminded her that she was still in possession of a picture that needed to fetch its proper price.
Whenever Mr. Baverstock requested a meeting with Mrs. Trentham it always seemed to her to be more of a summons than an invitation. Perhaps it was because he had acted for her father for over thirty years.
She was only too aware that, as her father’s executor, Mr. Baverstock still wielded considerable influence, even if she had managed to clip his wings recently over the sale of the estate.
Having offered her the seat on the other side of the partner’s desk Mr. Baverstock returned to his own chair, replaced his half-moon spectacles on the end of his nose and opened the cover of one of his inevitable gray files.
He seemed to conduct all his correspondence, not to mention his meetings, in a manner that could only be described as distant. Mrs. Trentham often wondered if he had treated her father in the same way.
“Mrs. Trentham,” he began, placing the palms of his hands on the desk in front of him and pausing to stare down at the notes he had written the previous evening. “May I first thank you for taking the trouble to come and see me in my offices and add how sad I am that your sister felt she had to once again decline my invitation. However, she has made it clear to me in a short letter I received last week that she is happy for you to represent her on this and indeed on any future occasion.”
“Dear Amy,” said Mrs. Tremham. “The poor creature took the death of my father rather badly, even though I have done everything in my power to soften the blow.”
The solicitor’s eyes returned to the file which contained a note from a Mr. Althwaite of Bird, Collingwood and Althwaite in Harrogate, instructing them to see that in future Miss Amy’s monthly check should be sent direct to Coutts in the Strand for an account number that differed by only one digit from that to which Mr. Baverstock already sent the other half of the monthly revenue.
“Although your father left you and your sister the income derived from his Trust,” the solicitor continued, “the bulk of his capital will, as you know, in time be passed on to Dr. Daniel Trumper.”
Mrs. Trentham nodded, her face impassive.
“As you are also aware,” Mr. Baverstock continued, “the Trust is currently holding stocks, shares and gilts that are being administered for us by the merchant bankers Hambros and Company. Whenever they consider it prudent to make a sizable investment on behalf of the Trust, we feel it equally important to keep you informed of their intentions, despite the fact that Sir Raymond gave us a free hand in these matters.”
“That’s most considerate of you, Mr. Baverstock.”
The solicitor’s eyes returned to the file where he studied another note. This time it was from an estate agent in Bradford. The estate, house and contents of the late Sir Raymond Hardcastle had without his knowledge been sold for forty-one thousand pounds. After deducting commissions and legal fees, the agent had sent the balance of the monies direct to the same account at Coutts in the Strand as received Miss Amy’s monthly payment.
“Bearing this in mind,” continued the family lawyer, “I felt it nothing less than my duty to inform you that our advisers are recommending a considerable investment in a new company that is about to come onto the market.”
“And which company might that be?” inquired Mrs. Trentham.
“Trumper’s,” said Baverstock, watching carefully for his client’s reaction.
“And why Trumper’s in particular?” she asked, the expression on her face revealing no particular surprise.
“Principally because Hambros consider it a sound and prudent investment. But, perhaps more important, in time the bulk of the company’s stock will be owned by Daniel Trumper, whose father, as I feel sure you know, is currently chairman of the board.”
“I was aware of that,” said Mrs. Trentham, without further comment. She could see that it worried Mr. Baverstock that she took the news so calmly.