As the Crow Flies

At exactly seven the front doorbell rang and Charlie left to greet his guest.

“Good evening, Sir Charles,” said Mr. Baverstock, removing his hat.

Ah, yes, thought Charlie, there is someone I know who never calls me Charlie. He took Mr. Baverstock’s coat, scarf and hat and hung them on the hallstand.

“I am sorry to bother you on a Sunday evening,” Mr. Baverstock said as he followed his host into the drawing room carrying his Gladstone bag. “But I hope when you learn my news, you will feel I came to the right decision.”

“I’m sure we will. We were naturally both intrigued by your call. But first let me offer you a drink. Whisky?”

“No, thank you,” said Mr. Baverstock. “But a dry sherry would be most acceptable.”

Becky poured Mr. Baverstock a Tio Pepe and her husband a whisky before she joined the two men round the fire and waited for the lawyer to explain his uncharacteristic interruption.

“This isn’t easy for me, Sir Charles.”

Charlie nodded. “I understand. Just take your time.”

“Can I first confirm with you that you did not reveal to your son any details of Sir Raymond’s will?”

“We did not. We were saved that embarrassment first by the announcement of Daniel’s engagement to be married and then by your fortuitous telephone call.”

“Oh, that is good news,” said Mr. Baverstock. “To the charming Miss Ross, no doubt. Please do pass on my congratulations.”

“You knew all along?” said Becky.

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Baverstock. “It was obvious for everyone to see, wasn’t it?”

“Everyone except us,” said Charlie.

Mr. Baverstock permitted himself a wry smile before he removed a file from his Gladstone bag.

“I’ll waste no more words,” continued Mr. Baverstock. “Having talked to the other side’s solicitors during the past few days, I have learned that at some time in the past Daniel paid a visit to Mrs. Trentham at her home in Chester Square.”

Charlie and Becky were unable to hide their astonishment.

“Just as I thought,” said Baverstock. “Like myself, you were both obviously quite unaware that such a meeting had taken place.”

“But how could they have met when—?” asked Charlie.

“That we may never get to the bottom of, Sir Charles. However, what I do know is that at that meeting Daniel came to an agreement with Mrs. Trentham.”

“And what was the nature of this agreement?” asked Charlie.

The old solicitor extracted yet another piece of paper from the file in front of him and reread Mrs. Trentham’s handwritten words: “‘In exchange for Mrs. Trentham’s withdrawing her opposition to any planning permission for the building to be known as Trumper Towers, and in addition for agreeing not to proceed with her own scheme for the rebuilding of a block of flats in Chelsea Terrace, Daniel Trumper will waive any rights he might be entitled to now or at any time in the future from the Hardcastle estate.’ At that time, of course, Daniel had no idea that he was the main beneficiary of Sir Raymond’s will.”

“So that’s why she gave in without putting up a fight?” said Charlie eventually.

“It would seem so.”

“He did all that without even letting us know,” said Becky as her husband began to read through the document.

“That would appear to be the case, Lady Trumper.”

“And is it legally binding?” were Charlie’s first words after he had finished reading the page of Mrs. Trentham’s handwriting.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is, Sir Charles.”

“But if he didn’t know the full extent of the inheritance—?”