As the Crow Flies

“I’m so glad you didn’t recommend I make an appearance at breakfast,” said Cathy as Daniel gave her a kiss on the cheek before saying good night.

The little guest room that Daniel had booked Cathy into was even smaller than her digs above 135, but she fell asleep the moment she placed her head on the pillow and was woken only by a peal of bells that she assumed must be coming from King’s College Chapel.

Daniel and Cathy reached the chapel door only moments before the choristers began their crocodile procession down the nave. The singing seemed even more moving than on the gramophone record that Cathy possessed, with only the choristers’ pictures on the sleeve to hint what the real experience might be like.

Once the blessing had been given Daniel suggested a walk along the Backs “to get rid of any leftover cobwebs.” He took her hand, not releasing it again until they had returned to Trinity an hour later for a modest lunch.

During the afternoon he showed her round the Fitzwilliam Museum, where Cathy was mesmerized by Goya’s Devil Eating His Children. “Bit like Trinity High Table,” suggested Daniel before they walked over to Queens, where they listened to a student string quartet give a recital of a Bach fugue. By the time they left, the lights along Silver Street had started flickering.

“No supper, please,” begged Cathy in mock protest as they strolled back across the Mathematical Bridge.

Daniel chuckled and, after they had collected her case from Trinity, drove her slowly back to London in his little MG.

“Thank you for a wonderful weekend,” said Cathy once Daniel had parked outside 135. “In fact, ‘wonderful’ is quite inadequate to describe the last two days.”

Daniel kissed her gently on the cheek. “Let’s do it again next weekend,” he suggested.

“Not a hope,” said Cathy. “That is, if you meant it when you claimed you liked thin women.”

“All right, let’s try the whole thing without the food and perhaps even have a game of tennis this time. It may be the only way I’ll ever find out the standard of the Melbourne University second six.”

Cathy laughed. “And would you also thank your mother for that superb party last Monday? It’s been a truly memorable week.”

“I would, but you’ll probably see her before I do.”

“Aren’t you staying overnight with your parents?”

“No. I must get back to Cambridge—got supervisions to give at nine tomorrow.”

“But I could have taken the train.”

“And I would have had two hours less of your company,” he said as he waved goodbye.

CHAPTER

41

The first time they slept together, in his uncomfortable single bed in his comfortable little room, Cathy knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Daniel. She just wished he wasn’t the son of Sir Charles Trumper.

She begged him not to tell his parents that they were seeing each other so regularly. She was determined to prove herself at Trumper’s, she explained, and didn’t want any favors because she was going out with the boss’s son.

When Daniel spotted the little cross that hung around Cathy’s neck she immediately told him its history.

After the silver sale, her coup over the man in the yellow tie and later her tipoff to the journalist from the Telegraph, she began to feel more confident about letting the Trumpers know she had fallen in love with their only child.

On the Monday following the silver sale, Becky invited Cathy to join the management board of the auction house, which up until then had consisted of only Simon, Peter Fellowes—the head of research—and Becky herself.

Becky also asked Cathy to prepare the catalogue for the autumn Impressionist sale and take on several other responsibilities, including overall supervision of the front counter. “Next stop, a place on the main board,” teased Simon.

She phoned Daniel to tell him the news later that morning.

“Does that mean we can at last stop fooling my parents?”

When Daniel’s father telephoned him some weeks later to say he and his mother wanted to come down to Cambridge, as they needed to discuss something “rather important” with him, Daniel invited them both to have tea in his rooms on the following Sunday, warning them he too had something “rather important” to tell them.

Daniel and Cathy spoke to each other on the telephone every day that week and she began to wonder if it might not be wise at least to warn Daniel’s parents that she would also be present when they came to tea. Daniel wouldn’t hear of it, claiming that it was not often he had the chance of stealing a march on his father and he had no intention of letting the moment pass without the full satisfaction of seeing their surprised faces.

“And I’ll let you into another secret,” said Daniel. “I’ve applied for a post of professor of mathematics at King’s College, London.”