As the Crow Flies

On time, thought Charlie; in normal circumstances he would have laughed.

The plane did take off an hour later and when Charlie inquired of the purser at what hour they expected to land at Heathrow he was told at some time Saturday midmorning: it was hard to be precise.

When the aircraft made a further unscheduled landing at Leonardo da Vinci on Saturday morning Charlie telephoned Becky from the airport. He didn’t even give her time to speak. “I’m in Rome,” he said, “and I’ll need Stan to pick me up from Heathrow. As I can’t be sure what time I’ll arrive, tell him to go out to the airport right now and sit tight. Got that?”

“Yes,” said Becky.

“And I’ll also need Baverstock back in his office, so if he’s already disappeared off to the country for the weekend ask him to drop everything and return to London.”

“You sound a little harassed, dear.”

“Sorry,” said Charlie. “It’s not been the easiest of journeys.”

With the picture under one arm and no interest as to what was wrong with the aircraft this time or where his suitcase might end up, he took the first European flight available that afternoon for London, and once it had taken off checked his watch every ten minutes. When the pilot crossed the English Channel at eight o’clock that evening, Charlie felt confident that four hours would still be ample time for him to register Cathy’s claim—so long as Becky had tracked down Baverstock.

As the plane began to circle London in a familiar holding pattern Charlie looked out of the little oval window and stared down at the snakelike Thames.

It was another twenty minutes before the lights of the runway glared up in two straight lines at Charlie, followed by a puff of smoke as the wheels touched the ground and the plane taxied to its alloted gate. The doors of the aircraft were finally opened at eight twenty-nine.

Charlie grabbed the picture and ran all the way to passport control and on through customs.

He didn’t stop until he saw a telephone box, but as he hadn’t any coins to make a local call he told the operator his name and asked to transfer the charge. A moment later he was put through.

“Becky, I’m at Heathrow. Where’s Baverstock?”

“On his way back from Tewkesbury. Expects to be in his office around nine-thirty, latest ten.”

“Good, then I’ll come straight home. I should be with you in about forty minutes.”

Charlie slammed down the phone, checked his watch and realized that he hadn’t left himself enough time to phone Dr. Atkins. He ran out onto the pavement, suddenly aware of the chill breeze. Stan was waiting by the car for him. Over the years the former sergeant major had become accustomed to Charlie’s impatience and drove him smoothly through the outskirts of London, ignoring the speed limit until they reached Chiswick, after which only a motorbike could have been stopped for speeding. Despite the teeming rain he had his boss back at Eaton Square by nine-sixteen.

Charlie was about halfway through telling a silent Becky all he had discovered in Australia when Baverstock phoned to say he was back at his office in High Holborn. Charlie thanked him, passed on his nephew’s best wishes and then apologized for ruining his weekend.

“You won’t have ruined it if your news is positive,” said Baverstock.

“Guy Trentham had another child,” said Charlie.

“I didn’t imagine that you’d dragged me back from Tewkesbury to tell me the latest test score from Melbourne,” said Baverstock. “Male or female?”

“Female.”

“Legitimate or illegitimate?”

“Legitimate.”

“Then she can register her claim with the estate at any time before midnight.”

“She has to register her claim with you in person?”

“That is what the will stipulates,” said Baverstock. “However, if she’s still in Australia she can register with Trevor Roberts, as I’ve given him—”

“No, she’s in England and I’ll have her in your office by midnight.”

“Good. By the way, what’s her name?” asked Baverstock. “Just so that I can prepare the paperwork.”

“Cathy Ross,” said Charlie. “But ask your nephew to explain everything as I haven’t a moment to spare,” he added, replacing the receiver before Baverstock could react. He ran out into the hall searching for Becky.

“Where’s Cathy?” he shouted, as Becky appeared at the top of the stairs.