As the Crow Flies

“I’ll sort this out in a trice,” said Becky. “If Jessica can put me through to the Lords, I know exactly the right person to speak to.”

Jessica returned to her office, looked up the number and, as soon as she had been connected, put the call through to the chairman’s desk, where Becky picked up the receiver.

“House of Lords?” said Becky. “Message board please…Is Mr. Anson there? No, well, I’d still like to leave an urgent message for Lord Trumper…of Whitechapel…Yes, I think he’s in an agricultural subcommittee this morning…Are you sure?…That can’t be possible…You do know my husband?…Well, that’s a relief…Does he…? How interesting…No, thank you…No, I won’t leave a message and please don’t trouble Mr. Anson. Goodbye.”

Becky replaced the phone and looked up to find Cathy and Jessica staring at her like two children at bedtime waiting to hear the end of a story.

“Charlie hasn’t been seen in the Lords this morning. There isn’t an agricultural subcommittee. He’s not even a member of the full committee, and what’s more they haven’t set eyes on him for the past three months.”

“But I don’t understand,” said Cathy. “How have you been getting through to him in the past?”

“With a special number supplied by Charlie that I keep by the hall phone in Eaton Square. It connects me to a Lords messenger called Mr. Anson, who always seems to know exactly where Charlie can be found at any time of the day or night.”

“And does this Mr. Anson exist?” asked Cathy.

“Oh, yes,” said Becky. “But it seems he works on another floor of the Lord

s and on this occasion I was put through to general inquiries.”

“So what happens whenever you do get through to Mr. Anson?”

“Charlie usually rings back within the hour.”

“So there’s nothing to stop you phoning Mr. Anson now?”

“I’d rather not for the moment,” said Becky. “I think I’d prefer to find out what Charlie’s been up to for the past two years. Because one thing’s for certain, Mr. Anson isn’t going to tell me.”

“But Mr. Anson can’t be the only person who knows,” said Cathy. “After all, Charlie doesn’t live in a vacuum.” They both swung round to face Jessica.

“Don’t look at me,” said Jessica. “He hasn’t had any contact with this office since the day you banned him from Chelsea Terrace. If Stan didn’t come into the canteen for lunch from time to time I wouldn’t even know Charlie was still alive.”

“Of course,” said Becky, snapping her fingers. “Stan’s the one person who must know what’s going on. He still picks up Charlie first thing in the morning and brings him home last thing at night. Charlie couldn’t away with anything unless his driver was fully in his confidence.”

“Right, Jessica,” said Cathy as she checked her diary. “Start by canceling my lunch with the managing director of Moss Bros., then tell my secretary I’ll take no calls and no interruptions until we find out exactly what our Life President has been up to. When you’ve done that, go down and see if Stan’s in the canteen, and if he is phone me back immediately.”

Jessica almost ran out of the room as Cathy turned her attention back to Becky.

“Do you think he might have a mistress?” said Becky quietly.

“Night and day for nearly two years at the age of seventy? If he has, we ought to enter him as the Bull of the Year at the Royal Agricultural Show.”

“Then what can he be up to?”

“My bet is that he’s taking his master’s degree at London University,” said Cathy. “It’s always riled Charlie whenever you tease him about never properly completing his education.”

“But I’d have come across the relevant books and papers all over the house.”

“You already have, but they were only the books and papers he intended you to see. Don’t let’s forget how cunning he was when he took his BA. He fooled you for eight years.”

“Perhaps he’s taken a job with one of our rivals.”

“Not his style,” said Cathy. “He’s far too loyal for that. In any case, we’d know which store it was within days, the staff and management alike would be only too happy to keep reminding us. No, it has to be simpler than that.” The private phone rang on Cathy’s desk. She grabbed the receiver and listened carefully before saying, “Thank you, Jessica. We’re on our way.”

“Let’s go,” she said, replacing the phone and jumping up from behind her desk. “Stan’s just finishing his lunch.” She headed towards the door. Becky quickly followed and without another word they took the lift to the ground floor where Joe, the senior doorman, was surprised to see the chairman and Lady Trumper hail a taxi when both their drivers were patiently waiting for them on meters.

A few minutes later Stan appeared through the same door and climbed behind the wheel of Charlie’s Rolls before proceeding at a gentle pace towards Hyde Park Corner, oblivious of the taxi that was following him. The Rolls continued down Piccadilly and on through Trafalgar Square before taking a left in the direction of the Strand.

“He’s going to King’s College,” said Cathy. “I knew I was right—it has to be his master’s degree.”