As the Crow Flies

“That’s some sacrifice you’re making, Dr. Trumper,” said Cathy, “because once you come to live in London I’m never going to be able to feed you the way they do at Trinity.”

“Good news. That can only mean fewer visits to my tailor.”

The tea that Daniel held in his rooms could not have been a happier occasion, Cathy felt, although at first Becky seemed on edge and, if anything, became even more anxious following an unexplained telephone call from someone called Mr. Baverstock.

Sir Charles’ delight at the news that she and Daniel planned to be married during the Easter vacation was so obviously genuine and Becky was positively overjoyed at the whole idea of having Cathy as a daughter-in-law. Charlie surprised Cathy when he suddenly changed the subject and inquired who had painted the watercolor that hung above Daniel’s desk.

“Cathy,” Daniel told him. “An artist in the family at last.”

“You can paint as well, young lady?” Charlie asked in disbelief.

“She certainly can,” said Daniel, looking towards the watercolor. “My engagement present,” he explained. “What’s more, it’s the only original Cathy has painted since she came to England, so it’s priceless.”

“Will you paint one for me?” asked Charlie, after he had studied the little watercolor more carefully.

“I’d be delighted to,” Cathy replied. “But where would you hang it? In the garage?”

After tea the four of them all walked along the Backs and Cathy was disappointed that Daniel’s parents seemed quite anxious to return to London and felt unable to join them for evening chapel.

When they had returned from evensong they made love in Daniel’s little bed and Cathy warned him that Easter might not be a moment too soon.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I think my period’s already a week overdue.”

Daniel was so overjoyed by the news he wanted to phone his parents immediately and share his excitement with them.

“Don’t be silly,” said Cathy. “Nothing’s confirmed yet. I only hope that your mother and father won’t be too appalled when they find out.”

“Appalled? They’re hardly in a position to be. They didn’t even get married until the week after I was born.”

“How do you know that?”

“Checked the date on my birth certificate in Somerset House against the date of their marriage certificate. Fairly simple really. It seems, to begin with, no one was willing to admit I belonged to anyone.”

That one statement convinced Cathy that she must finally clear up any possibility of her being related to Mrs. Trentham before they were married. Although Daniel had taken her mind off the problem of her parentage for over a year, she couldn’t face the Trumpers thinking at some later date that she had set out to deceive them or worse, was somehow related to the woman they loathed above all others. Now that Cathy had unwittingly discovered where Mrs. Trentham lived she resolved to write a letter to the lady just as soon as she was back in London.

She scribbled out a rough copy on Sunday evening and rose early the following morning to pen a final draft:

Cathy dropped the envelope in the postbox on the corner of Chelsea Terrace before going in to work. After years of hoping to find someone to whom she was related, Cathy found it ironic that she now wanted that same person to deny her.

The announcement of Cathy’s engagement to Daniel Trumper was on the court and social page of The Times the following morning. Everyone at Number 1 seemed delighted by the news. Simon toasted Cathy’s health with champagne during the lunch break and told everyone, “It’s a Trumper plot to be certain we don’t lose her to Sotheby’s or Christie’s.” Everyone clapped except Simon, who whispered in her ear, “And you’re exactly the right person to put us in the same league.” Funny how some people think of possibilities for you, Cathy thought, even before you consider them for yourself.

On Thursday morning Cathy picked up off the front doormat a purple envelope with her name written in spidery handwriting. She nervously opened the letter to find it contained two sheets of thick paper of the same color. The contents perplexed her, but at the same time brought her considerable relief.

Cathy was delighted to discover that Guy Trentham had died two years before she was born. That meant it was quite impossible for her to be related to the man who had caused her future parents-in-law so much distress. The MC must somehow have got into the hands of whoever her father was, she concluded; on balance she felt she ought, however reluctantly, to return the medal to Mrs. Trentham without delay.

After the revelations of Mrs. Trentham’s letter, Cathy was doubtful that she would ever be able to find out who her parents were, as she had no immediate plans to return to Australia now that Daniel was so much part of her future. In any case, she had begun to feel that further pursuit of her father had become somewhat pointless.

As Cathy had already told Daniel on the day they met that she had no idea who her parents were, she traveled down to Cambridge that Friday evening with a clear conscience. She was also relieved that her period had at last begun. As the train bumped over the points on its journey to the university city, Cathy could never remember feeling so happy. She fingered the little cross that hung around her neck, now hanging from a gold chain Daniel had given her on her birthday. She was sad to be wearing the memento for the last time: she had already made the decision to send the medal back to Mrs. Trentha

m following her weekend with Daniel.

The train drew into Cambridge Station only a few minutes after its scheduled time of arrival.

Cathy picked up her small suitcase and strolled out onto the pavement, expecting to find Daniel parked and waiting for her in his MG: he had never once been late since the day they had met. She was disappointed to find no sign of him or his car, and even more surprised when twenty minutes later he still hadn’t shown up. She walked back onto the station concourse and placed two pennies in the telephone box before dialing the number that went straight through to Daniel’s room. The ringing tone went on and on, but she didn’t need to press Button A because no one answered.

Puzzled by not being able to locate him, Cathy left the station once again and asked one of the drivers from the rank to take her to Trinity College.