As the Crow Flies

“Do you know her seat number?”

“No idea.” Charlie looked towards his wife, who only shook her head.

“Then follow me,” said the manager, who strode straight out of the door and back towards the lift. When the doors reopened the first official Charlie had come across was now standing in front of them.

“Any problems, Ron?”

“Only that this gentleman’s left his car bang outside the front door, sir.”

“Then keep an eye on it, will you, Ron?” The manager pressed the third-floor button and, turning to Becky, asked, “What was the young lady wearing?”

“A burgundy dress with a white cape,” said Becky urgently.

“Well done, madam,” said the manager. He stepped out of the lift and led them quickly through to a side entrance adjoining the ceremonial box. Once inside Mr. Jackson removed a small picture of the Queen opening the building in 1957 and flicked back a disguised shutter so that he could observe the audience through a one-way mirror. “A security precaution in case there’s ever any trouble,” he explained. The manager then unhooked two pairs of opera glasses from their little stands under the balcony and handed one each to Charlie and Becky.

“If you can locate where the lady is seated, one of my staff will discreetly pull her out.” He turned to listen to the strains of the final movement for a few seconds before adding, “You’ve got about ten minutes before the concert ends, twelve at the most. There are no encores planned for tonight.”

“You take the stalls, Becky, and I’ll cover the dress circle.” Charlie began to focus the little opera glasses on the audience seated below them.

They both covered the one thousand, nine hundred seats, first quickly then slowly up and down each row. Neither could spot Cathy in the stalls or dress circle.

“Try the boxes on the other side, Sir Charles,” suggested the manager.

Two pairs of glasses swung over to the far side of the theater. There was still no sign of Cathy, so Charlie and Becky turned their attention back to the main auditorium, once again scanning quickly over the seats.

The conductor brought his baton down for the final time at ten thirty-two and the applause followed in waves as Charlie and Becky searched the standing throng until the lights eventually went up and the audience began to make their way out of the theater.

“You keep on looking, Becky. I’ll go out front and see if I can spot them as they’re leaving.” He dashed out of the ceremonial box and down the stairs followed by Jackson, nearly knocking over a man who was leaving the box below them. Charlie turned to apologize.

“Hello, Charlie, I didn’t know you liked Mozart,” a voice said.

“I never used to but suddenly he’s top of the pops,” said Charlie, unable to mask his delight.

“Of course,” said the manager. “The one place you couldn’t see was the box below ours.”

“May I introduce—”

“We haven’t time for that,” said Charlie. “Just follow me.” He grabbed Cathy by the arm. “Mr. Jackson, would you be kind enough to ask my wife to explain to this gentleman why I need Cathy. You can have her back after midnight,” said Charlie, smiling at the bemused young man. “And thank you, Mr. Jackson.”

He checked his watch: ten-forty. “We still have enough time.”

“Enough time for what, Charlie?” said Cathy as she found herself being pulled across the foyer and out onto Belvedere Road. The uniformed man was now standing to attention by the car.

“Thank you, Ron,” said Charlie as he tried to open the front door. “Damn, Becky’s locked it,” he said. He turned to watch a cab as it came off the waiting rank. He hailed it.

“I say, old fellow,” said a man standing in the front of the taxi queue, “I think you’ll find that’s my cab.”

“She’s just about to give birth,” said Charlie as he opened the door and pushed the wafer-thin Cathy into the back of the taxi.

“Oh, jolly good luck,” said the man, taking a pace backwards.

“Where to, guvn’r?” asked the cabbie.

“Number 110 High Holborn and don’t hang about,” said Charlie.

“I think we’re more likely to find a solicitor than a gynecologist at that particular address,” suggested Cathy. “And I do hope you’ve a worthwhile explanation as to why I’m missing dinner with the one man who’s asked me out on a date in weeks.”

“Not right now,” Charlie confessed. “All I need you to do for the moment is sign a document before midnight, then I promise the explanations will follow.”