Jeffrey Archer - As the Crow Flies

After the introductions had been completed Mrs. Campbell asked how she could be of help.

"I was hoping you might allow us to have a word with one of your residents."

"Yes, of course, Sir Charles. May I inquire who it is you wish to see?" she asked.

"A Miss Benson," explained Charlie. "You see—"

"Oh, Sir Charles, haven't you heard?"

"Heard?" said Charlie.

"Yes. Miss Benson's been dead this past week. In fact, we buried her on Thursday."

For a second time that day Charlie's legs gave way and Trevor Roberts had quickly to take his client by the elbow and guided him to the nearest chair.

"Oh, I am sorry," said the matron. "I had no idea you were such a close friend." Charlie didn't say anything. "And have you come all the way from London especially to see her?"

"Yes, he did," said Trevor Roberts. "Has Miss Benson had any other visitors from England recently?"

"No," said the matron without hesitation. "She received very few callers towards the end. One or two from Adelaide but never one from Britain," she added with an edge to her voice.

"And did she ever mention to you anyone called Cathy Ross or Margaret Trentham?"

Mrs. Campbell thought deeply for a moment. "No," she said eventually. "At least, not to my recollection."

"Then I think perhaps we should leave, Sir Charles, as there's no point in taking up any more of Mrs. Campbell's time."

"I agree," said Charlie quietly. "And thank you, Matron." Roberts helped him to his feet and Mrs. Campbell accompanied them both back along the corridor towards the front door.

"Will you be returning to Britain shortly, Sir Charles?" she asked.

"Yes, probably tomorrow."

"Would it be a terrible inconvenience if I were to ask you to post a letter for me once you are back in London?"

"It would be my pleasure," said Charlie.

"I wouldn't have bothered you with this task in normal circumstances," said the matron, "but as it directly concerns Miss Benson . . ."

Both men stopped in their tracks and stared down at the prim Scottish lady. She also came to a halt and held her hands together in front of her.

"It's not simply that I wish to save the postage, you understand, Sir Charles, which is what most folk would accuse my clan of. In fact, the exact opposite is the case, for my only desire is to make a speedy refund to Miss Benson's benefactors."

"Miss Benson's benefactors?" said Charlie and Roberts in unison.

"Aye," the matron said, standing her full height of five feet and half an inch. "We are not in the habit at Maple Lodge of charging residents who have died, Mr. Roberts. After all, as I'm sure you would agree, that would be dishonest."

"Of course it would be, Matron."

"And so, although we insist on three months' payment in advance, we also refund any sums left over when a resident has passed away. After any outstanding bills have been covered, you understand."

"I understand," said Charlie as he stared down at the lady, a look of hope in his eyes.

"So if you will be kind enough to wait just a wee moment, I'll be away and retrieve the letter from my office." She turned and headed back to her room a few yards farther down the corridor.

"Start praying," said Charlie.

"I already have," said Roberts.

Mrs. Campbell returned a few moments later holding an envelope, which she handed over for Charlie's safekeeping. In a bold copperplate hand were written the words: "The Manager, Coutts and Company, The Strand, London WC2."

"I do hope you won't find my request too much of an imposition, Sir Charles."

"It's a greater pleasure than you may ever realize, Mrs. Campbell," Charlie assured her, as he bade the matron farewell.

Once they were back in the car, Roberts said, "It would be quite unethical of me to advise you as to whether you should or should not open that letter, Sir Charles. However—"

But Charlie had already ripped open the envelope and was pulling out its contents.

A check for ninety-two pounds was attached to a detailed, itemized bill for the years 1953 to 1964: in full and final settlement for the account of Miss Rachel Benson.

"God bless the Scots and their puritan upbringing," said Charlie, when he saw to whom the check had been made out.

"If you were quick, Sir Charles, you could still catch the earlier flight," said Trevor Roberts as the car pulled into the hotel forecourt.

"Then I'll be quick," said Charlie, "as I'd like to be back in London as soon as possible."

"Right, I'll check you out, then phone the airport to see if they can change your reservation."

"Good. Although I've a couple of days to spare there are still some loose ends I'd like to tidy up at the London end."

Charlie had jumped out of the car even before the driver could reach the door to open it for him. He made a dash for his room and quickly threw all his possessions into a suitcase. He was back in the lobby twelve minutes later, had settled the bill and was making a dash towards the hotel entrance within fifteen. The driver was not only standing by the car waiting for him but the boot was already open.

Once the third door had been closed, the chauffeur immediately accelerated out of the hotel forecourt and swung the car into the fast lane, as he headed towards the freeway.

"Passport and ticket?" said Roberts.

Charlie smiled and removed them both from an inside pocket like a child having his prep list checked.

"Good, now let's hope we can still reach the airport in time."

"You've done wonders," said Charlie.

"Thank you, Sir Charles," said Roberts. "But you must understand that despite your gathering a considerable amount of evidence to substantiate your case, most of it remains at best circumstantial. Although you and I may be convinced that Cathy Ross is in fact Margaret Ethel Trentham, with Miss Benson in her grave and Miss Ross unable to recall all the relevant details of her past there's no way of predicting whether a court would find in your favor."

"I hear what you're saying," said Charlie. "But at least I now have something to bargain with. A week ago I had nothing."

"True. And having watched you operate over the past few days I'm bound to say that I'd give you odds of better than fifty-fifty. But whatever you do, don't let that picture out of your sight: it's as convincing as any fingerprint. And see that at all times you keep Mrs. Campbell's letter in a safe place until you've been able to make a copy. Also be sure that the original plus the accompanying cheque are then posted on to Coutts. We don't want you arrested for stealing ninety-two pounds. Now, is there anything else I can do for you at this end?"

"Yes, you could try to get a written statement out of Walter Slade admitting that he took Mrs. Trentham and a little girl called Margaret to St. Hilda's, and that she left without her charge. You might also attempt to pin Slade down to a date."

"That might not prove easy after your encounter," suggested Roberts.

"Well, at least have a go. Then see if you can find out if Miss Benson was in receipt of any other payments from Mrs. Trentham before 1953 and if so the amounts and dates. I suspect she's been receiving a banker's order every quarter for over thirty-five years, which would explain why she was able to end her days in such comparative luxury."

"Agreed, but once again it's entirely circumstantial and there's certainly no way that any bank would allow me to delve into Miss Benson's private account."

"I accept that," said Charlie. "But Mrs. Culver should be able to let you know what Miss Benson was earning while she was principal and if she appeared to live beyond her salary. After all, you can always find out what else St. Hilda's needs other than a minibus."

Roberts began to make notes as Charlie rattled out a series of further suggestions.