Jeffrey Archer - As the Crow Flies

"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.

"She went to a concert at the Festival Hall. Mozart, I think she said, with some new beau from the City."

"Right, let's go," said Charlie.

"Go?"

"Yes, go," said Charlie at the top of his voice. He had already reached the door and climbed into the back seat of the car before he realized there was no driver.

He jumped out and was on his way back to the house as Becky came rushing out in the opposite direction.

"Where's Stan?"

"Probably having some supper in the kitchen."

"Right," said Charlie, passing over his own keys. "You drive, I'll talk—"

"But where are we off to?"

"The Festival Hall."

"Funny," Becky said, "after all these years and I had no idea you cared for Mozart." As she took her seat behind the wheel Charlie ran round to join her in the front. She pulled out and moved deftly through the evening traffic as Charlie continued to explain the full implications of his discoveries in Australia and how imperative it was that they find Cathy before midnight. Becky listened intently but made no attempt to interrupt her husband's flow.

By the time Charlie asked her if she had any questions they were crossing Westminster Bridge, but Becky still remained silent.

Charlie waited for a few moments before he demanded, "Have you nothing to say?"

"Yes," said Becky. "Don't let's make the same mistake with Cathy as we did with Daniel."

"Namely?"

"Fail to tell her the whole truth."

"I'll have to speak to Dr. Atkins before I can even consider taking that risk," said Charlie. "But our more immediate problem is to make sure she registers in time."

"Not to mention the even more immediate problem of where you expect me to leave the car," said Becky as they swung left into Belvedere Road and on towards the entrance of the Royal Festival Hall with its double yellow lines and "No Parking" signs.

"Right outside the front door," said Charlie, which Becky obeyed without question.

As soon as the car had come to a halt Charlie jumped out, ran across the pavement and pushed through the glass doors.

"What time does the concert end?" he asked the first uniformed official he spotted.

"Ten thirty-five, sir, but you can't leave your car there."

"And where's the manager's office?"

"Fifth floor, turn right, second door on the left as you get out of the lift. But . . ."

"Thank you," shouted Charlie, already running past him towards the lift. Becky had just about caught up with her husband by the time the light above the lift indicated G.

"Your car, sir " said the doorman, but the lift doors were already closing on the gesticulating official.

When the lift doors slid apart at the fifth floor Charlie jumped out, looked right and saw a door to his left marked "Manager." He knocked once before charging in, to find two men dressed in dinner jackets enjoying a cigarette and listening to the concert over an intercom. They turned to see who had interrupted them.

"Good evening, Sir Charles," said the taller of the two as he rose, stubbed out his cigarette, and stepped forward. "Jackson. I'm the theater manager. Can I help you in any way?"

"I only hope so, Mr. Jackson," said Charlie. "I have to get a young lady out of your concert hall as quickly as possible. It's an emergency."

"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.

"It 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 cheater. 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 behind 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.