Jeffrey Archer - As the Crow Flies

"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."

The taxi pulled up outside the solicitor's office a few minutes after eleven. Charlie stepped out of the cab to find Baverstock was standing by the door waiting to greet them.

"That'll be eight and six, guvn'r."

"Oh, God," said Charlie, "I haven't got any money."

"That's the way he treats all his girls," said Cathy as she passed the cabbie a ten-shilling note.

They both followed Baverstock through to his office where a set of documents was already laid out on his desk. "Since you called I have had a long conversation with my nephew in Australia," said Baverstock, facing Charlie. "So I think I'm well acquainted with everything that took place while you were over there."

"Which is more than I am," said Cathy, sounding bewildered.

"All in good time," said Charlie. "Explanations later." He turned back to Baverstock. "So what happens now?"

"Miss Ross must sign here, here and here," the solicitor said without further explanation, indicating a space between two penciled crosses at the bottom of three separate sheets of paper. "As you are in no way related to the beneficiary or a beneficiary yourself, Sir Charles, you may care to act as the witness to Miss Ross' signature."

Charlie nodded, placed a pair of opera glasses beside the contract and took a pen from his inside pocket.

"You've always taught me in the past, Charlie, to read documents carefully before putting my signature to them."

"Forget everything I've taught you in the past, my girl, and just sign where Mr. Baverstock is pointing."

Cathy signed all three documents without another word.

"Thank you, Miss Ross," said Mr. Baverstock. "And now if you could both bear with me for one moment, I must inform Mr. Birkenshaw of what has taken place."

"Birkenshaw?" said Charlie.

"Mr. Trentham's solicitor. I must obviously let him know immediately that his client is not the only person who has registered a claim to the Hardcastle estate."

Cathy, looking even more bewildered, turned to Charlie.

"Later," said Charlie. "I promise."

Baverstock dialed the seven digits of a Chelsea number.

No one spoke as they waited for the telephone to be answered. Eventually Mr. Baverstock heard a sleepy voice say, "Kensington 7192."

"Good evening, Birkenshaw, Baverstock here. Sorry to have to bother you at this time of night. Indeed, I wouldn't have done so if I hadn't considered the circumstances fully warranted such an intrusion on your privacy. But may I first ask what time you make it?"

"Have I heard you correctly?" said Birkenshaw, his voice now sounding more alert. "You've telephoned me in the middle of the night to ask what the time is?"

"Precisely," said Baverstock. "You see, I need to confirm that it is still before the witching hour. So do be a good fellow and tell me what time you make it."

"I make it eleven-seventeen, but I fail to understand—"

"I make it eleven-sixteen," said Baverstock, "but on the matter of time I am happy to bow to your superior judgment. The purpose of this call, by the way," he continued, "is to let you know that a second person who appears to be a more direct descendant of Sir Raymond than your client has laid claim to the Hardcastle estate."

"What's her name?"

"I suspect you already know that," replied the old laborer before he replaced the telephone. "Damn," he said, looking across at Charlie, "I should have recorded the conversation."

"Why?"

"Because Birkenshaw is never going to admit that he said 'her.'"

"Are you saying that Guy Trentham was my father?" asked Cathy. "But how . . . ?"

After waking up Dr. Atkins, a man more used to being disturbed during the night, Charlie felt able to explain to Cathy what he had discovered during his visit to Australia, and how everything had been borne out by the information she had supplied to Becky when she first applied for a job at Trumper's. Baverstock listened intently, nodding from time to time, while regularly checking the copious notes he had made following a long conversation with his nephew in Sydney.

Cathy listened to everything Charlie had to report and although she now had some recollections of her life in Australia, she was still fairly vague about her days at the University of Melbourne and could remember almost nothing of St. Hilda's. The name "Miss Benson" just didn't register at all.

"I've tried so hard to recall more details of what happened before I came to England, but nothing much comes back despite the fact that I can remember almost everything that took place after I landed at Southampton. Dr. Atkins isn't that optimistic, is he?"

"There are no rules, is all he keeps reminding me."

Charlie stood up, walked across the room and turned Cathy's painting round, a look of hope appearing on his face, but she just shook her head as she stared at the woodland scene.

"I agree I must have painted it at some time, but I've no idea where or when."

Around four the following morning Charlie phoned for a taxi to take them back to Eaton Square, having agreed with Baverstock that he should set up a face-to-face meeting with the other side as soon as it could be arranged. When they returned home Cathy was so exhausted that she went straight to bed, but as Charlie's time clock didn't allow him to sleep he closeted himself in the study and continued his mental search for the missing link, only too aware of the legal battle that lay ahead of him even if he succeeded.

The following day he and Cathy traveled up to Cambridge together and spent a fraught afternoon in Dr. Atkins' little office at Addenbrooke's. For his part the consultant seemed far more interested in the file on Cathy that had been supplied by Mrs. Culver than the fact she might in some way be related to Mrs. Trentham and therefore eligible to inherit the Hardcastle Trust.

He took her slowly through each item in the file art classes, credits, misdemeanors, tennis matches, Melbourne Church of England Girls' Grammar School, Universiy of Melbourne but he always met with the same response: deep thought, but only vague recollections. He tried word associations Melbourne, Miss Benson, cricket, ship, hotel to which he received the replies, Australia, Hedges, scorer, Southampton, long hours.

"Scorer" was the only word that interested Dr. Atkins, but pressed further, Cathy's only memories of Australia remained a sketchy description of a grammar school, some clear recollections of the university and a boy called Mel Nicholls, followed by a long trip on a ship to London. She could even tell them the names of Pam and Maureen, who had traveled over with her, but not where they came from.

Cathy went into great detail when the subject turned to the Melrose Hotel and Charlie was able to confirm the accuracy of Cathy's recollection of her early life at Trumper's.