Jeffrey Archer - As the Crow Flies

The morning Becky returned home Charlie left her propped up in bed with a book and headed back to Chelsea Terrace where he went straight to the jewelry shop he had acquired in his wife's absence.

Charlie took a considerable time selecting a string of cultured pearls, a gold bracelet and a lady's Victorian watch, which he then instructed to be sent to Grace, to the staff nurse and to the nurse who had taken care of Becky during her unscheduled stay at Guy's. His next stop was the greengrocer's shop where he asked Bob to make up a basket of the finest fruit, while he personally selected a bottle of vintage wine from Number 101 to accompany it. "Send them both round to Mr. Armitage at 7 Cadogan Square, London SW1, with my compliments," he added.

"Right away," said Bob. "Anything else while I'm at it?"

"Yes, I want you to repeat that order every Monday for the rest of his life."

It was about a month later, in November 1922, that Charlie learned of the problems Arnold was facing with the simple task of replacing a shop assistant. In fact, selecting staff had become one of Arnold's biggest headaches of late, because for every job that became vacant fifty to a hundred people were applying to fill it. Arnold would then put together a shortlist as Charlie still insisted that he interview the final candidates before any position was confirmed.

On that particular Monday, Arnold had already considered a number of girls for the position as sales assistant at the flower shop, following the retirement of one of the company's longest-serving employees.

"Although I've already shortlisted three for the job," said Arnold, "I thought you would be interested in one of the applicants I rejected. She didn't seem to have the appropriate qualifications for this particular position. However—"

Charlie glanced at the sheet of paper Arnold passed to him. "Joan Moore. Why would I . . . ?" began Charlie, as his eyes ran swiftly down her application. "Ah, I see," he said. "How very observant of you, Tom." He read a few more lines. "But I don't need a—well, on the other hand perhaps I do." He looked up. "Arrange for me to see Miss Moore within the next week."

The following Thursday Charlie interviewed Joan Moore for over an hour at his home in Gilston Road and his first impression was of a cheery, well-mannered if somewhat immature girl. However, before he offered her the position as lady's maid to Mrs. Trumper he still had a couple of questions he felt needed answering.

"Did you apply for this job because you knew of the relationship between my wife and your former employer?" Charlie asked.

The girl looked him straight in the eyes. "Yes, sir, I did."

"And were you sacked by your previous employer?"

"Not exactly, sir, but when I left she refused to supply me with a reference."

"What reason did she give for that?"

"I was walkin' out with the second footman, 'aving failed to inform the butler, who is in charge of the 'ousehold."

"And are you still walking out with the second footman?"

The girl hesitated. "Yes, sir," she said. "You see, we're 'oping to be married as soon as we've saved up enough."

"Good," said Charlie. "Then you can report for duly next Monday morning. Mr. Arnold will deal with all the necessary arrangements."

When Charlie told Becky he had employed a lady's maid for her she laughed at first, then asked, "And what would I want with one of those?" Charlie told her exactly why she wanted "one of those." When he had finished all Becky said was, "You're an evil man, Charlie Trumper, that's for sure."

It was at the February board meeting in 1924 that Crowther warned his colleagues that Number 1 Chelsea Terrace might well come on the market earlier than anticipated.

"Why's that?" asked Charlie, a little anxiously.

"Your estimate of another two years before Fothergill would have to cave in is beginning to look prophetic."

"So how much does he want?"

"It's not quite as simple as that."

"Why not?"

"Because he's decided to auction the property himself."

"Auction it?" inquired Becky.

"Yes," said Crowther. "That way he avoids paying any fees to an outside agent."

"I see. So what are you expecting the property to fetch?" asked the colonel.

"Not an easy one to answer, that," replied Crowther. "It's four times the size of any other shop in the Terrace, it's on five floors and it's even bigger than Syd Wrexall's pub on the other corner. It also has the largest shop frontage in Chelsea and a double entrance on the corner facing the Fulham Road. For all those reasons it's not that simple to estimate its value."

"Even so, could you try and put a figure on it?" asked the chairman.

"If you were to press me I'd say somewhere in the region of two thousand, but it could be as much as three, if anyone else were to show an interest."

"What about the stock?" asked Becky. "Do we know what's happening to that?"

"Yes, it's being sold along with the building."

"And what's it worth?" asked Charlie. "Roughly?"

"More Mrs. Trumper's department than mine, I feel," said Crowther.

"It's no longer that impressive," said Becky. "A lot of Fothergill's best works have already gone through Sotheby's, and I suspect Christie's have seen just as many during the past year. However, I would still expect what's left over to fetch around a thousand pounds under the hammer."

"So the face value of the property and the stock together appears to be around the three-thousand pound mark," suggested Hadlow.

"But Number 1 will go for a lot more than that," said Charlie.

"Why?" queried Hadlow.

"Because Mrs. Trentham will be among the bidders."

"How can you be so sure?" asked the chairman.

"Because our ladies' maid is still walking out with her second footman."

The rest of the board laughed, but all the chairman volunteered was, "Not again. First the flats, now this. When will it end?"

"Not until she's dead and buried, I suspect," said Charlie.

"Perhaps not even then," added Becky.

"If you're referring to the son," said the colonel, "I doubt if he can cause too much trouble from twelve thousand miles away. But as for the mother, hell hath no fury—" he said testily.

"Commonly misquoted," said Charlie.

"What's that?" asked the chairman.

"Congreve, Colonel. The lines run, 'Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.'" The colonel's mouth remained open but he was speechless. "However," Charlie continued "more to the point, I need to know what is the limit the board will allow me to bid for Number 1."

"I consider five thousand may well prove necessary given the circumstances," said Becky.

"But no more," said Hadlow, studying the balance sheet in front of him.

"Perhaps one bid over?" suggested Becky.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," said Hadlow. "What does 'one bid over' mean?"

"Bids never go to the exact figure you anticipate Mr. Hadlow. Most people who attend an auction usually have a set figure in their minds which inevitably ends in round numbers, so if you go one above that figure you often end up securing the lot."

Even Charlie nodded, as Hadlow said in admiration, "Then I agree to one bid over."

"May I also suggest," said the colonel, "that Mrs. Trumper should carry out the bidding, because with her experience—"

"That's kind of you, colonel, but I shall nevertheless need the help of my husband," said Becky with a smile. "And, in fact, the whole board's, come to that. You see I have already formulated a plan." She proceeded to brief her colleagues on what she had in mind.

"What fun," said the colonel when she had finished. "But will I also be allowed to attend the proceedings?"

"Oh, yes," said Becky. "All of you must be present, and, with the exception of Charlie and myself, you ought to be seated silently in the row directly behind Mrs. Trentham a few minutes before the auction is due to commence."