As the Crow Flies

by Jeffrey Archer

  I wasn’t in the least surprised to discover how he felt about Becky, but she was so infatuated with Guy that she wasn’t even aware of Charlie’s existence. It was during one of his interminable monologues on the virtues of the girl that I began to form a plan for Charlie’s future. I was determined that he must have a different type of education, perhaps not as formal as Becky’s, but no less valuable for the future he had decided on.

  I assured Charlie that Guy would soon become bored with Becky—as that had proved to be the invariable pattern with girls who had crossed his path in the past. I added that he must be patient and the apple would eventually fall into his lap. I also explained who Newton was.

  I assumed that those tears to which Nanny had so often referred might indeed begin to flow soon after Becky was invited to spend the weekend with Guy’s parents at Ashurst. I made sure that I was asked to join the Trenthams for afternoon tea on the Sunday, to give whatever moral support Becky might feel in need of.

  I arrived a little after three-forty, which I have always considered a proper hour for taking tea, only to find Mrs. Trentham surrounded by silverware and crockery but sitting quite alone.

  “Where are the starstruck lovers?” I inquired, as I entered the drawing room.

  “If you’re referring, in that coarse way of yours, Daphne, to my son and Miss Salmon, they have already departed for London.”

  “Together, I presume?” I asked.

  “Yes, although for the life of me I can’t imagine what the dear boy sees in her.” Mrs. Trentham poured me a cup of tea. “As for myself, I found her exceedingly common.”

  “Perhaps it could be her brains and looks,” I volunteered as the major entered the room. I smiled at a man I had known since I was a child and had come to treat as an uncle. The one mystery about him as far as I was concerned was how he could possibly have fallen for someone like Ethel Hardcastle.

  “Guy left too?” he asked.

  “Yes, he’s returned to London with Miss Salmon,” said Mrs. Trentham for a second time.

  “Oh, pity really. She seemed such a grand girl.”

  “In a parochial type of way,” said Mrs. Trentham.

  “I get the impression Guy rather dotes on her,” I said, hoping for a reaction.

  “Heaven forbid,” said Mrs. Trentham.

  “I doubt if heaven will have a lot to do with it,” I told her, as I warmed to the challenge.

  “Then I shall,” said Mrs. Trentham. “I have no intention of letting my son marry the daughter of an East End street trader.”

  “I can’t see why not,” interjected the major. “After all, isn’t that what your grandfather was?”

  “Gerald, really. My grandfather founded and built up a highly successful business in Yorkshire, not the East End.”

  “Then I think that it’s only the location we are discussing,” said the major. “I well recall your father tellin’ me, with some pride I might add, that his old dad had started Hardcastle’s in the back of a shed somewhere near Huddersfield.”

  “Gerald—I feel sure he was exaggerating.”

  “Never struck me as the type of man who was prone to exaggerate,” retorted the major. “On the contrary, rather blunt sort of fellow. Shrewd with it, I always considered.”

  “Then that must have been a considerable time ago,” said Mrs. Trentham.

  “What’s more, I suspect that we shall live to see the children of Rebecca Salmon doing a bloody sight better than the likes of us,” added the major.

  “Gerald, I do wish you wouldn’t use the word ‘bloody’ so frequently. We’re all being influenced by that socialist playwright Mr. Shaw and his frightful Pygmalion, which seems to be nothing more than a play about Miss Salmon.”

  “Hardly,” I told her. “After all, Becky will leave London University with a bachelor of arts degree, which is more than my whole family has managed between them in eleven centuries.”

  “That may well be the case,” Mrs. Trentham concurred, “but they are hardly the qualifications that I feel appropriate for advancing Guy’s military career, especially now his regiment will be completing a tour of duty in India.”

  This piece of information came as a bolt out of the blue. I also felt pretty certain Becky knew nothing of it.

  “And when he returns to these shores,” continued Mrs. Trentham, “I shall be looking for someone of good breeding, sufficient money and perhaps even a little intelligence to be his matrimonial partner. Gerald may have failed, by petty prejudice, to become Colonel of the Regiment, but I will not allow the same thing to happen to Guy, of that I can assure you.”

  “I simply wasn’t good enough,” said the major gruffly. “Sir Danvers was far better qualified for the job, and in any case it was only you who ever wanted me to be colonel in the first place.”

  “Nevertheless, I feel after Guy’s results at Sandhurst—”

  “He managed to pass out in the top half,” the major reminded her. “That can hardly be described as carrying off the sword of honor, my dear.”

  “But he was awarded the Military Cross on the field of battle and his citation—”

  The major grunted in a manner that suggested that he had been trotted round this particular course several times before.

  “And so you see,” Mrs. Trentham continued, “I have every confidence that Guy will in time become Colonel of the Regiment and I don’t mind telling you that I already have someone in mind who will assist him in that quest. After all, wives can make or break a career, don’t you know, Daphne.”

  “At least on that I am able to concur fully, my dear,” murmured her husband.

  I traveled back to London somewhat relieved that, after such an encounter, Becky’s relationship with Guy must surely come to an end. Certainly the more I had seen of the damned man the more I distrusted him.

  When I returned to the flat later that evening, I found Becky sitting on the sofa, red-eyed and trembling.

  “She hates me,” were her first words.

  “She doesn’t yet appreciate you,” was how I remembered phrasing my reply. “But I can tell you that the major thinks you’re a grand girl.”

  “How kind of him,” said Becky. “He showed me round the estate, you know.”

  “My dear, one does not describe seven hundred acres as an estate. A freeholding, perhaps, but certainly not an estate.”

  “Do you think Guy will stop seeing me after what took place at Ashurst?”

  I wanted to say I hope so but managed to curb my tongue. “Not if the man has any character,” I replied diplomatically.

  And indeed Guy did see her the following week, and as far as I could determine never raised the subject of his mother or that unfortunate weekend again.

  However, I still considered my long-term plan for Charlie and Becky was proceeding rather well, until I returned home after a long weekend to find one of my favorite dresses strewn across the drawing room floor. I followed a trail of clothes until I reached Becky’s door, which I opened tentatively to find, to my horror, even more of my garments lying by the side of her bed, along with Guy’s. I had rather hoped Becky would have seen him for the bounder he was long before she had allowed it to reach the terminal stage.

  Guy started out on his journey to India the following day, and as soon as he had taken his leave Becky began telling everyone who cared to listen that she was engaged to the creature, although there was no ring on her finger and no announcement in any paper to confirm her version of the story. “Guy’s word is good enough for me,” she asserted, which left one simply speechless.

  I arrived home that night to find her asleep in my bed. Becky explained over breakfast that Charlie had put her there, without further explanation.

  The following Sunday afternoon I invited myself back to tea with the Trenthams, only to learn from Guy’s mother that she had been assured by her son that he had not been in contact with Miss Salmon since her premature departure from Ashurst more than six months before.

  “But t
hat isn’t—” I began, but stopped in midsentence when I recalled my promise to Becky not to inform Guy’s mother that they were still seeing each other.

  A few weeks later Becky told me that she had missed her period. I swore that I would keep her secret but did not hesitate to inform Charlie the same day. When he heard the news he nearly went berserk. What made matters worse was that he had to go on pretending whenever he saw the girl that he wasn’t aware of anything untoward.

  “I swear if that bastard Trentham were back in England I’d kill him,” Charlie kept repeating, as he went on one of his route marches round the drawing room.

  “If he were in England I can think of at least three girls whose fathers would happily carry out the job for you,” I retorted.

  “So what am I meant to do about it?” Charlie asked me at last.

  “Not a lot,” I advised. “I suspect time—and eight thousand miles—may well turn out to be your greatest allies.”

  The colonel also fell into the category of those who would have happily shot Guy Trentham, given half a chance, in his case because of the honor of the regiment and all that. He even murmured something sinister about going to see Major Trentham and giving it to him straight. I could have told him that the major wasn’t the problem. However, I wasn’t sure if the colonel, even with his vast experience of different types of enemy, had ever come up against anyone as formidable as Mrs. Trentham.

  It must have been around this time that Percy Wiltshire was finally discharged from the Scots Guards. Lately I had stopped worrying about his mother telephoning me. During those dreadful years between 1916 and 1919 I always assumed it would be a message to say that Percy had been killed on the Western Front, as his father and elder brother had been before him. It was to be years before I admitted to the dowager marchioness whenever she called how much I dreaded hearing her voice on the other end of the line.

  Then quite suddenly Percy asked me to marry him. I fear from that moment on I became so preoccupied with our future together and being expected to visit so many of his family that I quite neglected my duty to Becky, even though I had allowed her to take over the flat. Then, almost before I could look round, she had given birth to little Daniel. I only prayed that she could face the inevitable stigma.

  It was some months after the christening that I decided to pay a surprise visit to the flat on my way back from a weekend in the country with Percy’s mother.

  When the front door opened I was greeted by Charlie, a newspaper tucked under his arm, while Becky, who was sitting on the sofa, appeared to be darning a sock. I looked down to watch Daniel crawling towards me at a rate of knots. I took the child in my arms before he had the chance to head off down the stairs and out into the world.

  “How lovely to see you,” Becky said, jumping up. “It’s been ages. Let me make you some tea.”

  “Thank you,” I said, “I only came round to make sure you are free on—” My eyes settled on a little oil that hung above the mantelpiece.

  “What a truly beautiful picture,” I remarked.

  “But you must have seen the painting many times before,” Becky said. “After all, it was in Charlie’s—”

  “No, I’ve never seen it before,” I replied, not sure what she was getting at.

  CHAPTER

  14

  The day the gold-edged card arrived at Lowndes Square Daphne placed the invitation between the one requesting her presence in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot and the command to attend a garden party at Buckingham Palace. However, she considered that this particular invitation could well remain on the mantelpiece for all to gaze upon long after Ascot and the palace had been relegated to the wastepaper basket.

  Although Daphne had spent a week in Paris selecting three outfits for the three different occasions, the most striking of them was to be saved for Becky’s degree ceremony, which she now described to Percy as “the great event.”

  Her fiancé—though she hadn’t yet become quite used to thinking of Percy in that way—also admitted that he had never been asked to such a ceremony before.

  Brigadier Harcourt-Browne suggested that his daughter should have Hoskins drive them to the Senate House in the Rolls, and admitted to being a little envious at not having been invited himself.

  When the morning finally dawned, Percy accompanied Daphne to lunch at the Ritz, and once they had been over the guest list and the hymns that would be sung at the service for the umpteenth time, they turned their attention to the details of the afternoon outing.

  “I do hope we won’t be asked any awkward questions,” said Daphne. “Because one thing’s for certain, I will not know the answers.”

  “Oh, I’m sure we won’t be put to any trouble like that, old gel,” said Percy. “Not that I’ve ever attended one of these shindigs before. We Wiltshires aren’t exactly known for troubling the authorities on these matters,” he added, laughing, which so often came out sounding like a cough.

  “You must get out of that habit, Percy. If you are going to laugh, laugh. If you’re going to cough, cough.”

  “Anything you say, old gel.”

  “And do stop calling me ‘old gel.’ I’m only twenty-three, and my parents endowed me with a perfectly acceptable Christian name.”

  “Anything you say, old gel,” repeated Percy.

  “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.” Daphne checked her watch. “And now I do believe it’s time we were on our way. Better not be late for this one.”

  “Quite right,” he replied, and called a waiter to bring them their bill.

  “Do you have any idea where we are going, Hoskins?” asked Daphne, as he opened the back door of the Rolls for her.

  “Yes, m’lady, I took the liberty of going over the route when you and his lordship were up in Scotland last month.”

  “Good thinking, Hoskins,” said Percy. “Otherwise we might have been going round in circles for the rest of the afternoon, don’t you know.”

  As Hoskins turned on the engine Daphne looked at the man she loved, and couldn’t help thinking how lucky she had been in her choice. In truth she had chosen him at the age of sixteen, and never faltered in her belief that he was the right partner—even if he wasn’t aware of the fact. She had always thought Percy quite wonderful, kind, considerate and gentle and, if not exactly handsome, certainly distinguished. She thanked God each night that he had escaped that fearful war with every limb intact. Once Percy had told her he was going off to France to serve with the Scots Guards, Daphne had spent three of the unhappiest years of her life. From that moment on she assumed every letter, every message, every call could only be to inform her of his death. Other men tried to court her in his absence, but they all failed as Daphne waited, not unlike Penelope, for her chosen partner to return. She would only accept that he was still alive when she saw him striding down the gangplank at Dover. Daphne would always treasure his first words the moment he saw her.

  “Fancy seeing you here, old gel. Dashed coincidence, don’t you know.”

  Percy never talked of the example his father had set, though The Times had devoted half a page to the late marquess’ obituary. In it they described his action on the Marne in the course of which he had single-handedly overrun a German battery as “one of the great VCs of the war.” When a month later Percy’s elder brother was killed at Ypres it came home to her just how many families were sharing the same dreadful experience. Now Percy had inherited the title: the twelfth Marquess of Wiltshire. From tenth to twelfth in a matter of weeks.

  “Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?” asked Daphne as the Rolls entered Shaftesbury Avenue.

  “Yes, m’lady,” replied Hoskins, who had obviously decided to address her by the title even though she and Percy were not yet married.

  “He’s only helping you to get accustomed to the idea, old gel,” Percy suggested before coughing again.

  Daphne had been delighted when Percy told her that he had decided to resign his commission with the Sc
ots Guards in order to take over the running of the family estates. Much as she admired him in that dark blue uniform with its four brass buttons evenly spaced, stirrupped boots and funny red, white and blue checked cap, it was a farmer she wanted to marry, not a soldier. A life spent in India, Africa and the colonies had never really appealed to her.

  As they turned into Malet Street, they saw a throng of people making their way up some stone steps to enter a monumental building. “That must be the Senate House,” she exclaimed, as if she had come across an undiscovered pyramid.

  “Yes, m’lady,” replied Hoskins.

  “And do remember, Percy—” began Daphne.

  “Yes, old gel?”

  “—not to speak unless you’re spoken to. On this occasion we are not exactly on home ground, and I object to either of us being made to look foolish. Now, did you remember the invitation and the special tickets that show our seat allocation?”

  “I know I put them somewhere.” He began to search around in his pockets.

  “They’re in the left-hand inside top pocket of your jacket, your lordship,” said Hoskins as he brought the car to a halt.

  “Yes, of course they are,” said Percy. “Thank you, Hoskins.”

  “A pleasure, my lord,” Hoskins intoned.

  “Just follow the crowd,” instructed Daphne. “And look as if you do this sort of thing every week.”

  They passed several uniformed doorkeepers and ushers before a clerk checked their tickets, then guided them to Row M.

  “I’ve never been seated this far back in a theater before,” said Daphne.

  “I’ve only tried to be this far away in a theater once myself,” admitted Percy. “And that was when the Germans were on center stage.” He coughed again.

  The two remained sitting in silence as they stared in front of them, waiting for something to happen. The stage was bare but for fourteen chairs, two of which, placed at its center, might almost have been described as thrones.