As the Crow Flies (23 page)

“May
I have the honor, miss?”

Every
man round the table shot to attention as the Colonel of the Regiment escorted
Becky onto the dance floor.

She
found Colonel Hamilton an accomplished dancer and an amusing companion, without
showing any of those tendencies to patronize her that the string of bank
managers had recently displayed. After the dance was over he invited Becky to
the top table and introduced her to his wife.

“I
must warn you,” Daphne told Charlie, glancing over her shoulder in the
direction of the colonel and Lady Hamilton. “It’s going to be quite a challenge
for you to keep pace with the ambitious Miss Salmon. But as long as you stick
with me and pay attention we’ll give her a damned good run for her money.”

After
a couple more dances Daphne informed Becky that she had more than done her duty
and the time had come for them all to leave. Becky, for her part, was only too
pleased to escape the attention of so many young officers who had seen her
dance with the colonel.

“I’ve
some good news for you,” Daphne told the two of them as the hansom trundled
down the King’s Road in the direction of Chelsea Terrace, with Charlie still
clinging to his half-empty horde of champagne.

“What’s
that, my girl?” he asked, after a burp.

“I’m
not your girl,” Daphne remonstrated. “I may be willing to invest in the lower
classes, Charlie Trumper, but never forget I’m not without breeding.”

“So
what’s your news?” asked Becky, laughing.

“You’ve
kept your part of the bargain, so I must keep to mine.”

“What
do you mean?” asked Charlie, half asleep.

“I
can now produce my shortlist of three to be considered as your front man, and
thus, I hope, solve your banking problem.”

Charlie
immediately sobered up.

“My
first offer is the second son of an earl,” began Daphne. “Penniless but
presentable. My second is a Bart, who will take the exercise on for a
professional fee, but my piece de resistance is a viscount whose luck has run
out at the tables in Deauville and now finds it necessary to involve himself in
the odd piece of vulgar commercial work.”

“When
do we get to meet them?” asked Charlie, trying not to slur his words.

“As
soon as you wish,” promised Daphne. “Tomorrow... “

“That
won’t be necessary,” said Becky quietly.

“Why
not?” asked Daphne, surprised.

“Because
I have already chosen the man who will front for us.”

“Who’ve
you got in mind, darling? The Prince of Wales?”

“No.
Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Danvers Hamilton, Bt., DSO, CBE.”

“But
‘e’s the bleedin’ Colonel of the Regiment,” said Charlie, dropping the bottle
of champagne on the floor of the hansom cab. “It’s impossible, ‘e’d never
agree.”

“I
can assure you he will.”

“What
makes you so confident?” asked Daphne.

“Because
we have an appointment to see him tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock.”

D
aphne waved
her parasol as a hansom approached them. The driver brought the cab to a halt
and raised his hat. “Where to, miss?”

“Number
172 Harley Street,” she instructed, before the two women climbed aboard.

He
raised his hat again, and with a gentle flick of his whip headed the horse off
in the direction of Hyde Park Corner.

“Have
you told Charlie yet?” Becky asked.

“No,
I funked it,” admitted Daphne.

They
sat in silence as the cabbie guided the horse towards Marble Arch.

“Perhaps
it won’t be necessary to tell him anything.”

“Let’s
hope not,” said Becky.

There
followed another prolonged silence until the horse trotted into Oxford Street.

“Is
your doctor an understanding man?”

“He
always has been in the past.”

“My
God, I’m frightened.”

“Don’t
worry. It will be over soon, then at least you’ll know one way or the other.”

The
cabbie came to a halt outside Number 172 Harley Street, and the two women got
out. While Becky stroked the horse’s mane Daphne paid the man sixpence. Becky
turned when she heard the rap on the brass knocker and climbed the three steps
to join her friend.

A
nurse in a starched blue uniform, white cap and collar answered their call, and
asked the two ladies to follow her. They were led down a dark corridor, lit by
a single gaslight, then ushered into an empty waiting room. Copies of Punch and
Taller were displayed in neat rows on a table in the middle of the room. A
variety of comfortable but unrelated chairs circled the low table. They each
took a seat, but neither spoke again until the nurse had left the room.

“I
“ began Daphne.

“If
“ said Becky simultaneously.

They
both laughed, a forced sound that echoed in the high-ceilinged room.

“No,
you first,” said Becky.

“I
just wanted to know how the colonel’s shaping up.”

“Took
his briefing like a man,” said Becky. “We’re off to our first official meeting
tomorrow. Child and Company in Fleet Street. I’ve told him to treat the whole
exercise like a dress rehearsal, as I’m saving the one I think we have a real
chance with for later in the week.”

“And
Charlie?”

“All
a bit much for him. He can’t stop thinking of the colonel as his commanding
officer.”

“It
would have been the same for you, if Charlie had suggested that the man
teaching you accountancy should drop in and check the weekly takings at 147.”

“I’m
avoiding that particular gentleman at the moment,” said Becky. “I’m only just
putting in enough academic work to avoid being reprimanded; lately my
commendeds have become passes, while my passes are just not good enough. If I
don’t manage to get a degree at the end of all this there will be only one
person to blame.”

“You’ll
be one of the few women who’s a bachelor of arts. Perhaps you should demand
they change the degree to SA.”

“SA?”

“Spinster
of arts.”

They
laughed at what they both knew to be a hoary chestnut, as they continued to
avoid the real reason they were in that waiting room. Suddenly the door swung
open and they looked up to see that the nurse had resumed.

“The
doctor will see you now.”

“May
I come as well?”

“Yes,
I’m sure that will be all right.”

Both
women rose and followed the nurse farther down the same corridor until they
reached a white door with a small brass plate almost worn away with rubbing
which read “Fergus Gould, MD.” A gentle knock from the nurse elicited a “yes”
and Daphne and Becky entered the room together.

“Good
morning, good morning,” said the doctor cheerfully in a soft Scottish burr,
shaking hands with the two of them in turn. “Won’t you please be seated? The
tests have been completed and I have excellent news for you.” He resumed to the
seat behind his desk and opened a file in front of him. They both smiled, the
taller of the two relaxing for the first time in days.

“I’m
happy to say that you are physically in perfect health, but as this is your
first child” he watched both women turn white “you will have to behave rather
more cautiously over the coming months. But as long as you do, I can see no
reason why this birth should have any complications. May I be the first to
congratulate you?”

“Oh
God, no,” she said, nearly fainting. “I thought you said the news was
excellent.”

“Why,
yes,” replied Dr. Gould. “I assumed you would be delighted.”

Her
friend interjected. “You see, Doctor, there’s a problem. She’s not married.”

“Oh
yes, I do see,” said the doctor, his voice immediately changing tone. “I’m so
sorry, I had no idea. Perhaps if you had told me at our first meeting... “

“No,
I’m entirely to blame, Dr. Gould. I had simply hoped... “

“No,
it is I who am to blame. How extremely tactless of me.” Dr. Gould paused
thoughtfully. “Although it remains illegal in this country, I am assured that
there are excellent doctors in Sweden who... “

“That
is not possible,” said the pregnant woman. “You see, it’s against everything my
parents would have considered ‘acceptable behavior.’”

“Good
morning, Hadlow,” said the colonel, as he marched into the bank, handing the manager
his top-coat, hat and cane.

“Good
morning, Sir Danvers,” replied the manager, passing the hat, coat and cane on
to an assistant. “May I say how honored we are that you thought our humble
establishment worthy of your consideration.”

Becky
couldn’t help reflecting that it was not quite the same greeting she had
received when visiting another bank of similar standing only a few weeks
before.

“Would
you be kind enough to come through to my office?” the manager continued,
putting his arm out as if he were guiding wayward traffic.

“Certainly,
but first may I introduce Mr. Trumper and Miss Salmon, both of whom are my
associates in this venture.”

“Delighted,
I’m sure,” the manager said as he pushed his glasses back up his nose before
shaking hands with Charlie and Becky in turn.

Becky
noticed that Charlie was unusually silent and kept pulling at his collar, which
looked as though it might be half an inch too tight for comfort. However, after
spending a morning in Savile Row the previous week being measured from head to
foot for a new suit, he had refused to wait a moment longer when Daphne
suggested he should be measured for a shirt, so in the end Daphne was left to
guess his neck size.

“Coffee?”
inquired the manager, once they had all settled in his office.

“No,
thank you,” said the colonel.

Becky
would have liked a cup of coffee but realized that the manager had assumed Sir
Danvers had spoken for all three of them. She bit her lip.

“Now,
how can I be of assistance, Sir Danvers?” The manager nervously touched the
knot of his tie.

“My
associates and I currently own a property in Chelsea Terrace Number 147 which
although a small venture at present is nevertheless progressing satisfactorily.”
The manager’s smile remained in place. “We purchased the premises some eighteen
months ago at a cost of one hundred pounds and that investment has shown a
profit this year of a little over forty-three pounds.”

“Very
satisfactory,” said the manager. “Of course, I have read your letter and the accounts
you so kindly had sent over by messenger.”

Charlie
was tempted to tell him who the messenger had been.

“However,
we feel the time has come to expand,” continued the colonel. “And in order to
do so we will require a bank that can show a little more initiative than the
establishment with which we’re presently dealing as well as one that has its
eye on the future. Our current bankers, I sometimes feel, are still living in
the nineteenth century. Frankly, they are little more than holders of deposits,
while what we are looking for is the service of a real bank.”

“I
understand.”

“It’s
been worrying me “ said the colonel, suddenly breaking off and fixing his
monocle to his left eye.

“Worrying
you?” Mr. Hadlow sat forward anxiously in his chair.

“Your
tie.”

“My
tie?” The manager once again fingered the knot nervously.

“Yes,
your tie. Don’t tell me the Buffs?”

“You
are correct, Sir Danvers.”

“Saw
some action, did you, Hadlow?”

“Well,
not exactly, Sir Danvers. My sight, you understand.” Mr. Hadlow began fiddling
with his glasses.

“Bad
luck, old chap,” said the colonel, his monocle dropping back down. “Well, to
continue. My colleagues and I are of a mind to expand, but I feel it would only
be the honorable thing to let you know that we have an appointment with a rival
establishment on Thursday afternoon.”

“Thursday
afternoon,” repeated the manager, after dipping his quill pen once more into
the inkwell on the front of his desk and adding this to the other pieces of
information he had already recorded.

“But
I had rather hoped it would not have gone unnoticed,” continued the colonel, “that
we chose to come and see you first.”

“I’m
most flattered,” said Mr. Hadlow. “And what terms were you hoping this bank
might offer, Sir Danvers, that your own could not?”

The
colonel paused for a moment and Becky glanced towards him alarmed, as she
couldn’t remember if she had briefed him on terms. Neither of them had expected
to have reached quite this far at the first meeting.

The
colonel cleared his throat. “We would naturally expect competitive terms, if we
are to move our business to your bank, being aware of the long-term
implications.”