As the Crow Flies (68 page)

It
was Daphne who had told Becky that 17 Eaton Square was coming on the market,
and Charlie only needed to see the eight-bedroom house once before he decided
that was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life. It didn’t seem to cross
Charlie’s mind that someone would have to supervise the move at the same time
as Trumper’s was being built. Becky might have complained if she too hadn’t
fallen in love with the house.

A
couple of months later Becky held a housewarming party at Eaton Square. Over a
hundred guests were invited to join the Trumpers for a dinner that had to be
served in five different rooms.

Daphne
arrived late and complained about being held up in a traffic jam on her way
back from Sloane Square, while the colonel traveled down from Skye without a
murmur. Daniel came over from Cambridge accompanied by Marjorie Carpenter and
to Becky’s surprise Simon Matthews arrived with Cathy Ross on his arm.

After
dinner, Daphne made a short speech and presented Charlie with a scale model of
Trumper’s crafted in the form of a silver cigar case.

Becky
judged the gift to be a success because after the last guest had left, her
husband carried the case upstairs and placed it on his bedside table.

Charlie
climbed into bed and took one last look at his new toy as Becky came out of the
bathroom.

“Have
you considered inviting Percy to be a director?” she said as she climbed into
bed.

Charlie
looked at her skeptically.

“The
shareholders might appreciate having a marquess on the company letterhead. It
would give them a feeling of confidence.”

“You’re
such a snob, Rebecca Salmon. Always were and always will be.”

“You
didn’t say that when I suggested the colonel should be our first chairman
twenty-five years ago.”

“True
enough,” said Charlie, “but I didn’t think he’d say yes. In any case if I wanted
another outsider I’d rather have Daphne on the board. That way we get the name
as well as her particular brand of common sense.”

“I
should have thought of that.”

When
Becky approached Daphne with an invitation to join the board of Trumper’s as a
non-executive director the duchess was overwhelmed and accepted without a
second thought. To everyone’s surprise Daphne approached her new
responsibilities with immense energy and enthusiasm. She never missed a board
meeting, always read the papers thoroughly and whenever she considered Charlie
hadn’t fully covered an item under discussion or, worse, was trying to get away
with something, she nagged at him until she got a full explanation as to what
he was up to.

“Are
you still hoping to build Trumper’s at the price you recommended in your
original offer document, Mr. Chairman?” she asked time and time again during
the next two years.

“I’m
not so sure it was a good idea of yours to invite Daphne to become a director,”
Charlie grumbled to Becky following one particularly raucous meeting in which
the marchioness had got the better of him.

“Don’t
blame me,” Becky replied. “I would have happily setded for Percy, but then I’m
a snob. “

It
took nearly two years for the architects to complete the twin towers of Trumper’s,
their adjoining walkway and the five floors of offices above Mrs. Trentham’s
empty space. The task was not made any easier by Charlie’s expecting business
in the remaining shops to proceed as if nothing was going on around them. It
was a source of wonder to all concerned that during the changeover period
Trumper’s lost only nineteen percent of its annual revenue.

Charlie
set about supervising everything, from the exact siting of the one hundred and
eighteen departments to the color of the twenty-seven acres of carpet, from the
speed of the twelve lifts to the wattage of the one hundred thousand light
bulbs, from the displays in the ninety-six windows to the uniforms of over
seven hundred employees, each of whom displayed a little silver barrow on his
lapel.

Once
Charlie realized how much storage space he would need, not to mention
facilities for an underground car park now so many customers had their own
vehicles, the costs went considerably over budget. However, the contractors
somehow managed to complete the building by 1 September 1949, mainly because
Charlie appeared on the site at four-thirty every morning and often didn’t go
back home much before midnight.

On
18 October 1949 the Marchioness of Wiltshire, escorted by her husband,
performed the official opening ceremony.

A
thousand people raised their glasses once Daphne had declared the building
open. The assembled Quests then did their best to eat and drink their way
through the company’s first year’s profits. But Charlie didn’t seem to notice;
he moved happily from floor to floor checking that everything was exactly as he
expected it to be and made sure that the major suppliers were being properly
looked after.

Friends,
relations, shareholders, buyers, sellers, journalists, hangers-on, gatecrashers
and even customers were celebrating on every floor. By one o’clock Becky was so
tired that she decided to start looking for her husband in the hope that he
might agree to go home. She found her son in the kitchen department examining a
refrigerator that would have been too large for his room in Trinity. Daniel
assured his mother that he had seen Charlie leaving the building about half an
hour before.

“Leaving
the building?” Becky said, in disbelief. “Surely your father wouldn’t have gone
home without me?” She took the lift to the ground floor and walked quickly
towards the main entrance. The doorman saluted her as he held open one of the
massive double doors that led out onto Chelsea Terrace.

“Have
you seen Sir Charles, by any chance?” Becky asked him.

“Yes,
m’lady.” He nodded in the direction of the far side of the road.

Becky
looked across to see Charlie seated on his bench, an old man perched by his
side. They were chatting animatedly as they stared across at Trumper’s. The old
man pointed at something that had attracted his attention and Charlie smiled.
Becky quickly crossed the road but the colonel had sprung to attention long
before she had reached his side.

“How
lovely to see you, my dear,” he said as he leaned forward to kiss Becky on the
cheek. “I only wish Elizabeth had lived to see it.”

“As
I understand it, we’re being held to ransom,” said Charlie. “So perhaps it’s
time we took a vote on the issue.”

Becky
looked around the boardroom table, wondering which way the vote would fall. The
full board had been working together for three months since Trumper’s had
opened its doors to the public, but this was the first major issue on which
there had been any real disagreement.

Charlie
sat at the head of the table, looking unusually irritable at the thought of not
getting his own way. On his right was the company secretary, Jessica Allen.
Jessica did not have a vote but was there to see that whenever a vote occurred
it would be faithfully recorded. Arthur Selwyn, who had worked with Charlie at
the Ministry of Food during the war, had recently left the civil service to
replace Tom Arnold on his retirement as managing director. Selwyn was proving
to be an inspired choice, shrewd and thorough, while being the ideal foil to
the chairman as he tended to avoid confrontation whenever possible.

Tim
Newman, the company’s young merchant banker, was sociable and friendly and
almost always backed Charlie, though he was not averse to giving a contrary
view if he felt the company finances might suffer. Paul Merrick, the finance
director, was neither sociable nor friendly and continued to make it abundantly
clear that his first loyalty would always be to Child’s Bank and its
investment. As for Daphne, she rarely voted the way anyone might expect her to,
and certainly was no placeman for Charlie or anyone else, for that matter. Mr.
Baverstock, a quiet, elderly solicitor who represented ten percent of the
company stock on behalf of Hambros, spoke rarely, but when he did everyone listened,
including Daphne.

Ned
Denning and Bob Makins, both of whom had now served Charlie for nearly thirty
years, would rarely go against their chairman’s wishes, while Simon Matthews
often showed flashes of independence that only confirmed Becky’s initial high
opinion of him.

“The
last thing we need at the moment is a strike,” said Merrick. “Just at a time
when it looks as if we’ve turned the corner.”

“But
the union’s demands are simply outrageous,” said Rim Newman. “A ten-shilling
raise, a forty-four-hour week before overtime becomes automatic I repeat, they’re
outrageous.”

“Most
of the other major stores have already agreed to those terms,” interjected
Merrick, consulting an article from the Financial Times that lay in front of
him.

“Chucked
the towel in would be nearer the mark,” came back Newman. “I must warn the
board that this would add to our wages bill by some twenty thousand pounds for
the current year and that’s even before we start to consider overtime. So there’s
only one group of people who will suffer in the long run, and that’s our
shareholders.”

“Just
how much does a counter assistant earn nowadays?” asked Mr. Baverstock quietly.

“Two
hundred and sixty pounds a year,” said Arthur Selwyn without having to check. “With
incremental raises so that if they have completed fifteen years’ service with
the company, the sum could be as high as four hundred and ten pounds a year.”

“We’ve
been over these figures on countless occasions,” said Charlie sharply. “The
time has come to decide do we stand firm or just give in to the union’s
demands?”

“Perhaps
we’re all overreacting, Mr. Chairman,” said Daphne, who hadn’t spoken until
then. “It may not prove to be quite as black or white as you imagine.”

“You
have an alternative solution?” Charlie made no attempt to hide his incredulity.

“I
might have, Mr. Chairman. First, let’s consider what’s at stake if we do give
our staff the raise. An obvious drain on resources, not to mention what the
Japanese would call ‘face.’ On the other hand, if we don’t agree to their
demands, it’s possible that we might lose some of the better as well as the
weaker brethren to one of our main rivals.”

“So
what are you suggesting, Lady Whiltshire?” asked Charlie, who always addressed
Daphne by her title whenever he wished to show he didn’t agree with her.

“Compromise,
perhaps,” replied Daphne, refusing to rise. “If Mr. Selwyn considers that to be
at all possible at this late stage. Would the trade unions, for example, be
willing to contemplate an alternative proposal on wages and hours, drawn up in
negotiation with our managing director?”

“I
could always have a word with Don Short, the leader of USDAW, if the board so
wishes,” said Arthur Selwyn. “In the past I’ve always found him a decent, fair-minded
man and he’s certainly shown a consistent loyalty to Trumper’s over the years.”

“The
managing director dealing direct with the trade union’s representative?” barked
Charlie. “Next you’ll want to put him on the board.”

“Then
perhaps Mr. Selwyn should make an informal approach,” said Daphne. “I’m
confident he can handle Mr. Short with consummate skill.”

“I
agree with Lady Wiltshire,” said Mr. Baverstock.

“Then
I propose that we allow Mr. Selwyn to negotiate on our behalf,” continued
Daphne. “And let’s hope he can find a way of avoiding an all-out strike without
actually giving in to everything the unions are demanding.”

“I’d
certainly be willing to have a try,” said Selwyn. “I could report back to the
board at our next meeting.”

Once
again Becky admired the way Daphne and Arthur Selwyn between them had defused a
time bomb the chairman would have been only too happy to let explode on the
boardroom table.

“Thank
you, Arthur,” Charlie said a little begrudgingly. “So be it. Any other business?”

“Yes,”
said Becky. “I would like to bring to the board’s attention a sale of Georgian
silver that will be taking place next month. Catalogues will be sent out during
the coming week and I do hope any directors who are free on that particular day
will try to attend.”

“How
did the last antiques sale work out?” asked Mr. Baverstock.

Becky
checked her file. “The auction raised twenty-four thousand, seven hundred
pounds, of which Trumper’s kept seven and a half percent of everything that
came under the hammer. Only three items failed to reach their reserve prices,
and they were called back in.”

“I’m
only curious about the success of the sale,” said Mr. Baverstock, “because my
dear wife purchased a Charles II court cupboard.”

“One
of the finest items in the sale,” said Becky.

“My
wife certainly thought so because she bid far more for the piece than she had
intended. I’d be obliged if you didn’t send her a catalogue for the silver
sale.”

The
other members of the board laughed.

“I’ve
read somewhere,” said Tim Newman, “that Sotheby’s is considering raising their
commision to ten percent.”