As the Crow Flies Read online

  “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.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Daphne 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 Tatler 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 returned.

  “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 returned 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 topcoat, 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 sat