As the Crow Flies Read online

  “Then you’ll have to leave the problem of Trentham to me,” I told him. “Meanwhile you get on with running the shops. But be sure to let me know the moment it’s all out in the open so I don’t go around looking as if I haven’t a clue what’s going on.” I rose to leave.

  “The whole world will know before much longer,” Charlie said.

  I had said “leave the problem to me” without the slightest idea of what I was going to do about it, but when I had returned home that night I discussed the whole affair with Elizabeth. She advised me to have a chat with Daphne, who she felt confident would know considerably more about what was going on than Charlie did. I suspected she was right.

  Elizabeth and I duly invited Daphne to tea at Tregunter Road a couple of days later. She confirmed everything Charlie had said and was also able to fill in one or two missing pieces of the jigsaw.

  In Daphne’s opinion Trentham had been Becky’s first serious romance, and certainly to her knowledge Becky had never slept with any other man before they had met, and only once with Trentham. Captain Trentham, she assured us, was unable to boast the same blameless reputation.

  The rest of her news did not augur well for a simple solution, as it turned out that Guy’s mother could not be relied on to insist that her son do the decent thing by Becky. On the contrary, Daphne knew the woman was already preparing the ground to ensure that no one could possibly believe that Trentham could be in any way responsible.

  “But what about Trentham’s father?” I asked. “Do you think I should have a word with him? Although we were in the same regiment we were never in the same battalion, don’t you know.”

  “He’s the only member of that family I really care for,” Daphne admitted. “He’s the MP for Berkshire West, a Liberal.”

  “Then that has to be my approach route,” I replied. “I can’t abide the man’s politics, but that won’t stop him from knowing the difference between right and wrong.”

  Yet another letter sent on club notepaper elicited an immediate reply from the major, inviting me to drinks at Chester Square the following Monday.

  I arrived punctually at six, and was taken into the drawing room where I was greeted by a quite charming lady who introduced herself as Mrs. Trentham. She was not at all what I expected after Daphne’s description; in fact she was a rather handsome woman. She was profuse in her apologies: it seemed that her husband had been held up at the House of Commons by a running three-line whip, which even I knew meant he was unable to leave the Palace of Westminster on pain of death. I made an instant decision—wrongly I realize in retrospect—that this matter couldn’t wait a moment longer and I must relay my message to the major through his wife.

  “I find this is all rather embarrassing actually,” I began.

  “Do feel free to speak quite openly, Colonel. I can assure you that I am fully in my husband’s confidence. We have no secrets from each other.”

  “Well, to be frank with you, Mrs. Trentham, the matter I wish to touch on concerns your son Guy.”

  “I see” was all she said.

  “And his fiancée, Miss Salmon.”

  “She is not, and never has been, his fiancée,” said Mrs. Trentham, her voice revealing a sudden edge.

  “But I was given to understand—”

  “That promises were made to Miss Salmon by my son? I can assure you, Colonel, that nothing could be further from the truth.”

  Slightly taken aback, I was unable to think of a diplomatic way of letting the lady know the real purpose behind my wanting to see her husband. So I simply said, “Whatever promises were or were not made, madam, I do feel that you and your husband should be aware that Miss Salmon is expecting a child.”

  “And what has that to do with me?” Mrs. Trentham stared directly at me with no fear showing in her eyes.

  “Simply that your son is undoubtedly the father.”

  “We only have her word for that, Colonel.”

  “That, madam, was unworthy of you,” I told her. “I know Miss Salmon to be a thoroughly decent and honest girl. And in any case, if it were not your son, who else could it have possibly been?”

  “Heaven knows,” said Mrs. Trentham. “Any number of men, I would have thought, judging by her reputation. After all, her father was an immigrant.”

  “So was the King’s father, madam,” I reminded her. “But he still would have known how to conduct himself had he been faced with the same predicament.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Colonel.”

  “I mean, madam, that your son must either marry Miss Salmon or at least resign from the regiment and make suitable arrangements to see the child is properly provided for.”

  “It seems I must make it clear to you once again, Colonel, that this sad state of affairs has nothing whatsoever to do with my son. I can assure you that Guy stopped seeing the girl some months before he sailed for India.”

  “I know that is not the case, madam, because—”

  “Do you, Colonel? Then I must ask what exactly this whole business has to do with you in the first place?”

  “Simply that Miss Salmon and Mr. Trumper are both colleagues of mine,” I explained.

  “I see,” she said. “Then I suspect you will not have to look much further to discover who is the real father.”

  “Madam, that was also uncalled for. Charlie Trumper is not—”

  “I cannot see any purpose in continuing this conversation, Colonel,” Mrs. Trentham said, rising from her chair. She began to walk towards the door, not even bothering to glance in my direction. “I must warn you, Colonel, that should I hear this slander repeated in any quarter I shall not hesitate to instruct solicitors to take the necessary action to defend my son’s good reputation.”

  Although shaken, I followed her into the hall, determined to see that the matter was not allowed to rest there. I now felt Major Trentham was my only hope. As Mrs. Trentham opened the front door to show me out I said firmly, “May I presume, madam, that you will recount this conversation faithfully to your husband?”

  “You may presume nothing, Colonel,” were her final words as the front door was slammed in my face. The last occasion I received such treatment from a lady had been in Rangoon, and I’m bound to say that the girl in question had considerably more reason to be aggrieved.

  When I repeated the conversation to Elizabeth—as accurately as I could recall—my wife pointed out to me in that clear, concise way of hers that I had been left with only three choices. The first was to write to Captain Trentham directly and demand he do the decent thing, the second would be to inform his commanding officer of everything I knew.

  “And the third?” I asked.

  “Never to refer to the subject again.”

  I considered her words carefully, and chose the middle course, dropping a note to Ralph Forbes, a first-class fellow who had succeeded me as colonel, acquainting him with the facts as I knew them. I chose my words most judiciously, aware that if Mrs. Trentham were to carry out her threat any legal action she took could only bring the regiment’s good name into disrepute, perhaps even ridicule. However, I did at the same time decide to keep a fatherly eye on Becky, as she now seemed to be burning the candle at both ends, not to mention in the middle. After all, the girl was trying to prepare for her exams, as well as act as an unpaid secretary and accountant to a thriving little business, while everyone who passed her in the street must have known that it could only be a matter of weeks before she was due to give birth.

  As those weeks passed, it worried me that nothing seemed to be happening on the Trentham front despite the fact that I had received a reply from Forbes assuring me that he had set up a panel of inquiry. Certainly when I inquired further of Daphne or Charlie neither of them seemed to be any better informed than I was.

  It was in mid-October that year that Daniel George was born, and I was touched that Becky invited me to be a godparent, along with Bob Makins and Daphne. I was even more delighted when I learned from Bec