As the Crow Flies Read online

  “Good,” said the colonel. “That covers last year’s problems, Charlie, so now you can frighten us with your plans for the future.”

  Charlie opened the smart new leather case that Becky had given him on 20 January and took out the latest report from John D. Wood. He cleared his throat theatrically and Becky had to put a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “Mr. Crowther,” began Charlie, “has prepared a comprehensive survey of all the properties in Chelsea Terrace.”

  “For which, incidentally, he has charged us ten guineas,” said Becky, checking the accounts book.

  “I have no quarrel with that, if it turns out to be a good investment,” said the colonel.

  “It already has,” said Charlie. He handed over copies of Crowther’s report. “As you both already know, there are thirty-six shops in Chelsea Terrace, of which we currently own seven. In Crowther’s opinion a further five could well become available during the next twelve months. However, as he points out, all the shopkeepers in Chelsea Terrace are now only too aware of my role as a buyer, which doesn’t exactly help keep the price down.”

  “I suppose that was bound to happen sooner or later.”

  “I agree, Colonel,” said Charlie, “but it’s still far sooner than I’d hoped for. In fact, Syd Wrexall, the chairman of the Shops Committee, is becoming quite wary of us.”

  “Why Mr. Wrexall in particular?” asked the colonel.

  “He’s the publican who owns the Musketeer on the other corner of Chelsea Terrace. He’s started telling his customers that it’s my long-term aim to buy up all the property in the block and drive out the small shopkeepers.”

  “He has a point,” said Becky.

  “Maybe, but I never expected him to form a cooperative with the sole purpose of stopping me purchasing certain properties. I was rather hoping to get my hands on the Musketeer itself in time but whenever the subject comes up he just says, ‘Over my dead body.’”

  “That comes as rather a blow,” said the colonel.

  “Not at all,” said Charlie. “No one can expect to go through life without facing a moment of crisis. The secret will be spotting Wrexall’s when it comes and then moving in quickly. But it does mean for the time being that I’m occasionally going to have to pay over the odds if a shop owner decides the time has come to sell.”

  “Not a lot we can do about that I suspect,” said the colonel.

  “Except call their bluff from time to time,” said Charlie.

  “Call their bluff? I’m not sure I catch your drift.”

  “Well, we’ve had an approach from two shops recently with an interest in disposing of their freehold and I turned them both down out of hand.”

  “Why?”

  “Simply because they were demanding such outrageous prices, not to mention Becky nagging me about our present overdraft.”

  “And have they reconsidered their position?”

  “Yes and no,” said Charlie. “One has already come back with a far more realistic demand, while the other is still holding out for his original price.”

  “Who is holding out?”

  “Cuthbert’s, Number 101, the wine and spirits merchant. But there’s no need to make any sort of move in that direction for the time being, because Crowther says that Mr. Cuthbert has recently been looking at several properties in Pimlico, and he’ll be able to keep us informed of any progress on that front. We can then make a sensible offer the moment Cuthbert commits himself.”

  “Well done, Crowther, I say. By the way, where do you pick up all your information?” the colonel asked.

  “Mr. Bales the newsagent, and Syd Wrexall himself.”

  “But I thought you said Wrexall wasn’t proving that helpful.”

  “He isn’t,” said Charlie, “but he’ll still offer his opinion on any subject for the price of a pint, so Bob Makins has become a regular and learned never to complain about being short-measured. I even get a copy of the Shops Committee minutes before they do.”

  The colonel laughed. “And what about the auctioneers at Number 1? Have we still got our eye on them?”

  “We most certainly have, Colonel. Mr. Fothergill, the proprietor, continues to go deeper and deeper into debt, having had another bad year. But somehow he manages to keep his head above water, if only just, but I anticipate he will finally go under some time next year, at the latest the year after, when I will be standing on the quayside waiting to throw him a lifeline. Especially if Becky feels she is ready to leave Sotheby’s by then.”

  “I’m still learning so much,” confessed Becky. “I’d rather like to stay put for as long as I can. I’ve completed a year in Old Masters,” she added, “and now I’m trying to get myself moved to Modern, or Impressionist as they’ve started calling that department. You see, I still feel I need to gain as much experience as possible before they work out what I’m up to. I attend every auction I can, from silverware to old books, but I’d be far happier if we could leave Number I until the last possible moment.”

  “But if Fothergill does go under for a third time, Becky, you’re our lifeboat. So what if the shop were suddenly to come on the market?”

  “I could just about handle it, I suppose. I’ve already got my eye on the man who ought to be our general manager. Simon Matthews. He’s been with Sotheby’s for the past twelve years and is disenchanted at being passed over once too often. There’s also a bright young trainee who’s been around for about three years who I think will be the pick of the next generation of auctioneers. He’s only two years younger than the chairman’s son so he might be only too happy to join us if we were able to make him an attractive offer.”

  “On the other hand, it may well suit us for Becky to remain at Sotheby’s for as long as possible,” said Charlie. “Because Mr. Crowther has identified a further problem we’re going to have to face in the near future.”

  “Namely?” queried the colonel.

  “On page nine of his report, Crowther points out that Numbers 25 to 99, a block of thirty-eight flats bang in the middle of Chelsea Terrace—one of which Daphne and Becky shared until a couple of years ago—may well come on the market in the not too distant future. They’re currently owned by a charitable trust who are no longer satisfied with the return they receive on their investment, and Crowther says they’re considering disposing of them. Now, remembering our long-term plan, it might be wise to purchase the block as soon as possible rather than risk waiting for years when we would have to pay a far higher price or, worse, never be able to get hold of them at all.”

  “Thirty-eight flats,” said the colonel. “Hm, how much is Crowther expecting them to fetch?”

  “His guess would be around the two-thousand-pound mark; they’re currently only showing an income of two hundred and ten pounds a year and what with repairs and maintenance they’re probably not even declaring a profit. If the property does come on the market, and we’re able to afford them, Crowther also recommends that we only issue ten-year leases in future, and try to place any empty flats with staff from embassies or foreign visitors, who never make any fuss about having to move at a moment’s notice.”

  “So the profit on the shops would end up having to pay for the flats,” said Becky.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Charlie. “But with any luck it would only take me a couple of years, three at the outside, before I could have them showing a profit. Mind you, if the charity commissioners are involved, the paperwork could take that long.”

  “Nevertheless, remembering our current overdraft limit, a demand on our resources like that may well require another lunch with Hadlow,” said the colonel. “Still, I can see if we need to get hold of those flats I’m left with little choice. Might even take the opportunity to bump into Chubby Duckworth at the club and drop a word in his ear.” The colonel paused. “To be fair to Hadlow, he’s also come up with a couple of good ideas himself, both of which I feel are worthy of our consideration, and accordingly I have placed them next on the agenda.”