Having located two sheets of paper and retrieving the lawyer's draft wording that she had left locked in the bottom drawer, Mrs. Trentham wrote out two identical agreements which included Daniel's demand for her withdrawal of both her application to build the flats and her objections to his father's application for planning permission to build Trumper Towers. She also included in the agreements her lawyer's exact words for Daniel's waiver of his rights to his great-grandfather's estate.
She handed over the first draft for her grandson to study. At any moment she expected him to work out what he must be sacrificing by signing such a document.
Daniel finished reading the first copy of the agreement, then checked to see that both drafts were identical in every detail. Though he said nothing, Mrs. Trentham still felt he must surely fathom out why she needed the agreement so badly. In fact, had he demanded that she also sell the land in Chelsea Terrace to his father at a commercial rate she would happily have agreed, just to have Daniel's signature on the bottom of the agreement.
The moment Daniel had signed both documents Mrs. Trentham rang the bell and called for the butler to witness the two signatures. Once this task had been completed she said curtly, "Show the gentleman out, Gibson." As the uniformed figure left the room she found herself wondering just how long it would be before the boy realized what a poor bargain he had struck.
When on the following day Mrs. Trentham's solicitors studied the one-page document they were stunned by the simplicity of the transaction. However, she offered no explanation as to how she had managed to achieve such a coup. A slight bow of the head from the senior partner acknowledged that the agreement was watertight.
Every man has his price, and once Martin Simpson realized his source of income had dried up, a further fifty pounds in cash convinced him that he should withdraw his objection to Trumper Towers from proceeding as planned.
The following day Mrs. Trentham turned her attention to other matters: the understanding of offer documents.
In Mrs. Trentham's opinion Veronica became pregnant far too quickly. In May 1948 her daughter-in-law produced a son, Giles Raymond, only nine months and three weeks after she and Nigel had been married. At least the child had not been born prematurely. As it was, Mrs. Trentham had already observed the servants counting the months on their fingers on more than one occasion.
It was after Veronica had returned from hospital with the child that Mrs. Trentham had the first difference of opinion with her daughter-in-law.
Veronica and Nigel had wheeled Giles round to Chester Square for the proud grandmother to admire. After Mrs. Trentham had given the infant a cursory glance Gibson pushed the pram out and the tea trolley in.
"Of course you'll want the boy to be put down for Asgarth and Harrow without delay," said Mrs. Trentham, even before Nigel or Veronica had been given a chance to select a sandwich. "After all, one wants to be certain that his place is guaranteed."
"Actually, Nigel and I have already decided how our son will be educated," said Veronica, "and neither of those schools have entered our deliberations."
Mrs. Trentham placed her cup back on its saucer and stared at Veronica as if she had announced the death of the King. "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly, Veronica."
"We are going to send Giles to a local primary school in Chelsea and then on to Bryanston."
"Bryanston? And where is that, may one ask?"
"In Dorset. It's my father's old school," Veronica added before removing a salmon sandwich from the plate in front of her.
Nigel looked anxiously across at his mother as he touched his blue and silver striped tie.
"That may well be the case," said Mrs. Trentham. "However, I feel sure we still need to give a little more consideration as to how young Raymond"—she stressed the name—"should start off in life."
"No, that will be unnecessary," said Veronica. "Nigel and I have already given quite sufficient thought as to how Giles should be educated. In fact, we registered him for Bryanston last week. After all, one wants to be certain that his place is guaranteed."
Veronica leaned forward and helped herself to another salmon sandwich.
Three chimes echoed from the little carriage clock that stood on the mantelpiece on the far side of the room.
Max Harris pushed himself up out of the armchair in the corner of the lounge the moment he saw Mrs. Trentham enter the hotel lobby. He gave a half bow as he waited for his client to be seated in the chair opposite him.
He ordered tea for her and another double whisky for himself. Mrs. Trentham frowned her disapproval as the waiter scurried off to carry out the order. Her attention fixed on Max Harris the moment she heard the inevitable clicks.
"I assume you would not have requested this meeting, Mr. Harris, unless you had something important to tell me."
"I think I can safely say that I am the bearer of glad tidings. You see, a lady by the name of Mrs. Bennett has recently been arrested and charged with shoplifting. A fur coat and a leather belt from Harvey Nicholls, to be exact."
"And of what possible interest could this lady be to me?" asked Mrs. Trentham as she looked over his shoulder, annoyed to see that it had started raining, remembering that she had left the house without an umbrella.
"She turns out to have a rather interesting relationship with Sir Charles Trumper."
"Relationship?" said Mrs. Trentham, looking even more puzzled.
"Yes," said Harris. "Mrs. Bennett is none other than Sir Charles' youngest sister."
Mrs. Trentham turned her gaze back on Max Harris. "But Trumper only has three sisters if I remember correctly," she said. "Sal, who is in Toronto and married to an insurance salesman; Grace, who has recently been appointed matron of Guy's Hospital, and Kitty, who left England some time ago to join her sister in Canada."
"And has now returned."
"Returned?"
"Yes, as Mrs. Kitty Bennett."
"I don't begin to understand," said Mrs. Trentham, becoming exasperated by the cat and mouse game Harris was so obviously enjoying.
"While she was in Canada," Harris continued, oblivious to his client's irritation, "she married a certain Mr. Bennett, a longshoreman. Not unlike her old man, in fact. It lasted for almost a year before ending in a messy divorce in which several men were petitioned. She returned to England a few weeks ago, but only after her sister Sal had refused to take her back."
"How did you come by this information?"
"A friend of mine at Wandsworth nick pointed me in the right direction. Once he had read the charge sheet in the name of Bennett, née Trumper, he decided to double-check. It was 'Kitty' that gave the game away. I popped round immediately to be sure we had the right woman." Harris stopped to sip his whisky.
"Go on," said Mrs. Trentham impatiently.
"For five pounds she sang like a canary," said Harris. "If I were in a position to offer her fifty I've a feeling she'd sound awfully like a nightingale."
When Trumper's announced they were preparing to go public Mrs. Trentham was holidaying on her husband's estate in Aberdeenshire. Having read the short piece in the Telegraph, she concluded that, although she now had control over the combined monthly incomes left to her sister as well as herself and a further windfall of twenty thousand pounds, she would still need all the capital she had acquired from the sale of the Yorkshire estate if she was going to be able to purchase a worthwhile holding in the new company. She made three trunk calls that morning.
Earlier in the year she had given instructions for her own portfolio to be transferred to Kitcat and Aitken, and after several months of continually badgering her husband she had finally bludgeoned him into following suit. Despite this further commitment on her son's behalf Nigel was still not offered a partnership. Mrs. Trentham would have advised him to resign had she been confident his prospects elsewhere would have been any better.