"Fourteen," said a man in a shiny blue uniform with buttons that did not shine. "But you can't—"
Mrs. Trentham was not in the habit of being told "You can't" by anyone. She turned and slowly climbed the stairs that led up to the bedrooms on the first floor. The hall porter quickly picked up the phone on the counter beside him.
It took Mrs. Trentham a few minutes to locate Room 14 and Harris almost as long to respond to her sharp knock. When Mrs. Trentham was eventually allowed to enter the room she was surprised to discover how small it was: only just large enough to accommodate one bed, one chair and a washbasin. Her eyes settled on the woman who was sprawled across the bed. She was wearing a red silk blouse and a black leather skirt far too short in Mrs. Trentham's opinion, not to mention the fact that two of the top buttons of the blouse were undone.
As Kitty made no attempt to remove an old raincoat that had been thrown across the chair, Mrs. Trentham was left with little choice but to remain standing.
She turned to Harris, who was checking his tie in the only mirror. He had obviously decided that any introduction was superfluous.
Mrs. Trentham's only reaction was to get on with the business she had come to transact so that she could return to civilization as quickly as possible. She didn't wait for Harris to start the proceedings.
"Have you explained to Mrs. Bennett what is expected of her?"
"I most certainly have," said the detective, as he put on his jacket. "And Kitty is more than ready to carry out her part of the bargain."
"Can she be trusted?" Mrs. Trentham glanced doubtfully down at the woman on the bed.
"'Course I can, long as the money's right," were Kitty's first words. "All I want to know is, 'ow much do I get?"
"Whatever it sells for, plus fifty pounds," said Mrs. Trentham.
"Then I expect twenty quid up front."
Mrs. Trentham hesitated for a moment, then nodded her agreement.
"So what's the catch?"
"Only that your brother will try to talk you out of the whole idea," said Mrs. Trentham. "He may even attempt to bribe you in exchange for—"
"Not an 'ope," said Kitty. "'E can talk 'is 'ead off as far as I'm concerned but it won't make a blind bit of difference. You see, I 'ate Charlie almost as much as you do."
Mrs. Trentham smiled for the first time. She then placed the brown paper parcel on the end of the bed.
Harris smirked. "I knew you two would find you had something in common."
Becky
1947–1950
Chapter 35
Night after night I would lie awake worrying that Daniel must eventually work out that Charlie wasn't his father.
Whenever they stood next to each other, Daniel—tall and slim, with fair wavy hair and deep blue eyes, Charlie—at least three inches shorter, stocky, with dark wiry hair and brown eyes, I assumed Daniel must in time comment on the disparity. It didn't help that my complexion is also dark. The dissimilarities might have been comic had the implications not been so serious. Yet Daniel has never once mentioned the differences in physical make-up or character between himself and Charlie.
Charlie wanted to tell Daniel the truth about Guy right from the start, but I convinced him that we should wait until the boy was old enough to understand all the implications. But when Guy died of tuberculosis there no longer seemed any point in burdening Daniel with the past.
Later, after years of anguish and Charlie's continued remonstrations, I finally agreed to tell Daniel everything. I phoned him at Trinity the week before he was due to sail for America and asked if I could drive him down to Southampton; that way at least I knew we would be uninterrupted for several hours. I mentioned that there was something important I needed to discuss with him.
I set out for Cambridge a little earlier than was necessary and arrived well in time to help Daniel with his packing. By eleven we were heading down the A30. For the first hour he chatted away happily enough about his work at Cambridge—too many students, not enough time for research—but the moment the conversation switched to the problems we were facing with the flats, I knew he had presented me with the ideal opportunity to tell him the truth about his parentage. Then—quite suddenly—he changed the subject and I lost my nerve. I swear I would have broached the topic right there and then, but the moment had passed.
Because of all the unhappiness we subsequently experienced with the death of my mother and with the life of Mrs. Trentham while Daniel was away in America, I decided my best chance of ever being frank with my son had been squandered. I begged Charlie to allow the matter to drop once and for all. I have a fine husband. He told me I was wrong; that Daniel was mature enough to handle the truth, but he accepted that it had to be my decision. He never once referred to the matter again.
When Daniel returned from America I traveled back down to Southampton to pick him up. I don't know what it was about him but he seemed to have changed. For a start he looked different—more at ease—and the moment he saw me gave me a big hug, which quite took me by surprise. On the way back to London he discussed his visit to the States, which he had obviously enjoyed, and without going into great detail I brought him up to date on what was happening to our planning application for Chelsea Terrace. He didn't seem all that interested in my news, but to be fair Charlie never involved Daniel in the day-to-day working of Trumper's once we both realized he was destined for an academic career.
Daniel spent the next two weeks with us before returning to Cambridge, and even Charlie, not always the most observant of people, commented on how much he had changed. He was just as serious and quiet, even as secretive, but he was so much warmer towards us both that I began to wonder if he had met a girl while he had been away. I hoped so, but despite the odd hint clumsily dropped, Daniel made no mention of anyone in particular. I rather liked the idea of him marrying an American. He had rarely brought girls home in the past and always seemed so shy when we introduced him to the daughters of any of our friends. In fact he was never to be found if Clarissa Wiltshire put in an appearance which was quite often nowadays, as during their vacations from Bristol University both the twins were to be found working behind the counter at Number 1.
It must have been about a month after Daniel returned from America that Charlie told me Mrs. Trentham had withdrawn all her objections to our proposed scheme for joining the two tower blocks together. I leaped with joy. When he added that she was not going ahead with her own plans to rebuild the flats I refused to believe him and immediately assumed that there had to be some catch. Even Charlie admitted, "I've no idea what she's up to this time." Certainly neither of us accepted Daphne's theory that she might be mellowing in her old age.
Two weeks later the LCC confirmed that all objections to our scheme had been withdrawn and we could begin on our building program. That was the signal Charlie had been waiting for to inform the outside world that we intended to go public.
Charlie called a board meeting so that all the necessary resolutions could be passed.
Mr. Merrick, whom Charlie had never forgiven for causing him to sell the van Gogh, advised us to appoint Robert Fleming to be our merchant bankers in the run-up to the flotation. The banker also added that he hoped the newly formed company would continue to use Child and Company as their clearing bank. Charlie would have liked to have told him to get lost but knew only too well that if he changed banks a few weeks before going public, eyebrows would be raised in the City. The board accepted both pieces of advice, and Tim Newman of Robert Fleming's was duly invited to join the board. Tim brought a breath of fresh air to the company, representing a new breed of bankers. However, although I, like Charlie, immediately took to Mr. Newman I never really got on the same wave-length as Paul Merrick.