Chapter 8
Becky woke the next morning before her alarm went off, and was up, dressed and had left the flat long before Daphne had even stirred. She couldn't wait to find out how Charlie was coping on his first day. As she walked towards 147 she noticed that the shop was already open, and a lone customer was receiving Charlie's undivided attention.
"Good mornin', partner," shouted Charlie from behind the counter as Becky stepped into the shop.
"Good morning," Becky replied. "I see you're determined to spend your first day just sitting back and watching how it all works."
Charlie, she was to discover, had begun serving customers before Gladys and Patsy had arrived, while poor Bob Makins looked as if he had already completed a full day's work.
"'Aven't the time to chatter to the idle classes at the moment," said Charlie, his cockney accent seeming broader than ever. "Any 'ope of catching up with you later this evening?"
"Of course," said Becky.
She checked her watch, waved goodbye and departed for her first lecture of the morning. She found it hard to concentrate on the history of the Renaissance era, and even slides of Raphael's work reflected from a magic lantern onto a white sheet, couldn't fully arouse her interest. Her mind kept switching from the anxiety of eventually having to spend a weekend with Guy's parents to the problems of Charlie making enough of a profit to clear their debt with Daphne. Becky admitted to herself that she felt more confident of the latter. She was relieved to see the black hand of the clock pass four-thirty. Once again she ran to catch the tram on the corner of Portland Place and continued to run after the trudging vehicle had deposited her in Chelsea Terrace.
A little queue had formed at Trumper's and Becky could hear Charlie's familiar old catchphrases even before she reached the front door.
"'Alf a pound of your King Edward's, a juicy grapefruit from South Africa, and why don't I throw in a nice Cox's orange pippin, all for a bob, my luv?" Grand dames, ladies-in-waiting and nannies, all who would have turned their noses up had anyone else called them "luv", seemed to melt when Charlie uttered the word. It was only after the last customer had left that Becky was able to take in properly the changes Charlie had already made to the shop.
"Up all night, wasn't I?" he told her. "Removin' 'alf-empy boxes and unsaleable items. Ended up with all the colorful vegetables, your tomatoes, your greens, your peas, all soft, placed at the back; while all your 'ardy unattractive variety you put up front. Potatoes, swedes, and turnips. It's a golden rule."
"Granpa Charlie—" she began with a smile, but stopped herself just in time.
Becky began to study the rearranged counters and had to agree that it was far more practical the way Charlie had insisted they should be laid out. And she certainly couldn't argue with the smiles on the faces of the customers.
Within a month, a queue stretching out onto the pavement became part of Charlie's daily routine and within two he was already talking to Becky of expanding.
"Where to?" she asked. "Your bedroom?"
"No room for vegetables up there," he replied with a grin. "Not since we've 'ad longer queues at Trumper's than what they 'ave outside Pygmalion. What's more, we're goin' to run forever."
After she had checked and rechecked the takings for the quarter, Becky couldn't believe how much they had turned over; she decided perhaps the time had come for a little celebration.
"Why don't we all have dinner at that Italian restaurant?" suggested Daphne, after she had received a far larger check for the past three months than she had anticipated.
Becky thought it a wonderful idea, but was surprised to find how reluctant Guy was to fall in with her plans, and also how much trouble Daphne took getting herself ready for the occasion.
"We're not expecting to spend all the profits in one evening," Becky assured her.
"More's the pity," said Daphne. "Because it's beginning to look as if it might be the one chance I'm given to enforce the penalty clause. Not that I'm complaining. After all, Charlie will be quite a change from the usual chinless vicars' sons and stable boys with no legs that I have to endure most weekends."
"Be careful he doesn't end up eating you for dessert."
Becky had warned Charlie that the table had been booked for eight o'clock and made him promise he would wear his best suit. "My only suit," he reminded her.
Guy collected the two girls from Number 97 on the dot of eight, but seemed unusually morose as he accompanied them to the restaurant, arriving a few minutes after the appointed hour. They found Charlie sitting alone in the corner fidgeting and looking as if it might be the first time he had ever been to a restaurant.
Becky introduced first Daphne to Charlie and then Charlie to Guy. The two men just stood and stared at each other like prizefighters.
"Of course, you were both in the same regiment," said Daphne. "But I don't suppose you ever came across each other," she added, staring at Charlie. Neither man commented on her observation.
If the evening started badly, it was only to become worse, as the four of them were quite unable to settle on any subject with which they had something in common. Charlie, far from being witty and sharp as he was with the customers in the shop, became surly and uncommunicative. If Becky could have reached his ankle she would have kicked him, and not simply because he kept putting a knife covered with peas in his mouth.
Guy's particular brand of sullen silence didn't help matters either, despite Daphne laughing away, bubbly as ever, whatever anyone said. By the time the bill was finally presented, Becky was only too relieved that the evening was coming to an end. She even had discreetly to leave a tip, because Charlie didn't seem to realize it was expected of him.
She left the restaurant at Guy's side and the two of them lost contact with Daphne and Charlie as they strolled back towards 97. She assumed that her companions were only a few paces behind, but stopped thinking about where they might be when Guy took her in his arms, kissed her gently and said, "Good night, my darling. And don't forget, we're going down to Ashurst for the weekend." How could she forget? Becky watched Guy look back furtively in the direction that Daphne and Charlie had been walking, but then without another word he hailed a hansom and instructed the cabbie to take him to the Fusiliers' barracks in Hounslow.
Becky unlocked the front door and sat down on the sofa to consider whether or not she should return to 147 and tell Charlie exactly what she thought of him. A few minutes later Daphne breezed into the room.
"Sorry about this evening," said Becky before her friend had had the chance to offer an opinion. "Charlie's usually a little more communicative than that. I can't think what came over him."
"Not easy for him to have dinner with an officer from his old regiment, I suspect," said Daphne.
"I'm sure you're right," said Becky. "But they'll end up friends. I feel sure of that."
Daphne stared at Becky thoughtfully.
The following Saturday morning, after he had completed guard duty, Guy arrived at 97 Chelsea Terrace to collect Becky and drive her down to Ashurst. The moment he saw her in one of Daphne's stylish red dresses he remarked on how beautiful she looked, and he was so cheerful and chatty on the tourney down to Berkshire that Becky even began to relax. They arrived in the village of Ashurst just before three and Guy turned to wink at her as he swung the car into the mile-long drive that led up to the hall.