"How can I be of assistance?" Mrs. Salmon asked, moments after Miss Roach had been dispatched to the kitchen to prepare tea.
"I am considering making a small investment in a greengrocer's shop in Chelsea," I told her. "I am assured by John D. Wood that it is a sound proposition, despite the current food shortage and the growing problems with trade unions—that is, as long as I can install a first-class manager."
Mrs. Salmon's smile was replaced by a puzzled expression.
"Becky has sung the praises of someone called Charlie Trumper, and the purpose of my visit is to seek your opinion of the gentleman in question."
"Gentleman he certainly is not," said Mrs. Salmon without hesitation. "An uneducated ruffian might be nearer the mark."
"Oh, what a disappointment," I said. "Especially as Becky led me to believe that your late husband thought rather highly of him."
"As a fruit and vegetable man he certainly did. In fact I'd go as far as to say that Mr. Salmon used to consider that young Charlie might end up being as good as his grandfather."
"And how good was that?"
"Although I didn't mix with those sort of people, you understand," explained Mrs. Salmon, "I was told, second-hand of course, that he was the finest Whitechapel had ever seen."
"Good," I said. "But is he also honest?"
"I have never heard otherwise," Mrs. Salmon admitted. "And Heaven knows, he's willing to work all the hours God gave, but he's hardly your type, I would have thought, Miss Harcourt-Browne."
"I was considering employing the man as a shopkeeper, Mrs. Salmon, not inviting him to join me in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot." At that moment Miss Roach reappeared with a tray of tea jam tarts and eclairs smothered in cream. They turned out to be so delicious that I stayed far longer than I had planned.
The following morning I paid a visit to John D. Wood and handed over a check for the remaining ninety pounds. I then visited my solicitor and had a contract drawn up, which when it was completed I didn't begin to understand.
Once Becky had found out what I had been up to I drove a hard bargain, because I knew the girl would resent my interference if I wasn't able to prove that I was getting something worthwhile out of the deal.
As soon as she had been convinced of that, Becky immediately handed over a further thirty pounds to help reduce the debt. She certainly took her new enterprise most seriously, because within weeks she had stolen a young man from a shop in Kensington to take over Trumper's until Charlie returned. She also continued to work hours I didn't even know existed. I could never get her to explain to me the point of rising before the sun did.
After Becky had settled into her new routine I even invited her to make up a foursome for the opera one night—to see La Bohème. In the past she had shown no inclination to attend any of my outings, especially with her new responsibilities with the shop. But on this occasion I pleaded with her to join the group because a chum of mine had canceled at the last minute and I desperately needed a spare girl.
"But I've nothing to wear," she said helplessly.
"Take your pick of anything of mine you fancy," I told her, and ushered her through to my bedroom.
I could see that she found such an offer almost irresistible. An hour later she reemerged in a long turquoise dress that brought back memories of what it had originally looked like on the model.
"Who are your other guests?" Becky inquired.
"Algernon Fitzpatrick. He's Percy Wiltshire's best friend. You remember, the man who hasn't yet been told I'm going to marry him."
"And who makes up the party?"
"Guy Trentham. He's a captain in the Royal Fusiliers, an acceptable regiment, just," I added. "He's recently returned from the Western Front where it's said he had a rather good war. MC and all that. We come from the same village in Berkshire, and grew up together, although I confess we don't really have a lot in common. Very good-looking, but has the reputation as a bit of a ladies' man, so beware."
La Bohème, I felt, had been a great success, even if Guy couldn't stop leering at Becky throughout the second act—not that she seemed to show the slightest interest in him.
However, to my surprise, as soon as we got back to the flat Becky couldn't stop talking about the man—his looks, his sophistication, his charm although I couldn't help noting that she didn't once refer to his character. Eventually I managed to get to bed, but not before I had assured Becky to her satisfaction that her feelings were undoubtedly reciprocated.
In fact, I became, unwittingly, Cupid's messenger for the budding romance. The following day I was asked by Guy to invite Miss Salmon to accompany him to a West End play. Becky accepted, of course, but then I had already assured Guy she would.
After their outing to the Haymarket, I seemed to bump into the two of them all the time, and began to fear that if the relationship became any more serious it could only, as my nanny used to say, end in tears. I began to regret having ever introduced them in the first place, although there was no doubt, to quote the modern expression: she was head over heels in love.
Despite this, a few weeks' equilibrium returned to the residents of 97—and then Charlie was demobbed.
I wasn't formally introduced to the man for some time after his return, and when I was I had to admit they didn't make them like that in Berkshire. The occasion was a dinner we all shared at that awful little Italian restaurant just up the road from my flat.
To be fair, the evening was not what one might describe as a wow, partly because Guy made no effort to be sociable, but mainly because Becky didn't bother to bring Charlie into the conversation at all. I found myself asking and then answering most of the questions, and, as for Charlie, he appeared on first sighting to be somewhat gauche.
When we were all walking back to the flat after dinner, I suggested to him that we should leave Becky and Guy to be themselves. When Charlie escorted me into his shop he couldn't resist stopping to explain how he had changed everything around since he had taken over. His enthusiasm would have convinced the most cynical investor, but what impressed me most was his knowledge of a business which until that moment I hadn't given a second thought to. It was then that I made the decision to assist Charlie with both his causes.
I wasn't in the least surprised to discover how he felt about Becky, but she was so infatuated with Guy that she wasn't even aware of Charlie's existence. It was during one of his interminable monologues on the virtues of the girl that I began to form a plan for Charlie's future. I was determined that he must have a different type of education, perhaps not as formal as Becky's, but no less valuable for the future he had decided on.
I assured Charlie that Guy would soon become bored with Becky as that had proved to be the invariable pattern with girls who had crossed his path in the past. I added that he must be patient and the apple would eventually fall into his lap. I also explained who Newton was.
I assumed that those tears to which Nanny had so often referred might indeed begin to flow soon after Becky was invited to spend the weekend with Guy's parents at Ashurst. I made sure that I was asked to join the Trenthams for afternoon tea on the Sunday, to give whatever moral support Becky might feel in need of.
I arrived a little after three-forty, which I have always considered a proper hour for taking tea, only to find Mrs. Trentham surrounded by silverware and crockery but sitting quite alone.
"Where are the starstruck lovers?" I inquired, as I entered the drawing room.