"It's a fascinating job the Prime Minister has given me," said Charlie. "I can only hope that I'm doing some good," he added, hoping he sounded pompous enough.
"But what about your shops, Charlie? Who's taking care of them with you away so much of the time?"
"Arnold's back at base doing the best he can in the circumstances, but I'm afraid I've got four or five closed, not to mention those that were already boarded up. I can tell you, Syd, in confidence"—Charlie lowered his voice—"if things don't start brightening up before too long I shall soon be looking for a buyer myself." Wrexall's wife came bushing in carrying a plate of food.
"Hello, Mrs. Wrexall," said Charlie, as she put down a Scotch egg and a plate of salad in front of him. "Good to see you again, and why don't you and your husband have a drink on me?"
"Don't mind if I do, Charlie. Can you see to it, Hilda?" he said, as he leaned over the bar conspiratorially. "Don't suppose you know anyone who'd be interested in purchasing the syndicate's shops, and the pub, for that matter?"
"Can't say I do," said Charlie. "If I remember rightly, Syd, you were asking an awful lot of money for the Musketeer which is now nothing more than a bomb site. Not to mention the state of the few shops the syndicate still have boarded up."
"I came down to your figure of six thousand, which I thought we had already shaken hands on, but Arnold told me you were no longer interested," said Syd, as his wife placed two pints on the counter before going off to serve another customer.
"He told you that?" said Charlie, trying to sound surprised.
"Oh, yes," said Wrexall. "I accepted your offer of six thousand, even sent the signed contract for your approval, but he just returned the documents without so much as a by-your-leave."
"I don't believe it," said Charlie. "After I'd given my word, Syd. Why didn't you get in touch with me direct?"
"Not that easy nowadays," said Wrexall, "what with your new exalted position I didn't think you'd be available for the likes of me."
"Arnold had no right to do that," said Charlie. "He obviously didn't appreciate how long our relationship goes back. I do apologize, Syd, and remember, for you I'm always available. You don't still have the contract, by any chance?"
"Certainly do," said Wrexall. "And it'll prove I'm as good as my word." He disappeared, leaving Charlie to take a bite of Scotch egg and a slow swig of the local brew.
The publican returned a few minutes later and slammed down some documents on the bar top. "There you are, Charlie, true as I stand here."
Charlie studied the contract that he had been shown by Arnold some eighteen months before. It already bore the signature "Sydney Wrexall," with the figures "six thousand" written in after the words "for the consideration of—"
"All that it needed was the date and your signature," said Syd. "I never thought you'd do that to me Charlie, after all these years."
"As you well know, Syd, I'm a man of my word. I'm only sorry my managing director wasn't properly acquainted with our personal arrangement." Charlie removed a wallet from his pocket, took out a checkbook, and wrote out the words "Syd Wrexall" on the top line and "six thousand pounds" on the line below before signing it with a flourish.
"You're a gentleman, Charlie, I always said you were. Didn't I always say he was, Hilda?"
Mrs. Wrexall nodded enthusiastically as Charlie smiled, picked up the contract and placed all the papers inside his briefcase and then shook hands with the publican and his wife.
"How much is the damage?" he asked after he had drained the last drop of his beer.
"It's on the house," said Wrexall.
"But, Syd—"
"No, I insist, wouldn't dream of treating an old friend like a customer, Charlie. On the house," he repeated as the telephone rang and Hilda Wrexall went off to answer it.
"Well, I must be on my way," said Charlie. "Otherwise I'll be late for this conference, and I'm meant to be delivering another speech tonight. Nice to have done business with you, Syd." He had just reached the door of the pub as Mrs. Wrexall came rushing back to the counter.
"There's a lady on the line for you, Syd. Calling long distance. Says her name is Mrs. Trentham."
As the months passed Charlie became the master of his brief. No port directors could be sure when he might burst into their offices, no suppliers were surprised when he demanded to check their invoices and the president of the National Farmers' Union positively purred whenever Charlie's name came up in conversation.
He never found it necessary to phone the Prime Minister, although Mr. Churchill did phone him on one occasion. It was four forty-five in the morning when Charlie picked up the receiver on his desk.
"Good morning," he said.
"Trumper?"
"Yes, who's that?"
"Churchill."
"Good morning, Prime Minister. What can I do for you, sir?"
"Nothing. I was just checking that it was true what they say about you. By the way, thank you." The phone went dead.
Charlie even managed from time to time to have lunch with Daniel. The boy was now attached to the War Office, but would never talk about the work he was involved in. After he was promoted to captain, Charlie's only worry became what Becky's reaction would be if she ever saw him in uniform.
When Charlie visited Tom Arnold at the end of the month he learned that Mr. Hadlow had retired as manager of the bank and his replacement, a Mr. Paul Merrick, was not proving to be quite as amenable. "Says our overdraft is reaching unacceptable levels and perhaps it's time we did something about it," explained Tom.
"Does he?" said Charlie. "Then I shall obviously have to see this Mr. Merrick and tell him a few home truths."
Although Trumper's now owned all the shops in Chelsea Terrace, with the exception of the bookshop, Charlie was still faced with the problem of Mrs. Trentham and her bombed-out flats, not to mention the additional worry of Herr Hitler and his unfinished war: these he tended to place in roughly the same category, and nearly always in that order.
The war with Herr Hitler began to take a step in the right direction towards the end of 1942 with the victory of the Eighth Army at El Alamein. Charlie felt confident that Churchill was right when he declared that the tide had turned, as first Africa, followed by Italy, France and finally Germany were invaded.
But by then it was Mr. Merrick who was insisting on seeing Charlie.
When Charlie entered Mr. Merrick's office for the first time he was surprised to find how young Mr. Hadlow's replacement was. It also took him a few moments to get used to a bank manager who didn't wear a waistcoat or a black tie. Paul Merrick was a shade taller than Charlie and every bit as broad in everything except his smile. Charlie quickly discovered that Mr. Merrick had no small talk.
"Are you aware, Mr. Trumper, that your company account is overdrawn by some forty-seven thousand pounds and your present income doesn't even cover—"
"But the property must be worth four or five times that amount."
"Only if you're able to find someone who's willing to buy it."
"But I'm not a seller."
"You may be left with no choice, Mr. Trumper, if the bank decides to foreclose on you."
"Then I'll just have to change banks, won't I," said Charlie.
"You have obviously not had the time recently to read the minutes of your own board meetings because when they last met, your managing director Mr. Arnold reported that he had visited six banks in the past month and none of them had showed the slightest interest in taking over Trumper's account."
Merrick waited for his customer's response but as Charlie remained silent he continued. "Mr. Crowther also explained to the board on that occasion that the problem you are now facing has been caused by property prices being lower now than they have been at any time since the 1930s."