Arthur Selwyn rose to explain that the expense of the building had exceeded their original estimate and that the launching had incurred certain one-off costs which would not arise again. He also pointed out that, strictly on a trading basis, Trumper's had managed to break even in the first quarter of their second year. He added that he remained confident about the year ahead, especially with the anticipated rise in the number of tourists who would be attracted to London by the Festival of Britain. However, he warned shareholders it might be necessary for the company to raise even more capital, if they hoped to increase their facilities.
When Charlie declared the AGM closed he remained seated because the board received a small ovation, which quite took the chairman by surprise.
Becky was about to return to Number 1 and continue with her work on an Impressionist sale she had planned for the spring when Mr. Baverstock came over and touched her gently on the elbow.
"May I have a word with you in private, Lady Trumper?"
"Of course, Mr. Baverstock." Becky looked around for a quiet spot where they could talk.
"I feel that perhaps my office in High Holborn would be more appropriate," he suggested. "You see, it's a rather delicate matter. Would tomorrow, three o'clock suit you?"
Daniel had phoned from Cambridge that morning and Becky couldn't remember when she had heard him sounding so chatty and full of news. She, on the other hand, was not chatty or full of news: she still hadn't been able to fathom why the senior partner of Baverstock, Dickens and Cobb should want to see her on "a rather delicate matter."
She couldn't believe that Mr. Baverstock's wife wanted to return the Charles II court cupboard or required more details on the forthcoming Impressionist sale, but as in her case anxiety always ruled over optimism, Becky spent the next twenty-six hours fearing the worst.
She didn't burden Charlie with her troubles, because the little she did know of Mr. Baverstock made her certain that if her husband were involved the lawyer would have asked to see them both. In any case, Charlie had quite enough problems of his own to deal with without being weighed down with hers.
Becky couldn't manage any lunch and arrived at the solicitor's office a few minutes before the appointed hour. She was ushered straight through to Mr. Baverstock's rooms.
She was greeted with a warm smile by her fellow director, as if she were some minor relation of his large family. He offered her the seat opposite his on the other side of a large mahogany desk.
Mr. Baverstock, Becky decided, must have been about fifty-five, perhaps sixty, with a round, friendly face and the few strands of gray hair that were left were parted neatly down the center. His dark jacket, waistcoat, gray striped trousers and black tie could have been worn by any solicitor who practiced within five square miles of the building in which they now sat. Having resumed to his own chair he began to study the pile of documents that lay in front of him before removing his half-moon spectacles.
"Lady Trumper," he began. "It's most kind of you to come and see me." In the two years they had known each other he had never once addressed her by her Christian name.
"I shall," he continued, "come straight to the point. One of my clients was the late Sir Raymond Hardcastle." Becky wondered why he had never mentioned this fact before and was about to protest when Mr. Baverstock quickly added, "But I hasten to say that Mrs. Gerald Trentham is not and never has been a client of this firm."
Becky made no effort to disguise her relief.
"I must also let you know that I had the privilege of serving Sir Raymond for over thirty years and indeed considered myself not only to be his legal adviser but towards the end of his life a close friend. I tell you this as background information, Lady Trumper, for you may feel such facts are relevant when you've heard all that I have to say."
Becky nodded, still waiting for Mr. Baverstock to get to the point.
"Some years before he died," continued the solicitor, "Sir Raymond drew up a will. In it he divided the income from his estate between his two daughters—an income, I might add, that has grown considerably since his death, thanks to some prudent investment on his behalf. The elder of his daughters was Miss Amy Hardcastle, and the younger, as I feel sure you know, Mrs. Gerald Trentham. The income from the estate has been sufficient to give both these ladies a standard of living equal to, if not considerably higher than, the one to which they had grown accustomed before his death. However—"
Will dear Mr. Baverstock ever get to the point? Becky was beginning to wonder.
"—Sir Raymond decided, in his wisdom, that the share capital should remain intact, after he allowed the firm that his father had founded and he had built up so successfully to merge with one of his greatest rivals. You see, Lady Trumper, Sir Raymond felt there was no member of the family who could obviously fill his shoes as the next chairman of Hardcastle's. Neither of his two daughters, or his grandsons for that matter—of whom I shall have more to say in a moment—did he consider competent to run a public company."
The solicitor removed his glasses, cleaned them with a handkerchief which he took out of his top pocket and peered through the lenses critically before returning to the task at hand.
"Sir Raymond, you see, had no illusions about his immediate kith and kin. His elder daughter, Amy, was a gentle, shy lady who nursed her father valiantly through his final years. When Sir Raymond died she moved out of the family house into a small seaside hotel where she resided until her death last year.
"His younger daughter, Ethel Trentham—" he continued. "Let me put this as delicately as I can—Sir Raymond considered she had perhaps lost touch with reality and certainly no longer acknowledged any attachment to her past. Anyway, I know it particularly saddened the old man not to have produced a son of his own, so when Guy was born his hopes for the future became focused on the young grandson. From that day he lavished everything on him. Later he was to blame himself for the boy's eventual downfall. He did not make the same mistake when Nigel was born, a child for whom he had neither affection nor respect.
"However, this firm was instructed to keep Sir Raymond briefed at all times with any information that came into our hands concerning members of his immediate family. Thus, when Captain Trentham resigned his commission in 1922, somewhat abruptly, we were asked to try to find out the real cause behind his leaving the colors. Sir Raymond certainly did not accept his daughter's story about an appointment as a partner with an Australian cattle broker, and indeed at one stage was sufficiently concerned that he even contemplated sending me to that continent to find out the real story. Then Guy died."
Becky sat in her chair wanting to wind Mr. Baverstock up like a gramophone and set him going well above 78 rpm, but she had already come to the conclusion that nothing she said was going to accelerate him along the track he had set himself.
"The result of our investigations," continued Baverstock, "led us to believe—and at this point, Lady Trumper, I must apologize for any indelicacy, for I do not intend to offend—that Guy Trentham and not Charles Trumper was the father of your child."
Becky bowed her head and Mr. Baverstock apologized once again before he continued.
"Sir Raymond, however, needed to be convinced that Daniel was his great-grandson, and to that end he made two separate visits to St. Paul's after the boy had won a scholarship to that school."
Becky stared at the old lawyer.
"On the first occasion he watched the boy perform in a school concert—Brahms, if I remember correctly—and on a second saw Daniel receive the Newton Prize for Mathematics from the High Master on Founders' Day. I believe you were also present on that occasion. On both visits Sir Raymond went out of his way to be sure that the boy was unaware of his presence. After the second visit, Sir Raymond was totally convinced that Daniel was his great-grandchild. I'm afraid all the men in that family are stuck with that Hardcastle jaw, not to mention a tendency to sway from foot to foot when agitated. Sir Raymond accordingly altered his will the following day."