Charity (45 page)

In the beauty business she’d met countless people who believed that only something expensive was worth having. Why shouldn’t she apply that sales ploy to herself?

‘I could have any other girl in here for less than thirty pounds,’ he said, but his voice was softer now, as if he were nibbling at the bait.

‘I know, but you want me,’ she said. ‘And that’s my price. No deals.’

He laughed then, taking her by surprise. His head rolled back and he let out a rich guffaw.

A strange thing happened inside her. She knew, then, that if she told him why she wanted the money, he would give it to her. She wouldn’t have to sleep with him. But she wasn’t going to beg. She would go through with it. Give him the time of his life and at the end she would have earned it.

‘OK.’ He moved his face closer to hers and kissed her cheek. She could smell how much he wanted her – it wafted out of him, stronger than his expensive aftershave. ‘I’ve got that much back at the hotel. But you will stay till morning?’

‘Of course.’ She kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘Take me there now!’

All the way to the Savoy she managed to think only of the money and the agency. But as the taxi pulled up and a liveried doorman leapt forward to open the cab door, she felt sick with fright.

His suite was luxurious, all gentle blues and greens, with the thickest, softest carpet Charity had ever seen and the sort of elegant furniture she imagined in stately homes. Ted pulled a cord to part the heavy brocade curtains so she could see the Thames.

‘Isn’t that something?’ he said.

She stood transfixed by the view and a sharp pain shot through her heart. Her legs almost buckled under her as she looked down to see twinkling lights reflected in the black still water.

It was Florence all over again. How could she even think of taking money for sex when John had taught her the beauty of it, for love?

‘What’s wrong?’ Ted’s hand squeezed her shoulder.

‘Nothing.’ She tried to smile. ‘Just the view, it reminded me of somewhere else for a moment.’

Ted looked down at Charity. She was so small and dainty next to his bulk, white-blonde hair showering over her slender shoulders.

‘Reminds you of somewhere – or someone?’ He turned away to open a small safe set in the wall and felt an unreasonable pang of jealousy. He took out a wad of notes and quickly counted out the two hundred. ‘Here we are, put it away sweetheart and let’s have some champagne.’

She drank the first glass of champagne quickly.

‘Dutch courage?’ Ted came up to her and took the empty glass from her hand, putting it down on the coffee table. ‘How about a kiss?’

There was no going back now.

His kiss was tentative and gentle. She closed her eyes, and concentrated only on the sensation rather than thinking whose lips they were. To her surprise she found it wasn’t unpleasant.

‘Shall we take the champagne in with us?’ she murmured against his shoulder.

‘Best idea you’ve had all night,’ he said and kissed her neck. He could feel the tension in her slender body, but maybe another drink or two would loosen her up.

As they reached the bedroom Ted put down the champagne on the bedside table and turned to her. Charity was already reaching for the fastening at the back of her dress, her face contorted with nervousness.

‘Let me do that,’ he murmured, moving round behind her and parting her hair. Deftly he unfastened the two small buttons on the collar, then slowly peeled the chiffon away from her shoulders, bending to kiss her neck.

All she had to do was keep her eyes closed and pretend it was John. Maybe that way it wouldn’t be so bad.

She wore nothing beneath her dress but tiny lace panties and a thin garter belt holding up her stockings. As his hands came round to cup her small breasts he gasped softly, increasing the pressure of his lips on her neck, and let her dress fall to the floor.

Charity looked down at his big hands: they were beautifully manicured and soft; sensitive, like John’s. They couldn’t possibly stir up passion in her the way John’s had, but she could bear it.

‘That’s so nice.’ She leaned back against him. One of his hands was sliding down to her belly, caressing and smoothing, but she could feel his soft flabby stomach even through all his clothes.

He turned her round, pulling her into his arms to kiss her again. She closed her eyes tightly, thinking only of how good he was at kissing, not of his girth or his age.

As he guided her towards the bed, she felt him shedding his jacket, and as he laid her down beside him, his shoes came off with a soft thud.

The only lights were from two small lamps on either side of the bed; the satin cover beneath her naked back was smooth, cool and sensuous. His fingers were in her hair, his tongue sliding round her lips but she felt nothing as her nipples touched his silk shirt.

‘Your breasts are so beautiful,’ he whispered, moving down to take one nipple in his mouth. ‘So little and firm, so sweet,’ he groaned.

Charity ran her nails down his back, arching her body against his and moaning softly. She had to remember she was here for his pleasure: it was an acting job, nothing more.

His breathing was growing harder as he played with her nipples and his hand moved down towards her pussy. He groaned as he cupped her and she opened her legs obediently.

As his fingers caressed her gently she opened her eyes for a moment.

His mouth was on her breast, eyes closed, but his big face had a look of almost boyish wonder that touched something in her heart. ‘Let me undress you,’ she whispered, reaching out to take his face in her hands. ‘I want to feel your skin against mine.’

She rolled him on to his back, kneeling beside him as she unfastened his shirt buttons. His chest and belly were covered in black hair and he was so fat she almost recoiled, but his expression was so tender that she bent to kiss him again.

‘Oh Charity,’ he breathed as her hands went down to his belt and zipper. ‘You can’t imagine how I feel!’

It was no good remembering how quickly and effortlessly both John and Hugh could shed their clothes, or how just the touch of their smooth skin against hers had made her feel. She mustn’t dwell on Ted’s quivering white thighs as she pulled down his trousers, but try to think only of pleasing him.

He looked like a beached whale lying there in huge white underpants. Even his feet, once she got his socks off, were as fat as the rest of him. But she knelt back at his side and unfastened her garter belt and stockings, then put her hands on both sides of him to lower his pants.

His penis rose up the second the white cotton had passed over it. Alarmingly huge and purple tipped. She stripped the pants off his feet and moved back towards him, undulating her body against his.

A feeling of nausea washed over her as her fingers went round his penis. Dorothy had always claimed big men had small ones, but she was wrong about Ted. He lay back, arms stretched out, mouth open as she caressed him, and worst of all he was watching her every movement.

‘Is that nice?’ she whispered, wondering if this was what whores did. Would he come quickly and get it over? Could she hope he would fall asleep immediately?

‘It’s heaven,’ he said raising himself on his elbows. ‘Sit on me Charity. I can’t wait.’

Charity gulped. The thought of trying to get that huge thing inside herself when she felt nothing was obscene, but she’d come this far – she couldn’t back out now.

Slowly she moved to sit astride him, guiding him into her, blushing as he watched, embarrassed by his laboured breathing when all she could manage were fake sighs.

She was so dry and tight it hurt, but she made out her groans were pleasure and moved slowly up and down, gradually taking in the whole length.

His hands reached out for her breasts, she leaned forward to kiss him and thought only of how this had been with John. John’s stomach, his chest and thighs were hard. He’d been agile enough to sit up and hold her tightly, stroking her back and buttocks, kissing her till she nearly fainted with ecstasy.

‘It’s like a little virgin’s fanny,’ Ted rasped. ‘Oh my darling, it’s so wonderful!’

Charity detached herself from reality, moved up and down, clawing at his chest with her fingernails, writhing against him until he was bucking beneath her, eyes closed and mouth open in delight. He came quickly, pulling her down towards him in a fierce embrace and all at once he was still.

‘That was out of this world,’ he croaked, panting with exertion. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, the heat from his body was roasting her and she longed to get up from him and rush to the bathroom to wash it away.

Her hope that he would fall asleep was dashed when he got up, put on a silk dressing-gown and filled their glasses with more champagne.

‘Don’t cover yourself up,’ he said as Charity pulled his shirt over her nakedness. ‘I want to look at you.’

She managed to get to the bathroom and wash, but when she came back he was sitting up in bed.

Her heart sank. She had expected him to be almost asleep, sure her night’s work was over, but the expression on his face told her otherwise.

‘Tell me about you,’ she said, getting into bed beside him. She wanted to go home. To wipe the memory of this night for ever from her mind and her body. But she had made a deal with him.

‘Why would you want to know about me?’ he asked, smiling with real warmth.

‘Because you’re a good-looking man,’ she said truthfully, stroking his chin and sliding one finger over the endearing cleft. ‘And a nice one.’

Her heart ached for him and all the other lonely, unloved, good men in London. Real prostitutes were at least honest: they didn’t pretend to care.

When Ted turned out the light, Charity was sure he would fall asleep, but instead his arms came round her tightly and his mouth moved back to her breasts.

In the darkness it was easy just to let him fondle her. His fingers had that practised manner of a man who knew exactly how women worked and he was so gentle, she found herself responding just enough to give plausibility to her deep sighs.

‘It’s wonderful,’ she groaned, hoping she sounded sincere and that he’d enter her and get it over with. ‘Fuck me now!’

But her hopes for a quick release were dashed once he moved on top of her. Not only was she almost crushed by his weight, but he was clearly prolonging it because he believed she was enjoying it. His fingers gripped her buttocks mercilessly as he drove into her with such force she wanted to scream out he was hurting her, but instead she submitted, still acting out the part of someone in the throes of passion.

His tongue writhed into her mouth, he was soaked in sweat and the hair on his chest was making her itch. An image of her father came into her mind, the first time since John had banished it. She felt sick, tears welled up in her eyes and she had to turn her head away to escape his mouth and tongue, yet still he went on and on driving into her with ever-increasing force.

She tried to make her mind go blank, to claw at him and go through the motions of pretended bliss, but he was making her sore now and the slap of his flesh against hers made her nauseous.

‘I’m coming,’ she gasped, hoping it would act as a spur to him. ‘Come with me Ted, now.’

He finally came just at the point when she felt she might scream. With a shuddering moan he collapsed on to her, his big body going into a spasm of pleasure.

‘Oh Charity.’ He held her tightly. ‘That was incredible!’

She had never felt more ashamed of anything than she did at that moment.

It was midday when Charity let herself into the flat. The needle of the record player was stuck on the Rolling Stones record, ‘Not Fade Away’, the arm squeaking as it scraped backwards and forwards, and the hall was littered with debris. Dorothy and Rita had obviously had an impromptu party last night. A midnight blue satin cocktail dress of Dorothy’s was lying on the floor, her black knickers, bra and suspender belt strewn in all directions, and the room stank of cigarettes and stale booze.

A glance into Rita’s room revealed she hadn’t been part of this. Her bed was made and a couple of dresses lying on it proved she hadn’t been home since the night before.

Dorothy’s door was open, and Charity peeped in.

Dorothy was lying naked across the bed, face down, and to Charity’s disgust there was a pile of vomit on the floor.

‘Dorothy!’ she cried angrily. ‘What on earth have you been doing?’

She strode forward and caught her friend by the hair, yanking her head up.

‘Oh my God!’ she gasped.

Dorothy’s face was a mess, one eye half closed from a punch and an angry red swelling halfway down her cheek. Her lip was cut and swollen; dried blood and vomit stuck to her naked breasts.

‘Who did this?’ she said. ‘Sit up and tell me!’

‘A john,’ Dorothy croaked. ‘A bloke called Tony I’ve been with once before. He saw me in the Hilton cocktail bar with another guy and he asked me if he could meet me back here later.’ She began to cry then, shivering and shaking so much Charity couldn’t understand what she was saying.

‘I’ll run you a bath,’ she said firmly, taking Dorothy’s face between her hands and studying it. ‘You’ll be no oil painting for a while, but until you’re clean I can’t see your lips properly.’

As Charity ran a bath for Dorothy she realised she was shaking. She had gone straight from the Savoy still dressed in her evening clothes to Carmel’s office, to hand over the money. She didn’t want to touch the notes any longer than she had to. From there they had gone on to a solicitor who would sign the documents and transfer the lease. Her pleasure at actually owning the business had almost succeeded in wiping out the shame of how she’d accomplished it, until this moment.

A couple of days ago Charity might have berated Dorothy for getting herself into such a situation. They had all agreed many times never to give any of their escort dates this address or even the phone number. Their flat was private, a place for invited friends only. But how could she take a high moral tone now?

While the bath was running Charity slipped into jeans and a sweater, then returning to Dorothy she helped her to the bathroom.