Charity (47 page)

Dorothy and Rita did glamorous, well-paid work by day, and divided their evenings between escort dates and boyfriends. From the day Charity took over the office she had vowed she’d never be an escort again. The image of Ted taunted her, a permanent reminder of a ruthless darker side of her nature, and it prevented her from even considering an innocent date with a man.

Even her twentieth birthday back in January had passed without celebration as Dorothy and Rita had both been out of town on jobs. She’d drunk a cheap bottle of wine alone and tried to think positively. After all, January was always a quiet month in any business.

But now she’d hit rock bottom and short of pawning the brooch John had given her, or asking the girls to lend her the money for the phone bill, she was finished.

A blast of cold air made her look up and to her absolute amazement there was John at the door.

Her heart hammered, her troubles instantly put aside.

‘John!’ she shrieked, getting up and rushing to him, flinging her arms round him. ‘What a wonderful surprise. How did you know I was here?’

He didn’t answer immediately, just held her tightly. She could feel how cold he was, even through his thick overcoat.

‘I don’t think I should have come, really,’ he said into her neck. ‘I went round to the flat, intending to put a book through your door. But Dorothy was there and insisted I went in. When she told me about the agency I tried to phone but there’s something wrong with your number.’

Charity was hurt that he had intended to avoid her, but thought she’d better wait and hear him out before she said anything.

Over a cup of tea John explained he was back in London for just a couple of weeks to launch a book of his photographs, before going back to India. He sat hunched up over the electric fire and Charity saw he wasn’t well. His face had always been thin, but now it was gaunt, his cheekbones sticking out prominently.

‘Are you ill?’ she said, kneeling down beside him and sliding her hands inside his coat. She could feel his ribs through his shirt and she saw he had lost perhaps two stone in weight.

‘I got a dose of the Delhi belly.’ He laughed but there was no humour in it and he moved her hands away from him, almost as if repulsed by her.

‘What is it, John?’ she asked anxiously. Seeing him again after so long brought back all the old feeling, but he was being very strange.

He didn’t reply and his eyes wouldn’t meet hers as she sat back on her heels by his feet.

‘Come on!’ she wheedled. ‘We’re old friends, aren’t we? Are you in some sort of trouble?’

‘I got married,’ he blurted out.

‘You got married?’ She felt as if her blood was draining away.

He nodded, his eyes downcast.

Charity leapt up then, backing away.

‘How could you be so cruel?’ she shouted. ‘Why come and tell me something like that?’

‘I didn’t mean to be cruel,’ he said wearily. ‘Like I said, if Dorothy hadn’t been there I would just have left the book. There were some pictures of you in it, you see, and I had to give you a copy. But once I’d spoken to Dorothy, I knew I’d have to see you face to face.’

Charity began to shake uncontrollably. This seemed to be the last nail in the coffin, on top of all her other problems.

‘Go, John.’ She pointed towards the door. ‘I’d like to say I’m happy for you, but it’s just such a shock. Please don’t come back again.’

‘I’m not going until you’ve heard me out,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I hoped you’d found someone else. I thought I could exchange a few pleasantries with you, and be on my way.’

Charity turned away from him, struggling to control herself. John had always been honest to a fault. But this time she would have preferred a little less directness.

She composed herself and turned back.

‘Well get on with the pleasantries,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Who is it you’ve married? When and where?’

Charity listened as he explained, trying hard to control herself. Fifteen years ago on his first trip to India he had taken photographs for an illustrated animal book. The writer was a man called Martin Fellows; his wife was Nina. The three of them became good friends. He had stayed at their bungalow in the hills at the time, and on every subsequent visit to India he went back to see them.

He went on to say that he had met up with Nina again in Nairobi, some weeks after he last saw Charity. Martin had died two years earlier and she was in Africa doing research for a biography of her late husband.

‘We were both lonely and heartsick,’ he said. ‘We leaned on one another. I dug out some old material of Martin’s which had never been published. The African job I’d done led on to one in India, near where she lived. I knew then it was no good spending the rest of my life moping, and one thing led to another.’

It was obvious they had become lovers and just the thought of John making love to another woman made Charity feel intensely jealous.

‘Are you happy with her?’ she asked, wanting so much to hear it had all been a dreadful, hasty mistake.

‘I’m content,’ he said. ‘Nina and I are the same age. We have the same interests. It’s a peaceful relationship, Charity. We’re both too old now for passion and fire.’

A picture of two calm, middle-aged people together was soothing. Charity fell silent for a moment, struggling with the need to wound him and yet knowing she still cared too much for him to do so.

‘I’m glad then.’ She put one hand on his shoulder. ‘You were good for me, John, you deserve to be happy now.’

He stayed silent for a moment.

‘And you?’ he asked finally. ‘Have you found happiness?’

‘I think so.’ Charity wished she could tell him how low she felt, but her pride wouldn’t let her. ‘Though I work too hard to think about it much.’

Over another cup of tea John asked her questions about the agency. Realising Dorothy had let it slip about how she came to buy it, she was forced to admit she still ran the escort service, and why the phone didn’t work.

John’s eyes were dark with reproach.

‘It’s no good you looking like that,’ she said quickly, hoping he wouldn’t press her about how she managed to save so much money. ‘It was a good opportunity and I grabbed it. The only reason I still handle that side of it is because I have to.’

‘Charity, listen to me,’ he said, grabbing her hands, his eyes full of concern. ‘I’m not concerned about you having a few dates with lonely businessmen, heaven knows I’ve hoped you’d find a man who could make you happy often enough. But it’s running the service that concerns me. If just one of your girls takes money for sex and it comes out, you’ll be in trouble. It’s living on immoral earnings, a criminal offence. Do you think anyone will believe you didn’t know?’

She had wrestled with this dozens of times, but always the need for money got the better of her.

‘I would drop it immediately if I could get the promotions side off the ground.’ She pouted defiantly, irritated by his remark about hoping she’d find someone to make her happy. ‘You tell me how I’m going to get a few good contracts and I’ll jack it in tomorrow.’

He took her to the Marco Polo where they’d had lunch the first time and over lasagne and a bottle of wine she blurted out her problems.

John let her talk. He was surprised by her knowledge of the promotion world, and impressed by her courage at taking on such a venture so young, with no backing. More than anything he wanted it to work for her.

‘I’ll pay the telephone,’ he said immediately, getting out his chequebook. ‘But to get the promotions agency off the ground, you’ve got to think more positively.’

‘I have tried.’ Charity sounded plaintive, a little irritated that he thought she hadn’t worked hard at it and embarrassed by his cheque. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I’m game for attempting anything to get me noticed, but advertising costs so much.’

‘Not always,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll come up with a plan. Meanwhile get that phone bill paid, stop worrying and come out to dinner with me tomorrow night.’

John turned on the light on his bedside table and looked at his watch. It was four in the morning and he couldn’t sleep. He was shivering, even though the room was warm. His stomach kept churning and although it was partly due to the severe attack of dysentery, he knew most of the problem was Charity.

All through lunch he just hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. She had altered subtly – a few gained pounds which added curves to her slender shape – and her hair had lost that wispy, childish quality and now hung in one gleaming swing of white gold. He remembered wincing once at her hastily applied makeup. Now it enhanced the beauty already there. Her lustrous eyes, and those full lips were enough to draw any male eye. Her black suit could have come from Worth, the only decoration the bow brooch he’d bought her in Florence and a single string of pearls.

But these visible attractions were nothing to her new manner. She no longer giggled, she had looked at the menu with complete understanding and even suggested a red wine that was superb without being outrageously expensive. She had asked him intelligent questions about his work.

He had to help her get her business off the ground. She deserved it. Maybe, too, it would end that dull ache for her inside him and he could return to Nina and India knowing he’d finally severed the last strand.

*

They had dinner at John’s hotel. He chose it because it was brightly lit and impersonal, yet comfortable enough to sit for a long talk.

Over coffee, he began to talk to her about Stratton Promotions.

‘More than anything you need publicity,’ he said forcefully. He’d given her business a great deal of thought during the day. ‘You need the right girls, the right image and the good companies. Publicity will get all three.’

His plan was to run an advertisement for girls to come forward to enrol with her, the inducement being a chance to be photographed by Grant Meredith, the top fashion man who happened to owe John a favour.

‘The girls will come running,’ he replied firmly to her protestations. ‘So will the media! Then we get a glossy brochure printed and you’re halfway there.’

‘Grant Meredith!’ Charity could hardly believe he was serious. The man was legendary: to fashion what John was to scenic photography. ‘He’ll cost a fortune!’

John didn’t deny or confirm this, just insisted he was going to see to it and the cost of the printing.

‘You can’t do this stuck behind a desk, Charity.’ He spoke in the kind of bullying tone she knew he used with the magazines he worked for. ‘You’ve got to get out there yourself, demand to see the top men and plonk down these images of glorious girls on their desks. You can sell, Charity, but now you’ve got something bigger than lipsticks or perfume. You’re selling your company image and your expertise. You must convince yourself you are the best and convince them too.’

‘Will you be around long enough to see all this happen?’ she asked, suddenly aware he was speaking as if this was their last meeting.

‘Long enough to set it up.’ He half smiled, the lines on his face deeper than she remembered. ‘I’ll see to the finances and give you all the contacts. But I think it’s better we only talk on the phone after tonight.’

John was as good as his word. All the next week he used his contacts, his keen mind and his powers of organisation to make the name of Stratton Promotions work.

He didn’t have to tell her that she must drop the escort side of the business like a hot brick, she knew that. She paid the bill, and changed the number. The files of old clients were destroyed and a circular was sent out to all her legitimate business contacts informing them she was moving on to a higher profile.

Charity saw then just how John Marshall had become so successful. It wasn’t just his creative photography, but his ability to motivate others. He booked a studio in Kensington for the following week and hired a public relations man to handle the publicity. The printers were standing by and the advertisement for girls was placed in several papers.

‘This time tomorrow I’ll be halfway back to India,’ John said as they ate a last dinner together at the Marco Polo. They had both been uncertain about meeting again but it was unthinkable for him to leave with only another phone call after all he’d done. ‘Don’t look so anxious, Charity, you can handle everything now.’

The Marco Polo hadn’t changed. Still the old red and white checked tablecloths, white walls and vibrant Italian pictures. Yet even though Charity had changed immeasurably since that first lunch date two years earlier, in many ways she felt the same. Scared, excited, sad and happy all at once, with the same sensation of standing on the threshold to a new world.

There was a certain relief that John would soon be gone. Each time he’d phoned the office, no matter how businesslike he was, there was still the temptation to try and make more of it. But now, faced with all the frantic work to be done in the next few weeks, she felt able to shut the door firmly for ever.

Yet as she she looked at his narrow, lined face, those gentle eyes and his endearingly small nose, she still wanted to touch him one last time. She itched to run her fingers through his curls, to trace those deep lines, to smell his skin and hold that hard lean body. But it was more than just a physical need; the emotional bond had to be severed too.

‘If you ever really need me, you can get in touch through my agent in London,’ he said, sliding his hand over hers. He didn’t have to say he wasn’t going to write, or visit when he was in London, Charity knew he would be too honourable to do that now he’d committed himself to Nina.

‘Just send me a postcard to tell me you are truly happy,’ she whispered, biting back tears. ‘That’s enough for me. I’m a big girl now.’

John looked at her and remembered how she had been the first day he brought her to this restaurant. She’d been such a waif then, her eyes and mouth too big for that little pale face, her hair straggly, her clothes so shabby. She had given him back his life and, despite the ache in his heart at saying goodbye for good, he knew she had given him the power to be happy with Nina. Through her he had learned to truly love, to give of himself, and now he could look forward to a new phase of his life.