Charity (49 page)

It hardly seemed possible that last year she and Rita had been celebrating signing the Marlboro contract. Now they only got excited when they were pulling in jobs for over ten girls. The office wasn’t big enough now, they even complained about how shabby the flat was and while Charity and Rita were sweltering in a poky office, working long hours, Dorothy was always jetting off to exotic locations on fashion shoots.

The phone rang, making Charity jump. She turned on her light and frowned.

It was ten past twelve. Only one of Dorothy’s admirers could be phoning this late, and she was out.

Padding into the lounge in her nightdress, Charity saw Rita through her open door, lying on the top of her bed, fast asleep.

‘Earls Court 3245.’

‘Is that Charity?’ a girl’s voice asked.

‘Yes.’ Charity frowned. There was something familiar about the voice, but she couldn’t place it. ‘Who’s this?’

‘It’s Prue!’

Charity’s knees gave way in shock.

‘My Prue?’ she stammered out, afraid she was mistaken.

‘Yes, your sister. I know it’s late, but I couldn’t think of anyone else to phone. Everything’s so awful.’

Charity didn’t even consider the words ‘I couldn’t think of anyone else’. All she could hear was her sister’s voice rising in a plea for help.

‘It’s all right.’ Charity recovered enough to sit down on the settee. ‘You’ve just given me such a shock. I didn’t know you had my number Prue, it’s so wonderful to hear you.’

‘Lou gave it to me ages ago,’ Prue said quickly, as if that wasn’t important. ‘Please come down and help me.’

Charity’s heart lurched. Flashes of everything from road accidents and rape to someone standing over her sister with a gun, were running through her head.

‘Calm down and tell me, Prue,’ she said. ‘Now, where are you? What’s happened?’

‘I’m at home, at Studley.’ Prue started to cry. ‘Grandmother’s ill and Uncle Stephen is being so horrid. I can’t cope.’

Charity’s mind slipped back six years. She saw herself in her uncle’s room holding that enema pan, remembered how hateful and menacing Stephen had been.

‘But Stephen won’t let me near Studley,’ Charity pointed out. ‘What’s actually the matter with Grandmother? Is it bad enough to call an ambulance? Where’s the housekeeper?’

‘Mr and Mrs Pitt left ages ago,’ Prue sobbed down the phone. ‘There’s nobody here now. Mrs Williams who used to clean left yesterday too because Uncle was so awful to her. He expects me to do everything now. I even had to change Grandmother’s sheets when she wet the bed.’

‘You poor love,’ Charity said sympathetically. ‘I can imagine what it’s like. But tell me what’s wrong with Grandmother. Has the doctor been?’

‘He came earlier, but he said she’s just old and frail.’

Charity could see it all. Grandmother upstairs in bed, Stephen downstairs in his wheelchair and Prue running between the two.

‘But what about Toby? Surely he’s there, it’s the summer holidays?’

‘He doesn’t help.’ Prue sounded very sorry for herself. ‘He said it’s woman’s work.’

Charity thought quickly. They were only teenagers, and Prue sounded distraught.

‘Listen Prue, I’ll come first thing in the morning. But you’ll have to prepare Uncle Stephen. I don’t want to walk in there and get thrown out.’

‘Oh Chas.’ Prue let out a huge sigh of relief. ‘Don’t worry about him, I’ll explain.’

She rang off suddenly.

‘Who was that?’ Rita stood in her bedroom doorway rubbing her eyes.

‘My sister.’ Charity sank back on the settee, too overcome to even think straight.

‘She rang you? How wonderful!’ Rita was wide awake at once. ‘What did she say? What made her phone?’

As Charity explained, Rita’s face clouded over.

‘You mean she never asked how you were? Just demanded that you come and sort things out?’

‘She’s only a kid,’ Charity retorted. ‘She was upset and probably exhausted.’

Rita frowned, brown eyes full of concern. She twisted one of her red curls round her fingers the way she always did when she was preparing to say her piece.

‘Chas, she’s almost sixteen. At her age you were working like a slave. She’s had your phone number for some time but she never bothered to ring you. Now when she’s lumbered with a sick granny, she suddenly remembers she’s got a sister. It sounds dangerously like she’s using you.’

Charity caught the train to Oxford the next morning. She took a deep breath to calm the butterflies inside her as the taxi swept into the drive at Studley and round the circular lawn to the front door.

It all looked just as it had on her first visit six years ago, but now she wasn’t intimidated by its size or grandeur.

‘Nice place!’ the taxi driver commented. ‘Your folks?’

Charity smiled. Six years ago no one would have considered her likely to be related to the owners and it gave her a surge of new courage.

‘My uncle’s.’ She smiled as she paid him.

The gravel scrunched as the taxi pulled away. Charity stood for a moment, her small case in her hands, surveying the house and grounds.

She could see changes. The stable roof was mended. The lawn was as smooth as a bowling green and the yew hedges were trimmed like boxes. Her eyes swept over the grey stone, the mullioned windows and pointed gables, then she took another deep breath before walking to the front door.

Six years ago she’d had Jackson’s hand steadying her elbow, a frightened child in a green skirt and cheap jacket. Now she wore a Mary Quant black and white minidress; her makeup and hair were faultless. She must remember she was a businesswoman now, tough enough to deal with even the most crusty of company directors. She could handle her uncle.

The front door opened before she could ring the bell and there was Prue.

Charity dropped her case, joy at seeing her sister wiping out all anxiety. She opened her arms, emotional tears springing to her eyes.

‘I was afraid you wouldn’t come,’ Prue managed to say before being enveloped in a hug.

For a brief moment no words were necessary. Insects buzzed, sun warm on bare arms, cheek on damp cheek.

‘Let me look at you.’ Charity took a step back, her sister’s two hands in hers. ‘You’re all grown up!’

It was a surprise to find Prue was much bigger than herself. A well-developed girl with broad hips and a country girl rosiness rather than her own delicate colouring. She wore an outdated shirtwaister print dress and her long blonde hair was tied carelessly back in a single clump at her neck.

‘I look frightful,’ Prue said breathlessly, releasing one hand to wipe at her eyes. ‘But I’m so glad you’ve come.’

She had her father’s large forehead but her mother’s thin lips, and her childhood angelic prettiness was gone. But Charity wasn’t looking critically, only savouring the moment.

‘Where’s Toby?’ she asked, as Prue led her in.

‘Upstairs somewhere,’ Prue said, as if he wasn’t important. ‘You can’t imagine how dreadful it’s been.’

There were so many things Charity wanted to ask, but as her eyes swept round the hall she could see that things had been sliding here for some time. Cobwebs clung to the stone walls and the big carved chest was dull with dust and grime.

‘Have you told Uncle Stephen I was coming?’ she asked, looking down at the worn Persian rug and wondering how long it was since it had last been taken out for a beating.

‘Yes.’ Prue was chewing on her lip, as if unsure of herself. ‘He said I had no business going over his head.’

Charity glanced into the drawing room, half expecting him to be sitting there in his wheelchair like an aggressive toad. He wasn’t, but she could see signs of neglect there too: stuffing coming out of a rip on a settee, more dust and grime.

‘Where is he?’

‘In his room,’ Prue replied. ‘He must’ve seen your taxi come. He’s probably sulking. Maybe you should see Grandmother first.’

‘I’d like a cup of tea,’ Charity said. ‘And to see Toby. Will you get him and I’ll make tea for all of us?’

Charity felt uneasy now. All this time she’d imagined that when she saw Prue again they would instantly pick up where they’d left off six years ago. But Prue wasn’t a dainty little girl any longer, she was a hefty, rather plain teenager with a plummy accent, and Charity was a stranger …

As Prue went off upstairs, Charity made her way through the dining room to the kitchen. She noted that the silver was tarnished and the once gleaming table dull, but when she came to the kitchen she recoiled in horror.

Piles of unwashed dishes filled the big sink, the tiled floor was filthy, even the walls were caked with grease. As she filled the kettle, everything she touched was sticky and there were mouse droppings on the work surface.

Ellen the cook who had been here on her last visit had kept it spotless: scoured saucepans hung from hooks, the glass on the cabinets twinkling. Tentatively Charity opened cupboards and found them almost empty, more mouse droppings everywhere.

She washed up a few cups and saucers, wiped over the table and was just opening the fridge to get some milk when she heard footsteps.

‘Toby!’

‘Chas!’

She wanted to hug him, but she was rooted to the spot in astonishment.

Toby towered over her, but it was his looks not his height that stunned her.

‘My little brother has turned into a man,’ she said weakly.

He was so handsome. No trace of teenage acne spoilt his peachy skin. He had a wide, smiling mouth, big bright blue eyes framed by long golden lashes and an endearing tousled mop of white-blond hair.

‘Can I still hug you?’ she said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. ‘Or are you too big?’

He took two steps towards her and enveloped her in his arms, lifting her right off her feet.

‘And you’re so little and pretty,’ he laughed. ‘I thought you’d be a fat cow like Prue.’

‘I’m not fat,’ Prue retorted. ‘At least I’ve got brains!’

Charity began to laugh. This sniping took her right back to Greenwich. They might have grown up, everything around them was different, but clearly their love-hate relationship had remained the same.

‘What’s so funny?’ Toby said, putting her down and draping his arm round her.

‘Just you two sparring,’ Charity spluttered. ‘Six years on and you’re still at it.’

Beauty had been unevenly divided between them, their eyes, blond hair and height the only similarities. Toby’s features were chiselled perfection, while Prue’s face was flat and bland. His slender body was graceful, Prue’s heavy and awkward. It seemed impossible these were the two children who had once passed for twins.

Over tea Charity was torn between delight and deepening unease. She loved the way Toby looked, his body as perfect as his face. Slim hips, wide shoulders, a hint of muscle showing through his thin shirt and jeans. His deep voice was beautifully modulated and he had the composure of a gentleman. Yet arrogance seeped out of him, he showed no real concern when she asked about his grandmother and no respect for anything or anyone.

Prue was almost as bad. She whined about the work she had to do, spoke of having no time to practise the piano or go out with her friends. Her grandmother’s incontinence was ‘disgusting’, the housework ‘not her job’. But Charity couldn’t help being proud of how intelligent she was. She’d taken ten O levels, intended to stay on for As and then go to teacher training college.

Lou was right, they had been spoiled. No one, it seemed, had attempted to curb their selfishness or teach them compassion. While it was heartening to discover they had no fear of their uncle, Charity was disappointed they didn’t seem to see this reunion with her as a momentous occasion. It was almost as if she was a distant relative who had dropped in unexpectedly. Their few questions were politely cool and Charity had the distinct impression Prue was already regretting her impulsive plea for help.

‘You’d better take me to Uncle now,’ Charity suggested eventually. She was dreading the meeting, but it had to come some time. ‘I hope he won’t be unpleasant.’

‘He’s always grumpy,’ Toby said as he slung his arm round her shoulder. ‘Just ignore it, that’s what I do.’

As the three of them walked through the drawing room, Charity noticed that the fireplace was full of old ashes. Every surface was dusty. Prue had complained about housework, but to Charity it didn’t look as if Studley had been touched for some time.

Outside Stephen’s door. Charity braced herself, silently repeating the promise she’d made to herself on the way here that she wouldn’t let him upset her.

But at her first glimpse of Stephen and his book-lined room, all the grim memories came flooding back and her nerve almost failed her.

He was even more gross than she remembered. A shock of thick white hair emphasised his bloated face with its eyes cold pinpricks of blue almost embedded in folds of flesh. His sloppy wet lips were already curled in scorn and worse still was the sour odour that emanted from him. His shirt was grubby and creased, the grey trousers pinned up over his stumps were stained; even his hair needed cutting.

‘How are you?’ Charity said, disinclined to give him the title of uncle and resisting any desire to apologise for her presence.

‘Couldn’t resist the opportunity to come and poke your nose in things, eh!’ he growled, looking her up and down scornfully.

His sarcasm made her forget how nervous she was.

‘I have no wish to “poke my nose” in anything,’ she said. ‘I came because Prue begged me to.’

She was aware of Toby and Prue watching this exchange with interest, and she knew it was imperative that she keep the upper hand if she were not to lose face in their eyes.

‘Well now you’re here you’d better roll up your sleeves and get the place back in shape,’ he said, wheeling his chair round as if to dismiss her.

Cold anger swept over her. ‘Just a moment.’ She caught hold of the handle on his chair, preventing him turning any further. ‘I am not your lackey. I came to help in any way I can, but if you require a cleaning lady, you should ring an employment agency.’

‘How dare you!’ he roared, swelling up just the way she remembered. ‘Who on earth do you think you are?’

‘Charity Stratton,’ she said, folding her arms defiantly and glowering back at him. ‘I own an employment agency in London, I am also your niece. I’m not over-delighted at being related to you, but I assure you I’ll be only too happy to call a taxi and get back to my office.’