Charity (55 page)

‘Go on with you.’ Nurse Giles beamed. She liked Dr Harris, he was a real gentleman, though a bit small and wiry for her taste. ‘I’m only doing what I was trained to do.’

‘Getting him to lose a stone, toning up his arm muscles, not to mention improving his disposition, is more than just nursing,’ Dr Harris insisted. ‘He looks good for another twenty years at least.’

‘I hope so.’ Nurse Giles smiled. ‘I’m very happy here.’

‘And the children?’ Dr Harris raised one bushy eyebrow. ‘How have they coped with losing their grandmother?’

‘Very well,’ the nurse reported. ‘Young James came down to stay for a week and that cheered them up. Now Toby’s back at Wellington College. Prue’s studying hard for her exams next year. It’s very peaceful at Studley now.’

‘What about Charity?’ the doctor asked. He’d only met her briefly when Isobel died and later at the funeral, but he’d been very taken with her and disappointed to hear the gossip flying round the village.

Nurse Giles sighed deeply.

‘I haven’t managed to make the colonel see how silly he’s been about her. But I suspect the kids are keeping in touch. Charity won’t give up on them, that girl’s got a backbone of steel.’

Dr Harris turned to go, looking out for a minute across the drive.

‘Autumn’s on its way,’ he said. ‘I saw some kids collecting conkers on my way here. Maybe the long winter’s nights will mellow the old chap still further. Keep up the good work, Nurse Giles. I’ll see you next month.’

Dawn Giles closed the front door behind him and smiled to herself.

Margaret was baking an apple pie, the smell of cinnamon wafting through the house. Pat was polishing the furniture in the drawing room. Dawn had got what she wanted now: a beautiful home and security. Long cosy evenings by the fire, listening to Stephen talking about his army days, the places he’d been to and how Studley was when he was a boy.

Maybe Dr Harris wouldn’t be quite so approving if he knew just how she’d achieved so much with Stephen, but Dawn knew the healing powers of a good sexual relationship.

And it was early days yet. She hadn’t shown him all her little tricks, by a long way.

Chapter Twenty-Five

June 1968

‘I can’t really believe we’re leaving here,’ Rita said to Charity as she handed her last box to the taxi driver waiting in Barkston Gardens. ‘I thought it was incredible when we moved the office to King’s Road, but I never imagined being sensible enough to buy flats of our own.’

‘Come back here a moment.’ Charity ran back to the doorway to shelter from the rain. ‘Give me a hug.’

Rita ran to her, rain already turning her hair into corkscrew curls.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Rita laughed. ‘Anyone would think we were going to the opposite ends of the world. I’ll see you on Monday at the office.’

Dorothy leaving for New York and the lease expiring on the flat in Barkston Gardens at the same time had been the deciding factor in moving out. It made better financial sense to buy a place of their own than rent again, and now Rita had found a minute studio apartment close to the office and Charity a flat in St John’s Wood.

The new office had come about for similar reasons. A year ago, when the lease expired in Fulham Road, Charity had had to go cap in hand to the bank, for a loan to buy the lease of another office in King’s Road, Chelsea. At the time it had been very worrying – the new place had much higher overheads – but the gamble had paid off: larger premises in a better area had increased Stratton Promotions’ profile and with it came bigger and more lucrative contracts.

‘This is the end of an era,’ Charity said. ‘We have to mark it with something.’

Rita hugged her friend exuberantly.

‘I think we left enough marks on the flat and the neighbours,’ she said. ‘Now look, I’ve got to go. Simon’s waiting for me to go and buy a bed.’

‘I suppose you’ll be testing it this afternoon,’ Charity shouted as Rita ran back to her car.

‘As the Aussies round here would say, “too right”.’ Rita grinned. ‘Good luck settling in. Give the kids my love tomorrow. Next time they’re in London I’ll pop round to see them.’

Charity went back upstairs for her last few things, but as she stepped into the bare hall, alone, she suddenly felt an unexpected pang of sentiment.

Rain was drumming against the windows, obliterating the sound of traffic from the Earls Court Road. A dismal, yellowy light showed up all the marks of the last five years.

The carpet had always been threadbare under the settee. Now it was a hole. Stains as diverse as wine, nail varnish and spilt coffee made a joke of her leaving it for the next tenants. White shapes on the yellowing walls marked where pictures had been; paintwork was scuffed and peeling in places. Rita’s room was bare now, the furniture she’d brought from her parents’ home so long ago, sold to a man across the square. A whiff of Chanel still lingered in Dorothy’s, but the many scratches on the dressing-table, stains of wine and tea splattered on the ivory walls, were far more evocative of her untidy nature. Dorothy had gone to the States a few weeks before on a modelling job, but as always she’d found a wealthy man and the girls guessed this one was keeping their friend between jobs.

Charity had been just eighteen when she first saw this flat. Now she was twenty-three and buying the kind of flat which had once been just a dream.

‘So many memories,’ Charity said aloud as she went back into her old room. The curtains were gone, given to Lou. A big blown-up photograph of her taken by John in Florence was already hanging in her new flat. The bed here looked saggy and uncomfortable, the small bamboo table was fit for nothing but a rubbish dump.

All her dreaming of John had been done here, lying awake night after night when they got back from Florence, wondering how she could feel so much pain yet still survive. Worrying about the children, so scared she might never see them again. She’d planned to get the agency here too, and devised the plot to get the money from Ted.

Then there were the thoughts of Daniel. How many times had she taken out his photographs and bootees and cried over them? A hundred? A thousand. He’d be six now, a little schoolboy. Did he look like her? Would he one day discover that his real mother had given him away?

‘Enough of that,’ she said out loud, the words echoing round the empty room. ‘Remember the good times!’

She, Rita and Dorothy had turned from girls into women, shared dreams, sadness, fought and laughed here. Pinning up each other’s skirts when the mini hit London, daring each other to be bold enough to wear crocheted dresses, swapping feather boas, velvet jackets and jewellery. All those records, now divided up, each with its own bittersweet memories. ‘You’ve lost that lovin’ feeling’, ‘River deep mountain high’ … words and music that charted romances, periods of gloom, and left indelible marks on their souls.

Nights when the three of them were here alone, reminiscing about the past over bottles of cheap wine and vowing they’d always stay together.

Charity paused to look round one last time with the front door open. They would never live together again, but the bonds they had formed back in Daleham Gardens were strong ones and their friendship would last a lifetime. Dorothy had had her few moments of fame even if her modelling career hadn’t turned out to be quite as lucrative as she expected. And there would always be a rich man, somewhere, prepared to share his money and life with her.

Rita and Charity were woven together now, like two cords in the same rope. Charity had the fire and drive, Rita the plodding diligence needed to keep the piles of paperwork under control. Rita still wouldn’t accept a partnership; she maintained it wouldn’t work, but at least she’d agreed to a profit-sharing arrangement which their accountant had sorted out each year.

A gust of wind made the naked light bulb quiver, a whiff of disinfectant and mustiness had taken the place of the smells Charity remembered of perfume, makeup and bacon sandwiches. The flat looked desolate and unloved as she slowly closed the door for the last time.

Charity had just finished stacking the last of her books on her shelves in her new flat when the buzzer went.

Since leaving Barkston Gardens yesterday at noon she’d worked tirelessly and now at last her brothers and sister were here to warm it properly.

Beech House was a modern block of flats on the tree-lined Finchley Road in St John’s Wood. It took its name from two copper beeches in front of it, and though the flats were the least expensive in the area, Prue would no doubt approve of its air of quiet gentility.

Charity’s plans of finding a home for all of them had become tempered by maturity and realism. The most she could expect was a weekend visit from one or the other of them. Toby and Prue still saw Studley Priory as home; James would stay with Lou and Geoff. So she’d chosen this flat for its central position, its modern, spacious design and the fabulous view from the balcony.

It was on the fourth floor, and she could see across the houses and gardens to Primrose Hill. To the right was Regent’s Park, and the sound of traffic was just a faint purr in the background. The first time she’d seen the flat the sun was just going down and she’d waited until darkness fell and all those street lights sparkled like diamonds on black velvet before her.

Charity picked up the answerphone.

‘Is that you, kids?’ she said, laughing as she imagined their startled faces down there under the porch. ‘I’m opening the door. Come up to the fourth floor in the lift.’

She glanced around before opening the flat door, pleased by what she saw. Cream carpet throughout, two new and expensive large floppy settees in pale blue velvet and a large teak wall unit to house her records, books and stereo. This room was a bit sparse yet, she needed a table and chairs, but the bedroom, the settees, curtains and carpets had cleaned her out and she’d need a few more good contracts before she dared splash out on anything else.

‘Come in all of you!’ Charity beamed at the three of them as she opened the door. ‘Goodness me you’re all soaked. Take your shoes off out there!’

‘Houseproud already?’ Toby retorted but abandoned his umbrella outside the door and removed his shoes. ‘We thought it was right by Lord’s Cricket Ground and we got off the bus at the wrong stop.’

James, the moment he’d abandoned his shoes, took a running leap at Charity, enveloping her in a frantic hug. He was ten now, but still didn’t seem to be concerned with behaving in the same laid-back way as his older brother.

‘Isn’t it posh, Chas,’ he squealed with delight, wriggling out of his coat and running over to the window. ‘It’s like being in space up here. You can see the whole world.’

‘Not a very good view in the rain,’ Charity said, collecting all the raincoats and hanging them over the bath. ‘But maybe next time you come it will be sunny and we can sit out on the balcony.’

‘I thought you’d have got a bigger place,’ Prue said. ‘There’s only one bedroom.’

Charity ignored that remark. Prue had an unerring way of criticising everything, it was a rare occurrence when she wholeheartedly approved.

‘The settees are big enough to sleep on,’ Charity said. ‘And if you want to stay, Prue, you can share my bed, it’s big enough.’

‘Wow!’ Toby said as he peeped into the bedroom. It was very feminine with palest pink silky curtains with a pleated pelmet. A cream lace bedspread, lampshades to match on Oriental lamp bases and the dressing-table ivory coloured wood that appeared to have been bleached. ‘And that huge bed! Have you got an orgy in mind?’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Charity reached up to smack his ear playfully. Toby was seventeen now, well over six feet tall, and preoccupied with sex and girls. ‘Now when you’ve all had a good poke round, perhaps we can have some tea?’

Charity busied herself putting cakes on plates, laying out cups and saucers on the coffee table, but all the time she was watching her brothers and sister.

They were all so different in nature. Since Prue had started at teacher training college in Oxford she’d adopted a rather ‘county’ image with tweed skirts and sensible shoes, entirely at odds with the droves of flower children flocking around London. Prue’s snobbishness hadn’t left her: now she spoke of being ‘at Oxford’ so people assumed she meant the university. She almost took a pride in being plain. Sometimes Charity longed to get hold of her, show her how to use makeup effectively and make her have her hair cut instead of wearing it in one thick plait. But Prue wouldn’t take advice from anyone; she knew everything.

Toby, on the other hand, was physical perfection. Still no spots on his peachy skin, a lean yet muscular body; even in need of a haircut and scowling he had that charismatic James Dean look. Intellectually he wasn’t even close to Prue, he just scraped through exams, took no interest in books. Sport, cars and girls were the only things he showed any enthusiasm for. Toby still worried Charity. There was something dark and devious in his nature that she couldn’t quite put out of her mind. She had bought him an expensive watch last Christmas and by Easter he wasn’t wearing it. Toby said the strap had broken and he’d taken it to a shop to get it repaired, but she was sure he’d sold it, yet why, when he had more money than most boys of his age? There were many more instances of lies and subterfuge, but somehow he had only to flash that brilliant smile and she forgave him.

But if Toby and Prue gave her cause for concern, James more than made up for it. He was a delight – warm, affectionate, bright and sunny. He never asked for anything, and treasured each and every gift. Lou and Geoff had made a great job of bringing him up.

‘Who took this picture of you?’ Prue looked round at Charity, pointing to the large black and white framed print of her feeding the pigeons in the Piazza del Duomo. ‘It’s frightfully good!’

‘It would be. John Marshall took it,’ Charity said.

‘
The
John Marshall?’ Prue gasped. ‘When on earth did you meet him?’

‘When I was your age,’ Charity smiled. ‘He took me to Florence with him.’

‘Gosh.’ Prue blinked very fast. ‘But he’s old!’

‘Too old, that’s why it didn’t last,’ Charity said ruefully. ‘Now come and have some tea.’