Charity (59 page)

‘You don’t deserve a sister like her,’ Rita said between clenched teeth. ‘I hope one day you’re in serious trouble and that she turns her back on you.’

‘Was it Toby?’ Stephen pushed his way into the drawing room, his face bright with expectancy. ‘Is he coming home?’

He had heard the phone ring while he was outside. Nurse Giles had just put the receiver down and as she stood at the window the morning sun through the leaded panes made a criss-cross pattern on her pale, round face. Her striped uniform and starched white cap suited her buxom shape, giving her an air of confidence she didn’t appear to have in her off-duty clothes.

‘No Stephen, it was Charity.’ She paused just long enough for this to sink in, then smiled. ‘It’s more than you deserve. But she’s coming down tonight.’

Disappointment flooded Stephen’s face. He had been waiting for word from Toby for some time – not a letter or phone call in six or eight weeks.

Stephen could pass for a forty-year-old now. He was three stone lighter, and a new diet and long hours spent outdoors had turned his face brown. Dawn was responsible for his new appearance. Her arm exercises had made him strong enough to lift himself, giving him a degree of independence. Her company made the days fly by, but it was their sexual relationship that made him feel like a real man again.

Stephen wasn’t ashamed to look in a mirror now. No huge belly flopping over his trousers. His chin was clearly defined. Dawn trimmed his hair herself and it had lost that wild bushy look. But perhaps the most startling feature now was his eyes: losing so much weight meant that they were no longer embedded in flesh and they shone out like blue glass marbles, making him look almost handsome.

Stephen no longer spent hours in his study playing with his soldiers and reading. He trundled his chair out into the grounds, and he’d discovered many tasks he could manage there: pruning roses, weeding the raised flowerbeds in the walled garden, even a bit of hedge trimming.

With stronger arm muscles he could even get up the stairs occasionally to look around. It was a slow, laborious job, hauling himself up on his bottom, but worth it when he explored rooms he hadn’t seen in nearly thirty years.

‘Why didn’t you call me to speak to her? I was only outside.’

‘I was afraid you’d put her off,’ Dawn retorted. For a big woman her voice was unexpectedly soft, but then Stephen knew only too well there were many inconsistencies in Dawn Giles. Those big muscular arms which could easily support him gave the impression of masculinity, yet she favoured frilly underwear. She maintained an air of starchy sternness in her professional role, yet when alone she often had all the warmth and gaiety of a chorus girl. ‘So I said how pleased you’d be to see her, how much happier you are now, and how nice it will be for me to have a night off.’

‘How dare you presume so much.’ Stephen immediately puffed up with indignation and waved a warning finger at her. ‘I’m not senile yet, I can still make decisions for myself.’

Stephen was aware that he was utterly dependent on this woman, both physically and mentally. The thought of someone having so much power over him scared him and he never missed an opportunity to try and put her back in her place.

‘No, you aren’t senile.’ Dawn smiled at him affectionately. ‘But you are tactless and somebody had to take you in hand. Besides, I know you’ve been hoping she’d bury the hatchet and this is proof she wants to.’

He didn’t reply for a moment as if chewing it over in his mind.

‘Why should she just decide to come out of the blue like this? I don’t trust her, she wants something.’

An improvement in his looks and health hadn’t changed his suspicious nature, especially where women and money were concerned. Neither had he learned to apologise, not even when he knew he was in the wrong.

‘Oh Stephen.’ Dawn sat down on the settee next to his wheelchair, shaking her head as if he were a small, stubborn boy. ‘Has she ever asked anything of you before?’

Stephen was torn. He didn’t approve of bossy women and Dawn had no business to be sticking her nose into family affairs. But he had been considering how he could get Charity back into the fold again. He wasn’t exactly surprised that Dawn knew his private thoughts; at times she appeared to have taken him over entirely, mind and body.

‘Has she heard anything from Toby?’ He was anxious now, afraid Charity might bring bad news.

‘She didn’t say, but then that will give you something to chat about. She’s driving down later this afternoon, she should be here about seven.’

‘I still don’t understand why she should suddenly have a change of heart.’ Stephen turned his wheelchair round and began moving towards the door. ‘It’s been six years since my mother died and not a letter or a phone call. She did her best to turn Toby and Prudence against me and she influences James.’

‘For the good,’ Dawn said as she followed him to the door. ‘He’s a kind-hearted, considerate boy and she’s more than partially responsible for that. Charity’s the one who encourages him to work hard at school, she takes him to lovely places and not once has he ever said anything to me that would lead me to believe she makes you out to be an ogre. That’s a good enough reason to make peace, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose so,’ he said reluctantly.

Dawn pushed him into the library.

‘Well that’s settled then! I must go now and make up a bed for her and ask Margaret to leave some supper for her. You won’t need me here so I’ll catch the seven o’clock bus.’

Stephen jerked his head round sharply.

‘You aren’t leaving me here alone with her?’

‘Why on earth not!’ Dawn put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘She’s your niece, not a fire-eating dragon, and I haven’t had an evening with my sister for weeks. I’d only be in the way. You can talk much better without me here.’

‘But –’ he started to launch into his old routine about needing help.

‘You can easily get into that bed alone,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll leave you your medicine by the bed and the bottle in case you need it in the night. ‘I’ll be back on the first bus in the morning and Charity will be here if there is an emergency.’

In the past few years, Stephen had become completely dependent on Dawn. And to her surprise, the years with Stephen had been some of the happiest in Dawn’s whole life. It had been unexpectedly rewarding stripping the old crusty layers from the man and finding a much younger, virile one buried beneath that surplus weight. His capacity for sexy games surprised her: hardly a day went by without him thinking up a new variation. He loved her striped uniform and black stockings and a glimpse of her white thighs was enough to give him an erection. Sometimes she strapped him down in his bed and teased him with her big breasts; sometimes it was a massage.

But Stephen had learned how to please her too. At times she would pretend to be reading a book sitting on his bed and he’d wheel his chair up in front of her and slide his hands up her knicker legs, then once she was fully aroused she’d sit astride him and he would go on and on for ever until she had several orgasms. Yet it wasn’t just the wonderful sex they had together, but sharing things that meant the most.

They would sit together in the evenings, listening to music, watching the television or doing jigsaws. By day she helped him in the garden, took him for long walks or just sat companionably reading. She might have given him back his health and vigour, but Stephen was the first man who had ever made her feel wanted, needed and loved.

Dawn didn’t go straight back to him when she’d finished preparing Charity’s room; she packed an overnight bag and checked that all the upstairs rooms looked nice.

She was curious about what Charity wanted too. Perhaps Charity thought it was time everyone was open about the children seeing her. It had been very silly for the first couple of years when Stephen pretended he didn’t know. But Charity hadn’t sounded quite herself on the phone; at least it wasn’t the clear, assertive voice Dawn remembered. Dawn hoped it wasn’t more trouble.

She was wary of both Prue and Toby. Prue because she looked down her nose at Dawn, and sucked up to her uncle when she really cared nothing for him. It had been a relief when she got married and left Studley.

Toby was far more lovable, but underneath that charming exterior she knew he was a rogue. As a boy he stole money from her purse, though Stephen hotly denied it. She was absolutely certain it was Toby who took the photo frames and she suspected other things had gone too, over the years.

But he had been in the army for a year now; maybe that would sort him out. Dawn just wished he’d phone Stephen now and again. It didn’t take much to keep Stephen happy.

Such a big house just for us two, she thought as she paused at the top of the wide oak staircase. Stephen had told her once that this house had been built in 1184 as a nunnery, something which always made her smile. Charles I had stayed here during the civil war and she loved to imagine those Cavaliers with long curling hair, velvet doublets and swords at their sides, striding around in the great hall.

Dawn went out into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. As she came back in carrying the tray, she saw that Stephen had dropped the side of his wheelchair and hoisted himself out on to the Chesterfield.

‘Come and sit beside me,’ he said in a plaintive voice.

Dawn put the tray down on a small table and drew it closer. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

Once that sort of question would have prompted a sharp retort, but instead he put his arm around her and drew her close.

‘Do you ever regret things you’ve said and done?’ he asked.

‘Often,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘Sometimes I lie awake thinking about them and wish I could apologise to the people involved.’

‘You are a good woman, Dawn,’ he murmured, his fingers reaching for the buttons on her dress. ‘Thank goodness you’ve stayed with me all these years.’

His fingers found her right nipple and the way he rolled it between his fingers made her belly contract with desire.

He moved his head down to her breasts, pulling her brassière down beneath them so they rose up to his face like two firm melons.

‘I can never get enough of these,’ he murmured, rubbing his lips from one nipple to the other and squeezing them gently. ‘I used to look at my dirty books and dream of having a pair in my hands. I never thought it would happen though, and even in my wildest dreams I never imagined being able to fuck someone again.’

Dawn arched her back and let him suck at her nipples. If she closed her eyes she could imagine Stephen as he was in all those photographs of him when he was young: a green uniform with black buttons, a hard young body inside it. Just the thought of it made the blood rush to her head and her insides turn to jelly.

‘You must promise me you’ll be nice to Charity,’ she said, as his hand crept up her thigh over her stocking tops. ‘And tomorrow night when she’s gone I’ll put on that naughty underwear you bought me and give you a really good seeing to.’

‘I can’t wait that long,’ he pleaded. ‘Sit on my chair and let me look at you.’

She knew exactly what he meant; this was a game he loved to play. Sometimes she had to pretend she was asleep across his bed, sometimes he got her to perch on his desk just in front of him.

One of his hands was already fumbling at the zip of his trousers.

‘It’s broad daylight and the curtains are open,’ she said, licking her full lips, excited herself now at the thought of the pleasure he would give her.

‘No one’s likely to look in my window.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘Come on, Dawnie, show me your pussy!’

She couldn’t resist him when he looked so hungry for her. She stood up, lifted her dress and pulled down her knickers, stuffing them under a cushion, then sat in his wheelchair facing him with her legs splayed apart.

‘You’re a naughty boy,’ she said reprovingly. ‘I’ve got a good mind to give you a spanking for making me do this.’

Stephen forgot about his disappointment that Toby hadn’t written or phoned, and forgot too that Charity was coming later. All he could think of was that mound of dark pubic hair, the contrast of white belly and thighs against her black stockings and suspenders and how good it was to have a real woman to feel again.

*

‘I hoped she’d be here by now.’ Dawn stood at the window with her dark blue coat on. ‘I’ll have to go if I’m to catch the bus.’

She had given Stephen his supper, leaving Charity’s on a low heat, and the fire was lit in the drawing room. Out of uniform Dawn looked like any other middle-aged woman, with her greying hair and sensible stout shoes.

‘Go and catch the bus,’ Stephen said with a smile. ‘Leave the door on the latch for Charity. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Dawn bent to kiss him. It made her sad to think of what he had been and a little ashamed she didn’t really love him. But they were friends, she looked after him well and she knew she’d made him happier.

‘Goodnight,’ she said, ruffling his hair with affection. ‘Now just you be nice to Charity – or else!’

Stephen watched as she walked down the drive. She wasn’t graceful, she walked with a curious flat-footed plod and she had thick ankles. Before his accident he wouldn’t have looked twice at her. But he knew he loved her far more than he’d ever loved any other woman.

It began to rain soon after eight, lightly at first, but growing heavier as he sat waiting for the sound of car tyres on the gravel.

By nine it was torrential, wind bending the big cypress tree till it creaked and groaned.

Stephen checked that the spark guard was in front of the fire in the drawing room. Dawn had picked dozens of tulips earlier in the day and the sight of the red and yellow flowers in the old pottery vase made her seem closer. She never went in for dainty arrangements, just picked flowers for their bright colours and plonked them in a vase. They looked more cheery like that, a vivid splash of colour in a sombre room.

It was half-past ten when Stephen decided to go to bed. He poured himself a large tumbler of whisky, downed the two sleeping pills Dawn had left out for him, then lowered the side of his wheelchair and hoisted himself on to his bed.