Charity (17 page)

Hugh glanced through his eyelashes at her. She had the most adorable wide mouth, with plump full lips, and he longed to touch her silky hair.

‘Don’t you ever notice any of the boys?’

‘Not really.’ Charity smiled. ‘Some of the little ones, because they make me think of Toby, but the big ones make me nervous.’

The conversation moved away from personal things, on to his running, the cricket team and his intended career.

‘I’ve bent to Dad’s wishes to a certain extent. But I’m going to be a criminal lawyer,’ he told her. ‘My father’s into company law, acting for unscrupulous rich men who want to screw someone else to make a few more thousands. I intend to help people, not grind them further into the dirt.’

It was touching to find he was idealistic, that his stuffy parents hadn’t managed to turn him into a carbon copy of themselves.

She talked about her need to get a better job and one day find a home she could share with her brothers and sister.

‘They’ll be almost grown up by the time I make enough money,’ she sighed. ‘I miss them so much, you can’t imagine what it’s like.’

‘I can’t believe anyone would be so cruel as to keep you apart,’ Hugh said in sympathy. ‘Maybe I could ask my father about the legal position. Surely if your uncle is your guardian too then he’s being derelict in his duty by ignoring you?’

‘The way I see it, adults can do what they like.’ Charity’s voice shook. ‘What really hurts is that he’s probably told lies about me and I can’t talk to the children to make them understand that.’

It was as they walked back through the wood that Hugh took her hand as naturally as the children would. But as his fingers closed round hers she felt a strange sense of elation.

‘I’d better go on alone from here,’ she said as they approached the end of the wood.

‘Will you meet me here tomorrow?’ he asked, turning to stand right in front of her.

‘We shouldn’t do this,’ she whispered, hanging her head. ‘I can’t afford to lose my job. Lou and Geoff would be disappointed in me too.’

With one hand still holding hers, he lifted the other to her cheek and stroked it lightly and she was forced to look up at him. His dark blue eyes held no danger, only tenderness.

‘I want to see you in the hols,’ he whispered. ‘They can’t stop us doing that. But I can’t wait that long. I’ve got to see you before, to make arrangements. We’ll make certain no one sees us. I won’t breathe a word to anyone at school.’

His hand on her face felt so good … she was aware he had stepped closer, and that he was slowly bending down to her and all at once his lips were on hers.

Carol had often spoken of kissing, but Charity hadn’t expected it to be anything like this.

His lips were warm and soft, and a shiver of pleasure ran down her spine as he drew her closer. Not a practised kiss like ones in films, their noses got in the way and she could hardly breathe, but still it had some strange magic that made her shut her eyes, arms moving round his slim body.

It was beginning to rain, just a few drops at first, which they ignored as they held one another, heads bent together. She could feel his heart beating through his shirt and his breath warm on her skin.

Trees were all around, forming a green canopy above them and the path was muddy beneath their feet. As the rain became heavier, the drumming on leaves made them look up.

‘Run back,’ he whispered, kissing her one more time. ‘You’ll get soaked without a coat. I’ll meet you here tomorrow at three.’

She ran then. Out of the woods, down the footpath and on without stopping or looking back till she reached the stile.

Pat was in the kitchen buttering slices of bread as Charity ran in through the door. Her hair was plastered to her head, rain running down her face.

‘You’re soaked,’ Pat reproved her. ‘Look at your jeans! What on earth have you been doing?’

Rain had penetrated right through to her underwear, and her saturated jeans were making puddles on the kitchen floor as she paused to get her breath back.

‘I went for a walk,’ she said lamely. ‘I didn’t think it would rain.’

Pat frowned. Charity had long since stopped calling her the Viper. Her sharpness was just a manner brought about by her good-for-nothing husband and the responsibility of providing for her three children. Now her long, pale face showed concern, perhaps even suspicion that Charity had been up to something.

‘Out of those wet clothes,’ she said reprovingly. ‘You’ll get pneumonia!’

Charity stripped off her clothes in her room and put on her dressing-gown, shivering now. From her window she could see Hugh in the distance, running up the playing fields, his brown legs shiny with rain, and her heart contracted painfully.

That night she couldn’t sleep. She could see Hugh, feel the warmth of his hand on her cheek, the softness of his lips on hers. She wanted to see him again, wanted it more than anything. Yet terrible fear came with the wanting.

She knew nothing of kissing, of courtship and cuddling. All she knew was the part that it all led to and that meant pain and humiliation. Yet even though her heart was hammering with fear, she knew she’d risk everything to see him again.

Chapter Eight

Charity stood emotionally on the bottom of the main staircase listening to the boys singing, her eyes prickling.

The anthem was ‘I Vow to Thee My Country’ and the sentiments it expressed had never seemed more appropriate or moving.

Seven days since Hugh first kissed her, long nights of lying awake thinking of him.

The wide front door was open to let in a welcome breeze, and sunshine danced on the polished wood floor turning it into a gleaming pool. Beyond the steps outside was just a fragment of England’s beauty, the sweeping green lawn speckled with daisies, a majestic chestnut tree, then the larch and beech trees by the boundary wall, planted a century ago.

Smells of steak-and-kidney pudding mingled with chalk and polish and if she stood on tiptoe she could just see into the assembly hall through a high pane of glass on the door. Two hundred boys. The youngest at the front by the stage; at the back the older ones who were almost men. A sea of blue blazers, voices raised in patriotic fervour. To the right of the stage was the roll of honour, a reminder of old boys who had made the ultimate sacrifice for their country in both world wars.

‘Stirring, isn’t it?’ Miss Hawkins’s voice behind her made Charity jump. ‘Especially now when so many of them are leaving. They came as little boys; now they are ready to take their places as men in the outside world.’

Charity hastily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and smiled.

‘I was just going to help Matron,’ she said quickly, feeling guilty because her tears were for Hugh alone. ‘I got sidetracked!’

‘Is everything all right?’ Miss Hawkins’s sharp features softened with concern. ‘You’ve seemed very jumpy these last few days.’

‘Just tired, I expect.’ Charity blushed.

‘Well you make sure you get a good rest during the holidays.’ The older woman patted Charity’s bottom affectionately. ‘Now off you go, Matron will be wondering how she’s ever going to get finished.’

Charity had been more than jumpy in the last week, she’d been unable to eat, sleep or even think clearly. The price for meeting Hugh in secret was high – instant dismissal with no reference – but she had willingly gambled everything for just an hour in his arms.

All day she thought of nothing but him, washing and drying dishes at astonishing speed, mouth dry, heart pounding. When their eyes met in the refectory, she had to rush away in confusion. If he strolled past the kitchen door in an effort to catch a glimpse of her, she wanted to shout and sing because it meant he shared her feelings. One moment she believed they could have a future together; the next she was sure he was merely playing with her.

‘Look at those cars!’ Pat leaned on the windowsill of the refectory and gazed out at the cavalcade of vehicles scrunching their way up the drive. ‘All that money and they still pack their kids off to boarding-school! If I was in their shoes I’d be taking mine on picnics every day.’

Charity heard the envy in the older woman’s voice and finished polishing the last table before she joined her to watch.

Since ten that morning the noise hadn’t ceased. Trunks being bumped down the stairs, excited voices calling out last frantic messages. Matron, who was normally almost invisible, had been up and down sorting out lost property, admonishing boys to go out into the quadrangle to await their parents and soothing younger ones who were fearful they’d been forgotten.

‘Look at ’er.’ Pat waved a work-reddened hand at a woman getting out of a chauffeur-driven Daimler. ‘I bet that bleedin’ outfit costs more than I earn in a year!’

The woman in question looked like a film star, in a rose pink silk suit with matching wide-brimmed hat. One of the smaller boys ran out to hug her, but she neatly sidestepped him and merely offered a cool cheek for his kiss.

‘Poor kid.’ Pat shook her head in dismay. ‘If she feels like that she shoulda given him away at birth.’

Charity’s mind wasn’t on the woman in the pink suit. Hugh was walking towards the front door with a man who could only be his father, and as he saw her looking out of the window he gave her a secret smile that meant he had to go home to Yorkshire for ten days, but he’d be back for his bar job, the cottage and her.

His father was shorter than Hugh, stockily built with a perspiring red face and gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair was streaked with grey and although his well-cut grey suit hid it well, Charity suspected he had a fat stomach.

Just a few minutes later they came in sight again, carrying Hugh’s trunk between them.

‘He’s a nice boy,’ Pat said. ‘Took him some time to settle down when he was a new boy, but now he’s off to Oxford after the holidays.’

Charity was tempted to take Pat into her confidence, but knew that if she did Pat would point out that young gentlemen like Hugh Mainwaring would choose someone of a higher status than kitchen maid for a girlfriend.

As the cars purred off down the drive and through the school gates, Charity was even more aware of the divide between her in a blue nylon overall, a polishing cloth in her hands, and Hugh sitting in that luxurious red Jaguar.

The agony of separation was soothed by the air of joviality that spread through the school once the last boy had left. There was a mountain of work to be done. Beds to be stripped, washed down with disinfectant. Curtains taken down for cleaning, desks emptied and classrooms cleared of rubbish. A smell of varnish, blackboard paint and turpentine took over from the aroma of baking pies and cakes.

When the first letter came from Hugh she wanted to sing with joy. He said Yorkshire was dull and lonely without her; when he looked at the cornflowers in the garden he saw her eyes and he dreamed of her nightly, counting the days till he got back to Sussex.

She sped through her tasks now with a new fervour. Each polished floor was as if he was to walk on it, and when she found old exercise books with his name on them, she clutched them to her chest with love.

His second letter confirmed he would be arriving at the cottage on 29 July. He promised to meet her that evening by the crossroads.

Lou and Geoff had written too. They were taking James away for a holiday to the seaside, followed by a couple of days at Studley so that James could see Prue and Toby. Their assurances that they would do their best to persuade Stephen to change his mind about Charity were comforting, but more importantly they would be able to give her a first-hand report later on how all three children were reacting to the changes in their lives.

‘Has my taxi arrived yet?’ Miss Hawkins came down the stairs, carrying a small case in one hand.

Charity’s work was over now. The rest of the staff gone, she had been waiting to see the housekeeper off before taking a bath in preparation for seeing Hugh. The school was silent: benches stacked on the refectory tables, revarnished desks gleaming in sunfilled classrooms, dormitories almost ghostly with bare iron beds, lockers waiting for their new owners in September. Not even the sound of Giles mowing the grass, or Mrs Cod banging pots and dishes. Just blissful silence, birdsong and the buzzing of insects.

‘It’s just turned into the drive,’ Charity informed her, looking at Miss Hawkins in some astonishment. She wore a pale blue costume and a small feathered hat, even a touch of lipstick and powder. It had transformed her from a formidable middle-aged matron into a younger, attractive lady. ‘You look lovely!’

‘Well thank you, dear.’ The older woman smiled warmly. ‘It’s good to get out of my uniform. I think we all tend to forget there is a world beyond the school walls. Now mind you have a good rest this holiday, you’ve been looking a bit peaky lately. Mrs Cod will be in and out, but make sure you leave the kitchen tidy when you make your food, it’s her holiday too. I’ve asked Giles to dig you out a bicycle so you can get out and about a bit.’

‘Thank you,’ Charity blushed. Everyone was a little concerned that she would be alone during the holidays. Pat had even invited her to join her family on outings. Now she felt guilty at not admitting she had other plans. ‘Let me take your case!’

‘Off with you.’ Miss Hawkins waved her aside. ‘You’re on holiday now, enjoy it.’

Charity waved until Miss Hawkins was out of sight, feeling dwarfed by the big, empty school behind her and the expanse of lawn in front. But she didn’t feel isolated or lonely today. Bubbles of excitement were fizzing up inside her, banishing even thoughts of the children.

Charity had thought about what she was going to wear to meet Hugh all week. But as she rushed up the hill at seven-thirty, she felt she’d made the right choice. One of the masters’ wives had given her the sleeveless lilac shift dress and it was a far more expensive one than she could have considered buying herself. With her hair freshly washed, loose on her shoulders and her bare feet in new white sandals, she felt she looked as good as the models in teenage magazines.

It was still very warm. Even on the hill overshadowed by thick hedges and trees she had no need for the cardigan she was carrying. The balmy air was full of country smells: meadowsweet, damp earth and privet. In darkness this part of the road was a little scary, but now the rustlings in bushes were clearly only the odd rabbit or birds and the joyful expectancy of seeing Hugh again made her hurry to reach the crossroads.