Charity (35 page)

This was all progressing a bit too fast for Charity. She had put one toe in the water in getting her hair cut and thinking about the future, but now Rita was getting carried away.

Rita, like Dorothy, came from a wealthy middleclass background; they were both only children who’d been brought up in luxurious homes. Neither of them suffered from feelings of inadequacy, they could launch themselves into the beauty world with the assurance they belonged there.

The pub was cosy and by the time they were on their third Babycham Charity was beginning to warm to Rita’s lifestyle.

It all sounded so exciting – staying in hotels with other girls, making more money than Charity had ever dreamed of, and all the perks like clothes allowances and free makeup and perfume. But then Rita moved on to talk about getting a flat.

‘I know of one coming up in Earls Court,’ she insisted. ‘Dad will give me a deposit if we need one. He’s dying to get rid of me, I cramp their style on bridge nights. Think of it, Charity – you, me and Dorothy. We could have such a good time.’

‘Will Dorothy want to come to London?’

‘Want to! She can’t wait,’ Rita grinned mischievously. ‘She phoned last night to say she had a case packed ready.

‘Tell me more about this John.’ Rita looked attentively at her friend. Charity had mentioned John only in passing, but Rita sensed there was more to tell. ‘How long have you been going out with him?’

‘He isn’t a
boyfriend
.’ Charity looked shocked, then proceeded to talk about John Marshall for twenty minutes.

Rita missed nothing. She thought her friend was smitten. ‘John Marshall! He’s bloody famous, Charity. Even
I’ve
heard of him.’

‘Hold on.’ Charity saw Rita was reading more into this than she wanted her to. ‘He’s fifty and it’s not the way you think.’

‘The best lover I ever had was fifty. He did things to me that make me go weak at the knees just thinking about it.’ Rita’s eyes went all dreamy. ‘Of course he was married and nothing could come of it. But this guy is on his own. He’ll pamper you, teach you all sorts of things. Grab the chance while you can.’

‘I don’t suppose he thinks that way for a minute.’ Charity giggled at her friend’s audacity. ‘He’s lost his daughter, I’m just a substitute, that’s all.’

Rita looked carefully at Charity. She was very thin and pale compared with how she remembered her at Daleham Gardens and her clothes, though new, weren’t exactly fashionable. But Charity was a natural beauty, her skin was as clear as a child’s and her blonde hair gleamed under the lights.

‘Charity, you’re gorgeous,’ she insisted. ‘I don’t believe that any man could fail to notice that, even if you were wearing a sack. He must be interested if he’s written and says he wants to see you again. Men aren’t like women, they don’t collect substitutes for their own kids.’

Charity felt a pang of guilt as she thought of her own father. ‘He’s old enough to be my dad.’

‘But he
isn’t
your dad.’ Rita smiled triumphantly. ‘He’s a rich, famous man who also happens to be free. Start thinking about him in that way. You like him, you said yourself he’s handsome and easy to talk to. What else do you want?’

Charity wanted what she had had with Hugh, only for it to last for ever. She wanted the security of knowing she was loved, a man’s arms around her, a man who would never lie to her.

‘I want love, I suppose,’ she said.

‘Look where love got the three of us!’ Rita gave a tight little laugh. ‘I’ll settle for fun from now on, men who adore me and show their appreciation with more than a quick screw in the back of their car. I don’t ever want the pain of caring too much, and I don’t think you do either.’

They parted after the pub closed. The last thing Rita said was that she was going out to look for a flat the next day and she’d be in touch as soon as she’d found the right one.

‘Promise me you won’t let me down?’ she said as she got into a taxi. ‘I’m relying on you.’

Charity had spent many nights lying awake in the Regent Palace, but this was the first that her thoughts were entirely happy ones.

Only one tiny thing bothered her. Was Rita being entirely truthful? Her new glamorous appearance, that kind of hard-bitten confidence she’d acquired, was that really entirely due to promotions work she was doing? She hadn’t actually mentioned any of the companies she worked for by name. Charity felt uneasy, despite herself.

It was snowing again on the first of February. Charity woke to find the roof outside her window glimmering in the darkness and still more snow falling. She’d scarely noticed it in the first few weeks, yet now for some reason she felt a wild elation as she got into her uniform, as if something wonderful was about to happen.

She skipped through taking early morning tea round to the guests, laughed at Cyril the breakfast chef’s little jokes when normally she ignored them, and when the mail came and she found a letter from John, her heart turned somersaults.

Just a few lines on one piece of thick hotel paper from Paris:

I’m flying back into London on the evening of February 1st. I’ll stay at the Hilton because I don’t want to make things awkward for you. Can you ring me there on the morning of the 2nd? I’m looking forward to seeing you again.

The letter was enough to send her flying through her work doing the bedrooms. An American businessman had left her a five-pound tip and then just as she was going off duty for the afternoon, Rita rang her.

‘I’ve found the flat,’ she gasped down the phone. ‘It’s wonderful, Chas, Dad’s paid the key money for us and the first month’s rent.’

‘Where is it?’ Charity felt a surge of wild excitement.

‘In Earls Court, Barkston Gardens,’ Rita gabbled out. ‘It’s not a grotty place, though it needs a bit of painting. It’s in one of those proper blocks with heating and everything. You wait till you see it. You’ll be jumping up and down with glee.’

‘When
can
I see it?’ Charity said eagerly.

‘Meet me at Earls Court tube tonight at eight,’ Rita said. ‘Dad’s signing the lease today and picking up the keys. I’m going to phone Dot at teatime. I bet she’ll be on the next train.’

It was all so sudden that Charity couldn’t think straight. ‘But what about my job?’ she blurted out.

‘Hand in your notice,’ Rita said impatiently. ‘Do it now, otherwise you’ll be agonising over it. I’ll get you a job straight away. They need loads of girls right now. By the way, it’s the Earls Court Road side of the station, not the bit by the exhibition hall. Look, I’ve got to go. See you there at eight.’

There was no time to ask how she’d get there if snow stopped the tubes, no time for reassurance that she really would get another job, or even to tell Rita about John. But the elation she’d felt earlier that morning was enough to tell her that her future was about to change dramatically.

‘I didn’t expect it to be as posh as this,’ Charity gasped as Rita stopped at Barkston Mansions.

There could have been no better way to see the private gardens in the centre of the square than in the golden glow of the Victorian street lamps: grass hidden under a blanket of thick, untrampled snow, trees weighed down with sparkling frosting. Black railings and a lone snowman turned it into a scene of serenity and beauty straight from a Christmas card, hiding the fact that this area was the heart of rather squalid bedsitter land.

A couple of wide white marble steps led up to half-glassed double doors and beyond the spacious hall was an old wrought-iron lift, the staircase winding round it, with a red carpet and gleaming brass stair rods.

Charity looked up. The building had at least five floors, as did all the houses, and the porch was supported by stone pillars. Across the square most of the other houses had damaged stonework and peeling paint, but this was red brick and the lower flats had leaded windows.

‘Ours isn’t all that grand,’ Rita said, dragging Charity up the steps. ‘Dad gave me a warning about wild parties. Apparently there’s quite a lot of old forgies living here.’

Their flat was on the fourth floor to the right of the stairs. A big square hall, with all the other rooms leading off.

‘An old lady lived here,’ Rita explained as she led Charity into the hall. ‘Apparently her son whisked her off into a home and he’s sold off all her good stuff, but he told Dad we could have the rest.’

Charity stood still and just stared. A scratched table and four unmatching chairs stood in the middle of the hall, the dark green carpet had deep dents where heavier furniture had stood and there were clean marks on the faded wallpaper where pictures had been removed.

A faint whiff of old ladies and mothballs lingered, but even at that first glance Charity knew it had great potential.

‘It’s so warm,’ she gasped, taking off her coat and flinging it down on the table before she went to explore.

‘The heating and hot water is thrown in with the rent,’ Rita said as she followed her. ‘I was a bit disappointed because it’s only got two bedrooms and when I saw it the first time there was a lot more furniture.’

A sitting room overlooking the street held only a large shabby sofa and two armchairs. Next to this was a small bedroom with an old-fashioned bed like something from ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’. The second bedroom was at the back, sandwiched between the kitchen and bathroom.

‘We could make the hall the lounge,’ Charity suggested. She moved the table and chairs back against the wall between the bedroom and kitchen. The carpet was the best in the entire flat, with only one worn part. ‘If we put the sofa over that to hide it.’

She could see it repainted, with bright pictures on the wall and a couple of lamps. The doors were all lovely mahogany ones with brass knobs and at night it wouldn’t matter that there were no windows.

Silence from Rita made her look round.

Rita was standing by the small pine table, two pretty china plates in her hands, and to Charity’s amazement she was crying.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Charity went over to her friend and put her arms round her.

‘Just being silly,’ Rita sniffed. ‘I’ve pretended for so long that everything was fine. I put on my makeup, tart myself up and show off.’ She didn’t have to add that if her father had helped her like this six months ago, all three of them might have been able to keep their babies.

Charity held Rita tightly. She too was never going to mention what might have been, or allow herself any bitter backward glances. ‘It’s all going to be wonderful from now on. We three are going to be a family, looking out for one another. Together we can be happy.’

It was only as they travelled back on the Piccadilly line together that Charity remembered to tell Rita that John would be in London in the morning.

‘At the Hilton, eh?’ Rita winked suggestively. ‘Well have a good time. Dorothy’s got some bloke to drive her up on Thursday. Can you meet us at the flat in the evening to do some cleaning? Then we can all move in on Saturday. Try and nick us some sheets and towels!’

Charity approached the Hilton with butterflies in her stomach and her heart fluttering. It was all very well the other chambermaids telling her she looked like a model in her new black dress, and dabbing some Chanel number 5 on her neck and wrists; inside she felt like the maid dressed up in her mistress’s clothes. Her feet were like ice, shoes already wet with snow and even the new coat offered little protection from the icy wind.

She ought to have got a taxi instead of walking down Piccadilly and now she was scared stiff of going into somewhere so grand. Suppose John didn’t really want to see her? It was three weeks since that lunch and he’d been upset enough to agree to anything then. It would be too awful if she found he was only meeting her out of politeness.

Park Lane looked very pretty. Although the road had been cleared, snow hung on the trees and beyond the railings Hyde Park was one glorious sweep of winter wonderland lit up by the street lamps.

The liveried doorman was flagging down a cab for a couple in evening dress standing under the hotel canopy and it took all Charity’s courage to walk past them and through the big doors.

John had said he would be waiting in reception, but she couldn’t see him.

A porter looked round from the desk where he was talking to one of the clerks, and Charity blushed scarlet. At the Regent Palace they had to be very careful about prostitutes using the hotel and she wondered if they might suspect her of being one.

Then she saw John and a hot tingle surged through her veins.

He came towards her smiling, caught hold of her arms and kissed her cheek. ‘It’s so good to see you again. For a moment I didn’t recognise you.’

‘I had my hair cut,’ she said in little more than a whisper, feeling flustered as if every one of the dozens of people milling round the foyer were watching them.

‘Come and have a drink,’ he said and led her towards the bar.

John looked so handsome and distinguished in his grey suit and striped tie. His face had a healthy glow that hadn’t been there at their last meeting and Charity found herself gazing at his strong features.

‘You look better,’ she said softly as they sat down. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Calmer.’ He smiled. ‘A bit ashamed of myself for letting my emotions get the better of me.’

Over a drink Charity told him about the flat.

‘Well, good for you.’ He reached across the table and put his hand over hers. ‘I wish you every happiness in your new home, it sounds marvellous.’

Later he took her to another Italian restaurant at the back of Oxford Street and over a leisurely meal he told her about his work and all the countries he’d been to.

It was like being taken on a magic carpet ride as he talked of palaces in India, the wildlife in Africa, mountains of Nepal and the people in China. He mentioned he was hoping to go back to Africa before long to finish the job he had abandoned when he cut short his last trip.

‘Travelling is a love affair for me.’ He smiled. ‘I wish I could settle down in one place, but as soon as I’ve unpacked my bags I start hankering for wide open spaces, for new sights, sounds and smells. Sometimes I think I’ve spent more time in airport lounges than anyone else in the world.’