Charity (80 page)

‘It’s OK.’ Charity beamed reassurance at them. ‘I’ve had a brainwave. I’ll tell you over dinner.’

On top of all Margaret’s other talents she was a marvellous cook. The roast beef was perfect, pink and tender, the Yorkshire pudding light as a meringue, the vegetables from the garden.

The dining room was at its best at night. Heavy curtains covered the windows on to the garden, and the high ones at the front of the house twinkled in the light from the candelabra placed on the Jacobean sideboard. The heavy old table squeaked with polish, silver from four generations was burnished to a mirror finish; each crystal glass spread prisms of light around it.

Charity waited until they had almost finished the first course. Margaret had left an apple pie and cream on the sideboard and they could make coffee themselves later. She had made small talk so far, waiting for the right moment.

‘Come on then, sis!’ James sounded so much like Toby, full of impatience.

‘Suppose there was a way we could keep a bit of this place, but have none of the headaches …’ Charity looked at both of them in turn. ‘Would that satisfy you?’

‘Don’t even suggest turning it into flats,’ Prue said dismissively. ‘That would be an abomination!’

‘Not flats.’ Charity smiled at her sister’s description. ‘We could sell a lease on the house to a company that wanted to make it into a country house hotel. That way it would still be ours, but with rent coming in and a hefty lump sum.’

Prue’s face wore a guarded expression, but James’s face broke into a wide grin.

‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ he agreed. ‘We could always get it back if we wanted to.’

‘But no one would want it like that,’ Prue snorted. ‘They’d be too scared of investing in something they didn’t own outright.’

In Charity’s talks on salesmanship one of the things she had always stressed was that counter-argument was the first step to winning a sale. All she had to do now was show Prue she was mistaken.

‘Not necessarily,’ Charity said evenly. ‘A renewable lease for, say, ten-year periods is enough security. Aside from adding a few home comforts to the closed-up wing, redecoration and stuff, it’s in pretty good shape. It only needs someone with a bit of imagination and flair to make it work. Can’t you imagine Americans just falling over themselves to stay here? Stephen’s room would make a wonderful bar, the drawing room would be perfect for a residents’ lounge. The scope is enormous.’

‘Maybe. But how would we find someone like that?’ Prue smirked, as if wanting to shoot the plan down in flames.

‘I bet they’d be coming to us in droves once I put the word out,’ Charity said confidently. ‘I know dozens of businesspeople who’d jump at the opportunity.’

This was a white lie, but she did know how to go about advertising in the right quarters.

‘But I’d hate not being able to come here,’ James said quietly.

Charity was chastened. She often forgot that Prue and James had spent many an idyllic holiday here and they had been indoctrinated by both Grandmother and Uncle into loving the Priory as they had. She had no wish to spoil their memories, or to harp on about the negative attributes of the family. Yet she had no intention of martyring herself either.

‘There’s nothing to stop us converting one of the stables into a holiday home for us to share,’ Charity dropped in, picking up their empty plates and stacking them on the trolley. ‘Now wouldn’t it be nice to have a smaller place where we could all be together, or share with friends? None of the hassle of mowing lawns, doing the garden or thinking about staff. A place we could bring our children in years to come.’

She dished out the apple pie, waiting for a response. Once they’d bitten the cherry she could illustrate her idea more fully, talk of the paintings and furniture being restored, inventories made and how the business side of it would be conducted. But for now she only wanted enthusiasm.

‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ James burst out, his eyes sparkling. ‘Especially the idea of a holiday home.’

‘What about you, Prue?’ Charity laid one hand on her sister’s shoulder. ‘We have to be in complete agreement or it’s a non-starter.’

When she didn’t answer immediately Charity felt certain she was planning a hostile reply. But to her surprise Prue lifted her hand to cover Charity’s and stroked it almost tenderly.

‘It is a good idea,’ she said slowly, her wide mouth moving into a real smile. ‘I can see a great many flaws in it, but no doubt you’ll work on those.’

Charity hugged her sister impulsively.

‘We’ll iron them all out in time,’ Charity said gleefully into Prue’s hair. ‘We’ll have to speak to the trustees and get legal advice, but time’s on our side and we’re three very rich people already.’

Prue was silent as she ate her pudding, unaware of James prattling on about how great it would be to see the whole house open, or how even Uncle Stephen might actually applaud this plan.

‘What is it?’ Charity said at length. ‘Tell me, Prue?’

‘I was just thinking about how it was back in Greenwich.’ Prue’s eyes held a glint of tears. ‘In those days we only cared about having a few sweets – now, we’ve got so much.’

In a flash Charity knew just what her sister was getting at. All those other poor children who had no hope of ever getting a taste of good things. Prue had come full circle, as perhaps Charity had too. Having enough money to live comfortably brought peace of mind; too much meant guilt.

‘There’s nothing to stop us doing something worthwhile with some of our money,’ Charity said softly.

Prue’s eyes flashed and for a moment Charity thought she’d read her sister wrongly.

‘Like what?’ Prue said. ‘Give it to an orphanage or something?’

That word orphanage struck a chord in Charity’s brain. Until that second there had been nothing but the need to appease Prue’s conscience and to get shot of the house in a way that suited them all. But now another idea was forming and this time she even felt she would like to take an active part.

‘Suppose we started some sort of holiday home for inner city children?’ she blurted out, images rushing into her head so fast she felt almost dizzy. ‘Not necessarily here. Maybe by the sea.’

A bright light came into Prue’s eyes and Charity saw that for all her past snobbishness, deep down there was a caring, committed woman who loved children.

‘Are you serious?’ Prue asked.

Even though Charity hadn’t had time to consider the idea, one look at her sister’s rapt face told her it was a good one.

‘I think so,’ Charity grinned. ‘It would be fun, wouldn’t it?’

She could see it. A comfortable biggish house with a couple of paddocks and maybe even a small wood. Dormitories for the smaller children, older ones in tents. Young students helping out for the summer, camp fires and picnics on the beach. So maybe they’d have to set up some sort of charitable trust to keep it running, but she could get businessmen to make donations.

‘I’d like to run something like that,’ Prue said breathlessly, blue eyes dancing with real pleasure. ‘Let’s make it happen, Chas. Don’t let’s just take, like all the other Pennycuicks. We have a duty to those less fortunate than ourselves.’

It was on the tip of Charity’s tongue to say that Prue had inherited her father’s pious turns of phrase, but that would demean her sister’s altruistic intention.

‘We’ll plan it all together,’ Charity said, taking one of her sister’s hands and one of James’s. ‘Now suppose we go and raid the cellar and find a bottle of the best claret?’

‘Rob’s here!’ Prue yelled up the stairs the next morning. ‘But don’t you go running off with him without making arrangements for Christmas!’

Charity flew down the stairs. She hadn’t slept well without him beside her and her mind had been churning over the plans they’d discussed the night before.

She reached the porch just as one long leg snaked out of his green Volkswagen. Rob’s face broke into a wide smile as he saw her.

On their first meeting in the hospital Charity had been struck by his improved looks since they’d first met as teenagers. She’d been surprised by his height and by his increased confidence. Through all those dark, troubled days he’d been there, listening, prompting and soothing, and his face had grown dearer to her daily. But now, perhaps because of the two-day separation – the first since they’d become lovers – she saw him as others must.

Frosty sunshine dancing on untidy butter-coloured hair. Speckly brown eyes sparkling with laughter and a mobile, expressive mouth that showed his easygoing nature. But there was more to him than an attractive face and lean, strong body. He was a man with deep understanding of others, warmth and sincerity, mingled with intelligence and wit. She could count on him, build a future with him, and somehow she knew that even when they were old and frail they would be as close as they were now.

‘It’s good to hold you,’ he said into her hair as she threw herself into his arms. ‘These two days have seemed endless. How are things here?’

‘Good.’ She lifted her lips to kiss him. His worn leather jacket smelt of Albemarle Mansions, his neck and face of shaving soap and a hint of woody cologne. ‘I’ve had a brilliant plan, but I’ll tell you that later. But for now I want to tell you something else.’

‘Not that you’ve gone off marrying me?’ He held her at arm’s length, his face taking on a mock-devastated expression. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve decided to stay here and become a spinster?’

‘Come round to the Italian garden,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘If we go in, Prue will start on about Christmas again.’

Charity made him run with her, their feet scrunching on the gravel drive as they skirted round the stables. She was wearing only jeans and a blue sweater and it was cold, but she had no intention of going back for a coat.

Everywhere looked extra special this morning: the lawn white with frost, holly berries startling red against dark green leaves. Even the sky was brilliant blue, setting off the grey stone of the Priory to perfection.

In her haste to talk to Rob she had forgotten he hadn’t seen the house before and that he was probably as overwhelmed as she had been on her first visit. But she could show him everything later; for now her news was the only important thing.

It was marginally warmer in the shelter of the walled garden. Charity led him to a small bench in the corner and sat down. There were few flowers left in the garden now that the roses had been pruned by Tom, just naked spiky sticks, and the pergola appeared to be covered in barbed wire because the clematis had lost all its leaves. A few clumps of winter pansies lifted their pretty faces in defiance, and the small fountain Grandmother had asked for was silent. Just a few inches of green water lay still beneath the cherub’s feet.

‘The perfect spot!’ Charity turned to Rob, pulling him down beside her.

‘Not for making love,’ Rob groaned. ‘This bench is hard and it’s freezing.’

‘I thought you said you’d love me anywhere?’ she joked, snuggling into his arms. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve had a change of heart?’

Rob laughed, wrapping his arms tightly round her.

‘No, but I’m not into scenic beauty right now, only a hot cup of coffee and a warm fire.’

‘I wanted to tell you my news somewhere beautiful,’ she said softly. The garden was barren now compared with its beauty in the spring and summer, yet the pansies, a winter-flowering daphne and a vivid orange cotoneaster climbing the wall were enough in the sunshine. A robin sat on the side of the fountain, its bright eyes watching them intently, and the red brick of the paths and raised flowerbeds added warmth to the picture. ’So we could remember it when we’re old. Maybe even bring our grandchildren out here and tell them about it.’

‘Grandchildren? That’s jumping the gun a bit!’ he exclaimed, tilting her face round to his. ‘We haven’t even got married yet.’

Charity took one of his hands and put it on her stomach.

‘Say hallo to the first little Cuthbertson.’

Rob’s eyes widened incredulously.

‘A baby?’

Charity had rehearsed this moment so many times in the last few days, had steeled herself to wait until Christmas morning, but she couldn’t hold it in any longer. As she felt the warmth of his hand on her stomach, saw that look of adoration in his eyes, it surpassed everything she had hoped for.

Charity just savoured the moment. The garden, the sunshine and that strong capable hand caressing her so reverently. It made up for all the sadness and pain, washed away the last bitter memories.

No man had ever stroked her when Daniel was inside her; she’d had to love him enough for two. She knew Rob would share every moment of this pregnancy and at the moment of birth he would be there. The first night they made love she’d been aware it was doubly sweet because of all the sadness of the past, and now she saw that without the sorrow of losing Daniel, she could never have contained this much joy now.

‘Are you absolutely sure?’ Rob whispered.

‘You’re the doctor,’ she laughed. ‘But I’m certain.’

‘I adore you,’ Rob smiled, taking her in his arms to kiss her. ‘I only loved you before, but this news is worthy of adoration.’

‘We’ll have to keep it to ourselves till after the wedding,’ Charity whispered as they went into the house, shivering now with cold and excitement. ‘As Prue would say, “We must consider the proprieties.”’

‘Coward.’ Rob smiled down at her. ‘You’re afraid your uncle will rise from his grave making statements about babies born the wrong side of the blanket.’

‘Maybe,’ Charity giggled. ‘But as the eldest I have to set a good example.’

‘What on earth are you two so happy about?’ Prue said suspiciously over lunch. Rob had been grinning inanely at Charity since the moment they entered the dining room and Prue felt uncomfortable, wondering if their private joke had something to do with her. ‘And you still haven’t said if we’re going to spend Christmas here!’

Charity looked at Rob. He shrugged his shoulders in a gesture that said she must decide.

Charity looked back at her sister, saw the tension in her face and sensed that whatever Prue might say, she didn’t really welcome Christmas here. Prue was young, she’d been through a great deal of trauma this year and she should be with her friends, letting her hair down.