Charlie (26 page)

‘What if I got Beryl to ask her?’ he suggested. Oddly enough Sylvia got on well with Beryl. She had called in to visit Sylvia one day soon after she came out of the nursing home, and since then she often popped in during the day while Charlie was at school.

She never stayed long, but she always took a batch of magazines with her, and with her own special brand of persuasive charm, she had got the woman to open up about many things, including her relationship with Jin, and a little about DeeDee, the other woman in his life.

It saddened Ivor to think Sylvia could talk to a comparative stranger, yet refused to talk to her daughter about anything connected with either of her parents’ past.

Beryl had gleaned that DeeDee was a strong, ambitious and very beautiful woman. She came from the East End of London originally, but had somehow managed to shed all trace of her humble beginnings, including her cockney accent. Beryl said that when Sylvia spoke of their early friendship, despite everything that had happened, it was clear she still retained admiration, even some affection, for this woman. She spoke of DeeDee bringing up her two younger brothers single-handedly, of how she took Sylvia under her wing, gave her a roof over her head, taught her how to dress, and indeed how to fleece rich men.

Beryl had told Ivor on several different occasions that she’d seen how Sylvia must have been before the dark moods Charlie spoke of took over her life – a vulnerable yet vivacious and warm woman, who cared about other people.

In Beryl’s opinion, Jin had cheated on Sylvia because her insecurity made her clingy and demanding. To her DeeDee sounded like perfect mistress material, passionate, wilful and exciting. What Beryl couldn’t understand though was why Jin, who in so many ways sounded such a decent man, could plan and execute such a cruel and devious way to leave Sylvia, or why the woman who had suffered so much because of him wouldn’t tell everything she knew. Beryl was totally convinced she did know a great deal more and that she was still, perhaps irrationally, frightened of DeeDee.

‘I can’t see Sylvia refusing Beryl,’ Ivor went on. ‘She’d be afraid Beryl would accuse her of being selfish, and stop visiting her.’

Charlie looked thoughtful. ‘It might work, it’s worth a try,’ she said, her eyes brightening a little.

‘Then I’ll suggest it,’ he said. ‘So say nothing to your mum right now.’

They spoke of Charlie’s job at the Royal Castle. Charlie made Ivor laugh with stories about what went on in the kitchens. She only did the menial tasks, preparing salads and vegetables, but her interest in cooking had taken a leap forward since she’d been there. It was when she made a weak joke about smuggling home some leftover chicken and vegetables to supplement her poor wages that Ivor wondered if she was struggling to make ends meet.

‘Are you short of money?’ he asked. ‘Because if you’re worried about a bill or something, you’ve only got to say and I’ll try and help.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘But I’m coping okay.’ Her eyes weren’t meeting his and he thought she was lying to him.

‘There is something wrong. I can tell,’ he said firmly. ‘So tell me?’

Charlie hesitated for a moment. She was worried, but not about money, she’d got used to having very little. It was the treasures buried up by ‘Windways’ which bothered her, and as each day passed she knew she had to do something about them, but she didn’t know what.

‘Come on, Charlie, tell Uncle Ivor, you know what they say about shared problems?’

Charlie decided to take the plunge. She blurted it out without drawing breath.

Ivor gave a low whistle as she finished. He hadn’t expected anything like that. ‘Well, that
was
a smart move, Charlie,’ he said, looking at her admiringly. He couldn’t imagine any other young girl keeping such a secret. ‘Don’t for one moment feel guilty about it, they are yours by rights. But you certainly can’t leave them there much longer. For one thing damp might get in, for another a builder or someone might find them.’

‘But what should I do with them? Should I tell Mum?’

Ivor gave this a moment’s deep thought. Judging by Charlie’s description of these items, they could be worth a great deal of money. Sylvia had long since decided that Jin had taken her jewellery, and she had everything she really needed already. In all probability, being entirely self-centred, and hardly the smartest woman in the world, she would either merely sit on them, refusing to sell even one item to relieve Charlie from the pressure of working so hard, or, more likely, she’d want to blow the lot on something very extravagant. If it was the latter, someone would find out and questions would be asked about where the money came from.

‘I don’t think you should tell her, not the way she is,’ Ivor said firmly. ‘At the moment she has her rent paid and enough money to live on quite comfortably, and you have a free place at school. All that would be in jeopardy if the Social Security found she had a nest-egg. And if they refused to give her benefits, any money from the sale of those items would soon be eaten up. I think you should find a really safe place for them. I can find out about that for you. Maybe once you’ve finished at school and got a decent job, it might be different, you could sell them then, and get a better place for your mother to live. But right now I think it’s better to keep quiet about them.’

‘But what if she accuses me later of deceiving her?’

Ivor shrugged. ‘So what, Charlie? You had the presence of mind to take these things, not for yourself, but to help her. You’ve done everything possible to make your mum comfortable and secure in these past months. She is a very lucky woman to have you caring for her. It’s time you stopped pandering to her every little whim and stood up for yourself.’

Two weeks later, in the Easter holidays, Charlie was packing a bag to go to Salcombe for a few days. Beryl had finally managed to persuade Sylvia that she could cope alone. The fridge was full of food, there was a pile of cigarette packets on the coffee table, and a selection of new magazines were sitting on her mother’s bedside table. The district nurse and their next-door neighbour had promised to pop in each day. The sun was shining outside, with a real promise that spring was finally here. Charlie even had the treasures she’d recovered from their hiding place. They were now at the bottom of her bag to be taken first to a valuer Ivor had tracked down, and then to be put in a security vault.

She was very glad to be taking them somewhere safer. She had dug them up on the first day of her holiday, and she’d been terrified that her mother might poke around in her room and find them.

It had been scary creeping through the dense bushes by ‘Windways’. As she dug them out, she had visions of someone popping their head over the wall and demanding to know what she was doing. But as there were no curtains in the front of the house and the windows hadn’t been cleaned, she thought perhaps the new owners hadn’t moved in yet.

She zipped up her bag and put a few clothes away. The bus to Kingsbridge was due in ten minutes, but she was worried about her mother. Last night Charlie had made a special meal for them both, helped her mother into the bath later, washed and set her hair, and Sylvia had been so cheerful that Charlie’d actually begun to believe she was happy her daughter was having a little holiday. Now this morning she wouldn’t get up, she claimed she had a stomach ache and even suggested there was something wrong with the chicken Charlie had cooked.

‘She’s making it up,’ Charlie told herself. ‘The minute you’ve gone she’ll be out of bed and checking to see what’s on TV. Remember what Ivor said. You have to stand up for yourself.’

Picking up her small bag, she went out into the living room and looked around her. In the week she’d been home from school she’d done some spring-cleaning and the flat looked nice again. The net curtains were snowy white, she’d washed all the cushion covers and given the carpet a shampoo. Sunshine was streaming through the front windows and at the back the view down to the river was enough to lift anyone’s spirits. A vase of daffodils on the coffee table looked cheerful and as the windows had been open for a while the room didn’t smell of smoke.

She wished her mother would learn to appreciate that it was a nice flat, and how kind the neighbours were. They were only ordinary working-class people, with enough problems of their own, yet several of them went out of their way to call in on Sylvia when she was alone.

Charlie was wearing jeans and a red sweater, but as she looked at herself in the mirror she winced. Last year her jeans had been skin-tight, now they were loose, the sweater had bobbles on it through age and constant wear, and it was so long since she’d last had her hair cut that it looked bedraggled. It crossed her mind that if Guy turned up in Salcombe for Easter he’d get a shock to see her this way.

Sighing deeply, she turned away from the mirror and put on her coat, then went in to say goodbye to her mother.

‘I’m going now,’ she said. ‘How’s the turn?’

Sylvia just groaned. ‘Terrible, I think I’ve got food poisoning.’

Charlie looked hard at her mother. Her colour was normal, the same putty shade as always. She hadn’t been sick. She was definitely making it up. ‘The nurse will be in around twelve and she might have something she can give you,’ she said in a crisp voice. ‘Is there anything you need before I go?’

‘No, you go. I wouldn’t want you to miss your bus.’

‘Beryl’s telephone number is on the pad by the phone,’ Charlie said. ‘You can call me there in an emergency, but I’ll phone you each night anyway.’

‘I’d have to be dying before I’d spoil your holiday,’ Sylvia said and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Charlie took a deep breath, leaned over and kissed her. ‘If the tummy ache stops later why don’t you sit outside in the sunshine for a bit? It’s lovely out by the back door.’

She left then, but it was hard to walk away leaving her mother crying.

To Charlie’s surprise, there was no frantic phone call that evening. She rang her anyway. Sylvia claimed she still had the stomach ache and she didn’t feel like eating, but she seemed resigned to being alone and even said she hoped Charlie would enjoy herself.

It was so good to be back in the bar with Beryl and Ivor that first evening. Beryl looked very glamorous with her new blonde hair, and she glowed with delight when Charlie told her so. In no time at all it was as if she’d never been away, laughing, gossiping and teasing. Many of the locals had virtually ignored her last summer, but now they acted as if she had been bred and born in Salcombe. When she finally fell into her little bed at nearly one in the morning, it was wonderful to know she didn’t have to get up early.

She and Ivor spent the following day together. It was too early in the year for him to open the shack, anyone who needed something just banged on his cottage door. They took Minnie for a walk in the morning and in the afternoon they went out in the
MaryAnn
. To know she had a few days’ release from cooking, cleaning and schoolwork was all Charlie needed to bring back her sense of humour. It seemed as if she was laughing all day at Ivor’s tales. The smell of the sea, the stiff breeze and the watery sunshine brought the colour back to her cheeks, and for the first time in months she had worked up a real appetite. Ivor had made her his special fish stew and she ate two large bowlfuls of it, relishing every delicious mouthful.

‘That’s better,’ he said approvingly when she almost staggered to an armchair and Minnie climbed up on her lap. ‘You look like my old first mate again. And to welcome you back you’re excused washing-up duties.’

On the second day, Ivor drove her in Beryl’s car to Exeter to meet Mr Craig the valuer. All the way there, despite Ivor’s insistence there was nothing to be frightened of, Charlie felt very nervous. After all, Ivor had never met him, he’d only got his name and telephone number from an acquaintance. She imagined him to be a snooty, aristocratic type in an elegant showroom and she was uneasy about the story Ivor had told the man about how she’d been left these things by her grandmother.

Suppose those miniatures hadn’t been bought fair and square by her father, but stolen from someone? She’d read in the newspapers that people did get caught sometimes when they tried to sell such things on. Surely if they were her grandmother’s she’d know the background about them, like how old they were, who the women painted were?

The last thing she needed now was to be caught with stolen property.

Her fears turned out to be groundless. Mr D. F. Craig turned out to be a rather wizened little man of over seventy who had now retired from his position as valuer for a major auction rooms. The address he’d given Ivor was his own home, a charming old cottage crammed with antiques, just outside Exeter.

Over tea and cake he studied each of the items carefully. The miniatures, he assured her, were fine ones, he dated them at around 1820, and he thought that if they were put into a suitable auction they would collectively raise at least £5000, maybe more. As for the jade animals, the complete collection was worth in the region of another £1000, though he advised Charlie to seek out a specialist in jade to have this confirmed. He was less enthusiastic about the jewellery – he thought the stones were excellent but the settings a little too ornate. Yet he still valued all the pieces at over £3000. As Charlie had suspected, the other odds and ends, although pretty, weren’t very valuable.

‘Your grandmother left you a nice little nest-egg,’ he said, looking at Charlie over his glasses. ‘If you’ll take the advice of an old man, I suggest you hang on to them for a few years. Interest is mounting in miniatures, as in jade, but the economy is a little shaky right now, unemployment is at its highest since 1940, and it’s my experience that to sell at such a time is always a mistake. Five, even ten years on, they might be worth double what you’d get for them now. As for the jewellery, women’s tastes have changed since these large, ostentatious pieces were made, small and delicate is now more in vogue, but there will come a time when they’ll be fashionable again, be assured of that.’

He asked for only £5, his standard fee for people requiring a valuation for insurance purposes, and then with the business over, he proudly showed Charlie some fine water-colours he’d painted himself.