Charlie (7 page)

Charlie wondered why Mr Wyatt was taking so long to reply to her last question. ‘What if I telephone the Inland Revenue myself and explain?’ she suggested. ‘I’m sure they won’t do anything to Dad if I ask them not to.’

Wyatt shook his head at her innocence. ‘I’m afraid you are wrong there. You see, they have to do it. They will make every effort to find him. Bankruptcy notices will be put in newspapers where he might see them. But if he doesn’t come forward very quickly, the order will be made in his absence, his possessions seized by the Official Receiver and his creditors paid. It has to be, otherwise anyone who wanted to evade paying their debts could just skip off.’

Charlie fell silent for a moment, thinking about what that actually meant. Wyatt had said there were several debts apart from what her dad owed in tax. He hadn’t paid the mortgage, and there was no money in his bank account to pay it either.

‘They can’t take the house surely? Where will we live?’ She looked fearfully about her, she loved this house. She had believed it would one day be hers. ‘What will Mum do if she can’t walk again? She’ll go bonkers if you tell her any of this!’

James didn’t relish being the one forced to tell her. He could imagine her screaming so loud Jin would hear her wherever he was in the world. And what of Charlie? She was such a beautiful and intelligent young girl, spoiled maybe, but that wasn’t her fault. How was she going to cope when ‘Windways’ was taken and she had to try to rebuild her life with a bitter, crippled mother in tow?

‘If the worst happens and your father doesn’t return, I will of course act on your and your mother’s behalf,’ he said, choosing his words carefully. ‘I will endeavour to get some financial provision made for you both. The house is in your father’s name only I’m afraid, but should it be taken, I’ll also do my best in helping find you somewhere else to live. So please don’t think you are alone. As for essential household items, clothes, etc., they won’t be taken by the Receiver.’

Charlie heard the word ‘essential’ and it seemed to have great significance. ‘What does essential mean exactly?’

Wyatt heard the alarm in her voice and felt for her. ‘Beds, bedding, table and chairs, a cooker, that sort of thing.’

Charlie felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. She had never paid much attention to the many beautiful artefacts around the house, but she knew they were valuable and none would be considered essential.

‘And the rest of the stuff? They’ll take that too?’ she whispered.

‘I’m afraid so,’ he said wearily. ‘You see, in bankruptcy everything is sold off and the money goes into a pot to be shared out to the creditors.’

There was utter silence for a moment. Wyatt looked at her stricken face and felt an absolute heel. He knew only too well what happened in cases of this kind. Between the Official Receiver’s fees, the auctioneers’ and lawyers’, including his own, everyone stood to gain something, often far more than the creditors got. It was a shabby business, the goods in this house would be sold for a pittance to slimy dealers who plotted between themselves to keep the bidding ridiculously low. The person who would buy this splendid house would almost certainly have someone on the inside in the palm of their hand and get it at a rock-bottom price. Charlie and her mother’s needs would be entirely disregarded. He felt he must do something to salve his conscience.

‘If I give you a little tip, Charlie, will you promise me you’ll keep it just between ourselves?’

Charlie nodded. ‘Go on,’ she urged him. ‘I can be as secretive as Dad.’

Wyatt half smiled – her bland expression which gave nothing away reminded him strongly of Jin. He had a feeling she was capable of learning to be just as cunning too.

‘Let’s just say that no one yet has made an inventory of things in this house,’ he said. ‘They will of course, and possibly very soon, and at that time the doors will be sealed and no one will be allowed to take anything away. But right now there is nothing to prevent you taking some small pieces away to safety.’

She didn’t understand what he meant exactly. Yet she sensed he was trying to help her. ‘Like what for instance?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know what’s here, do I?’ he said pointedly. ‘I do vaguely remember some rather fine miniatures once, though of course your father might have sold them. A quick look through your mother’s jewellery box might be in order. It wouldn’t do to take anything away that is too large to carry with you. Now let’s have another cup of tea and then I’ll leave you to water those houseplants.’

When he dropped the subject and moved away to make a second pot of tea, Charlie knew he had gone as far as he could for her and he would never mention it again. Over a second cup of tea she asked him if he thought she should forget going back to school in September and find herself a job now.

Wyatt had forgotten until that moment that she went to a private school, and that she was intending to take ‘A’ levels with a view to going to university. That threw up even more difficulties for her.

‘I think it would be an excellent plan for you to get a job,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But hold fire about school for a while, there’s always a possibility they might offer you a free place, especially if your “O” level results are good ones. How are you getting on with the Mellings? Can you stay there indefinitely?’

‘I don’t know.’ She went on to explain she felt the atmosphere was becoming a bit strained. ‘Maybe if I found a job I could get a room of my own somewhere?’

Wyatt had been impressed by her poise and good manners on previous meetings, today he’d been touched by her innocence. But it was only now that he saw her courage and her intelligence.

She hadn’t dissolved into tears or even bitter recriminations. Every question she’d asked was relevant and showed a fine grasp of reality. He wondered though if she was capable of looking after herself – according to Mrs Brown the old housekeeper she couldn’t even boil an egg. But maybe she needed to try. It might be the making of her.

‘That sounds like an excellent idea to me,’ he said. ‘But find the job first. You can’t pay rent without money coming in.’

He left soon after, warning her to double-lock the front door behind her and the outside gate. The moment she heard his car pull away Charlie went up to her bedroom, lay down on her bed and burst into tears.

She had cried many times in the last five days, but never like this – hot, bitter tears that seemed to come from some hitherto untapped well. She had never before felt such an overwhelming sense of isolation, grief, fear and betrayal. She had loved, trusted and looked up to her father, yet he had callously gone away, taking with him all the money, knowing full well it would be his wife and daughter who would be punished and publicly ridiculed when his debts were called in.

Why had he done it? Surely if he was in some sort of trouble he could at least have warned them? Now as a result of his cowardice, her mother was crippled, his daughter’s life ruined. How could any man do such a terrible thing?

She knew that she would never again sleep on this big comfortable bed with its peach drapes, never lie and sunbathe in the garden, or curl up with a book on the settee downstairs. Common sense told her that wherever she and her mother ended up, it would be tiny and grim. As from today she was going to have to learn to live without all the luxury she’d taken for granted up till now.

How could she return to school in September? Even if it were possible to get a scholarship she wouldn’t want to face the other girls’ pity. She certainly had no intention of going to the comprehensive. She’d heard those common girls who went there calling her ‘Chinky Charlie’ behind her back. If she was suddenly flung in there they’d probably say worse.

The tears gradually dried up and she lay there sniffing. It was almost half past two and she knew she must get back to the Mellings’ before long. But first she had to find the things Mr Wyatt spoke of. Right now she didn’t really want anything of her father’s, but then she and her mother might need the money from them later on. If she didn’t do it today she might never get another chance.

The gilt-framed miniatures were where they’d always been, on either side of the bureau in the small sitting room. Six in all, of old-fashioned ladies. It had never occurred to her before that they were valuable, but Mr Wyatt obviously knew best. She took them down and put them on a tray. Next she moved into the drawing room and unlocked the glass cabinet. She knew the twelve small jade animals were good ones, her father wouldn’t have had them in the house otherwise. There were four small silver photograph frames, all containing pictures of herself from two until ten. She would take those too.

It became harder after that. Her mother liked trinkets and there were many small things which might be valuable but more likely were not. She took a tiny enamelled snuff-box, a couple of old, small porcelain figurines and a collection of minute silver animals.

She wondered where the bulk of the treasures in this house would end up. Jin had often mentioned that the Chinese lacquered cabinet decorated with birds was worth a fortune. The Oriental rugs on the floor were exceptionally fine ones. It struck her as ironic that these things she’d always been so casual about suddenly seemed so dear to her. She bitterly resented that someone else would own them one day, while she and her mother had nothing.

Upstairs in her mother’s jewellery box there were few pieces of any real value. Her good things were kept in a velvet roll tucked into a secret place in the wall. Jin had made the hidey-hole himself. She remembered him chipping out a brick and making a little box to put in its place. When the room was wallpapered next time it was almost completely invisible but for a tiny plastic tag.

She pulled at the tag and the box slid out. To her surprise and delight the red velvet jewellery roll was still there, along with a wad of banknotes beneath it as well. At a quick count there was nearly £200. Inside the roll were all the pieces she remembered her father giving to her mother for birthdays and Christmas, a gold linked necklace, a gold snake bracelet, diamond earrings and a platinum and diamond brooch were safely intact. There was a gold cocktail watch with tiny rubies marking the hours too, and two pairs of antique earrings, one set with emeralds, the other with pearls. She had always liked to put these on herself as a little girl because they were clip-on ones; Sylvia had hardly ever worn them because she said they were too grand for most parties in Dartmouth.

As Charlie tapped the empty box back, she wondered how many years would pass before anyone found it. She couldn’t imagine a new owner hurrying to strip off the beautiful cream silk wallpaper.

Downstairs she found a strong, square plastic cake box in one of the kitchen cupboards. Wrapping each item in a tissue first, then in a plastic sandwich bag, she finally packed all the goods, including the money, into the box. They fitted well, and once the lid was back on, she sealed it round with sellotape and tied it up tightly with string.

After locking the front door, it suddenly occurred to her that it would be folly to take the box of treasures back to the Mellings’, someone was bound to ask what was in it. For a moment or two she considered hiding it in the garden. But on further reflection that wasn’t too smart. If she was seen in the garden after the front door was sealed, she might find herself in trouble, and have the things taken from her.

‘Bury it,’ she said aloud, and for the first time in days she managed to laugh because it seemed a bit like something the children in the Famous Five books would do. She found a small trowel in the summer-house, then without any hesitation climbed up on to the side wall which backed on to the wooded cliff beyond.

The view from the wall was just of dense trees and bushes, there wasn’t even so much as a glimpse of the sea down below to her right, or of the Beacon in its rocky cove. Nor could she see the road to her left, although it was only twenty-five yards or so from where she sat. In fact it could have been any old wood, with no suggestion that just ten or twelve feet in front of her perch was a sheer cliff face. Charlie had been warned again and again throughout her childhood never to venture over the garden wall, yet unbeknown to her parents she had explored the dangerous route back to the road dozens of times and knew every inch of it well.

Using a tree to help her, she dropped on to the soft loamy soil below, and staying close to the wall, wriggled through the bushes until she came to a small clearing. Then she began to dig.

It took some time. Once through the thick layer of leaf-mould the ground was very hard and dry, and she had to stop frequently to listen for anyone walking along the road. But fortunately no one came by and once the hole was some three inches deeper than the box, she placed it inside, scraped the loose soil back around and over it, then stood on it to compress it. Finally she hauled a rotten log on top of it, scraped a little more soil around it, and satisfied, stood back to admire her work.

Even if some other foolhardy person scrambled through the bushes, her treasures would be safe. One shower and there wouldn’t even be a footprint to show anyone had been this way. She tucked the trowel under an evergreen bush and turned and went back the way she had come, dropping silently back into the garden.

The following afternoon Charlie set off to visit her mother in hospital with some trepidation. She was tired after another sleepless night worrying. Anxious too about the jewellery she’d taken. Knowing her mother as she did, it was probably the first thing she’d ask about. Should she reassure her that she’d hidden it away? Or was it better to say nothing for now?

‘Your mum’s been moved into the big ward now,’ a small blonde nurse called out to Charlie as she came along the corridor carrying a bunch of flowers.

‘Why?’ Charlie asked as she got nearer. She had seen this young nurse on previous visits, in fact she’d stopped to comfort her when she saw her crying once as she was leaving.

‘We need that single room for emergencies.’ The nurse had a wide smile and sparkling brown eyes. ‘Your mum’s on the mend now, and once she’s settled down, she’ll be less depressed too with other women to talk to.’