Kitty Little (20 page)

Chapter Eleven

It was agreed that Reg would drive the motor and trailer outfit, with Archie acting as navigator and back-up driver. ‘Esme could ride with us,’ Reg blurted out, his neck turning a dull red at expressing himself so forcibly in public. ‘We’ll squeeze what boxes we can into the boot and stack the rest beside her on the back seat. So long as she doesn’t mind a bit of a crush.’

Kitty agreed that this seemed a good idea since Esme had been the one to take the bookings. Charlotte, however, had her own views on these arrangements for the last thing she wanted was for Esme to be in too close proximity with Archie. She hadn’t bargained on the dutiful little mouse being potty about him too, which could create further complications. Not that she considered Esme much of a threat, and she’d soon have Archie safely in her grasp.

‘You’d have no objections if I came along too, would you?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Train travel makes me horribly sick, and I could act as navigator to one driver while the other sleeps.’

‘It didn’t seem to prevent you from visiting your mother,’ Kitty very reasonably pointed out. ‘Esme can map read perfectly well. I’m sorry Charlotte, but I doubt there’ll be room for two passengers in the car.’

Infuriated at having her plans blocked, Charlotte went at once to Archie, unashamedly fluttering her eyelashes. ‘Kitty says that since train travel makes me sick, she’s no objection to my travelling in the motor with Esme, were there to be room.’ The lie slipped sweetly off her tongue, as always. ‘You could squeeze me in, couldn’t you Archie?’

‘Absolutely, old thing. If you don’t mind travelling with your feet on one box and another on your lap,’ he good naturedly agreed. ‘Being train-sick must be a terrible bore.’

Kitty, when she heard of this decision was hard put to know whether to be amused by Charlotte’s obvious connivance, or infuriated by it. But because there had been a distinct warming of relations between them and she’d no wish to further upset Archie, she resigned herself to going along with it. What did it matter anyway?
 

It was freezing in the old Jowett. Esme had made up hot water bottles but these soon lost their heat. She’d put on all her warmest clothes including two pairs of socks, several jumpers and a woolly hat, not to mention a couple of blankets, but within an hour of their setting out she was shivering with cold. For this reason, if for no other, she was heartily glad of Charlotte’s company since the two girls could snuggle up together on the back seat in a futile attempt to keep warm as the wind blasted around them, whistling through the cracks and flaps of the canvas hood of the old car.

‘I feel like we’re off to explore the arctic,’ Charlotte giggled.

With Hardknot and Scafell glowering down upon them, the latter with its head wreathed in swirling thick cloud, they rattled through Clappersgate, Windermere and Kendal, branching off towards Kirkby Lonsdale. Visibility was poor with sweeping rain much of the time and progress pitiably slow. Worse, every road they chose seemed to be filled with pot holes. They lost count of the number of times they took the wrong road and had to back track or make a detour. The tarpaulin covering the trailer came loose and it took Reg and Archie an age to fix it as it flapped like a live thing in the wind.

‘Has Archie proposed yet?’ Charlotte whispered. Esme shook her head, blushing furiously. She found it dreadfully embarrassing to have her private affairs discussed in this public fashion.

‘Perhaps he needs a bit of encouragement,’ Charlotte commented. ‘Shall I say something? Give him the nod like?’

Esme sent her a look of pure gratitude. Since she was so desperately shy, perhaps Charlotte speaking up for her would be the perfect solution. ‘Would you Charlotte? I’d be so grateful.’

They were about eight miles west of Ingleton when the clouds lifted and Charlotte decided it was time to stop for lunch. They were all eager to escape the cramped confines of the overcrowded motor and Esme spread a couple of old raincoats on the grass verge where they could at least enjoy a brief spell of fickle sunshine.

While Charlotte sat next to Archie, Reg placed himself beside Esme. ‘Can’t remember the last time I had a picnic. I’m glad you came.’

‘It seemed sensible, since I made the booking.’ Esme kept a good six inch strip of raincoat between them while she concentrated on eating her egg sandwich. If it was true that it was she who Archie loved, then what would he think of her sitting so close to Reg?
 

Leaning close, Reg whispered against her ear. ‘D’you reckon she’ll catch him?’

Esme felt her blood run cold. ‘Who?’ she asked, dreading his answer.

‘Little Lottie here. See how she hangs so attentively upon his every word. If ever anyone set her cap more plainly at a chap, I’ve yet to see it. Archie looks like he can’t believe his luck.’

Esme could think of nothing to say to this. It was true the pair were sitting remarkably close together in deep and intimate conversation, but what of it? Hadn’t Charlotte promised she’d get him to declare his love for her.

‘Hey up, they’re off.’

Charlotte was brushing crumbs from a becomingly crumpled linen dress, declaring her need to stretch her legs and inviting Archie to accompany her to make sure she didn’t get lost or abducted. Without demur he did so, and the pair strolled off arm in arm, leaving Esme so heart-sore, it felt as if a horse had kicked her in the chest and winded her.

Reg munched his way stolidly through a pile of sandwiches as Esme managed to nibble at only one, her appetite quite gone. Disappointment cut through her like a knife. Was it possible that what Reg suggested was right, that Archie was indeed keen on Charlotte; or was he just being himself, jolly and friendly as always? In that moment, he didn’t seem the least interested in her. Esme was beginning to feel that she had imagined those magical moments by the lake, or else he regretted them.

 
Perhaps she was the sort of person no one would ever truly wish to love. Her own father clearly hadn’t properly loved her and, much as she might prefer to push the painful memories into obscurity, he really hadn’t treated her as a father should. In a way she’d been invisible. He hadn’t seen her as a real person at all. Was she invisible to Archie too? Esme found little comfort in the thought, only a sharpening of her misery.

Her arm tucked securely in his, Charlotte began by divulging ‘secrets’ of her own, spinning her yarns of a sad life in order to gain a few confidences in return, except that she succeeded rather too well.

‘I know how it feels to be disappointed in love,’ Archie said, with very little prompting. ‘I thought Kitty and I might get together at one time, but nothing came of it.’

Kitty, always Kitty. Ever between them with her soft brown eyes, unprepossessing looks and sound common sense. ‘What about little old me? Won’t I do instead? Or am I too plain and Yorkshire for a handsome southern lad?’ She slanted a gaze up at him, lifted rosebud lips in the hope he might succumb and kiss her of his own accord this time.

Instead he playfully pinched her pert little nose. ‘Ever the flirt, little Charlotte. You’re a very beautiful and exciting woman. One who any normal, red-blooded male would be only to pleased to call his own. I swear if it weren’t for Kitty, I’d be tempted myself.’

In that moment Charlotte almost hated him, stupid, stubborn fool that he was. Charlotte certainly hated Kitty, whose fault this must be, and allowed her eyes to fill with easy tears. ‘Oh Archie. I didn’t realise you were spoken for. I’d never hurt Kitty, not for the world.’

He laughed. ‘Course I’m not “spoken for”. Heavens, what an idea. Kitty is a sweet, dear girl but she’s her own woman, bit of a suffragette at heart, don’t you know. Fiercely independent and never one to admit she
needs
help from anybody, least of all a chap.’

‘But does this chap want to be needed?’ she teased, tapping his arm with one pointed finger nail.

‘I wouldn’t say no to a little light dalliance.’

Charlotte was appalled, inwardly raging that it was proving so damned difficult to capture Archie and his lovely money. She pulled him to a halt, turned him to face her and traced a whisper of fingertips over the fullness of his mouth, pouting her lips so delectably that surely any man would cut his own throat rather than risk losing her. ‘But does it have to be with Kitty? Darling Archie. You always think the best of everyone, I’m sure, but you really shouldn’t be so trusting.’

He frowned. ‘Not sure I follow you.’

‘The truth is, I doubt Kitty is quite so independent as you imagine. At least, I don’t think she can afford to be for much longer. Oh dear, what have I done.’ She put a hand to her mouth and half turned away, as if she couldn’t bear to witness his distress. ‘I’m sorry, really I am.’

‘Sorry about what?’

‘No, I’ve said too much already. I
would
tell you, if I could - only I promised - hand on heart, that I’d keep her secret.’ She gazed appealing up at him, soft blue eyes brimming with tears.

His jaw set rigid, Archie took her by the arms and gave her a little shake. ‘You can’t plague me in this fashion Charlotte. Tell me. Is something wrong with Kitty? I need to know.’

‘Nothing wrong exactly. Entirely natural I should say. I mean she was engaged once, wasn’t she?’ As light dawned in his dark eyes, Charlotte spilled forth Kitty’s secret, which she’d promised so faithfully to keep.
 

It was almost pitiful to see Archie so sadly disillusioned. ‘She must have lied to me,’ was all he kept saying, over and over. ‘She can’t have been a virgin after all. Can she?’

Had Charlotte been a woman who possessed a heart, she might well have been moved by the sight of such anguish. She would have sworn that he was very near to tears, were not the thought of such an unmanly act abhorrent to her.

‘Poor sweet darling. Did you think she was pure as the driven snow? She really isn’t worthy of your consideration. There are other women,’ she very reasonably pointed out and for a long moment they looked deeply into each other’s eyes, reading far more in that single glance than they ever could with mere words. The gaze revealed that they had much in common: an obsession with self, a desperate need for excitement, for physical pleasure and fulfilment, even danger. They were kindred spirits in so many ways.

Charlotte found little difficulty in seducing him after that. Archie was angry, and welcomed the comfort she offered.

He offered no resistance as she pulled him down into the sweet scented grass. The linen dress was swiftly peeled away, as was an array of apricot silk undergarments, revealing the tantalising softness of those voluptuous breasts entirely for his pleasure. Tongue probing, teeth nipping, her mouth met his with a new urgency, while the persistence of her exploring clever fingers served to heighten his need and kindle a dangerous excitement between them both. And if, when he finally took her, pounding into her in the long damp grass of a country meadow, the name he cried out in his climax was not hers, Charlotte refused to allow this small fact to trouble her. It was, after all, her body he was pleasuring.

When the small party resumed their journey, refreshed and rested, Esme recognised in the tightness of his expression that whatever had taken place between the two of them during that walk, had not improved her own chances one little bit. Charlotte’s little shrug of apology when she glanced enquiringly across at her, confirmed this fear. No doubt it had all been a mistake.

Reg and Charlotte broke into a cheery chorus of
If you Were the Only Girl in the World
. Archie barely glanced in her direction and didn’t speak a word to anyone. Esme did her best to join in but as the Jowett lurched into yet another pot hole and she heard the sickening hiss of a burst tyre, she closed her eyes in silent despair and knew she’d be heartily thankful when this nightmare journey was over.

The rest of the company arrived at the village hall where the performance was to be held, full of excitement and eagerly looking forward to their first night, only to find the door locked and no sign of a key holder, let alone a key.

It was early afternoon, a thin drizzle was starting, and Kitty, feeling responsible for the whole enterprise, was anxious to get set up, find digs and have the time to rest and eat after their long journey before the show started prompt at eight. Yet there was no one here and a chill of concern sprang up within her. Everything had been going smoothly up until now. Even the train journey had been reasonably pleasant, and surprisingly useful. Kitty had marshalled her troupe into an impromptu rehearsal as the train rattled south, much to the fascinated amusement of the other passengers.

‘Don’t worry about them,’ she’d smiling brightly informed her team. ‘I’ll read in for Charlotte and it’ll be good practise to have an audience at last.’ Which proved to be entirely the case as the passengers soon became engrossed in the drama of whether Miranda would gain her true love in
The Tempest,
applauding with gratifying enthusiasm at the end of the extract. Kitty suspected that one or two passengers deliberately missed their stops in order to see the end.
 

Now here they were, stuck on the doorstep of a locked village hall in a rapidly increasing shower of rain.

‘Shouldn’t there be a welcoming committee, with offers of accommodation waiting?’ complained Suzy, hammering on the green painted door. ‘Really, I’m not used to such shabby treatment.’