Charlie

by Lesley Pearse

  Finally she could stand the suspense no longer and she climbed down. Her foot slipped at one point and she cut her hand on a sharp broken branch trying to catch herself. She jumped the last six or seven feet, landed heavily on her knees and hobbled out of the wood.

  A faint light in the distance became her goal. She’d lost track of where she was in relation to the road, and the field she went through had just been ploughed, so it was heavy going across furrows she could barely see.

  The ploughed field led to one with cows, and she slipped in a cow-pat and gashed her hand again, this time on a stone. Two more barbed wire fences, and finally she came to a five-foot-high stone wall. She followed it along and a few minutes later she was hammering on the front door of a small detached house.

  ‘Please call the police,’ she blurted out the moment the door was opened by a tall man in spectacles. ‘The house over there,’ she pointed back the way she had come, ‘The Manse it’s called. They’ve got my boyfriend locked up. I’m afraid they’re going to kill him. I’ve just escaped from them.’

  She had never been so frustrated in her life as when the wretched man made her repeat what she’d said. Even then, instead of going straight into the house, he came outside and looked over the garden wall in the direction she said she’d come from.

  ‘Look, please hurry,’ she implored him, catching hold of his arm. ‘Just ring 999, I’ll explain to them. Andrew could be in terrible danger when they find I’ve got out.’

  Later that night she was to understand why he didn’t act immediately. He was a retired school teacher and he and his wife had been eating their evening meal when they were interrupted by frantic hammering on their door. It must have been alarming to find a wild-eyed, dirty Chinese girl with blood all over her hands on his doorstep shouting about prisoners in a house across a field. She couldn’t really blame him then for thinking she was an escaped lunatic.

  ‘The Manse, you say.’ He spoke slowly and deliberately, looking at her with undisguised disbelief. ‘Surely not, the woman who owns it is rarely there.’

  Charlie lost her temper. ‘Don’t question me. Ring the bloody police,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll stay out here if you’re scared of me. But for Christ’s sake get on to them now, before it’s too late.’

  ‘Okay, calm down,’ he said. ‘Now, what’s your name?’

  ‘Charlie Weish,’ she snapped at him. ‘Tell them that I know Andrew Blake is in that house, with two men and a woman called Daphne Dexter. Andrew’s been missing since last Friday when they abducted him from London.’

  He moved then, perhaps realizing at last that such a wild story had to be true. But he left her outside and closed the door firmly behind him. In the dim light Charlie could barely see her watch, but she thought it was nearly half past seven, three hours since she’d been in that dining room. By now the Dexters would almost certainly have whisked Andrew off somewhere new.

  She was on the point of screaming in frustration when the door opened again. The man held the receiver of the telephone out to her. She felt like a leper being offered sustenance through a hatch.

  ‘You’d better explain,’ was all he said.

  The relief at actually being in touch with police calmed Charlie a little. She explained as quickly as possible what had happened and urged them to go straight to The Manse immediately.

  It was only once she’d handed the receiver back to the man that he suggested she came inside. ‘You’d better take your shoes off,’ he said, looking down at her mud- and cow manure-caked shoes. ‘And I’d better get my wife.’

  While Charlie was removing her shoes, back at The Manse Daphne was beside herself with anger when her brothers finally came back empty-handed from their search. It made no difference to her that they’d walked miles, she had been alone, living on her nerves and afraid that the police would arrive any minute.

  ‘You are fools,’ she shouted, her face and neck turning purple with rage. ‘I can’t trust you with the simplest job. First Mick brings her in here, and then lets himself be bollocked. Now you can’t find her.’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t brought her in ’ere an’ all,’ Mick retorted. His testicles were still throbbing and they were badly swollen. ‘But it ain’t no good goin’ on about that now. What we gonna do with the lad?’

  ‘Let him go,’ Baz said wearily. He had already discussed this with Mick on the way back here. In his opinion a charge of abduction wasn’t too terrible, certainly not as bad as murder.

  ‘We can’t let him go,’ Daphne snapped back. ‘We’ll get him out now, drive him down to Sussex and I’ll think of something then.’

  ‘But the girl might have got to the police by now,’ Baz argued.

  ‘They won’t take her seriously,’ Daphne said. ‘They’ll drive round and when they find no one here they’ll think she’s got a screw missing.’

  Neither of the brothers was convinced by their sister’s opinion, and they had come to the conclusion earlier that she was behaving very irrationally, but they both wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. Perhaps on the way down to Sussex they could talk Daphne round to letting the lad go free.

  ‘Okay, let’s get on with it,’ Baz said, moving towards the door.

  Andrew was tense with terror on the cellar stairs. He’d heard the men come back in and there was the sound of faint yet angry-sounding voices in the distance. But pleased as he was that they presumably hadn’t found the girl they were looking for, he was cold and hungry again, without any idea of what was really going on or where he was, and he felt he was on the point of collapse. As he heard footsteps coming towards the cellar, he tried to brace himself to carry out his plan, but he was afraid he no longer had the strength even to lift the wine rack, much less bludgeon his way out with it.

  ‘You’ve got to,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Just think of Charlie!’

  As the heavy footsteps came closer, he lifted the wine rack, tucking his arms through it securely, then momentarily closed his eyes and pictured Charlie as she had been down on the beach at Slapton Sands that first time he’d kissed her. Gleaming black hair blowing in the wind, almond eyes closing as he took her face in his two hands, and her soft lips ready for his.

  He could taste the sweetness of that kiss, smell the salt in the air, feel the silkiness of her cheeks in his hands. As the key turned in the lock and a chink of light appeared, he charged, roaring like a bull imprisoned for weeks.

  It was Baz who opened the door. Mick was standing just to his right looking up at his sister who was going on up the main stairs. Neither of them was alert, they were in a state of shock with their minds only on getting out of the house as fast as possible.

  Baz was caught by the full force of Andrew’s charge, staggering back as the huge, unexpected weapon hurtled out and virtually impaled him against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Mick was trapped on the other side, too startled for a moment by the surprise and the roaring noise the lad was making even to move.

  ‘You bastards!’ he heard Andrew scream out as he ran towards the front door.

  ‘Stop him!’ Daphne yelled from her position on the stairs, and she came clattering down them.

  As Andrew reached the door and scrabbled to open it, he was more aware of the woman in black bearing down on him than of the two men trying to get the wine rack out of the way. Seeing a large vase on a table beside the door, he grabbed it and hurled it at Daphne. He got the door open as the vase crashed to the floor, and he didn’t look to see if he’d managed to hit her, but sped down the steps and headlong straight across the lawn.

  Andrew was a good sprinter. At school he’d been noted for his speed. But after being cooped up for so long, half starved and with the added difficulty of darkness, he wasn’t so fast. Even over the wind he could hear someone in hot pursuit behind him and he headed straight for the bushes. They were thick, and he had to fight his way through them. He could hear the panting of the man chasing him and sheer terror gave him an added boost of strength
to vault over the wall behind the bushes. Finding himself on a road, he turned left and belted up it, running for his life.

  ‘Watch out,’ PC Knowles yelled at the driver of the police car as the headlights suddenly revealed a man hurtling towards them. ‘Brake!’

  In Andrew’s terrified state he saw the approaching car’s headlights as another peril, and froze. He heard a squeal of brakes and as two men jumped out of the car, another dizzy spell caught him and his legs gave way beneath him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Just after nine the police telephoned Charlie at Mr and Mrs Harding’s house to give her the news that Andrew was at the police station and that they would be sending a car round to collect her shortly too.

  As Charlie had convinced herself during the long tense wait that any news would be bad, she could hardly believe her ears. ‘Is he hurt?’ she asked in a trembling voice.

  ‘Not at all,’ the police officer assured her. ‘He’s weak with exhaustion and lack of food, but a square meal and a good night’s sleep will put him straight. All he wants right now is to see you.’

  Charlie had a million questions she wanted to ask, but the Hardings were sitting side by side on the settee looking very anxious, so she thanked the policeman and put the phone down. ‘They’ve got Andrew safe and sound, and they are sending someone up to collect me,’ she said excitedly, beaming at them both. ‘Thank you so much for everything. It must have been an awful shock to you when I hammered on the door. But I’ll be out of your hair in a little while.’

  Mrs Harding had been kindness itself. Although a rather prim little woman of over sixty, she’d fed Charlie soup and sandwiches, washed and dressed the many cuts and scratches on her hands and face, found her a clean pair of trousers belonging to one of her grown-up children, and been very sympathetic. She’d even phoned Rita to tell her Charlie was safe.

  Mr Harding had been more distant. While his wife seemed to understand the emotional torture Charlie was going through as she awaited news of Andrew, and the need to talk about her ordeal, he appeared to be only concerned that sinister activities were going on less than half a mile away, and that Charlie had brought a breath of it into his home.

  ‘We’re so glad Andrew is safe.’ Mrs Harding got up from her seat and gave Charlie a warm hug. ‘My goodness, we’ll be able to dine out on this story for months.’

  Ten minutes later a police car arrived to collect Charlie. She turned to Mrs Harding at the front door and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you for taking care of me,’ she said. ‘You’ve been so very kind.’

  ‘Just drop me a line and tell me the outcome,’ the woman replied. ‘Good luck, Charlie.’

  Down at the police station Charlie was ushered into an interview room where Andrew was waiting, feeding on tea and sandwiches. He leapt to his feet to hug her, but for a moment they were both so choked with emotion they couldn’t speak.

  ‘I’ll leave you for a few minutes,’ the police constable said from behind them., ‘Make him finish up those sandwiches, Charlie, he’s half starved.’

  Charlie watched like a mother hen as Andrew returned to his food. She thought he looked terrible. He face was gaunt and grey, eyes haunted and red-rimmed. With several days’ growth of beard, filthy overalls and his feet bare and dirty, he was a pitiful sight. But her heart welled up with love and concern for him.

  ‘I never knew plain cheese sandwiches could taste so good,’ he grinned as he finished up the plateful. ‘Now, tell me exactly how you ended up there too. The police haven’t told me anything about that.’

  ‘They don’t know much about it yet either,’ she grinned. ‘And I’m not telling you that until I hear about whether the police caught the Dexters. I assume the two men were her brothers?’ She hadn’t thought to ask the policeman who brought her here, she’d been too caught up in the story of how Andrew used something as a kind of battering ram to get out.

  ‘I didn’t know who they were.’ He shrugged. ‘The police haven’t got any real proof about that yet either, because they got away,’ he added.

  ‘Oh no,’ Charlie gasped.

  ‘That was my fault,’ he said ruefully. ‘You see, I collapsed in front of the police car and delayed them. By the time they got to the house, everyone had gone. But they’re organizing a search warrant right now, and apparently some bigwig from London is on his way down here.’

  Charlie was aghast that they’d got away, but sensing Andrew was not only blaming himself already for this but was somewhat confused, she kept it to herself. ‘You were incredibly brave and clever to get away from them, if you hadn’t they would almost certainly have whisked you off somewhere else before the police got there,’ she said. ‘But that doesn’t matter now. We’re both safe and together again.’

  ‘I thought I was never going to see you again,’ he said in a quavery voice. ‘I’ve never been so terrified in my entire life. You see, I thought they were going to kill me.’

  That statement made Charlie realize he was still in deep shock. She had recovered the moment she knew he was safe, but then she’d been through so much less than him, and she’d known a great deal more about the Dexters and that house than he had. She guessed it would take some time before he could come to terms with it all. Setting aside all her questions, and everything she had to tell him, she moved over to hug and reassure him.

  ‘I came looking for you because I love you,’ she whispered.

  Andrew pulled away from her. ‘I stink,’ he said, his eyes suddenly downcast.

  ‘Do you think that matters to me?’ she said gently, stroking his face. ‘You’ve spent four days alone and starving in a cold cellar, not even knowing where you were or why they were doing that to you. Another man would have cracked, but you fought your way out of there. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.’

  He cried then. As she held him tightly against her shoulder, out came a muffled and often garbled account of how it had been for him. Charlie could understand his terror and confusion completely, but when he sobbed out how pathetic he was, telling her of his ingratitude to his parents and his conviction he was never going to see them or her again, she cursed Daphne Dexter for reducing a strong and brave man to this.

  ‘Listen to me,’ she said at length, lifting his face up and holding it in both her hands, looking right into his eyes. ‘You aren’t pathetic, far from it, and you started all this for the best and most pure motives, for me. It’s over now and you are safe, and all the nasty things which happened between us are all wiped out and forgotten too. I’m going to ask someone to take us home, I’ll bath you and put you to bed. Tomorrow I’ll feed you till you burst, and we’ll talk about it all. Don’t you dare crack on me now, I’ve got too many plans for us.’

  He smiled wearily, but Charlie thought he’d taken what she said on board.

  As Charlie and Andrew were being driven home much later in a police car, Daphne Dexter was in the car park of her London flat in St John’s Wood, hastily packing clothes and other valuables into the boot of her red Mercedes.

  White-hot anger was the fuel she was running on, against herself for allowing herself to become rattled by a student posing as a researcher, against Charlie for outwitting her, and against her brothers for their cowardice. They had jumped into their van the moment Andrew Blake leapt over the garden wall. She had assumed they were going to head him off, but instead the gutless wonders drove off at speed down towards the Maidstone Road and left her high and dry.

  She had looked after them since their mother abandoned them – but for the fear of them going in an orphanage, she would have run away the first time her father raped her. She’d fought to keep them with her when he was found dead; she’d begged, stolen and prostituted herself to give them a better chance in life. She’d been the one who’d fed, clothed and housed them even as grown men. She’d tolerated their stupidity, covered up their ineptitude, bailed them out of trouble more times than she cared to remember, just because she had always known it was they who attacked and
ultimately killed her father.

  But the last strands of affection and gratitude she felt towards them had gone now. Maybe she had intended to leave them, but she would have seen them all right financially – now she could hardly believe their loyalty to her was so fragile. It was a very good thing she hadn’t lingered at The Manse. She’d snapped off the house lights, shut the front door, and was just getting into her own car when she heard the police siren in the distance. A few more seconds and she would have been cornered.

  As far as she was concerned her brothers didn’t exist any more. She was off to Spain for good. A quick phone call had ensured that the emergency plans for liquidating her business operations she’d made some time ago would be put into place. She was a rich woman, she had no need ever to work again. She would have a good life in Spain.

  Yet beneath her anger Daphne was scared. Jin had once warned her that if she ever tried to hurt Sylvia or his precious daughter he would come gunning for her. It seemed to her after today’s events that his spirit was alive and well, in that damned Charlie.

  Detective Inspector Hughes and PC Farrow were watching the tall, slender woman pack her car. Sitting in Hughes’s black Jaguar in a side street opposite the Wellington Road, they had a clear view of the well-lit glass entrance hall, the car park and the one exit.

  As soon as they got the message from the Kent police that Andrew Blake and Charlie Weish had been found, they had driven straight here to the address Hughes had discovered earlier in the day. As Hughes saw it, there was little point in rushing down to check out The Manse once the birds had flown.

  Oswald Hughes, or Ozzie as his friends and family called him, might very well have become a villain himself, but for his father and the war. He grew up in a Bermondsey tenement, one of nine children – their father was a porter at Smithfield meat market. All his early adolescent years were spent working in a warehouse by day, cruising the streets at night, fighting, petty pilfering and aiding and abetting older criminals. But his father was a great deal tougher than him, and honest too. When he saw the way young Ozzie was going he gave him an ultimatum: either join the army, or find himself an outcast from his family. Young thug that he was, Ozzie cared deeply for his family and admired his father, so he reluctantly enlisted.