Charity

by Lesley Pearse

  Charity stood up nervously, embarrassed by her nakedness, but Hugh was looking at her with adoring eyes and his hands were held out for her.

  She edged in, squealing as the icy water gradually crept up her sun-hot body. Hugh bounded up to her, caught her round the waist and pulled her back into deeper water.

  ‘No, I’m scared!’ she yelled, clutching at his arms.

  ‘I won’t let you go,’ he assured her, kissing her shoulders and letting her head lean back on him. ‘Isn’t that good?’

  Until today their time had been spent like innocent children, romping, laughing and playing. But it was different now; a new maturity, a kind of wisdom flowed between them, that made each touch like a caress.

  It was good to be cool again. The water felt like silk as he swished her round and round and splashed more on to her face. They moved back into the shallow water, Charity kneeling on the bottom while Hugh floated beside her.

  ‘This is heaven,’ he said, turning his face towards her. ‘And you look like an angel.’

  A feeling of exquisite tenderness welled up inside him as he looked at Charity. Her wet hair hung in thick strands over her shoulders and her eyes were like cornflowers. Such small slender shoulders, tanned golden brown with pure white strap marks from a sun-top. Her breasts were just above the water, small, firm and up-tilted with nipples the colour of crushed raspberries.

  He swam then, flashing out across the pond and climbing out on the landing stage by the hut. He struck a pose like Rodin’s ‘Thinker’, water glistening on his polished smooth skin like a million raindrops.

  ‘What do you think of that?’ he yelled back. ‘Want to see me dive?’

  Charity could only laugh. His naked body wasn’t frightening now: he looked as perfect and right here as the kingfisher and the water lilies.

  The dive was as graceful as everything about him. A leap, a perfect curve and he disappeared under the water, barely causing a ripple. She could see his white buttocks beneath the green water and he swam right across the pond under the water lilies without coming up for air.

  Charity bobbed up and down in the water, too nervous to move in case she got out of her depth. Hugh emerged from the water, bringing up a clump of lilies on his shoulders.

  ‘Was it a good dive?’ he shouted.

  ‘The best,’ she called back.

  Later he tried to teach her to swim, holding her under the stomach and floating her on the water. ‘Make your legs go like a frog and push away with your hands,’ he commanded.

  She tried, but each time she just sank under the water.

  ‘I’ll get you a rubber ring,’ he laughed. ‘I won’t give up! Now let’s have the picnic, I’m starving.’

  Cheese and pickle sandwiches had never tasted so good and Charity even forgot she was entirely naked, her hair hanging dripping down her back, as they wolfed the food down and drank deeply from the warm lemonade.

  ‘What if someone comes along?’ she asked, as Hugh wiped a smear of pickle from her cheek.

  ‘They won’t,’ he said. ‘It’s a secret place, no one knows about it but us and those old dears.’

  They dried sitting in the sun, and when Hugh kissed her again, passion flared up like a match on dry straw.

  This time it was even more sensuous and lingering: each touch savoured as if it was the last, legs wrapped round one another, fingers more exploratory and bolder. Hugh lay beside her, mouth on her breast, touching and stroking until she cried out with desire. Even when he moved down on to her belly and she knew he was looking at her pussy as his fingers slipped in and out, she felt no shame, only bliss. It was she who drew him on top of her, losing all control. Some urge from deep within her made her open her legs wider still, wrapping them round him. She felt the hard tip of his penis pressing against her pubic bone and she arched her back, digging her fingernails into his shoulders.

  Suddenly he was inside her, moving in and out so naturally she felt no sense of panic, only the need for more. His hands moved down to her buttocks and he held her firmly, driving into her, and all the time she could only think of how much she loved him.

  It was only as his movements became harder, his breath hot and violent on her neck, that she remembered what this was and she wriggled, trying to get him off.

  ‘No Hugh.’ She pushed at him. ‘No!’

  But he was immersed in the act now, oblivious to anything but his own needs until with a great groan, he slumped down on her.

  ‘I love you,’ he murmured, his eyes shut and beads of perspiration on his forehead. ‘That was so wonderful.’

  ‘I didn’t mean you to.’ Tears welled up in Charity’s eyes.

  His head shot up, eyes full of alarm when he saw her tears. ‘Did I hurt you?’

  She almost blurted it out. All the suppressed anger, the guilt and shame, but as her mouth opened she saw the fright in his eyes and she choked it back.

  It would only hurt him. She mustn’t speak of it now, or ever. Hugh wasn’t responsible for what had happened, it was she who had lost control and instigated it.

  ‘I meant to stop,’ he said, looking horrified. ‘Oh God, you’d better get back in the water and wash it all away.’

  She couldn’t be angry with him. He was thinking of pregnancy, which hadn’t even occurred to her. He washed her so tenderly and promised to get some Durex on the way home.

  ‘It had to happen sooner or later,’ he said as he kissed her. ‘We love one another and that makes it right. Tonight in bed we’ll do it all properly. I’ll make it beautiful for you too.’

  She watched him as he swam again later. The water glistened on his brown shoulders and his black hair was slicked back so he reminded her of the seals she’d seen in London Zoo. He dived under the water lilies, coming up further back with one hanging on his head and she knew she would love him for ever.

  *

  Charity woke early on her last day at the cottage. Rain was gushing down a drainpipe and splashing down the side of the cottage. She turned her head to see Hugh still sound asleep, one arm curled round his dark head.

  She never got tired of looking at him, but now she could see he had changed from a boy to a man in their month here. Faint dark stubble on his chin, a stronger, more mature look about his mouth. His bare shoulders looked almost black against the white sheets and his lashes were as thick and long as brushes.

  This was the last time she’d lie in bed with him for some time. No more bliss-filled nights as they discovered one another, no more days of fun and laughter. He’d replaced ugly memories by beautiful ones and even if they split up one day, she’d have those to sustain her.

  Tonight she would be back in her room at Bowes Court, while Hugh had one last night at the pub with Rob. Tomorrow she would be making beds, polishing floors in her overall and Hugh would be travelling back to Yorkshire wearing his dark suit. Rob would move back to the big house to await his parents’ return.

  It would be weeks before she tasted Hugh’s kisses again. Perhaps months before she found a flat so they could lie in each other’s arms and do again all those things they had learned together. Sadness overwhelmed her and a tear trickled down her cheek.

  ‘What’s up?’ he whispered in the murky light.

  ‘Just thinking about tomorrow.’ She let him draw her into his arms and savoured that warm, musky smell of his skin.

  ‘I wish I could take you home with me,’ he said softly.

  He had avoided the subject of his parents and in her heart she knew why.

  ‘You will write to me?’ she asked. ‘You won’t find someone else?’

  She knew he was dreading the six weeks before university, and she still hoped he’d invite her to Yorkshire.

  ‘Of course I won’t.’ He turned her face to his, a look of surprise in his eyes. ‘Do you think I’d forget you so easily?’

  He sighed then and she knew the time had come when he was going to talk about his parents.

  ‘I wish I could ask you home,’ he said gently
. ‘But I can’t, Charity, because they’d be against you from the start. I’ve got to be really casual about you. If they found out they’d be looking for ways to end it.’

  His words said everything she feared, and tears welled up again.

  ‘Don’t cry.’ He wiped the tears away and kissed her nose. ‘It isn’t that I’m not proud of you. Just that I don’t want them making life difficult for us. You do understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She bit back the tears, loving him still more because he had been so diplomatic. She must get a good job, develop a patina of sophistication, become like Tania and Charlotte, the student waitresses at the pub who spoke of riding, balls and ‘drinkies’, before she was presented to the Mainwarings.

  Charity rolled over until she was on top of him. She knew that scenes now wouldn’t help either of them. She had to convince him first that she was the only one for him. His parents she’d work on later.

  ‘We’ve got lots of fun ahead too,’ she smiled down at him.

  She memorised every last thing about the cottage, as she got her things together. The smells, the feels, the sounds. The aroma of ground coffee, sheets damp with lovemaking, the perfume from the jasmine outside the door and even the grass. The sounds of birds, Chuck Berry records. She would see in her mind’s eye for ever the dahlias in the garden, the white picket fence and the gleam of sunshine on old pine furniture. She would feel the wind in her hair as they rode their bikes, and moss under their feet in the woods. Relive the sensation of cool night breezes on passion-heated bodies. Remember how it felt to wake and and find him looking at her with lazy deep blue eyes.

  Hugh wanted her to get a taxi back to school, but she insisted on riding the bike. He and Rob packed a box with the new clothes Hugh had bought her on a trip to Brighton and tied it firmly to the carrier on the back.

  The earlier rain had cooled the air and brightened the flowers in the garden. The lane was full of puddles and the air smelt of wet grass. Across the meadow the red tiles on Robert’s home stood out behind the dark green trees, but the sky was as grey and sad as she felt.

  ‘Hugh’s a lucky chap,’ Rob said quietly as Hugh went back into the cottage to collect the sponge bag she’d forgotten. He held the handlebars of her bike and his eyes couldn’t quite meet hers. He looked far better now than a month ago. Sun had almost banished his acne, he had a sturdier appearance and a more confident air.

  Charity had become aware how Rob felt about her, ever since he’d come back from his grandmother’s and discovered Hugh and her in bed together. His bleak expression in the days that followed made it clear he’d had a crush on her for some time. She’d tried to include him as before, but it hadn’t really worked. He worked longer hours and backed away from picnics and bike rides with her and Hugh.

  ‘He’s lucky to have a friend like you, certainly.’ She smiled, reaching out to touch his face. She would miss him too, all those chats about books, her brothers and sister and his time at school. Hugh was her love, but Rob had become her closest friend and now they were parting she wished she could tell him that. ‘Thank you for letting me stay, Rob. I hope I didn’t spoil things for you?’

  ‘You made the holiday.’ He smiled but his eyes looked sad. ‘Hugh would’ve picked on me the whole time without you. Maybe if things work out for you in Oxford you could both come down at Christmas?’

  Rob didn’t share Hugh’s confidence that it would all work out for them. His own mother might understand, but Clarissa Mainwaring was a calculating, heartless woman and if she suspected her son had left his heart in the hands of a girl she’d consider ‘common’, she would find a way to spoil it. Loyalty to Hugh wouldn’t allow Rob to speak of this; he didn’t even dare suggest Charity kept in touch with him in case it was seen as trying to muscle in on her.

  ‘Good luck with university.’ Charity managed a wobbly smile for Rob. ‘Find yourself a nice girlfriend and have fun.’

  Rob could barely meet her eyes. She was the first person he’d ever felt this close to and he wished more than anything that she loved him. Hugh might be stronger in most ways, but if Rob had a girl like Charity, nothing and no one would stop him taking care of her.

  ‘Don’t you forget all those ambitions.’ Rob forced himself to use a light tone. ‘A good job, getting your family back together again. And don’t let that pig of an uncle wear you down.’

  Hugh rode with her most of the way, but they were silent, wrapped in sadness.

  ‘I’ll think of you every night,’ Charity said at the crossroads where they’d agreed to part. ‘Promise me you won’t forget me?’

  His last kiss was so painful. She felt no passion; tenderness and sorrow had taken its place. Clinging to him desperately, she wished she had the words to say what she felt.

  He was still standing by the crossroads when she took the final bend out of sight. She stopped and waved, soaking up the way he looked. His legs like mahogany, his teeth flashing white against his brown face as he smiled. One hand to his lips, blowing a kiss.

  It was such an odd sensation being back at school. Only this time last year she’d been a frightened child thrown into an adult world. Frightened of Miss Hawkins, intimidated by the size of dormitories and classrooms. Now she was a woman, showing a new girl how to hang curtains and polish floors ready for the boys’ arrival.

  Mrs Cod was a little cool with her, perhaps waiting for a more complete explanation as to where she’d been. But Charity didn’t care. Her mind was on Hugh and she was counting the days until his first letter would arrive.

  It was rather disappointing, although he had enclosed some photographs he’d taken at the cottage. He recalled some of the times they’d shared, reassured her he would help her find a flat in Oxford, and that he missed her badly. But if he shared the almost unbearable desperation she felt at being apart, he didn’t say.

  The boys arrived back at school. The new ones looked so small and frightened that Charity’s heart went out to them. Sometimes in the morning when she saw Matron with an armful of wet sheets it was a reminder of Toby and how even now he was going through the same trauma at Wellington College.

  It was a whole year now since she had last seen Toby and Prue. Although Lou reported Prue had made friends locally and was having music and dancing lessons, and that Toby couldn’t wait to get to Wellington, her letter too seemed to lack something. What exactly did she mean when she said ‘You need have no fear about Toby and Prue. They are more in danger of being spoiled than of being neglected’? The remarks about Prue being ‘a little madam’ and Toby running rings round his uncle held a tone of disapproval and perhaps anxiety. Lou said she had made no headway regarding Charity’s position. Stephen maintained he’d given her the same opportunities as the other children and he didn’t want her undermining his authority now.

  But although this letter wasn’t encouraging, Charity was able to accept it. If she found a job in Oxford it might be possible to see Toby and Prue in secret. Daydreams of finding a little flat and making it pretty filled the long working days and at night-time she could imagine cooking meals for Hugh, and cosy nights by a fire.

  To fill the lonely evenings, Charity turned to writing. Hugh had asked her not to write often because too many letters would make his mother suspicious. So instead she wrote stories. Some were fantasy, projecting her experiences into what she’d like to happen, some were reminiscences of the holiday. She bought a large notepad, with the idea that she could store them away for the future, when she could look back and laugh about these fears, hopes and feelings.

  The diary Uncle Geoff gave her was of some help, although there were only scanty entries in August; it was while leafing through it that she found an entry on the third of August.

  ‘Bad tummy ache. Hugh keeps asking what’s wrong, but how do you explain that to a boy?’

  Charity kept looking at it, a sick feeling welling up in her stomach. She remembered exactly what that tummy ache was caused by – it had been her last period. She counted
the days feverishly on a calendar. However hard she tried not to be alarmed, she was ten days late!

  Common sense told her she needn’t worry. Her cycle had never been very regular and anyway Hugh had used Durex every time, except for that first time at the pool. An article in a magazine claimed that any unusual excitement or upheaval could delay a period … but still it niggled at her like a toothache.

  She wrote to Hugh as usual, but didn’t mention it. They had agreed she mustn’t write anything too personal for fear of his mother reading it, and anyway she was sure she would start her period any day.

  But the days crept by and still nothing happened. Sometimes she woke in the night with a tummy ache, jumped out of bed – but it was always a false alarm.

  The leaves on the trees were slowly turning gold. In the morning and evening there was a nip in the air and at times heavy rain lashed down for days. But Charity barely noticed the passing of summer as her anxiety grew.

  Hugh’s letters were becoming shorter and further apart. Was that because he’d stopped thinking of her, or was he busy studying? She stopped counting the days, and turned instead to weeks. Two weeks late, three, and then four. Hugh must be busy getting ready for Oxford because she hadn’t had a letter for over a week. She couldn’t really be pregnant, could she?

  ‘What’s up love?’ Mrs Cod called from the kitchen as Charity ran out into the scullery as they were preparing breakfast. ‘Are you ill?’

  Charity didn’t answer. She held on to the sink so hard her knuckles were while. It was the smell of the grilling bacon, and any minute she was going to be sick.

  Taking deep breaths helped. The feeling of nausea stayed, but it went no further. She had beads of perspiration on her forehead yet she was shivering, and then she remembered how the women had been discussing pregnancy one day and the subject of morning sickness had come up.

  ‘I couldn’t abide the smell of meat,’ Pat had said. ‘I could eat it once it was cooked, but the smell of it raw turned my stomach. And tea! I couldn’t keep it down. Drank nothing but water till I was seven months gone.’