All her dreaming of John had been done here, lying awake night after night when they got back from Florence, wondering how she could feel so much pain yet still survive. Worrying about the children, so scared she might never see them again. She’d planned to get the agency here too, and devised the plot to get the money from Ted.
Then there were the thoughts of Daniel. How many times had she taken out his photographs and bootees and cried over them? A hundred? A thousand. He’d be six now, a little schoolboy. Did he look like her? Would he one day discover that his real mother had given him away?
‘Enough of that,’ she said out loud, the words echoing round the empty room. ‘Remember the good times!’
She, Rita and Dorothy had turned from girls into women, shared dreams, sadness, fought and laughed here. Pinning up each other’s skirts when the mini hit London, daring each other to be bold enough to wear crocheted dresses, swapping feather boas, velvet jackets and jewellery. All those records, now divided up, each with its own bittersweet memories. ‘You’ve lost that lovin’ feeling’, ‘River deep mountain high’ … words and music that charted romances, periods of gloom, and left indelible marks on their souls.
Nights when the three of them were here alone, reminiscing about the past over bottles of cheap wine and vowing they’d always stay together.
Charity paused to look round one last time with the front door open. They would never live together again, but the bonds they had formed back in Daleham Gardens were strong ones and their friendship would last a lifetime. Dorothy had had her few moments of fame even if her modelling career hadn’t turned out to be quite as lucrative as she expected. And there would always be a rich man, somewhere, prepared to share his money and life with her.
Rita and Charity were woven together now, like two cords in the same rope. Charity had the fire and drive, Rita the plodding diligence needed to keep the piles of paperwork under control. Rita still wouldn’t accept a partnership; she maintained it wouldn’t work, but at least she’d agreed to a profit-sharing arrangement which their accountant had sorted out each year.
A gust of wind made the naked light bulb quiver, a whiff of disinfectant and mustiness had taken the place of the smells Charity remembered of perfume, makeup and bacon sandwiches. The flat looked desolate and unloved as she slowly closed the door for the last time.
Charity had just finished stacking the last of her books on her shelves in her new flat when the buzzer went.
Since leaving Barkston Gardens yesterday at noon she’d worked tirelessly and now at last her brothers and sister were here to warm it properly.
Beech House was a modern block of flats on the tree-lined Finchley Road in St John’s Wood. It took its name from two copper beeches in front of it, and though the flats were the least expensive in the area, Prue would no doubt approve of its air of quiet gentility.
Charity’s plans of finding a home for all of them had become tempered by maturity and realism. The most she could expect was a weekend visit from one or the other of them. Toby and Prue still saw Studley Priory as home; James would stay with Lou and Geoff. So she’d chosen this flat for its central position, its modern, spacious design and the fabulous view from the balcony.
It was on the fourth floor, and she could see across the houses and gardens to Primrose Hill. To the right was Regent’s Park, and the sound of traffic was just a faint purr in the background. The first time she’d seen the flat the sun was just going down and she’d waited until darkness fell and all those street lights sparkled like diamonds on black velvet before her.
Charity picked up the answerphone.
‘Is that you, kids?’ she said, laughing as she imagined their startled faces down there under the porch. ‘I’m opening the door. Come up to the fourth floor in the lift.’
She glanced around before opening the flat door, pleased by what she saw. Cream carpet throughout, two new and expensive large floppy settees in pale blue velvet and a large teak wall unit to house her records, books and stereo. This room was a bit sparse yet, she needed a table and chairs, but the bedroom, the settees, curtains and carpets had cleaned her out and she’d need a few more good contracts before she dared splash out on anything else.
‘Come in all of you!’ Charity beamed at the three of them as she opened the door. ‘Goodness me you’re all soaked. Take your shoes off out there!’
‘Houseproud already?’ Toby retorted but abandoned his umbrella outside the door and removed his shoes. ‘We thought it was right by Lord’s Cricket Ground and we got off the bus at the wrong stop.’
James, the moment he’d abandoned his shoes, took a running leap at Charity, enveloping her in a frantic hug. He was ten now, but still didn’t seem to be concerned with behaving in the same laid-back way as his older brother.
‘Isn’t it posh, Chas,’ he squealed with delight, wriggling out of his coat and running over to the window. ‘It’s like being in space up here. You can see the whole world.’
‘Not a very good view in the rain,’ Charity said, collecting all the raincoats and hanging them over the bath. ‘But maybe next time you come it will be sunny and we can sit out on the balcony.’
‘I thought you’d have got a bigger place,’ Prue said. ‘There’s only one bedroom.’
Charity ignored that remark. Prue had an unerring way of criticising everything, it was a rare occurrence when she wholeheartedly approved.
‘The settees are big enough to sleep on,’ Charity said. ‘And if you want to stay, Prue, you can share my bed, it’s big enough.’
‘Wow!’ Toby said as he peeped into the bedroom. It was very feminine with palest pink silky curtains with a pleated pelmet. A cream lace bedspread, lampshades to match on Oriental lamp bases and the dressing-table ivory coloured wood that appeared to have been bleached. ‘And that huge bed! Have you got an orgy in mind?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Charity reached up to smack his ear playfully. Toby was seventeen now, well over six feet tall, and preoccupied with sex and girls. ‘Now when you’ve all had a good poke round, perhaps we can have some tea?’
Charity busied herself putting cakes on plates, laying out cups and saucers on the coffee table, but all the time she was watching her brothers and sister.
They were all so different in nature. Since Prue had started at teacher training college in Oxford she’d adopted a rather ‘county’ image with tweed skirts and sensible shoes, entirely at odds with the droves of flower children flocking around London. Prue’s snobbishness hadn’t left her: now she spoke of being ‘at Oxford’ so people assumed she meant the university. She almost took a pride in being plain. Sometimes Charity longed to get hold of her, show her how to use makeup effectively and make her have her hair cut instead of wearing it in one thick plait. But Prue wouldn’t take advice from anyone; she knew everything.
Toby, on the other hand, was physical perfection. Still no spots on his peachy skin, a lean yet muscular body; even in need of a haircut and scowling he had that charismatic James Dean look. Intellectually he wasn’t even close to Prue, he just scraped through exams, took no interest in books. Sport, cars and girls were the only things he showed any enthusiasm for. Toby still worried Charity. There was something dark and devious in his nature that she couldn’t quite put out of her mind. She had bought him an expensive watch last Christmas and by Easter he wasn’t wearing it. Toby said the strap had broken and he’d taken it to a shop to get it repaired, but she was sure he’d sold it, yet why, when he had more money than most boys of his age? There were many more instances of lies and subterfuge, but somehow he had only to flash that brilliant smile and she forgave him.
But if Toby and Prue gave her cause for concern, James more than made up for it. He was a delight – warm, affectionate, bright and sunny. He never asked for anything, and treasured each and every gift. Lou and Geoff had made a great job of bringing him up.
‘Who took this picture of you?’ Prue looked round at Charity, pointing to the large black and white framed pr
int of her feeding the pigeons in the Piazza del Duomo. ‘It’s frightfully good!’
‘It would be. John Marshall took it,’ Charity said.
‘The John Marshall?’ Prue gasped. ‘When on earth did you meet him?’
‘When I was your age,’ Charity smiled. ‘He took me to Florence with him.’
‘Gosh.’ Prue blinked very fast. ‘But he’s old!’
‘Too old, that’s why it didn’t last,’ Charity said ruefully. ‘Now come and have some tea.’
‘You’re a bit of a dark horse,’ Toby said, throwing himself down on the opposite settee and helping himself to the largest of the cream cakes. ‘Were you his mistress?’
‘Use a plate please, Toby,’ Charity said, handing him one. ‘Don’t drop cream on the settee.’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ Toby said, as always picking up on an undercurrent. ‘Were you?’
‘I loved him, if that’s what you mean.’ Charity had always intended to tell them about this one day, but she hadn’t expected it to come up now. ‘But it didn’t work out.’
‘How frightfully romantic,’ Prue said, leaning forward to grab a cake. ‘Have you been pining for him ever since? Is that why you haven’t got a boyfriend now?’
‘Uncle Stephen’s got a girlfriend,’ James piped up.
Instantly everyone looked at him.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Prue said.
‘You kiss girlfriends, don’t you?’ James went on, undeterred. ‘Well I saw him kissing Nurse Giles.’
Toby, Prue and Charity all roared with laughter.
‘Why is it funny?’ James said, his blue eyes wide with innocence. ‘When I told Uncle Geoff, he said maybe that was what made Uncle more animal.’
Another roar of laughter and James was indignant now.
‘Do you think he said “amenable”?’ Charity spluttered with laughter.
‘He might have. I’m not sure. Anyway I did see them kissing. I was looking through his window and there they were.’
Charity hugged this snippet of information to herself. Both Toby and Prue had mentioned odd things too that led her to believe the nurse and the colonel were now lovers. It was an obscene thought, but one she often giggled over with Rita in the office, and it brought back nice memories of Grandmother claiming the woman was a maneater.
‘Tell me,’ Charity said a little later. ‘Does your uncle know you see me from time to time?’
Toby shrugged and looked at Prue.
‘He must do,’ Prue said, blushing a little. ‘But we’ve never actually said.’
‘I have,’ James piped up. ‘I told him you took me to the pictures at half-term and bought me a cricket bat.’
‘We told you to keep quiet about that,’ Toby said, cuffing his brother round the ear.
‘I’m not telling lies,’ James said. ‘Uncle was bowling balls to me at Studley and he asked where I got the bat because it was a good one. I had to tell him.’
‘Quite right too,’ Charity said.
‘He didn’t say anything to us,’ Prue said. ‘He must’ve decided to ignore it. He never asks where we go when we come up here to see James. Sometimes I think he’s glad to see the back of us.’
‘He’s probably having it off with Nurse Giles,’ Toby said, then roared with laughter. ‘Anyway, I tell Margaret we see you. She’s all for it.’
The afternoon passed too quickly. Prue told Charity about her boyfriend Tim, who apparently had the brains of Einstein and the looks of Sean Connery. While Prue was in the bathroom Toby said he might have brains but he had terminal acne and he was a weed.
Toby told her about his driving lessons and said Uncle Stephen was going to buy him a sports car next year when he went to Sandhurst. All James could come up with was that he took a blackbird’s nest into school for the nature table.
It was only when Charity had returned from seeing them off at the bus stop that a feeling of melancholy came over her. Without them the flat felt very empty and Prue’s question about why she didn’t have a boyfriend prickled at her.
Work had become her love, new contracts taking the place of passion. Men had come and gone; for brief moments they’d added zest to her life, like seasoning on a meal, but she’d never let anyone get close enough to become more.
The rain had stopped and the sun was making the tiles out on the balcony steam. Charity opened the doors and stepped outside, leaning on the railings.
People said she’d changed and grown hard. But she had to be tough with both her employees and the companies she dealt with because there was too much at stake for sentimentality. Yet out there in London other girls were going to rock concerts, wild all-night clubs and pop festivals. They wore beaded Indian smocks, velvet loons, painted flowers on their faces and stayed up all night smoking pot. Love and fun was everything to them.
In her wardrobe there were Ossie Clark evening dresses, Jaeger suits and many Mary Quant dresses, all so smart and even glamorous, but had she slipped into a kind of early middle age?
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Charity murmured.
She had so much – a successful business, beautiful clothes, now this smart flat – and she remembered only too well what it was like to be poor and defenceless. Maybe material things wouldn’t give her the kind of sweet moments of bliss she’d felt when she held Daniel in her arms, or bring back the joy of first love. But it beat the desolation of heartbreak, of being rejected because she was a poor kitchen maid.
‘Hi there.’ Rita came bounding out of the back office as Charity arrived for work on Monday. ‘Settled in OK? How were the kids?’
‘The kids were wonderful, the flat looks like home. How about yours?’
‘I felt a bit lonely last night when Simon cleared off,’ Rita admitted. ‘I suppose we’ll both have to get used to having no one around. Anyway I want you to come to dinner next weekend. You haven’t met Simon properly and he’s got a nice friend.’
Charity pulled a face.
‘Don’t look like that, he’s lovely!’
‘You said that about the last gargoyle you presented me with. I’d like to meet Simon and find out if he’s all he’s cracked up to be, but I hate being foisted on to strangers.’
‘How on earth can anyone please you?’ Rita put her hands on her hips and glared at Charity. ‘Dorothy I understand. She’s only interested in the size of men’s wallets. I don’t know what you want.’
‘Love,’ Charity grinned. ‘But it just doesn’t happen to me. Anyway let’s get off this subject, there’s work to do.’
The new office seemed huge in comparison to the old one. A small reception area behind the big plate-glass window held comfortable modern chairs and a smart Italian black desk where Rita worked as office manager. Behind this three girls typed and manned the office machinery.
Charity’s office was upstairs overlooking the King’s Road. This was where she interviewed both promotion girls and prospective clients.
It was a far cry from Fulham Road in many ways. The soft grey carpet was expensive Wilton, the pink décor done by a professional decorator. They even had a proper kitchen now, with ice in the fridge for important clients’ drinks.
Stratton Promotions was becoming well known in London. Charity had carved out a niche for herself by getting the right girls, keeping their loyalty by fairness, good jobs and paying them better than anyone else. But though the office was smarter, the contracts bigger and so much more money at stake, all the fundamental things remained the same. Rita might have passed on the more mundane typing, filing and checking time sheets, but she still handled the wages, bookkeeping and typing the contracts. Charity spent more time away from the office, seeing clients and checking that her girls were working properly, but she still followed up every new enquiry and attended all the briefings with her girls so she knew exactly what was expected of them. And there were still moments of blind panic when cheques didn’t arrive in time to pay wages and the rent.
‘Martin Bell would like to see yo
u,’ Rita said over the intercom later that morning. ‘He’s in the office now.’
‘Send him right up.’ Charity jumped up from her desk to meet him.
She felt a surge of happiness. It had been ages since she last had time to see Marjorie and Martin. Now they’d sold Bell’s Diner in Hammersmith and moved out to Hertfordshire, Charity had grown used to a quick phone call once every six months.
She ran to the door, just as Martin came up the stairs.
He looked just the same: short and tubby, his bald spot shining.
‘Oh Martin,’ she gasped. ‘It’s so good to see you. How are you?’
‘Doing very well,’ he grinned, kissing her cheek. ‘And it looks as if you are too.’
Only then did Charity notice his expensive suit.
‘This is a bit flash for you,’ she said, playfully pulling on the revers. ‘Had a pools win?’
‘Sort of.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s talk about it.’
Over coffee Martin talked. He had lost still more hair, his face had a few more lines, but there was a new excitement in his voice, and greater confidence than he’d ever shown in the days when Charity worked as his waitress.
He spoke of expanding the frozen food business he’d started with just vegetables, into pies, hamburgers and sausages.
‘The frozen food company has done fabulous business,’ he said. ‘Of course we didn’t know when we started it that ordinary people would start buying freezers to have at home. We thought we’d only be supplying restaurants, canteens and hospitals. But suddenly business increased, the first frozen food shops started opening and supermarkets are stocking more and more lines. Now the sky’s the limit.’
‘Wonderful.’ Charity was so pleased for him and Marjorie. She remembered how hard they had always worked. ‘You deserve it. How’s Marjorie coping with money and success?’
‘As if born to it,’ Martin beamed. ‘She’s a lady of leisure now, spending her time reading glossy magazines and thinking up ways to spend our money. She’s really happy.’
‘What brought you up here today then?’ Charity asked.
‘To see you, of course – and to put some business your way.’
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