Charity

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘I do,’ she insisted.

  ‘I’m not a very nice person,’ he said, blushing slightly. ‘Mind you, I think I inherited that from my father. He was cruel to my mother and to us kids.’

  ‘Go on,’ she prompted.

  Toby smirked, stroking back her hair.

  ‘I don’t know why I’ve even told you that!’

  ‘Making love can do lots of things to people.’ She lifted herself up on one elbow and looked down at him, letting her long hair trail across his chest.

  Toby’s eyes were the clearest blue she’d ever seen, his hair white-blond like a Swede’s or a German’s. Undoubtedly he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. But there was pain in those eyes, and she was sure it was those childhood memories that had twisted his mind.

  ‘Making love can make you feel pure again. It can make you feel more for someone else than you do for yourself. It relaxes, stimulates so many different things. But I think in your case it’s touched a part of you that was locked away – maybe your father.’

  ‘He was a preacher,’ he said turning his face away. ‘Even as a little boy I knew it was all a sham. He was a liar, a hypocrite, he loved no one but himself, and worst of all he was a pervert.’

  Carla had heard many such admissions from men. Whatever was going to happen to Toby after tonight she felt duty bound to let him unburden himself and maybe exorcise at least one of his demons.

  ‘Tell me?’ she said softly. She sat up and pulled him close to her so his head was resting on her breasts. She stroked his hair away from his face and waited.

  ‘He screwed my sister,’ he muttered into her flesh. ‘One night I heard this noise and I went upstairs. I looked round the door and he was there, doing it to her. She must have been thirteen then and I was too young to really know what it was. But the noises he was making frightened me and I went away.’

  ‘Did you ever tell your sister you knew?’ She felt so sorry for him; it wasn’t hard to imagine how such a scene could torment a boy once he reached adolescence and understood what he’d witnessed.

  He didn’t answer right away, just buried his face closer into her.

  ‘Did you, Toby?’

  ‘Yes.’ He made an odd sound in his throat, like a half-swallowed sob. ‘But I was as cruel as my father. I threw it at her, knowing it would hurt her.’

  Carla closed her eyes. Somehow she understood everything, even though she knew no more of his background than George had needed to tell her. He loved this sister – perhaps she was the only person he’d ever loved – and he’d hurt her deliberately because of his own pain.

  ‘You must tell her, Toby,’ she said, smoothing his head gently. ‘All of it. Don’t let this thing grow between you like a cancer.’

  He lifted his head from her breast and she saw tears in his eyes.

  ‘You’re very wise.’ He tried to smile. ‘How come you couldn’t fix your car?’

  ‘I’m better at fixing people.’ She smiled back, wiping at his eyes with one finger. ‘Suppose I make us a cup of tea, have a wash and then we start all over again?’

  It wasn’t until five that he eventually fell so sound asleep that she was able to wriggle out of his arms. She lay still for several minutes listening to his deep breathing, then slipped out of bed and over to his bag.

  Enough faint light filtered through the curtains for her to see. Hardly daring to breathe she rummaged through it and when she found nothing but clothes and toiletries, her heart began to thump.

  Could he have left it in the car? There was no way she could go in and out of the hotel at this hour without arousing suspicion. But then she remembered the red marks on his chest. Of course, he’d taken it off once he got up here!

  She glanced under the bed, and as she straightened up she saw his jacket. Keeping her eyes on Toby she crept towards it. He was sound asleep, one arm curled round his face like a small child, his half-covered body golden against the white sheets.

  Holding the hanger still with one hand, she delved into the pockets and breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the packets.

  It showed his real innocence that he hadn’t suspected a set-up. Most men in his position wouldn’t have stopped in a lonely road, even for a girl on her own. If they had been foolhardy enough to stop, they would have found a safer place to hide the drugs: in the hotel safe, even under the mattress.

  In a minute she swapped his packets for ones of talcum powder she’d brought in her bag, then got back into bed beside him.

  Carla knew there was no danger of falling asleep; she was much too tense now. She was being paid for a job, just as he was. They were both people who lived by their wits and it wasn’t her responsibility to decide whether her actions were any more reprehensible than his.

  He woke just as she got back from the bathroom. She had changed into jeans and a shirt.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said and bent over to kiss him.

  This was the dangerous time. Ruthless he might be, but he was brought up a gentleman and he would find it hard to let her go without escorting her downstairs.

  ‘But –’ he sat up in bed, ready to jump up.

  ‘Don’t come down. Dad might be waiting in the foyer.’ She kissed his forehead and pushed him gently back on the pillows.

  ‘When will I see you again?’ he said and his eyes looked sorrowful.

  She took a sheet of hotel writing paper from the dressing-table and wrote down a number in London. It was a made-up one, but it was kinder than the truth.

  ‘Ring me soon.’ She kissed him again, for a moment letting herself sink into his arms. ‘It was a wonderful night, Toby. You’re the best lover I’ve ever had.’

  She left then, running down the stairs with her bag in her hand and across the foyer to the street.

  The black Jaguar was waiting just a few yards up the road. As she approached George leaned across and opened the door.

  ‘You got it?’

  ‘Of course.’ She wanted to smile, to laugh and tell him how easy it had been, but all she could think of was that lonely, lost man lying there wrapped in rosy dreams while she was running out on him.

  Toby felt like a new man as he drove back into London. Traffic was pouring down towards the coast, for a Sunday at the seaside, but there was little going into London. Despite only a few hours’ sleep he was rested and relaxed. He had the hood down, the sun was shining and he couldn’t wait to see Carla again. No girl had ever made him feel like this before. It was better than speed or coke, better even than money.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have told her about his father, but then maybe this good feeling inside him was a result of that confession?

  As he drove up the Old Kent Road he saw a row of telephone boxes and on an impulse he pulled up outside.

  As he dialled Charity’s number he had a pang of anxiety that she would blank him off, but he knew he’d got to try and make amends.

  ‘Hallo.’

  Her voice sounded sweet; once again pangs of remorse came back.

  ‘It’s me, Chas,’ he said. ‘Toby!’

  Once just the sound of his voice would have brought a note of delight into her voice, but instead she hesitated before speaking.

  ‘Don’t hang up on me,’ he begged her. ‘Let me just say my piece?’

  ‘Go on then,’ she said coolly.

  ‘I got leave to come and see you. I’m so sorry about what I said and what I’ve done, Chas.’ His words tumbled over one another. ‘I know there isn’t any excuse for any of it, particularly the cruel things I said.’

  ‘I forgive you for what you said, Toby,’ she said so quietly he had to listen hard to catch it. ‘But I won’t stand by and see you ruin your life with drugs and until I have your assurance that that part of your life is over I won’t see you.’

  ‘It is over,’ he said. ‘All this trouble with you has made me see it was stupid. Let me come round later today and see you.’

  ‘I’m going out today,’ she said gently. ‘But tomorrow is fine.
Come over for lunch and we’ll talk.’

  Toby had a lump in his throat. He swallowed hard but still it was there.

  ‘You don’t hate me?’

  ‘I could never hate you, Toby. I don’t like you sometimes, but I’ll always love you.’

  Toby put the phone down and went back to the car. He felt guilty that he still had the packages to deliver and he wished he hadn’t agreed to this last trip, but he couldn’t put the clock back now.

  It was three in the afternoon as he parked his car in Cinnamon Street in Wapping. He had driven round the block of old warehouses, checking to see the place wasn’t under police surveillance, then, satisfied it was safe, he transferred the heroin from his jacket pocket into a brown paper bag. It took a couple of minutes to put up the hood. Even though the street was deserted and he didn’t intend to stay more than a few minutes, it was the sort of area that made him cautious.

  Tucking the brown bag under his arm, he crossed the narrow cobbled street to the warehouse. The grass outside the seedy pre-war block of flats behind him was brown and scrubby, the one lone tree laden with dust.

  The few shops at the end of the street looked equally bleak: wire grilles over the windows, peeling paint and crumbling stone. A rancid smell filled the warm air, a mixture of river, rotting ancient buildings and neglect.

  Ringing the bell above the green door, Toby glanced nervously over his shoulder. An old lady was leaning on the top-floor balcony looking down at him, but almost all the other balconies were hung with washing. He could smell spice wafting out of the brickwork, a reminder of what the warehouse had been built for. He never dared ask what they used it for now. Albert and Jim Tooley weren’t the kind of men you questioned.

  The sound of clonking boots on the stairs made him glance round again. He had changed this morning into jeans and a white T-shirt, but his short hair and sports car made him stand out in an area where men were tough, with tattoos, bulging muscles and beer bellies.

  He sensed someone looking through the spyhole and then the door opened.

  ‘Come in, mate.’ Albert’s big face registered nothing. Not pleasure, not even dislike. Toby had never seen him smile, or show any other kind of emotion.

  Albert was huge: over six feet, with a body like a tank. His brother Jim was the brain, at least he handed over the money and arranged things. Albert appeared to be there just to terrify people.

  His nose was flat, as if it had been squashed on to his face by a sledgehammer and his nasal tones showed that he had difficulty breathing; hair cut to a mere brown fuzz and black stubble on his heavy jowls.

  ‘Lovely day,’ Toby said brightly as he went up the bare wooden stairs with Albert close behind him. He hated himself for trying to ingratiate himself with these brothers, he could tell they regarded him as an upper-class twit, however often he reminded them that he’d been born in Greenwich.

  A snort was the only reply. They had reached the second floor, where the brothers camped out.

  It was a mere open space, heavy rough wood beams slanting up from the centre to support the roof. Opposite the door was an open hatch with a huge rusting chain dangling in front of it from a pulley. A couple of mattresses lay behind one set of beams. Army blankets and a few grubby pillows gave the impression that the brothers slept here. On the far side some tea chests stacked on their sides held a couple of cracked mugs, a few beer bottles and what seemed to be car spares.

  Jim was sitting on an upturned wooden box, wearing a grubby vest and jeans. Although he was neither as huge as Albert nor quite so ugly, there was something more chilling about him.

  His eyes were like those of dead fish on a fishmonger’s slab, staring and blank, and he had the thinnest lips Toby had ever seen. Muscles stood out like ropes in his neck and arms and the belly hidden beneath that vest was iron hard. Alf’s skin was mottled red from the, sun; Jim’s was a deep, dark brown and shiny as if rubbed with oil.

  Toby had once met Jim in a club when he was wearing a dicky bow and dark suit, but even discovering the man had some social graces, that his voice was well modulated and even pleasant, didn’t quite wipe out the suspicion that he was an exceptionally dangerous animal.

  ‘I expected you sooner,’ Jim said, fixing Toby with those strange fish eyes. ‘Did you miss the boat?’

  ‘No, I was right on schedule.’ Toby sat down on the empty box Jim waved his hand towards. ‘But it’s a long drive, so I stayed overnight on the way up.’

  Another disturbing thing about Jim was the way he mimicked the accent of the person he was speaking to. With his brother it was pure cockney, but he could lapse into Scouse, Birmingham or even Toby’s Sandhurst at will.

  ‘Any trouble at the customs?’

  Toby shook his head, holding out the brown paper package.

  ‘They searched my bag and car, but not me.’ Toby always had the desire to lie to this man. Claim he’d head-butted someone and run for it, or slipped the package into someone else’s bag – anything to make himself look braver, or smarter. But he curbed it; perhaps Jim might just have a spy on the route. ‘Plain sailing, really.’

  Jim took the three packages out of the paper bag and rested them on his knee for a moment, looking at them reflectively. It was hard to read his emotions. Toby couldn’t tell if it was the pleasure of knowing how much money this little lot would fetch, or regret that Toby hadn’t bought more.

  He took a Swiss Army knife from his pocket, pulled out the smallest blade and poked it through the plastic. Toby’s guts churned. They always did at this moment, though why he didn’t understand. He watched as Jim licked one finger, dipped it in the bag, then lifted it to his lips.

  But this time Jim’s expression changed. He frowned, licked his lips and his eyes shot up to glare at Toby.

  ‘It’s fuckin’ talcum powder!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Toby jumped up instinctively as Jim prodded the other two bags in quick succession, tasting a sample from each.

  ‘Don’t you call me fuckin’ ridiculous!’ Jim said, pushing the bags to the floor.

  ‘I didn’t mean you were,’ Toby said hastily. He moved over to the bags spilling out on to the floor and tried them himself. ‘Shit! They are, too. They’ve bloody seen us off!’

  For a moment there was total silence. Toby saw Alf move in closer, but he was thinking only of Hans back in Hamburg who’d strapped the packets to his chest in the bathroom beyond his office, just as he’d done each time before.

  ‘Not “they”.’ Jim stood up, blocking out the light from the open hatch, his eyes suddenly alive, burning with dark anger. ‘You!’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ‘Toby phoned this morning,’ Charity suddenly blurted out as Rob poured her a second glass of wine.

  They were sitting in the tiny walled garden at the back of a restaurant in Hampstead village. They had ordered their lunch and Charity was determined to steer their conversation away from her problems, but she had to tell Rob this latest development.

  It was another beautiful day. A cloudless sky, hot sunshine and the garden of the restaurant made Charity think of the courtyards in Florence. Climbing shrubs covered the walls, a stone lion’s head in one corner dripped water into a tiny pool, and tubs of vivid petunias and geraniums stood between the four cast-iron tables.

  Ten days ago Charity had been discharged from Holly Bush House and her recovery was almost complete. Two days ago the plaster had been removed from her arm and each day she could walk a little further. She still had pain in her back, but daily physiotherapy was easing it. Her facial scars were improving too; the smaller ones had almost gone. Charity was waiting now to see a plastic surgeon about the two bigger scars.

  But for Charity her physical condition was unimportant. In herself she felt so well. For days now she’d woken each morning with an exhilarating lightness, the kind of feeling she could only liken to opening a window and seeing spring after a long, cold winter. Deep inside her she knew this was due to her deepening relationshi
p with Rob.

  His daily visits now weren’t psychiatrist and patient sessions, but visits from a caring friend, as he dropped in to see her on his way home from the hospital. The emphasis had changed: now Rob talked about people at the hospital, his friends and his outside interests and slowly Charity was seeing the whole man.

  She knew that he played squash, and that he swam at least twice a week. He could cook, he spoke French and Italian fluently and he played the piano. Charity hoped that this lunch date would reveal still more.

  He looked different today. It wasn’t just his white open-necked shirt or the fact that he’d had his hair cut. Freckles had come out on his nose, as they had that summer in Sussex, and there was a sort of shine to him, as if he was excited about something. Charity wondered if he saw this lunch as their first real date, a lead up to something more. She hoped so.

  ‘What did Toby have to say for himself?’ Rob resisted the desire to word the question in his professional manner.

  ‘He wanted to come round,’ Charity said, smiling a little uncertainly. ‘I’m improving! I said I was going out for lunch and suggested he come tomorrow. How should I play it with him now?’ she asked.

  Rob smiled at her. ‘We both know you’ll forgive him, even if I was to say you shouldn’t. Just try to distance yourself, Charity, that’s all I can suggest. Make Toby see he has to earn your respect.’

  Over lunch they moved on to lighter subjects. They talked about Martin and Marjorie, who had invited Charity down for a weekend at their house in Hertfordshire; about Rita’s latest boyfriend, Charity’s thoughts about going back to work, and Dorothy.

  ‘She’s got some new man,’ Charity giggled. ‘She’s being very cagey about him too, which is unusual for her. He must be rich of course, because she said something about a swimming pool. Why do you think she’s not telling Rita and me everything?’

  ‘Maybe Dorothy’s fallen in love with him,’ Rob grinned. ‘That’s when most of us clam up.’

  Charity looked puzzled.

  ‘We get scared to say too much in case it doesn’t work out,’ Rob said. ‘All our feelings are heightened, we start to act and think irrationally, and it can be very threatening.’