‘Oh my dear,’ Mrs Andrews exclaimed. ‘I’m being so tactless and forgetting the shock you’ve had. Let’s get you warm and comfortable. The police will come down any minute now and then we can get your hand seen to.’
Mrs Andrews found a towel and wrapped it round Charity’s hand, then put a blanket round her, tucking her feet up.
‘Is there anyone I can phone for you?’ she asked.
‘Could you try ringing Dr Robert Cuthbertson?’ Charity asked, stammering out the hospital number. ‘Tell him I’m all in one piece so he doesn’t panic.’
‘Of course, my dear,’ Mrs Andrews clucked in sympathy. ‘That hand of yours will need stitches – and after all you’ve been through already!’
It occurred to Charity that Mrs Andrews probably knew almost as much about her as she did herself and she would be dining out on today’s incidents for the next few weeks.
Charity had just got the message that Rob was on his way, when two policemen came in.
She smiled weakly at Detective Inspector Rudge, very glad to see his face. The other man was a lanky young constable who stood by the door as if guarding it.
‘Well, Miss Stratton.’ Inspector Rudge gave a sympathetic smile and pulled up a chair by her settee. ‘You’ve been in the wars again. Can you tell me what happened exactly?’
Charity gave him a rundown on the events. She could see Mrs Andrews out of the corner of her eye, her mouth hanging open in shock.
‘You didn’t kill him.’ Rudge half smiled. ‘Knocked him out and he’ll need a few stitches, but his skull must be made of cement. Remind me never to tangle with you! He’s under arrest, and it looks as if we’ve finally nailed the man at the top. But we ought to get you off to hospital and get that hand looked at.’
Blood had soaked right through the towel now and Charity’s hand throbbed mercilessly.
‘Robert’s coming, he’ll see to it,’ she said. ‘What happens now?’
‘Well, we’ll need a statement from you, but that can wait until tomorrow. You can’t stay up there now, it looks like World War Three’s broken out.’
‘Is this going to be the end of it?’ Charity asked. Now it was over she wanted to cry and she hoped she could be away from here before she started.
‘I think so.’ Inspector Rudge placed one big hand over hers and smiled in sympathy. ‘You’ve done us all a favour today. We had drawn a blank about who was behind all this. You’ve given us what we needed.’
‘What a brave girl she was,’ Mrs Andrews piped up from across the room. ‘Who would think a little thing like her could get the better of a man?’
‘Appearances are deceptive, Mrs Andrews.’ Rudge chuckled. ‘She’s certainly tougher than she looks.’
‘We have to stop this,’ Charity said as Rob came in with scrambled eggs and toast for her.
‘Stop what?’
‘You waiting on me. Cooking me scrambled eggs. I was brought up to think women waited on men.’
‘Well eggs are the only thing I have in the fridge,’ he said and gave her a smile. ‘Besides, I like looking after you and you can’t do anything with that hand bandaged up.’
Dependable as ever, Rob had arrived within ten minutes of Mrs Andrews’s call. He’d gone upstairs to Charity’s flat to make sure everything was secured and came back down with a small case packed with a few clothes, cosmetics and shoes. Within an hour they were in and out of the Middlesex hospital. Fortunately the cut wasn’t as deep as they’d feared, only requiring two stitches. Although it was still throbbing, the casualty doctor assured her it would feel easier by morning.
Rob hadn’t asked if Charity wanted to be brought to his flat in Albemarle Mansions; he just took her there.
‘But I’m OK,’ she insisted as he helped her up the iron stairs to his third-floor landing. ‘I could go back to my flat.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said firmly, as he opened his door and led her in. ‘You’ve had a tremendous shock and even though you seem calm now, the effects might hit you like a sledgehammer later on.’
There was nothing for it but to sit obediently while he brought tea, then the eggs and toast. Maybe Rob put her silence down to delayed shock, but in fact Charity’s thoughts were all centred on Rob, not her assailant, or her brother’s funeral.
For some inexplicable reason Rob’s flat felt like home, even though it was so different from her own. It was clearly a bachelor’s residence: piles of books were dumped by his chair, the desk under a window was strewn with papers. Charity hadn’t seen all of it yet, but it seemed to be all long passages with doors leading off. This room overlooked a central courtyard, the flats opening out on to long balconies with old-fashioned iron staircases zigzagging down. The red Regency-striped wallpaper and antique furniture had a cosy quality she hadn’t expected.
There was no feeling of walking into a minefield of memories. It was just Rob: a squash racket balanced on top of a bookcase, a dilapidated sad-looking teddy bear sitting astride a toy red engine. Shoe brushes abandoned on the mantelpiece next to a Waterford crystal decanter. An upright piano against one wall, the sheet music of Beatles songs open on it. An exquisite Persian rug and a chiffonier finer than anything at Studley standing by a hideous plastic-covered tea trolley.
‘I made that at school,’ Rob said when he saw her looking at it. ‘My gran put the plastic on it for some reason. I keep it because it’s handy, not for aesthetic value.’
‘It’s nice here,’ she smiled. ‘Not what I expected.’
‘So what did you expect?’ He put one hand on his hip in a ridiculous camp gesture. ‘Frilly cushions, mirrors on ceilings, or Gothic horror?’
‘I don’t know,’ she giggled. ‘Sort of unlived-in, I suppose, arty.’
‘It could do with a woman’s touch.’ He chuckled, removing a pair of socks from an armchair and waving his hand towards a dying plant. ‘But I don’t want you attempting anything with that bandaged hand.’
‘I can do some things.’ She got up from her chair and stood on tiptoe to kiss him, but instead of just a touch to his cheek she kissed him lingeringly on the lips.
‘Thank you,’ she said, letting her hand stay on his cheek. ’Thank you for being there whenever I need you, for making me feel whole again.’
He caught hold of the hand on his cheek, pressing it with his, and his eyes told her everything.
Love shone in them. Not that look she’d had from so many men when they just wanted her body, or even the kind of admiration she’d come to accept as normal. John had looked at her that way when she was too young to understand such an expression, and seeing it again sent shivers down her spine.
Charity didn’t move away. She couldn’t. Lifting her lips to his again arose from a deep urge inside her, a thirst that had to be quenched.
‘Oh Charity.’ Rob sighed, sliding his arms around her. ‘You’ve made me feel whole again too.’
His kiss was tentative, as if he didn’t dare believe this was any more than gratitude. But Charity slid her bandaged hand round his neck and drew him closer still.
Emotions that had lain dormant for so long stirred inside her. Nothing existed but the warmth of his lips, the need to hold and be held.
It was Rob who moved first, still holding her but dropping his head into her neck and sighing deeply.
‘What is it?’ she said, knowing, but needing to hear him say it.
‘I want you,’ he whispered, his voice muffled on her neck. ‘For now, for always, but –’ he stopped short and as she looked down at his neck she saw it was red.
‘But you’re afraid this is too soon?’ she asked, taking his head in her hands and lifting it up so she could look at him.
If she’d had any doubts before, they flew away. A bubble of joy was rising inside her, a feeling that however mixed up everything else was, this was right. She admired this man for his patience, compassion, intelligence; he had become her confidant and friend. Now that she felt sharp desire, she knew it was meant to be.
He smiled down at her, a dazed kind of look as if he was hearing words he’d been dreaming of.
‘I mean it,’ she said. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’
She was a little scared now, remembering how in one of their sessions at the nursing home she’d told him the way she used to play with men, and their feelings.
‘I believe in you,’ he said softly. ‘I did from the first day I met you, and nothing you’ve told me has changed that.’
‘Oh Rob.’ She leaned against him, burying her face in his chest. ‘It’s been such a long, terrible day, but I feel as if I’ve just stepped into a new one.’
‘Sit down,’ he said, leading her back to the settee. Charity looked round in surprise as he disappeared through the door and she heard his footsteps going down the corridor. He returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
‘My plan was to ask you to go away with me for a weekend, in a couple of weeks,’ Rob said, stopping in the doorway and smiling down at her. ‘I intended to woo you with champagne, a wonderful meal and dancing. But this will do until then!’
It was quite the most beautiful evening she’d ever spent with a man. They drank, talked and kissed with music playing softly in the background as relaxed as if Charity had spent the day in a park with Rob, not attending her brother’s funeral then narrowly escaping murder. But Charity sensed he had no intention of making love tonight, and such sensitivity aroused her still more.
They talked of the future generally and Charity told him of her plan to sell her business to Rita.
‘I want a new start,’ she said, smiling in a way she’d almost forgotten she could. ‘I think I’ll sell the flat too after what happened there today. Do you think that’s sensible?’
‘I think I do.’ He smiled, stroking back her hair. ‘I’m amazed at how resilient you are sometimes.’
‘I don’t want to be high-powered again.’ Charity frowned. ‘It stops you from seeing what’s going on around you. I think I’d rather work for someone else, with no responsibility.’
‘There’ll be Studley to think about soon,’ he reminded her. ‘How do you feel about that?’
‘I can’t cope with that yet.’ Charity sighed. ‘Someone will have to live there, I suppose. What would you do?’
‘Nothing for now.’ He smiled lazily. ‘I never make decisions until I have to. Sometimes things alter all on their own, I’ve found, so why waste time and energy worrying about them?’
‘That’s a sound bit of philosophy,’ she said cuddling into his chest. ‘All I want at the moment is more kisses.’
‘I should get up and put some sheets on the bed in the spare room, he said, turning her face to his. Charity lost herself in the kiss, pressing her body close to his.
She wanted to sleep with him, not so much to make love as to feel his skin against hers, the security of his arms. But to ask that of him was expecting too much.
While Rob was making up her bed, Charity took a bath. The nurse in casualty had cleaned up the blood from her hands and arms, but she felt sticky after the long, exhausting day. The bathroom was surprisingly luxurious: a big tub set in a dark wood surround, a separate shower in a cubicle and a washbasin sunk into a vanity unit with a marble top. She lay back in the hot water, her bandaged hand dangling over the edge, looking up at Rob’s shaving tackle sitting on a glass shelf and thought of that first bath in Florence with John.
There was a time when such memories had brought back stabs of pain, but now there was nothing but sweetness, as if she was recalling something which had happened in a previous life. She could never go back to such innocence, and she didn’t want to. This time she was meeting a man on equal terms, and there were no hidden complications, nothing to stand in the way.
It was easy enough washing one-handed, but when she got out and tried to dry herself, this proved more difficult. She struggled for a moment or two, then heard Rob’s voice.
‘Are you all right?’ he called. ‘You haven’t fallen asleep in there, have you? I’ve got a pair of pyjamas here for you.’
She opened the door and stood holding the towel in front of her.
‘I can’t dry myself,’ she said plaintively. He had removed his jacket and tie when they came in and rolled up his shirt-sleeves. Now for some inexplicable reason his tanned forearms made her feel suddenly aroused.
Rob felt his heart lurch. Charity’s hair was in damp curls around her face, skin the colour of honey against the white towel, but it was the expression on her face that affected him most of all.
Wide eyes begging not to be rebuffed, her lips moist and slightly apart. His eyes travelled down her slender neck to her shoulders and the one small breast that was partially uncovered.
‘Let me do it,’ he said gruffly, moving forward. Charity turned, handing him the towel.
Rob closed his eyes as he patted her skin. He had seen enough of those round buttocks to give him an instant erection, but as he bent to dry her lower back he couldn’t resist pressing his lips against her spine.
‘That’s nice.’ She sighed deeply, leaning back towards him. ‘My right arm needs drying too.’
She turned before he expected, her breast brushed against his face and he knew he was lost.
Her nipples were deep rose pink, bigger than he’d expected and already erect. Rob’s lips were on them before he could stop himself and Charity’s gasp of pleasure proved she wanted him too.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he said dropping to his knees, his face buried between her breasts. ‘I want you.’
Rob’s hands moved down over her buttocks as he marvelled at the curvy silkiness of her. Charity found his lips, her tongue flickering sensuously, darting into his mouth teasingly while she moved her hips wantonly under his hands.
‘I want you too,’ she said huskily, standing up and pressing his face into her belly.
He ached to lift her and carry her into the bedroom, but the moment was too sweet for him to break it. Her skin smelt of soap, still damp from the bath, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling this way about any other woman. His hand moved down to the triangle of hair, his fingers gently probing. He could feel her shaking with desire, hear her heavy breathing.
‘Take me to bed,’ she whispered, lifting his face back from her belly. ‘Your bed.’
Charity lay in Rob’s arms in the darkness, too overcome by the singing in her heart to sleep. It had been the most breathtakingly beautiful lovemaking she’d ever known. She wanted to tell him this, pour out her heart to him, yet how could she find the right words?
To say it was as if no other man had ever touched her wasn’t quite right, because it was all their past experience that had made it so perfect. Yet he had driven out all memories and she felt like a newly fledged dragonfly shimmering before its first flight over sun-filled meadows and bubbling streams.
Even now that he was exhausted his hands were still caressing her with adoration. His fingers traced the scars on her face delicately, assuring her they were just part of the woman he loved. Their bodies fitted together as if they were designed to be as one, and she knew for certain he was her destiny.
‘I love you, Rob.’ Her voice trembled with emotion. There were no words rich enough to convey the true majesty of what was in her heart. ‘You’re everything I dreamed of.’
It was dark and earlier Rob had lit a candle. It had burnt out long ago but she could make out his face well enough to see the look of profound tenderness.
‘I feel as if I’d been waiting my whole life for this moment,’ he whispered back. ‘But I didn’t dare hope you’d feel the same.’
Moving to kiss him she tasted salty tears on his cheeks that mingled with her own and it felt as if all her past sorrow had been intended purely to hollow out more room in her heart to contain this muc
h joy.
‘It’s everything,’ she whispered, licking away his tears. ‘Just “I love you” doesn’t cover it.’
‘Go to sleep now, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘We’ve got the rest of our lives ahead of us. I love you.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
December 1974
‘Only two weeks to Christmas,’ Prue said as they got out of her car. She stood for a moment looking up at the Priory, then turned back to Charity. ‘Shall we spend it here?’
It wasn’t even four o’clock but daylight was fading fast. The old cypress trees cast long shadows across the lawn and a nip in the air suggested frost later.
‘Everything looks very tidy,’ James said. He flung his school scarf over the shoulder of his sheepskin jacket. His face looked raw as if he’d been out in wind all day, but it was the result of an over-enthusiastic first attempt at shaving that morning. ‘Do you think Margaret and Tom will stay on?’
Charity had caught the train with James to Reading yesterday to stay the night with Prue, then the three of them had driven to Oxford this morning to see Uncle Stephen’s solicitor.
Studley Priory was now theirs and there was some three hundred thousand pounds invested. But through Prue and James were bubbling with the thrill of their inheritance, Charity viewed it with trepidation.
It was easier to ignore both questions than attempt an answer. Charity didn’t want to spend Christmas here; nor did she really care whether Margaret and Tom stayed on. She might own only one-third of the Priory but she knew that one hundred per cent of the headaches that came with it would be hers.
A stray shaft of weak sunshine played on the old grey stone. The mullioned windows twinkled, a large clump of Michaelmas daisies were still flowering by the drawing-room window and Margaret had put a holly wreath on the old studded oak door.
Charity turned to look at the garden. The lawn was as smooth as a bowling green, raked free of leaves from the bare horse chestnut. Now she could see the true beauty of the majestic cypress trees, the uninterrupted view over the railed fence down towards Beckley.
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