Charlie Had His Chance

by Ellis Major

  “How about a bit of a potter on the beach and a poke around in some rock-pools?” Charlie suggested. “The beaches should be safe from an attack of the Sproates today by the sound of it. Oh sod it.” He noticed that Mr Sproate’s sharp little eyes had spotted the Bentley, and Lance. Given that Lance had spotted Mary and Charlie he’d opened the door of the car. Mr Sproate had clearly managed to put two and two together and associate ownership with one of either Charlie or Mary. The faint sound of a Yorkshire expression of disbelief drifted across to them on the light morning breeze – something along the lines of ‘well boogger me’. It must have been something to do with the fact that Sproates’ vehicle was, whilst expensive, rather less expensive than the Bentley.

  ~~~

  Charlie and Lance did what they could, but Mary spent the day in a state of nervous abstraction. She was content enough to paddle on the beach or wander along it as dogs gambolled around, completely uncontrolled by their largely pensioner owners. The owners blatantly ignored the signs forbidding owners to allow their dogs to defecate on the beach between the months of March and October. Other than that, the scenes were timeless.

  The three tourists were able to enjoy the sight of parents making every effort to persuade their very small children that it was not a good idea to eat sand by the mouthful, given what the dogs might have done in it, or their slightly older children that, having dropped their newly purchased ice cream on the beach, and having had most of the sand brushed off it for them, a little bit of sand wouldn’t kill them.

  The rock pools distracted Mary for a bit, but it was clear that she sought stronger spiritual solace. “I’m sorry guys,” she told them. “I know I’m not much in the way of company. Things haven’t quite turned out the way we planned, have they?”

  “Mary, Professor,” Charlie told her. “In the world of Tiptree things never do seem to turn out the way they’re planned – look at Lance; I go to Victoria to check the trains and come back with him. Of course your mind isn’t on the beach, it’s with the fair Georgina. Where else could it be?”

  “I feel like a nervous girl,” she confided. “It’s the waiting, that’s the awful thing, the not knowing.”

  “You’ll know soon enough,” Lance told her. “It’ll be a breeze. I’m sure she’ll like you and you’ll be as happy as sand boys or whatever it is two girls are as happy as, nuns in a bath, maybe?”

  “Thank you Lance,” Mary told him primly.

  ~~~

  Georgina was obviously a determined and resourceful girl. They were to discover this once they had run the gauntlet on their return to the hotel.

  Arnold Sproate was lying in wait and bounded up to them with a surprising turn of speed the moment the party walked into Reception. “Is that yower Bentley?” he demanded through narrowed lids. His round front was more puffed up than Charlie had noticed hitherto.

  “Mine actually.” Charlie felt it was best to own up straight away.

  “And you said you were a moosicologist?”

  “Yes, of sorts although the real spondulicks, er, sorry, brass as you would call it in good old Yorkshire, is made from tickling the old ivories.”

  “Smoogglin’ yer mean?” Mr Sproate asked hopefully.

  “Playing the piano, Arnie old boy.” Charlie had received one of his occasional flashes of inspiration (probably all the fresh sea air) and had decided that earning some sort of a living would impress Mr Sproate. He thought it would sound better than drifting along in idleness on the back of the niggardly or generous distributions from his Trusts (the choice of adjective dependent on whether you were Charlie or a Trustee).

  “Moost pay well.” Mr Sproate seemed distinctly disconcerted that an ambulant stick of rock could make more than the combined profits of Sproate’s Special Sweetshops, to the extent of running to a snazzier car anyway.

  “Can’t complain.” Charlie smiled blithely at him. “I scrape by.”

  The Receptionist now managed to draw Charlie’s attention. “Message for you Mr Tiptree,” she called.

  “Perhaps it’s the LSO regarding your next recital,” Mary suggested urgently. “Best to check straight away. You wouldn’t want to clash with the Berlin Philharmonic again.”

  “God no,” said Lance with a faint groan. “The Berlin Phil were really cut up.”

  Mr Sproate’s eyes widened. “LSO, Berlin Phil…”

  As Charlie popped over to collect his message Mr Sproate went to announce to Marigold, none too softly, that “E were able to make enoof brass playin’ t’piano to buy t’Bentley.”

  The envelope was addressed to Charlie in a neat and unmistakably feminine hand. Charlie nodded to Mary and they all raced to his room.

  “Quickly, quickly,” Mary urged him. “Get it over with. Open it. I can’t bear the suspense.” She was as pale as milk.

  Charlie tore open the envelope only to find another one addressed rather formally ‘Strictly Private & Confidential. To be opened by Ms Mary Goldsworthy only.’

  He handed it straight to Mary who tore it open and rapidly scanned the few lines. She blushed.

  “Is it good news?” Charlie asked hopefully. By way of an answer Mary handed him the note. She was smiling now, her luminous green eyes alight with pleasure.

  “Are you sure?” Charlie asked her. “We don’t want to pry. Give us the gist of it.”

  “There’s nothing too intimate,” Mary told him. “You need to read it - you’ll see why when you do.”

  Charlie read it out loud to Lance.

  “Dear Mary,

  Thank you for your note. I would very much like to get to know you but there are problems. I have managed to find a few moments alone in order to write this but I could not possibly explain everything in a letter. We need to talk and this is something your friend Charlie could help with, even though he is a man of some description, and that other weirdo.”

  Charlie broke off. “Rather cheeky,” he told Mary. “A man of some description, eh. And Lance is a weirdo. Tactful creature I see, and she expects us to help!”

  “She doesn’t know you,” Mary told him dismissively. “Carry on, there’s not much more.”

  Charlie read on.

  “If Charlie suggested to my evil parents that he took me and my brother out for the day (he has to take my brother or they won’t agree) then he could find a means to get my brother out of the way, we could talk and I could explain. No one in my family must know that I am meeting you.”

  Mary took back the note. “Did you see Charlie; she signed it ‘George’ with three kisses.” She seemed very happy with the outcome of their efforts. “She must be interested Charlie. She found a way to respond very quickly.” Mary’s eyes were bright. “We just need to work out how to do it.”

  “Absolutely, Professor, but we need military brain power on this. It all sounds a bit tricky to me. Lance what do you think?”

  Lance pursed his lips and frowned. “I reckon the first part should be relatively simple. We merely need to track down Mr and Mrs Lane and Charlie boy should put his suggestion to them. His outing should consist of something simple and ‘wholesome’ like a morning walk then some lunch in a quiet restaurant. This should be followed by a visit to somewhere ‘edifying’, such as an historic property. We would get back to the hotel in the late afternoon. As for arranging matters in accordance with ‘George’s’ requirements, I must think about that. No Scotch tonight, people. We’re on ops.”

  Charlie jumped up. “Their car was there in the car park. Perhaps they’re in the bar. I want to get this bit out of the way so we can enjoy the evening.”

  He immediately wandered down to the bar where he found the whole family glumly encamped around a table. Mr Lane was unusually glassy-eyed for the time of day and the rest of the family were staring dully at their drinks. Charlie approached and issued his invitation.

  “You all seem a bit on the glum side,” he continued. “I’m at a loose end tomorrow as my colleague, the Professor, is off to a conference. I’d appreciate
the company and it would give you a break from each other. I know that family hols can sometimes be on the stressful side.”

  “Hallelujah,” said Mr Lane, cheerfully.

  Mrs Lane frowned at her husband, and then glanced at Georgina who shrugged and said ‘why not’ in a fairly civil sort of a way. And with that, it was agreed.

  The die was cast.

  Chapter 8 – First Move (Year 1 – Early July)

  By the time dawn broke Lance had come up with his plan and he was even reasonably pleased with it.

  He held the front passenger door of the Bentley open for Master John Lane who, it has to be said, seemed less gloomy than one might expect given he was a teenager facing the prospect of a day in the company of three adults. Possibly this was because he faced this prospect every day anyway, or possibly it was because two of the adults were not his parents, and he got to sit in the front of a Bentley.

  Once they were settled into the car, and Lance was inviting John to twiddle with the controls of the Entertainment Centre, Charlie showed Georgina the postcard. She glanced fiercely down when he gently touched her leg. He hoped that she wouldn’t throw up and she obliged by resisting the urge.

  ‘Enjoy the morning, have an extra glass of wine at lunch and need a nap by the time we arrive at the house. John like computer games? Nod twice for yes.’

  Georgina flicked a curious glance at Charlie and nodded twice. He smiled and patted her leg. She glared at him, those huge doe eyes very much the opposite of soft. He got the message – avoid being tactile and the leather would run no risk of becoming sticky with her vomit or his blood.

  The morning could have been worse. Lance stayed with the car. They took a stroll along a windy cliff top, where Georgina’s brother obliged them by pushing in a pair of earphones and mooching along in front of them, upwind, turning around now and again to make sure they weren’t too far away. Charlie and Georgina were able to have a conversation of sorts, as long it was on her terms. The postcard precaution proved to have been unnecessary but Lance had wanted to be on the safe side.

  “Why are you helping her?” she demanded. “What’s in it for you?”

  Charlie studied Georgina’s face carefully. It appeared as if it was a serious question.

  “She’s a friend,” he told her. “I want to see her happy.”

  “Are you gay?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “Then why aren’t you after her?”

  Charlie knew he was on an important mission but he was unable to prevent a laugh from squeaking out. “He, he, Georgie. If I may say so, you have a strange view of men. Not every man is a rapist struggling against his urge to attack every woman he meets you know – just most, he, he, he – that’s only a joke, honest. Also, she’s gay, which is relevant.” He failed to raise a smile, but she appeared to accept that he meant well.

  “Is she nice; she looks nice?” was Georgina’s next question.

  Charlie laughed. “Of course, but you can talk to her later and decide for yourself.”

  “But how, when?”

  “Lance has it all sorted. Bummer that he’s a man too, but life’s not always a bitch.”

  “So I see.” Was that the tiniest of smiles Charlie saw? “You must be rich, what with a car and a servant. Is Mary rich?”

  Charlie frowned. “Lance is a friend, most definitely not a servant. He was in the Army, had a rough time. He can drive properly and I can’t so that’s the only reason he sits behind the wheel. As for Mary, you should ask her if she’s rich. She gets by, has to earn her living but she can explain.”

  “And you do research for her. Or did you make that up?”

  Charlie smiled. “No comment. Look, Georgina, Georgie or George, whichever you prefer, Mary needs to speak for herself. I don’t want to speak for her. I just hope you make each other happy and we can all be mates, look back at this one day and have a laugh about it.”

  Her face darkened. “You and the weirdo will need to be very clever,” she muttered.

  Georgina worked to the plan. She had about three glasses of wine with the excellent lunch and gave every impression of dozing off as they drove to the National Trust garden which Lance had selected. Notwithstanding his promise to avoid getting drawn into conversation if he was allowed into a house, neither Lance nor Mary were yet inclined to trust Charlie on that point.

  As he parked, Lance suggested to her brother that Georgina might be left to doze in the back of the car. Charlie and John might enjoy the stroll more if unencumbered by a woozy sister. Such was Lance’s natural authority that John fell in with the suggestion without demur. He nodded and hopped out of the car.

  Charlie was generally rather averse to being in the vicinity of children, especially on a voluntary basis. John was, however, a male teenager and seemed to have broken into puberty. He had so far shown no signs of those horrendous fits of unpredictability that Charlie found so distressing in the pre-pubescent. Charlie took a risk, and ventured a conversational gambit.

  “Your family all seem a bit down in the mouth,” he remarked, before John had the opportunity to ram in the earphones.

  “It’s her,” John grunted, from which Charlie inferred Master Lane’s sister. “She likes girls.” His tone was brimful of disgust but it was unclear whether John found it weird that anyone could like girls in general or that his sister, being a girl, could have a liking for them as opposed to boys.

  “Not ideal I suppose, but does that matter much to you?”

  John groaned. “I’m here. I’m part of it, watching her all the time. She can’t be left alone. I don’t know why she came out with you. She thinks men are animals. I suppose she wanted a break from them.”

  Charlie blinked. He had probably, he thought, just doubled the total number of words he’d ever heard teenagers emit in his entire life. “You can talk,” he gasped before he could stop himself.

  “Course,” John responded monosyllabically.

  “Do you like computer games?” Charlie asked, already knowing the answer.

  In the course of the next forty five minutes he came to slightly regret his question, but reminded himself that he was there to do good deeds. Lance had primed him with some names and Charlie realised that he just needed to say ‘what about...’ and pop in one of the names and John would be off, describing in phenomenal, mind numbing detail the game, the levels, how far he and his friends had got, etc, etc, etc. As long as Charlie said ‘amazing’ or ‘cool’ every now and again, there was no real need for him to pay attention. Eventually, Charlie began to register that he’d gained a valuable insight into the teenage psyche. He stored this useful knowledge away. One day it might be priceless.

  He ventured the suggestion that they might call in somewhere and pick up a bit of the latest equipment or a game or two on their way back, as long as John didn’t tell his parents. He was rewarded by a pleasant smile, albeit brief.

  When they returned to the Bentley, Georgina appeared to have found her nap most reviving. She was doing her best to seem subdued, but it was fortunate that her brother was sitting in the front seat. He would surely otherwise have spotted the secret little smiles that crept across her face every now and again as they journeyed back to the hotel. She even managed not to glare at Charlie.

  True to his word, Charlie asked Lance to stop at an out of town Retail Park and treated John to the portable game console of his choice. “Enjoy responsibly,” Charlie told him as they rid themselves of all bulky and incriminating packaging before returning to the hotel.

  Charlie waved off Georgina and John to their parents and then turned to Lance.

  “I’ll get up the road a bit now,” Lance told him. “Mary did have the opportunity to stretch her legs whilst you were walking this morning and, of course, in the garden, but she shouldn’t spend a second longer cooped up in the boot than she has to. She’s a tall woman. I’ll go and fill up once I’ve let her out.”

  “Yes, Lance, right away, no time to waste. She must feel like
Houdini without his toothpick.”

  ~~~

  Charlie sauntered up to the door and straight into the Sproates.

  “Saw no sign of you on ‘t’beach.” Marigold Sproate had first go.

  “No, we decided not to go to the beach,” Charlie told her.

  “Ooh aye,” she muttered with a knowing wink. “Chasin’ after yon lass were yew?”

  Charlie smiled. “Miss Lane is a charming young lady and I had a pleasant day in the company of her and her brother,” he told them.

  Arnold Sproate leered. “Marigold we ‘ad ‘im all wrong. E’s not a pooof at all. Well good look t’yer young Chaarlie. She’s a riite pretty filly.”

  Charlie smiled again. “Thank you kindly Mr Sproate, Mrs Sproate. Now here’s my colleague. I am dying to see how her conference went. Do excuse me.”

  A pink and obviously very happy Mary had just sprung through the doors, clearly none the worse for the hours she’d spent cooped up in the boot of the Bentley.

  “It’s wonderful, I knew it,” she told Charlie as soon as they were alone, the words all coming out in a rush. “We are soul-mates. We gazed into each others’ eyes and we knew. We could have talked for ever. It’s fantastic to be so much in love and know that someone loves you just as much as you love them. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like this Charlie. I just want to hold her and cherish her and never let her go. It’s bliss, it’s everything that I have ever dreamed about or read about. I was starting to wonder if it would ever happen to me and it has! I can’t wait to get her alone and cover her whole body in...”

  Charlie took hold of her hands. “Mary,” he said gently. “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you. I have just the tiniest suspicion that there is a ‘but’ in here somewhere. Convicted criminal, tagged, sex offender...”

  Mary’s face fell slightly. “There are one or two small obstacles,” she admitted.

  “Ah, here’s Lance,” Charlie cried. “Lance we’re about to get the full SP. Worked like a dream didn’t it. Mary can even stand up straight.”