Charlie by Lesley Pearse
She couldn’t hold back tears then, and slid down on to the floor sobbing.
Guy, to be fair to him, did leap from the couch. He hauled her up, rubbed her back where she’d caught it and told her not to worry about the water because he’d wipe it up. But Charlie was angry, and she pushed him away saying she’d do it.
‘You’re a strange girl sometimes,’ Guy said a few minutes later. He’d refilled the kettle himself and put it on the gas, Charlie was on her knees mopping up the water and picking up the broken china. ‘I can’t quite make you out.’
Charlie sniffed and dried her eyes. ‘Why? Because I think people should say please and thank you?’
‘No, of course not. Sorry I was a bit rude to you. I didn’t really mean it. I’m just grouchy because of the weather.’
Appeased, Charlie let it go, but some five minutes later, once she’d made the tea, she brought up the subject again and asked what it was he couldn’t make out about her.
He shrugged. ‘Just silly little things really.’
‘Such as?’ She was so glad he looked as if he was intending to stay with her for a while she didn’t mind if he was going to be critical.
‘Why did you take the summer job working for Ivor? I would have thought a girl with your looks and brains would’ve gone for hotel work or something.’
‘It was the only job I could find,’ she shrugged.
‘But didn’t you try in Dartmouth? There’s more going on there than in Salcombe. Besides, you could’ve stayed in your own home then. Who’s looking after that if your mum’s in a nursing home and your dad’s away on business?’ He looked at her intently, and continued, ‘By the way, what is the matter with her? You’ve never said.’
Charlie felt trapped. She sensed these questions hadn’t suddenly sprung to his mind, but had been gathering importance in the last couple of days, perhaps even prompted by his friends. Her first instinct was to lie, yet he said he loved her. So the truth shouldn’t make any difference to him.
‘It’s a bit of a difficult thing to explain,’ she said carefully. ‘You see, everything happened suddenly and unexpectedly.’
His expression hardly changed as she told him an abbreviated version of the story. His eyes widened at the men crushing her mother’s knees and he raised an eyebrow when she spoke of the impending bankruptcy, but he didn’t look horrified, just sympathetic.
‘Hell’s bells, Charlie, that must have been so tough on you,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘And you still don’t know where your dad is?’
Charlie shook her head. She didn’t feel able to say she feared Jin had been murdered. Nor had she mentioned his past life as a night-club owner.
‘Now you know why I’m not so brilliant at cooking,’ she said with a wry grin. ‘Until I went to work for Ivor I’d never done a hand’s turn about the house. But then I don’t suppose you do either?’
‘Certainly not,’ he laughed. ‘Though I can cook if pressed. I’m impressed that you’ve learned so much in just a few weeks. As for thinking about looking after your mother, you must forget that. It would be a living death. Now, come here and give me a kiss. You deserve a few hundred.’
He went back up on deck soon after, and once it grew dark, all three men stayed there. It was one of the longest evenings Charlie had ever known and she was overjoyed when Guy finally popped down to tell her they were going into Weymouth.
‘Maybe it will he sunny tomorrow,’ Charlie said after they’d been directed to a berth, secured the boat and were making their way to the yacht club as the harbour master had said it was the only place they would still get a pint. With all the time she’d had below decks she’d been able to shower, change her clothes, put on some makeup and even paint her nails. The thought of spending a whole night in bed with Guy had banished any earlier despondency.
‘The weather forecast isn’t very promising,’ Tim said gloomily. ‘We’ll have to set off at first light if we’re going to make it to Southampton.’
Once the men had downed their second pint of beer all three of them became cheerful again. They ribbed Charlie about her stew, and her painted nails, but all of them remarked on how clean the galley was, and promised that tomorrow she could stay up on deck. She didn’t think she and Tim would ever really hit it off, he didn’t talk much, and when he did, it was only about boats, but Owen unbent quite a lot, and told her stories about him and Guy at school. She thought they’d finally forgiven Guy for bringing her along.
Back at the boat, some four pints later, Tim produced a bottle of whisky. But Guy declined to share it and led Charlie off to the cabin.
‘We’ll have to make the most of tonight,’ he said, hurriedly undressing. ‘Mother will make us sleep in opposite ends of the house, and probably hang bells on your door knob in case I try to creep in there. The thought of you in here with me tonight has been the only thing keeping me going today.’
All the emotion and passion that had been pent up all day was released the moment their naked bodies touched. Although they could hear Tim and Owen laughing along in the saloon, it didn’t inhibit them in any way. The three vodkas and grapefruit Charlie had drunk at the yacht club had made her just a little woozy, the gentle rocking of the boat was soothing, and when she looked at Guy her heart filled up with love for him.
His hair was caked with salt, he smelled a little gamy and he needed a shave, but none of that mattered one bit. She wanted him, now and forever.
It was well after three before Guy fell asleep in the crook of her arm, his hand still cupping her breast. Charlie was exhausted by the frantic love-making. He had been right, he did last longer when he’d had a few drinks.
Guy woke as the first rays of daylight crept through the porthole. Charlie was almost moulded against his back, and he turned to look at her sleeping.
She was without doubt the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her hair gleamed like the feathers of a raven, silky soft to the touch, yet so heavy it lay on the pillow like a slick of tar. Her complexion was flawless, golden-brown with a delicate sheen. Such thick long lashes, beautifully shaped eyebrows and lips so plump and pink. He suddenly felt a stab of sharp sorrow that he couldn’t keep her with him forever. A girl who looked as she did would be an asset to any man.
He knew when she came leaping on to the boat yesterday morning to say she could accompany him to London that he’d been too impulsive suggesting it the night before. He hadn’t given himself time to think things through.
As the day wore on it became even clearer to him that he’d made a mistake. Charlie was entirely different to the girls he usually went for. Aside from the fact that they were usually older, and toughened up by boarding schools, they knew exactly what they wanted from life. They had strong family ties, multitudes of friends and filled their spare time with sport. Such girls wanted nothing more than a good time, sex was just another sport to them, and they said he was good at it. He could pick these girls up, take them out to dinner or away for a weekend of sailing and lust, and they accepted he might not call them again for weeks. In fact breathing space was essential to them – most of them had several other men in tow.
Charlie might appear superficially to have much in common with glossy Berkshire girls. Her stunning looks, education and the way she spoke would open doors for her anywhere. But she hadn’t got that enviable bedrock of confidence which came with an impeccable pedigree. It was like trying to train a terrier to be a gundog, or expecting a Morris Minor to drive like a Porsche.
When Charlie finally told him about her parents and their problems, everything fell into place. The father sounded suspiciously like a rogue. That didn’t bother Guy unduly – his own father was ruthless in business and had sailed very close to the wind on many an occasion. What worried him more was the mother! She sounded dangerously common, and she was now crippled to boot.
There was nothing his own mother abhorred more than common women who set themselves up as society hostesses. She could smell them a mile off, even if t
How could he take Charlie home knowing his mother would be watching her every move, looking for evidence of bad blood in everything from the way she held her cutlery to how she wrote a thank-you letter?
He wished he was brave enough to admit this to Charlie now, to suggest they spent the weekend together in a London hotel, and resume their relationship well away from his mother’s eyes once Charlie moved to London. But he couldn’t do that. If he wasn’t home by Sunday morning at the latest, his mother would be on to friends in Salcombe to find out what he’d been doing all week. One of them was bound to tell her something. He could just imagine her face when she heard he had been seen constantly with a Chinese girl. From then on she’d be like a dog with fleas, scratching and scratching until she drew blood.
Sadly, Guy cuddled closer to Charlie. He did care deeply for her; maybe to say he’d fallen in love with her was stretching it a bit far, but he liked her more than any other girl he’d known. But was she worth having his freedom curtailed? To live with rancid disapproval from his parents?
A couple of hours later, just after seven, Charlie woke to find herself alone in bed, and thinking the men were getting the Chloë underway she rushed out into the saloon wearing only a tee-shirt and knickers.
Guy was sitting there alone, drinking a cup of tea, fully dressed.
‘I thought we were supposed to be sailing at first light,’ Charlie said.
‘I overslept,’ he said, rubbing his eyes wearily. ‘I guess the others did too. I’ll go and wake them now. There’s more tea in the pot if you want some. Then you’d better nip into the shower before they want it.’
By the time Charlie was dressed both Tim and Owen were up on the deck with Guy. She could hear their feet on the deck above her and the sound of muffled voices. She climbed up the steps and poked her head out. It was drizzling again and the men appeared to be discussing something about the mainsail.
‘Shall I cook you all some breakfast?’ she called out cheerfully. ‘I’ll try to do better than last night’s stew.’
Guy came over to her. ‘I think we’re all a bit too hungover to eat now. We’ll get some fresh air in our lungs and a few knots under our belts first. But we need some bread and milk. While we’re getting ready to cast off, could you nip down to the town and buy some?’
‘Sure,’ she said, and went back to get her jacket. As she came up again, Guy handed her a £10 note.
‘There should be a paper shop open in the street off the promenade,’ he said. ‘Don’t kill yourself to get back, we won’t be ready for a while.’
Charlie stood on tiptoe and kissed his stubbly cheek. ‘’Bye, Mr Bristles. See you in a minute.’
Despite the rain, the air smelled wonderful to Charlie as she bounded down towards the town. Every other time she had been to Weymouth it had always been packed with jostling crowds and it was peculiar to see it deserted. She couldn’t see anyone, not sailors, holidaymakers or even the odd man walking his dog. As she reached the promenade a couple of cars went by, but shutters were drawn on shop windows, the heaps of beach toys, postcards and rock stands were all safely tucked away.
She walked for some ten minutes before she found a shop open, and paused for a moment to look at the newspaper stand outside. The headlines were mostly about a radiation leak at Windscale. This didn’t interest her much, but she thought Guy might want to read about it, so she selected The Times and went on into the shop. She lingered for a little while looking at a display of ornaments made of sea shells. Then she found a sliced loaf and a pint of milk, paid for them and left.
With the milk in her jacket pocket and the loaf under her arm, she managed to skim through the paper to find the fashion page. An article about the dangers of damage to ankles from wearing platform shoes caught her eye. She was so engrossed in it that she was half-way back up the harbour before she looked up again.
A yacht was sailing out. She stopped in her tracks, thinking it was just like the Chloë, and then to her astonishment she suddenly realized it was Guy’s yacht, not merely one like it.
For a moment she was too stunned to do anything but stare. It was moving fast, right out of the harbour. They were going without her. Hastily stuffing the paper into her jacket, she ran along the harbour wall shouting. Her first thought was that they’d forgotten she wasn’t aboard. But as she got closer to where it had been moored overnight, she saw her travel bag sitting there beside a bollard.
All at once she realized it was intentional. She’d been dumped like so much rubbish. Sent out on an errand while they cast off.
She was beside herself with rage. She stood on the edge of the wall stamping her feet, waving her arms and screaming out obscenities. But it did no good. She could see Guy’s back in his familiar orange oilskin coat as he stood at the helm. He was purposely not looking back, even now he was probably laughing with his friends.
A man came up on to the deck of the boat berthed next to where the Chloë had been.
‘What’s all that noise about?’ he shouted at her.
Charlie took one look at his angry red face and knew she’d get no sympathy from him.
‘Bloody men!’ she shouted back, and picking up her bag turned to walk back to the town.
Tears began to stream down her face after a few minutes’ walking. She had been paid off with £10, not an explanation, or even a kiss goodbye. Ten pounds for risking her job, losing her virginity and having the nerve to think she was important to Guy.
He was a lying maggot, she hoped he’d drown at sea somewhere between here and Southampton. In fact she hoped he would be in the sea for hours before he finally drowned, freezing cold, terrified and with enough time to reflect what he’d done to her.
It wasn’t until she reached the station and found there wasn’t a train for over an hour that she noticed a piece of white paper sticking out of the side pocket on her travelling bag. She pulled it out and found it was a hastily scrawled note from Guy.
‘I’m sorry, Charlie, I know what I’ve done to you is awful. I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me and meet my parents, I know now they wouldn’t approve of you and I thought it better this way rather than let you be embarrassed.
I really did care for you. I’m so sorry.
Love Guy.’
Charlie stared at the note for some ten minutes until she could no longer read it through her tears. Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn’t tried to explain himself; that way she could have believed he was just a rotter. But his note suggested something far worse, that she was an embarrassment to him.
She had been brought up to think she was something pretty special. And she’d expected her life to be golden. It was bad enough to have all the material things snatched away, and to find her parents weren’t the people she had believed them to be, but she’d managed to live with that. But now Guy had destroyed the only thing left. Her pride in herself.
Chapter Six
Charlie limped back into Salcombe at three in the afternoon soaked to the skin. As she had spent all her wages on the pink dress, she thought she ought to hang on to the change from Guy’s £10 note, so instead of catching a train, she hitchhiked home.
She’d got to Torquay easily in two lifts, but then she got lost, ended up on the wrong road, and by the time she’d walked to the right one her feet were hurting and she felt like lying down and crying.
Yet a steely resolve kept her going, even though it began to rain heavily again. Guy might have made a fool of her, but he’d be the last man to do so. From now on her heart was going to be locked away. Any man who wanted her in future would pay, one way or another.
There were five more lifts before she was finally dropped on the outskirts of Salcombe, and in each
The door of the Victoria Inn was locked for the afternoon as she’d expected. She could have rung the bell, but Beryl often had a nap in the afternoon, and she knew that if she disturbed it, there would be no way to get out of talking. As it was still raining and she was so wet, Ivor’s was the only place to go.
He was sitting on a stool mending a lobster pot in the shack as she walked in. As always Minnie gave her a big welcome, but today she couldn’t respond, and pushed her away.
‘Charlie!’ Ivor exclaimed in surprise. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing, I just jumped ship in Weymouth,’ she said airily. She had rehearsed this explanation all the way home and hoped her contrived bouncy manner was convincing.
‘Why?’ he asked, getting up.
‘Make us a cup of your magic coffee and I might tell you,’ she said, forcing a grin.
Ivor came back from his cottage with two mugs of coffee a few minutes later. Charlie cupped her hands round hers, she was very cold and a little shaky. ‘Well?’ he said, raising one bushy eyebrow.
‘It was all a bit of a disaster really. It rained all day yesterday and I was stuck in the cabin. Guy was cross because we only made it as far as Weymouth last night, and then I blew it by telling him about my parents.’ She paused for a moment to gather herself. ‘He said it didn’t make any difference but he went all quiet on me afterwards and I knew he was having second thoughts about taking me home with him.
‘Anyway, this morning I decided it was better to slope off and save us both more embarrassment. From what he’d told me about his mother she sounded like a terrible snob anyway. So I came on home.’
Ivor knew this wasn’t what had happened. She wasn’t meeting his eyes, her explanation was too pat, and he could see she was close to tears. But he decided against probing any deeper. From personal experience he knew it a darn sight harder to strive to retain some dignity when your heart was breaking, than to cry and gain some sympathy. He thought she had real guts.