Charity (19 page)

‘No.’ She held her ground. ‘I can’t take the risk.’

To her surprise he backed away.

‘OK.’ He sighed deeply and looked hurt. ‘I just thought –’ he broke off and opened the door, leaving as quickly as he came in.

Charity shut the door behind him and leaned against it, closing her eyes.

She understood exactly. They hadn’t worked at the pub tonight, just stayed in and watched television, but even though Rob was with them she sensed that Hugh was desperate to hold her. The heat from his thigh pressed against her as they sat together, his deep sighs, the secret messages from his hand in hers were all proof of how he felt. Each time Rob went out of the room Hugh pulled her to him for a kiss and although she welcomed his lips, it was the feeling of losing control that scared her.

Back in the baths at Greenwich she’d overheard women talking about men and sex so often. ‘All men are the same. They want only one thing. Once they’ve been with a girl they don’t respect her.’ She wished she could ask for reassurance that this wasn’t how he would react, but she was too embarrassed to talk about anything like that.

Although she was exhausted she couldn’t sleep. It was hot and sticky, no breeze came in the open window and her feelings were completely confused.

Every magazine she’d ever read urged girls not to fall into the trap of sex without marriage. Hugh might say he loved her, but did he really? He hadn’t spoken of the future once: was this because he knew she wouldn’t fit into his life once he was at university?

But on top of all this were those terrible memories of her father. Until now it was something she’d managed to forget, and now it had come back she felt dirty.

Yet despite all that, she wanted Hugh. Her body throbbed at the mere thought of his hands touching her; each kiss made her shiver with pleasure. She wished now she hadn’t closed her ears when Carol spoke of her old boyfriend in Devon. She might have learned if what she felt now was commonplace, or was she a slut to think such things?

She turned over on to her stomach and tried to sleep, but all she could think of was Hugh kissing her. How much longer would she be able to hold out? Maybe she should go back to the school at nights.

But she didn’t return to the school, not at night. Sometimes during the day the three of them cycled near there and she popped in to get a change of clothing, hoping she wouldn’t run into Mrs Cod, who might question her about her accommodation at the pub. She left cheery notes, waved to Giles out in the grounds, but never stayed more than a few minutes.

Long lazy days of lying in the sun, bike rides, walks and picnics, then the pub in the evenings.

Day by day she was falling deeper and deeper under Hugh’s spell. He was the one with the ideas, the enthusiasm. From the moment he woke in the morning he expected her and Robert to fall in with his plans. But how much longer could she hope Hugh would be satisfied with a few passionate kisses that led nowhere?

‘What’s up, Chas?’ Rob asked one afternoon as they lay on a rug together out in the small back garden. ‘You aren’t fed up, are you?’

‘No of course not.’ She laughed lightly, glancing over to Hugh who was practising archery with a handmade bow and arrows. He couldn’t just bask in the sun, or read companionably as she and Rob could, he had to be doing something all the time. It was Rob she talked to, Rob who helped prepare meals and clean up, yet she couldn’t admit this private fear, not to him when he was Hugh’s best friend. ‘Just thinking about working tonight. I hope it’s not as hot in the kitchen as it was yesterday,’ she lied.

Sonia and Angus took Charity up on an offer to help one night when they were very busy and once they’d seen how efficient she was, they’d given her a job too in the kitchen. Although she was glad of the extra money and the opportunity to be working while Rob and Hugh were, somehow it marked even more clearly the divide between her world and theirs.

Charity was back in an apron, standing over a hot grill, washing dishes and pans, while they were clowning at tables and behind the bar. The White Swan was a mecca for upper-crust people and though it had an atmosphere of jollity, the voices were all braying public school ones and some of the customers were insufferably rude and snobbish.

Angus was a huge, red-haired Scot with a fearsome bushy beard and muscles like a docker. Sonia his wife was a tiny blonde who tripped into the bar in four-inch heels and expensive couture clothes. Although Angus could bodily throw out any troublemakers, Sonia was the real force. She could rip a member of staff who misbehaved to shreds in five seconds with her caustic tongue, and her sharp eyes missed nothing.

It was Sonia who had pointed out Hugh’s deficiencies. Whether this was meant as a warning to Charity, or was just a casual observation, Charity couldn’t help but see truth in her words.

‘He’s an arrogant young pup,’ Sonia said. ‘Don’t get yourself in over your head, Charity, because that lad is entirely self-centred. He’ll forge his way to the top and he won’t let anyone stop him, not even a pretty little thing like you. To be honest, Charity, you’d have done better going for young Rob.’

Charity had kept these words to herself, but as the days passed she saw there was a great deal of truth in them. Hugh was arrogant, he saw himself as a superior being and he laughed at those less fortunate. He made jokes about farm workers ‘who bred like rabbits’, he sneered at the pretentiousness of suburbia. He even hid crumbs behind chairs to catch the cleaning lady out.

Rob’s parents allowed him to run up a slate in the grocer’s to be paid when they got back. Hugh saw nothing wrong in adding a bottle of whisky or steak, even though this was blatant greed. In the same way he’d drink all the milk at night, leaving nothing for the morning. One pint of beer was never enough, he had to have six; he’d take the largest cake, the last potato, the biggest share of everything. He didn’t help around the cottage, leaving it all to Charity and Rob. His attitude was that he was special and lesser mortals were there for his convenience.

Rob was quite different, despite coming from an even wealthier background than Hugh. He was shy, liked books rather than sport and he had real affection for the staff who worked for his parents. He could easily afford to throw his weight around as everyone knew he was the heir to the Cuthbertson fortunes, but not once had Charity heard him boast about anything.

Even though she found herself liking Rob more and more as the days passed, it was the easy familiarity of two people alike in spirit. She could tell Rob a little of her days in Greenwich, of her mother’s depression and her father’s parishioners. He seemed to understand exactly how she felt about not seeing the children. He knew what loneliness was and for all his family’s wealth he was as insecure as her.

With Hugh it was fireworks, birthdays, Christmas and Easter all in one day. He made things such good fun. Rowdy, talkative, affectionate and so full of life, yet she couldn’t be certain his feelings for her ran as deeply as hers for him.

‘Angus and Sonia think you’re wonderful,’ Rob said shyly. He was wearing only swimming trunks and his bare chest was underdeveloped and pale compared with Hugh’s bronzed muscles. ‘Hugh’s a lucky chap. I wish I could find a girl like you.’

The feeling of kinship she’d felt with Rob the first day at the cottage had deepened as he told her about his parents. Hugh’s rather callous remark about his mother going to a ‘loony bin’ was in fact true. She was alternately high as a kite, or so depressed she wouldn’t get out of bed. His father was pompous and overbearing, a man who’d flaunted scores of mistresses in front of his wife. Rob’s childhood had been as miserable as Charity’s own: beatings from his father, lack of interest from his mother – he even hinted at unpleasant experiences with older boys at school. His family home reminded her of Studley and Uncle Stephen – more evidence of how rich, influential people manipulated everyone, even children.

‘Do you think Hugh will still care about me once he gets to Oxford?’ she asked in a whisper, taking care to make sure Hugh was still engrossed in his archery.

Rob didn’t answer for a moment, his speckly eyes thoughtful.

Rob had looked up to Hugh from the first day they met as two seven-year-olds in prep school. Hugh was always quicker, braver and tougher, and Rob knew their friendship had survived only because Hugh actively sought out companions who wouldn’t steal his limelight. Yet despite always being in his friend’s shadow, he’d never felt jealous of him until he met Charity.

She was the sort of girl Rob’s dreams were made of. Dainty, pretty, and with the kind of warmth and kindness he’d never encountered before. Although he had no experience with girls he could sense her vulnerability. A few kind words and promises from someone as charismatic as Hugh and she’d follow him blindly.

‘As long as you don’t make too many demands,’ he said at length, running his fingers through his straggly fair hair. ‘He’s like a big kid, Chas, he wants everything now. Although he’s my best friend and I’ve known him since prep school he does tend to be a taker rather than a giver.’

Out of loyalty he couldn’t admit how Hugh had boasted that he intended to shag her: the crude expression his friend had used made him smart with anger. Neither could he spell out that Hugh would lose interest the moment he got to Oxford because he was incapable of sustaining an interest in anything or anyone for long.

Charity didn’t press Rob further; he was loyal and she didn’t want to put him on a spot. Anyway there was over two weeks left of the holidays, enough time to make Hugh feel the way she did.

‘Here she comes! I can smell Miss Chip Pan!’

Charity stopped dead in the kitchen doorway, a tray loaded with baskets of chicken and chips in her hands. Hugh had bellowed out the insulting remark and a flush of anger and hurt turned her face red.

He was serving drinks, cool in a white shirt and grey trousers. Along the bar were those leggy, classy girls with their long hair, tight sun-tops and shorts, all of them laughing at her discomfort.

It was true she smelt of fried food. But then she had been standing over a chip pan for hours in blazing heat. She was prettier than any one of those stupid girls with their plummy accents and she could more than compete if she was on their side of the bar. But not with stringy hair, covered in a huge white apron, and with sweat glistening on her brow.

She took a deep breath and handed the tray silently to Rob, aware that he too had heard the remark and was shamed by it. Without even looking at Hugh she disappeared back into the kitchen.

At half-past ten as she cleaned the kitchen the noise from the bar was growing louder. Saturday night and the usual group of locals swollen by people coming in on the way back from day trips to the coast. Hugh and Rob normally joined her for a break soon after ten, bringing a pint for them and a cider for her, but she hadn’t seen either of them since the incident earlier.

‘Rob’s drunk,’ Sonia snapped as she came in fleetingly. She wore a turquoise halter-neck dress tonight, her blonde hair piled up on top of her head in loose curls, her nails and makeup as immaculate as if she’d just stepped out of a beauty parlour instead of pulling pints and waiting at tables since five-thirty. ‘I don’t know what’s got into him, he’s just invited half the bar back to the cottage for a party.’

Charity groaned. Hugh was always suggesting parties, but Rob usually had more sense. Another time she would’ve gone out there and talked him out of it, but she was reluctant to appear again until all those girls had left.

‘What did Hugh say?’ Charity asked.

‘He’s every bit as bad.’ Sonia frowned with irritation. ‘He’s reminded everyone to buy a bottle. It might be good for business but already someone’s thrown up in the garden and some stupid girl’s crying her eyes out because her boyfriend says she can’t go. A party is all right if you arrange it sober and pick your guests, a nightmare when it’s just a drunken binge.’

Charity stood on the open staircase looking down at the crowd in the sitting room and saw exactly what Sonia had meant.

‘Summertime Blues’ by Eddie Cochran was blaring out, for the sixth time in succession. It was three in the morning and the hordes of people showed no sign of leaving.

They were a mixed bunch, mostly not even friends of Rob’s or Hugh’s. A group of young Londoners in sharp suits on their way home, hoping to pick up a girl or two
en route
. Two older women who claimed to be happy divorcees, three married salesmen who were staying overnight in the next village, all in their forties, then the gaggle of leggy girls in shorts who’d spent the whole time flirting with Hugh. Added to these unknown quantities were the regulars, at least a dozen male students, some local girls in party frocks and three or four men who’d started the evening on a stag night and lost the groom along the way.

The common denominator was the desire to get as drunk as possible and make as much noise as they could in the process.

She had tried to talk both Rob and Hugh out of it, but they said she was a killjoy. Rob was out cold now, lying on the settee clutching an empty pipkin of Red Barrel. Hugh was dancing drunkenly with one of those snooty girls who’d laughed at her. People were lying on the floor and sprawled drunkenly on the chairs; a divorcee was practically devouring one of the London men sitting astride his lap on a chair in the corner.

The kitchen was awash with beer: a pile of empty half-gallon party packs almost up to the ceiling, and enough bottles to start a winemaking business. Burn holes in the carpet and on the coffee table. Someone had been sick on the floor of the bathroom and the toilet was blocked up.

‘Come on, Charlotte, do a strip!’ Hugh bellowed out, staggering back to lean against the wall. ‘Show us your tits!’

Wild anger rose up inside Charity as the girl began to sway her hips suggestively in time to the music. There was a couple making love in her bed. Someone lying asleep in the flowerbed out the front and she’d seen men using the picket fence as a urinal.

She’d had enough! No one could accuse her of not attempting to join in. She’d come home, washed and changed and tried to be friendly. But that girl Charlotte had made some remark about her ‘shacking up with Hugh and Rob’ and even went as far as asking who had the biggest cock!