Charlie (60 page)

By six that evening, Hughes and Farrow were on their way back to London and home. Hughes was completely exhausted, but elated and triumphant that all three Dexters would be appearing in Sevenoaks court the next morning. He had a strong hunch those goods would be proved to be the property of Jin Weish. Although he was a long way off charging them with the man’s murder, he felt he had enough strong evidence to encourage reluctant witnesses and informers to speak out.

Charlie and Andrew learned of the arrests at nine that night when Detective Inspector Hughes telephoned Charlie.

‘Rest easy tonight,’ he said with laughter in his voice. ‘All three of them are locked up and even the slickest lawyer won’t get them bail tomorrow in court.’

Charlie was eager to hear all the details, but Hughes couldn’t be drawn. ‘I’ll be wanting to see you soon to get statements from each of you,’ he said. ‘But for now I just want to thank you and Andrew and Rita too. But for your courage and persistence there would be no case against these people. I am indebted to you.’

When Charlie arrived at work the next morning, Mrs Haagman called her into her office immediately. ‘Sit down,’ she said, her dark eyes as cold and expressionless as they had been on Charlie’s first day there. She was wearing a charcoal-grey suit which made her look even more forbidding. ‘Before we go any further, I want the whole story about what has been going on. Right from the beginning.’

Charlie wasn’t in the mood for questions or any confrontation. Yesterday’s elation had vanished when she woke up to a hangover today from the previous night’s celebrations. Andrew had left for Oxford to see his parents first thing in the morning and she was feeling flat and sad. Common sense told her she had to pick up the strands of her life, and that was bound to mean explanations to her employer, but she resented being called upon to do it immediately.

‘You can take that surly look off your face,’ the woman snapped at her. ‘I invested good money in sending you on that course, and I have every right to know if you intend to stay here or skip off somewhere else. How can I judge your state of mind when I don’t even understand what exactly happened to you?’

Charlie had to concede this was reasonable, even if the woman had no charm or grace. As simply as possible she related her story right from the beginning. To her utmost surprise Mrs Haagman’s face softened as she listened. When Charlie finished Mrs Haagman sighed, but she didn’t speak immediately.

‘I see now,’ she said eventually. ‘Charlie, I lost both my parents in the Holocaust when I was a child, and I’ve never trusted anyone since. I don’t want your misfortunes to affect you that way. It would be a wicked waste.’

Charlie felt chastened. She sensed Mrs Haagman rarely told anyone such things about herself and as such she felt she had to reciprocate with total honesty.

‘I appreciate your sympathy,’ she said. ‘I also appreciate you sending me on the training course. You do have a right to know if I’ve got other plans for a new job. Well, I haven’t, not right now, everything’s up in the air at the moment and I can’t think straight yet.’

‘That sounds as if you feel you might want to leave?’ the woman said.

Charlie squirmed. ‘To be honest I don’t know that film processing is really my scene, not as a career. But I haven’t got any other plans. I’ll have to be a witness at this trial, Andrew’s about to go back to university for his final year, there’s dozens of ifs and maybes.’

There was a moment or two’s silence while Mrs Haagman looked thoughtfully at her. ‘I think, if you want my opinion,’ she said at length, ‘that in the long term you should consider a business of your own, not a career working for other people. You are a bright girl, Charlie, but you’ve got something which separates you from all the other bright kids who come to work here in their college holidays. You have determination, guts and fire in your belly. Maybe it only comes to those who have had early hardships, I don’t know, but wherever it comes from, use it.’

Charlie could only stare blankly at the woman. If anyone had ever suggested she ought to treat the Hag as a good role model, she would have laughed at them. Yet here she was not only admiring her, but perhaps even liking her a little.

‘I wouldn’t know where or how to start a business,’ she protested, a bit embarrassed.

‘You start off with thinking what your real interests are,’ the woman half smiled. ‘I chose photography after my foster mother gave me a batch of photographs of my family back in Germany and it made me realize how important photography can be. Your interests might be fashion or cooking. It doesn’t matter what they are, as long as you care enough about the subject. You say you don’t know how to start – well, there are night-school classes to teach you such things. But meanwhile you stay and work for me. Yes?’

Charlie thought Mrs Haagman was clever. By offering sympathy, then sound advice, she was now compelled to commit herself to staying here for the time being. ‘Okay,’ she agreed.

Mrs Haagman smiled, the first time Charlie had ever seen her do so. It lit up her entire face, revealing another, warmer side of her.

‘You work all the rest of this week, but if you can arrange it with your young man, you may take next week off as a holiday and spend it with him. When you come back you’ll be refreshed, ready to take over as my manageress, calm enough to cope with that trial and all it will entail. Come and talk to me if you need to.’

At lunchtime Charlie related the gist of the conversation to Rita, who was equally astounded.

‘So she’s human after all,’ Rita sniggered. ‘And so what business are you going to go for then?’

Charlie had been thinking about this all morning as she worked. ‘I don’t know that I will,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I mean, just because she suggested it doesn’t mean I have to. But I could fancy antiques.’

There were several antique shops in Church Street and Charlie was always drawn by them. From what she’d observed the owners of these shops weren’t experts by any means, they just bought and sold what they liked. It struck her that if they could do it, so could she. After all, she had been brought up with antiques. Furthermore there was her little stash of treasure down in that vault in Exeter, to which she had hardly given a thought since she moved to London, but it could provide the capital to get started.

‘Antiques!’ Rita laughed. ‘Oh, come on! Why not an undies or dress shop? You’d be good at that with your looks.’

Charlie just smiled. There was nothing like someone scoffing to make her more determined.

Chapter Twenty

‘Don’t be scared,’ Andrew said, squeezing Charlie’s hand tightly as they walked up the road to his parents’ house. ‘Dad’s been a bit weird ever since I got home, but Mum’s fine and she’s looking forward to meeting you. If Dad is prickly with you, just ignore it. He’ll soon come round.’

It was Friday night, just four days since their ordeal at The Manse. Charlie had come by train after work and Andrew had met her at Oxford station. The visit was only for two nights as on Sunday they were going down to Salcombe together.

Charlie gripped the bunch of flowers she’d bought for Mrs Blake a little tighter. She
was
scared. Whatever Andrew said, she felt sure his parents were going to be hostile towards her.

Although it was too dark to get much of an impression of the Cowley housing estate as a whole, there were enough curtains left open to see that Andrew’s neighbours lived much the same way as the people she’d got to know in Mayflower Close back in Dartmouth. It was a solid working-class community, with unimaginative and somewhat cramped homes, yet scrupulously clean and cosy.

Mrs Blake opened the front door as they came in through the wooden gate and in the light from the hall Charlie was heartened by her strong resemblance to her sister. Like Beryl she was short and plump with the same profusion of laughter-lines round her blue eyes; the only real difference was that Mrs Blake was clearly aware she
was
middle-aged. Her hair was a soft brown sprinkled with grey and she wore a tweed skirt, slippers, a pale pink sweater and an apron round her middle.

‘So this is Charlie,’ she said with a warm, wide smile. ‘It’s so good to meet you at last, dear. Come on in, the supper’s just ready.’

Mr Blake was tall, thin and slightly stooped, his face heavily lined and his thinning hair very grey. He looked older and more severe than she had expected. Charlie’s first thought as he shook her hand without smiling was that he was going to be difficult to win over.

Their home was much as she’d imagined: small rooms, traditional Axminster carpets, a chintzy three-piece suite in the sitting room, and a great many framed photographs of Andrew from babyhood upwards taking up every spare surface. It was only now seeing the
Lady with the Green Face
print hanging over the fireplace, which Andrew had told her about so long ago, that she saw the irony of it. When the Blakes bought it, they couldn’t possibly have imagined that one day their son would fall in love with a real Chinese girl.

Mrs Blake thanked her for the flowers, took her coat and ordered Andrew to take her bag upstairs, then led her into the dining room at the back of the house. ‘I do hope you like fish,’ she said. ‘We always have it on Fridays.’

Charlie assured her she did and was asked to sit down. Mr Blake took the seat by the window, and Mrs Blake hurried off to bring in the food.

‘Smoked haddock! Great,’ Andrew said as he came in and took a chair opposite Charlie, grinning broadly at her. ‘Mum’s been indulging me with all my favourites since I came home. We’ve had treacle pudding and Spotted Dick.’

‘Well, you looked so thin,’ his mother retorted, and her eyes held a trace of lingering anxiety. But as if reminding herself it was advisable to forget the events of the previous weekend she smiled warmly at Charlie. ‘Still, I expected him to look worse. I can’t imagine what it must be like to go without food for so long.’

The conversation during the meal was strained. Charlie had expected that they would immediately talk about the recent events, perhaps even air any grievances or ask for explanations, but they didn’t mention it. Mr Blake politely asked if the train had been crowded, his wife spoke of the last time they’d been to London when they’d had to stand the whole journey home. Andrew said nothing at all and it occurred to Charlie that he was every bit as ill at ease as she was.

‘You are a very good cook, Mrs Blake,’ Charlie said appreciatively as she finished up what seemed an enormous plate of delicious fish, mashed potato and runner beans. ‘Perhaps I ought to take some lessons from you, I can’t do much more than basics.’

‘Beryl said you couldn’t cook anything when you first went to stay with her,’ Mrs Blake replied, and although she smiled, there was a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

Charlie thought for a moment before replying. It seemed likely to her that the recent events must have thrown a new and damaging slant on everything this couple had previously heard about her.

‘I couldn’t,’ she agreed ruefully. ‘To be truthful I couldn’t do anything much for myself. But I soon learned. Ivor Meeks and Beryl were great, sometimes I wonder how I would have coped with Mum without them.’ She paused for a moment, wondering if she was actually making things worse.

‘I know you must both be very apprehensive about me,’ she continued. ‘Especially after what Andrew went through. But please ask anything you want to know, about me or my parents. It’s only by bringing things out into the open that we can move on.’

Andrew looked anxiously at his father when he cleared his throat. Charlie could sense the man’s disapproval of her, all the time she’d been speaking he’d studiously avoided looking at her.

‘Say what’s on your mind, Mr Blake,’ she said quietly. ‘I know it must be hard to bear your only son getting involved with a girl whom trouble seems to follow.’

‘It’s this court case,’ he blurted out, still not meeting his eyes. ‘I’m afraid it might affect Andrew’s career.’

‘Oh, Dad! Don’t be so ridiculous,’ Andrew exclaimed.

‘He isn’t being ridiculous,’ Charlie said quickly. ‘Only concerned for you.’

Andrew grimaced. ‘He’s got the idea that your father is the main issue in the trial. I can’t make him see that unless the police find firm evidence that the Dexters killed Jin, or crippled Sylvia, he’ll hardly get a mention. I can’t imagine why Dad supposes anyone would pillory me for trying to help my girlfriend find out the truth about a crime that robbed her of both her parents.’

‘Nor I,’ Mrs Blake said, and she reached down the table to pat her son’s hand. ‘In my view my Andrew will be something of a hero, and I’m very proud of him.’

Mr Blake made no further comment. His eyes were cold, his mouth set in a disapproving straight line. Charlie’s heart sank. If the man wasn’t prepared to talk over what was really troubling him, what on earth could she do or say to improve the situation?

On Saturday morning Andrew took Charlie on a tour of Oxford. The sun was shining but it was very cold, and a strong wind shook the trees and sent down flurries of gold, brown and russet-coloured leaves to the pavements.

Charlie thought Oxford was the most beautiful city she’d ever seen. The mellow gold of the majestic university halls, the serene gardens, the wide meandering river with its many bridges and overhanging willows, all moved her. She was here at last in Andrew’s home town, seeing all the places he’d spoken of so often, yet even with his warm hand in hers, hearing the pride in his voice as he introduced her to old friends, she felt unbearably sad and forlorn. After supper the previous evening Mrs Blake had asked her friendly questions, showed her Andrew’s baby photographs and told her many family stories, yet his mother’s efforts to be welcoming were overshadowed by her husband’s continuing brooding silence.

Andrew took the line that it didn’t matter what his father thought. He even joked that his mother ruled the roost and her approval was all that was necessary. But to Charlie, who had been brought up with the Chinese conviction that fathers were the foundation stone of the family, it did matter.