Charity Read online

  His father was shorter than Hugh, stockily built with a perspiring red face and gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair was streaked with grey and although his well-cut grey suit hid it well, Charity suspected he had a fat stomach.

  Just a few minutes later they came in sight again, carrying Hugh’s trunk between them.

  ‘He’s a nice boy,’ Pat said. ‘Took him some time to settle down when he was a new boy, but now he’s off to Oxford after the holidays.’

  Charity was tempted to take Pat into her confidence, but knew that if she did Pat would point out that young gentlemen like Hugh Mainwaring would choose someone of a higher status than kitchen maid for a girlfriend.

  As the cars purred off down the drive and through the school gates, Charity was even more aware of the divide between her in a blue nylon overall, a polishing cloth in her hands, and Hugh sitting in that luxurious red Jaguar.

  The agony of separation was soothed by the air of joviality that spread through the school once the last boy had left. There was a mountain of work to be done. Beds to be stripped, washed down with disinfectant. Curtains taken down for cleaning, desks emptied and classrooms cleared of rubbish. A smell of varnish, blackboard paint and turpentine took over from the aroma of baking pies and cakes.

  When the first letter came from Hugh she wanted to sing with joy. He said Yorkshire was dull and lonely without her; when he looked at the cornflowers in the garden he saw her eyes and he dreamed of her nightly, counting the days till he got back to Sussex.

  She sped through her tasks now with a new fervour. Each polished floor was as if he was to walk on it, and when she found old exercise books with his name on them, she clutched them to her chest with love.

  His second letter confirmed he would be arriving at the cottage on 29 July. He promised to meet her that evening by the crossroads.

  Lou and Geoff had written too. They were taking James away for a holiday to the seaside, followed by a couple of days at Studley so that James could see Prue and Toby. Their assurances that they would do their best to persuade Stephen to change his mind about Charity were comforting, but more importantly they would be able to give her a first-hand report later on how all three children were reacting to the changes in their lives.

  ‘Has my taxi arrived yet?’ Miss Hawkins came down the stairs, carrying a small case in one hand.

  Charity’s work was over now. The rest of the staff gone, she had been waiting to see the housekeeper off before taking a bath in preparation for seeing Hugh. The school was silent: benches stacked on the refectory tables, revarnished desks gleaming in sunfilled classrooms, dormitories almost ghostly with bare iron beds, lockers waiting for their new owners in September. Not even the sound of Giles mowing the grass, or Mrs Cod banging pots and dishes. Just blissful silence, birdsong and the buzzing of insects.

  ‘It’s just turned into the drive,’ Charity informed her, looking at Miss Hawkins in some astonishment. She wore a pale blue costume and a small feathered hat, even a touch of lipstick and powder. It had transformed her from a formidable middle-aged matron into a younger, attractive lady. ‘You look lovely!’

  ‘Well thank you, dear.’ The older woman smiled warmly. ‘It’s good to get out of my uniform. I think we all tend to forget there is a world beyond the school walls. Now mind you have a good rest this holiday, you’ve been looking a bit peaky lately. Mrs Cod will be in and out, but make sure you leave the kitchen tidy when you make your food, it’s her holiday too. I’ve asked Giles to dig you out a bicycle so you can get out and about a bit.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charity blushed. Everyone was a little concerned that she would be alone during the holidays. Pat had even invited her to join her family on outings. Now she felt guilty at not admitting she had other plans. ‘Let me take your case!’

  ‘Off with you.’ Miss Hawkins waved her aside. ‘You’re on holiday now, enjoy it.’

  Charity waved until Miss Hawkins was out of sight, feeling dwarfed by the big, empty school behind her and the expanse of lawn in front. But she didn’t feel isolated or lonely today. Bubbles of excitement were fizzing up inside her, banishing even thoughts of the children.

  Charity had thought about what she was going to wear to meet Hugh all week. But as she rushed up the hill at seven-thirty, she felt she’d made the right choice. One of the masters’ wives had given her the sleeveless lilac shift dress and it was a far more expensive one than she could have considered buying herself. With her hair freshly washed, loose on her shoulders and her bare feet in new white sandals, she felt she looked as good as the models in teenage magazines.

  It was still very warm. Even on the hill overshadowed by thick hedges and trees she had no need for the cardigan she was carrying. The balmy air was full of country smells: meadowsweet, damp earth and privet. In darkness this part of the road was a little scary, but now the rustlings in bushes were clearly only the odd rabbit or birds and the joyful expectancy of seeing Hugh again made her hurry to reach the crossroads.

  She saw him as she reached the brow of the hill. He was sitting on a grass bank by the signpost, his bicycle thrown down beside him and as he jumped up to run to her, her heart turned somersaults.

  He was wearing faded blue jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt. His golden skin was tanned still darker since he left school over a week ago.

  ‘Charity,’ he said throwing his arms wide as he ran to her. ‘I thought you’d never get here!’

  She had rehearsed this meeting a hundred times in the past few days, but again and again she’d reminded herself he might not show the same degree of enthusiasm now he was free of the school. But as his arms went round her and his lips came down on hers with passion, she was sure he really did love her.

  ‘Oh Charity!’ he gasped, holding her to him tightly, his lips on her hair. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’

  They sat in a pub garden drinking cider and he barely let go of her hand as he told her about the cottage, his friend Robert Cuthbertson and his plans for the holiday.

  ‘We’ve both got a job for four nights a week at the pub,’ he said, barely suppressed excitement dancing in his eyes. ‘But we’ll have the days free.’

  Charity told him about Giles fixing up a bike for her, omitting the fact that her only attempt at riding one had been a wobbly ride down Easton Street several years before.

  ‘Great,’ he beamed. ‘I’ll meet you here tomorrow at ten and take you to the cottage. Then I’ll introduce you to Sonia and Angus at the pub. I’m sure they’ll give you a job too.’

  Hugh was a great talker. He told her about the students who worked at the pub, many of whom he’d met the previous year. He painted a vivid, sometimes frightening, picture of heavy drinkers, wild parties and girls who seemed to have all the confidence she lacked.

  As fascinated as Charity was by these revelations about his friends, she was scared. She might just be well-spoken enough to pass muster with these privileged, wild people, but could she hope to hold on to Hugh when she was seen next to girls from the same background as him?

  ‘What about Robert’s parents?’ she asked nervously. ‘Won’t they mind me visiting the cottage?’

  ‘They’ve gone off to Italy for six weeks,’ Hugh grinned. ‘It’s just a holiday cottage, on their estate. They certainly wouldn’t let us stay in the big house, they’d be scared we’d mess it up.’

  ‘Why don’t they take him on holiday with them?’ Charity asked, puzzled by such parental indifference.

  Hugh looked bemused.

  ‘I doubt he wanted to go. His mother’s even weirder than mine, she’s been in and out of loony bins.’

  Charity frowned, not quite liking such a callous remark.

  ‘Well she’s had at least two breakdowns.’ Hugh saw the disapproval and tried to appease her. ‘Besides, his dad is an ogre. He sent him off to Rugby instead of letting him come to Bowes Court with me. To “toughen him up” was his excuse. Even now he keeps on at him because Rob’s going to study English literature rather th
an law. I thought my parents were bad enough, but his are much worse.’

  He gave Charity a crossbar back to the school gates soon after ten. He had no lights and the swoop down the narrow winding lane in pitch darkness was terrifying, even with his arms round her. But the promise he would meet her in the morning and his lingering kisses more than made up for it.

  Charity was up the next morning at six. It was a beautiful day, early mist quickly clearing and a promise in the air it would be very hot later. The school was so quiet it was eerie, her footsteps echoing around the empty building as she ran downstairs.

  She wheeled the bike out of the shed and walked with it round to the quadrangle. Giles had oiled it and pumped up the tyres. It was an old-fashioned black one, quite different from the lightweight, blue racing bike Hugh had, but Charity was determined that by ten she would be able to ride it properly.

  Pushing herself off from a low wall round a flowerbed, she tried again and again. She fell off several times, grazed her knee and ended up with oil all over her legs, but by the time it was eight she’d managed to ride a complete circuit of the quad.

  ‘Use your brakes!’ Hugh yelled up at her in greeting as she came hurtling towards him at the crossroads, using her sandalled feet as brakes. ‘You’ll hurt your toes!’

  She was so proud of herself she didn’t mind admitting now she’d only just learned to ride. As they sped down the hill together towards Five Ash Down her main fear was not passing cars, or the brakes, but wishing she’d had the sense to put on a pair of shorts like Hugh, instead of a summer dress that kept whipping back and showing her knickers.

  ‘That’s Rob’s parents’ house.’ Hugh pulled up to point out an old house partly concealed by trees. ‘Nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Nice’ was inadequate. Splendid or magnificent would have been more appropriate. The house was partly sixteenth century, one end being half-timbered, the rest covered in white weatherboarding, with a rich red-tiled roof and tall chimneys. Charity had seen many picturesque cottages around Heathfield, but none so big or so perfect as this one. A dovecote on the lawn, the graceful trees grouped around the house, beds of carefully tended roses and small, manicured low hedges all created an impression of extreme wealth.

  ‘It’s even bigger than it looks,’ Hugh said almost casually as he made off down a narrow rutted lane a little further along. ‘They’ve got an indoor swimming pool built in an extension at the back and a billiard room.’

  ‘What does his father do?’ Charity called out as she rode.

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ Hugh replied. ‘He’s some sort of tycoon, buys and sells companies I think. All this belongs to him too.’ He pointed out a farm in the distance. ‘He doesn’t work it himself, he’s got a tenant farmer in to run it.’

  Then just when Charity was despairing of ever getting to the cottage, Hugh pointed in front of them. ‘That’s it!’ he shouted back to her. ‘What do you think?’

  Charity could only gape in amazement. Just a tiny cottage backing on to a wood, covered in the white weatherboarding so common in this area, two windows up, two down and a central wooden porch covered in an abundance of honeysuckle. White picket fencing completed the picture of something right out of a child’s fairytale book. Pink and red hollyhocks rose up above the downstairs windows.

  Hugh tinkled his bell and a boy appeared in the open doorway.

  ‘Hallo there,’ he yelled out.

  Charity had imagined this friend of Hugh’s as big, confident and possibly resentful that his friend had a girl in tow, but as they rested their bikes against the picket fence and he came forward to greet them, she felt the oddest sensation of instant kinship.

  For one thing he was small, only marginally taller than herself and very skinny. He had the worst acne she’d ever seen, floppy fair hair, and a warm, if shy smile.

  ‘You’re even prettier than he said,’ Robert said awkwardly, looking down at his bare feet, as Hugh introduced them. ‘Come on in.’

  The front door led straight into a kitchen. Although it was fitted with honey-coloured modern units, it had the feel of a farmhouse with its central pine table and chairs. With windows at both back and front it was very light and cheery, yellow gingham curtains bringing in more sunshine.

  ‘It was just a farm labourer’s cottage,’ Robert explained, clearly pleased by Charity’s gasps of delight. ‘There’s three altogether on the estate. Dad had this done up as a holiday place, but he hardly ever bothers to let it. This is the sitting room,’ he said, putting one hand on her elbow and drawing her into the other room downstairs.

  Charity felt a stab of real envy that some people considered this a holiday home, when she would die to live in it for ever. Like the kitchen it was furnished simply, but the grass-green carpet, the beautiful old stone fireplace with its tub of beech leaves and the chintz-covered armchairs all looked so perfectly in place. Beneath an open pine staircase was an old desk and bookshelves stuffed with paperbacks. The walls were white apart from two black beams across the ceiling, and carefully chosen small watercolours and pretty plates broke up the starkness.

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ she enthused, amazed that the boys seemed so casual. ‘Can I see upstairs?’

  Robert stayed in the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and Hugh dragged Charity up the open staircase making jokes about Robert not forgetting to cut cucumber sandwiches.

  There were only two bedrooms, with the bathroom slotted in between. They contained old-fashioned double beds, big chests of drawers and tiled wash-stands as dressing-tables.

  The windows were set low to the floor, the ceilings curving down to meet them. Charity dropped to her knees in the room Hugh said was his, to look at the view.

  ‘It’s like a doll’s house, isn’t it?’ Hugh said behind her.

  Charity was struck speechless. It wasn’t a doll’s house to her, but a dream of a house for happy ever after. Across the lane in a meadow were a herd of black and white cows grazing on the lush grass. Birds sang in the trees that came right up to the back of the cottage and it was so quiet and still she could hear the buzzing of bees.

  ‘You do like it?’ Hugh said coming up behind her and kneeling to hold her. ‘You will stay here too? It’s a long way back to the school.’

  ‘I love it.’ She smiled hesitantly. That double bed with its thick white cover was too close and she hadn’t quite realised that they would be so isolated, or that Hugh intended her to sleep here. ‘But of course I can’t stay, Hugh. It wouldn’t be right.’

  He kissed her then, kneeling before the window. The sun was hot on her arms and face, he smelt of fresh air and soap and the way his tongue insinuated its way into her mouth in turn thrilled and frightened her.

  ‘I could sleep downstairs,’ he said at length as he paused to nuzzle into her neck. ‘There’s a chair that makes into a bed. I didn’t mean –’ he stopped short.

  Charity covered his face with soft little kisses.

  ‘I have to go back. Mrs Cod’ll send out a search party,’ she said quickly. ‘But we must go downstairs again and see Rob, we can’t make him feel awkward by me being here.’

  The day passed all too quickly. They rode down to the village shop and brought groceries and ice-cream, explored the woods behind the cottage and later Charity cooked them sausages and mash, but as the hands of the clock got nearer to eight and the pub was mentioned, Charity made her excuses.

  ‘I’ll go home,’ she said. ‘You go and meet all your old friends.’

  Hugh looked a bit sulky. She sensed he was dying to get down to the pub but at the same time he didn’t want her to go.

  ‘I’ll come back in the morning,’ she suggested, ‘but I must go now.’

  ‘Stay tomorrow?’ Rob suggested and she was sure it wasn’t prompted by Hugh, but because he liked her. A day in the sun had brought out a few freckles across his nose and she noticed for the first time how lovely his eyes were, a kind of browny greeny colour with tiny flecks of amber. ‘It’s such a long way for
you to ride alone, and besides you want to work at the pub too, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know, Rob.’ She wished she could fully explain her fears. ‘If your mother was near it might be different.’

  ‘I don’t see why,’ he said. ‘It’s more dangerous riding home on a bike in the dark than staying with us. We’ll look after you. Hugh will sleep downstairs, or even with me.’

  Rob had a gentlemanly quality which Hugh didn’t share. He showed his appreciation when she cooked their meal, he helped her wash up and now he was concerned about the danger of her riding home alone.

  ‘I’ll see.’ She looked across at Hugh, hoping he’d suggest at least going part of the way with her. ‘I’d have to think up something to tell Mrs Cod anyway.’

  ‘Just say you’ve got a job at the pub.’ Rob’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘She’ll just assume you’re staying there, some of the students do.’

  It was a long way back. Much further than Charity had realised, and most of it uphill. Worse still, it got dark before she’d even got to the halfway point. Without lights she couldn’t be seen by cars, and once she had to throw herself into a ditch. Branches struck her face and arms and the soreness she’d felt that morning in her bottom was now real pain. By the time she reached the school gates she’d already decided: if she wanted to spend time with Hugh, she had to stay at the cottage.

  Hugh’s eyes lit up when he saw her sponge bag and a change of clothing in the basket the next morning.

  ‘Yippee!’ he yelled. ‘You’re going to stay!’

  ‘You will behave, and sleep downstairs?’ she begged him, wishing she knew how other girls behaved at times like this. ‘I’ll go home if you don’t.’

  ‘Scout’s honour.’ He did a mock salute. ‘Now come on in, we thought we’d have a picnic today.’

  *