Charity Page 52

  The nursing home was silent, not even the sound of a television in the distance. Charity could hear her heart pumping hard with rage.

  ‘Our son was born in May of the following year, after I’d been through the kind of hell someone like you could never imagine. I had to give him up for adoption because I had no money or home to take him to. Have you any idea what that does to a woman?

  ‘What were you doing on the 7th of May? Swanning around a May Ball in a tuxedo, with some horsy girl your parents approved of?’

  Hugh felt faint. All the time they’d been talking he’d been waiting to hear sentimental words from those lovely lips. He’d sensed the chilly reception, but was sure he could charm her round. But a baby! Not once had he ever imagined anything like that.

  ‘Oh Charity.’ He sighed, moving over to her chair, wanting to reach out and touch her but not daring to. ‘I had no idea. If I’d known!’

  ‘If you’d known you would have run for it anyway. They bribed you with a car, didn’t they? I can tell you now I was well rid of you. I wouldn’t want to be part of a family like yours. Clear off now to your socially acceptable wife. You can brighten up your evening by telling her about me.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re saying such things,’ he said weakly. ‘You’ve changed so much. The Charity I knew was never like this.’

  She laughed then. He looked like a little lost boy who’d had his ice-cream snatched out of his hands, all wide-eyed innocence and naïvety.

  ‘I’m not the same girl now.’ She leaned forward in her seat and her eyes were icy. ‘These scars on my face are nothing to the ones inside me. There hasn’t been a day in eleven years I haven’t thought about our son – he had his eleventh birthday just before my accident. The ache for him never goes away, and it never will. I loved you Hugh, I believed in you and if the truth was known I’d have been a better wife than the one you married because if you’d stayed with me, you wouldn’t be wanting to look for a bit on the side now!’

  Hugh backed away, frightened by the fury in her. But she was right. He had been gutless – and if his life didn’t shine quite as brightly as he’d hoped for, he only had himself to blame.

  The door opened and Rob stood there panting from running up the stairs. His face was white, with two red spots on his cheeks.

  ‘You had to come, didn’t you?’ he yelled at Hugh. ‘You couldn’t leave well alone, could you?’

  Charity tried to haul herself out of her chair, frightened by the sparks flying between the two men. ‘Enough!’ she shouted. ‘I’m glad Hugh came, Rob. At least I’ve been able to tell him about Daniel. But he’s going now. We’ve nothing more to say to one another.’

  Charity watched the sun come up through her window. Rob had put her to bed soon after Hugh left, but she was aware of him sitting silently beside her for some time, just holding her hand. It was dark when she woke and she had reached out for him blindly. But it was three in the morning and she couldn’t expect him still to be sitting there. She hadn’t slept since.

  Seeing Hugh again had been like opening long-closed doors in her mind. Through them she could see herself and him at that secret pool, the water lilies, the overgrown garden. She could feel the sun hot on her back as they lay naked in each other’s arms and she could hear him whispering how much he loved her.

  Yet it meant nothing now, just a pretty out-of-focus picture. What was real was the scene in the adoption society, seeing that woman walk out of the room with Daniel in her arms, and knowing that a part of herself was lost for ever.

  Her anger was gone. She’d thrown it all at Hugh and the knowledge that he now held the burden of guilt and remorse left her with a trace of pity for him.

  The sun was bright red, as it came up over the roofs of the houses behind the river. Slowly it pushed away the darkness, black turning to grey and then to pink. She focused her eyes on the black part of the sky, finding it oddly similar to that dark part in her mind which she couldn’t reach into. The sun was the truth, pushing until it banished all the black. Today she would tell Rob those last few dark secrets, clear them out once and for all.

  ‘Hallo George,’ Dorothy’s voice purred down the phone, rich and sensual. ‘It’s Dorothy, have you got anything for me yet?’

  ‘Not a great deal,’ he said warily. ‘People don’t want to open up.’

  ‘Then lean on them, George,’ she said. ‘I need some information quickly.’

  ‘Look, come round to my office,’ George said. There’s one or two things that might interest you.’

  ‘I’ll be there in thirty minutes.’

  Soho by day was very different from Soho by night. The strip clubs and dirty book shops seemed to disappear without their neon lights and the streets were full of office workers going to lunch. Dorothy caught a taxi to Tottenham Court Road and as she passed through Soho Square there were groups of people sunbathing on the central green and eating sandwiches. It reminded her fleetingly of Barkston Gardens and how the three of them used to lie outside all day on hot Sundays, gossiping and laughing.

  Between visiting Charity, going to see Prudence, and giving Rita a hand at the agency she had barely thought about herself since she stepped off the plane at London airport. Now she could see this is how life had been for Charity: always doing things for other people, thinking how her actions would affect everyone, employees and family. No wonder she had no private life, no peace of mind.

  Robert Cuthbertson was in love with Charity, that to Dorothy was as plain as a pikestaff. She had met him for a quick supper last night and he hadn’t fooled her for a minute. Dorothy knew about men, if nothing else. Of course it was hard to gauge how Charity felt about Rob, she wasn’t in a fit state to think about romance, but surely Robert Cuthbertson was the kind of man any sane woman would want? He had integrity, a sense of humour, he was far more interested in others than in himself. Dorothy had listened while he talked about his work at the mental hospital at Colney Hatch. Even with all her cynicism, she could see the man was an idealist, a carer. He and Charity were designed for one another.

  I’ll make sure you end up happy, Chas, if it’s the last thing I do, she thought grimly as she approached George’s office. You deserve it more than any of us.

  ‘Drink?’ George said as she sat down. It was very hot in his office, a small fan merely moving the air about. Dorothy sat in the chair nearest to the open window.

  ‘Gin and tonic please,’ she said, taking off her jacket and flinging it over another chair. ‘Christ, it’s hot in here!’

  George looked round at her as he poured the drinks. She looked serenely cool in a pale blue silk dress, her hair twisted up loosely on the top of her head. He thought she was quite the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen with those sensational almond eyes and that glowing olive skin. He wondered if there was a man in her life, but didn’t dare to ask.

  ‘I keep thinking of moving my office somewhere a bit smarter,’ he said with a smile. ‘But Soho is where it all happens and I can’t be too far away from my interests. Do you live in London still?’

  ‘Part of the time,’ she said vaguely. Men always wanted to question her and she usually only told the truth when she couldn’t think of a lie. She liked to appear mysterious, it kept men on their toes. ‘Now, what have you got for me?’

  ‘Strat is the name he’s known by, but his real one’s Toby Stratton,’ George said, handing her a large drink. ‘He’s the nephew of Colonel Pennycuick who quite coincidentally was murdered a while ago.’

  Dorothy nodded.

  George looked askance at her.

  ‘You knew that already?’

  ‘I know the family part,’ she said carefully. ‘What I want to know is how other people see him, the people who call him Strat. Who he hangs out with, what he’s told them about himself.’

  ‘The one thing that comes out is that young Toby, or Strat, isn’t as smart as he likes to make out,’ George grinned. ‘It’s no secret that he’s been spending far more than he e
arns in the army, and until quite recently he owed money all over the place. The interesting thing is that he fobbed people off with tales that he would soon be getting his inheritance.’

  Dorothy smiled.

  ‘He was saying that before his uncle died?’

  ‘He was saying it from the moment he hit London.’ George raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s what I mean about him not being so smart. He uses part truth, part fiction. Even the name he uses is an abbreviation of his real one.’

  ‘But you said he had debts “until recently”. When did he pay them off?’

  ‘Before the colonel died.’ George smirked. ‘So I asked myself where he got the money.’

  Dorothy was warming to George by the minute.

  ‘And what did you come up with?’

  ‘Drugs. One of the girls told me he was into speed. Once people start using that they often go on to selling it, if only to support the habit. My guess is that he dabbled in dealing for a bit, made a few bob, then moved on to becoming a courier for heroin or cocaine.’

  Dorothy felt a fizz of excitement rising inside her. So this was what Charity was keeping quiet about!

  ‘What’s your gut reaction to the murder of the old colonel?’ she asked.

  George sighed.

  ‘You’d be a fool not to suspect him,’ he said. ‘If he’s picking up drugs in Rotterdam or Hamburg as I suspect, then it would be a doddle to find a hit man too. I certainly don’t believe his sister did it, not unless she’s in it with him.’

  ‘She isn’t,’ Dorothy blurted out before she could stop herself.

  George’s face broke into a wide smile, his brown eyes twinkling.

  ‘So that’s it! You’re working for her?’

  ‘Not working for her. Just trying to unravel a few things,’ Dorothy snapped. ‘She’s my best friend, but she’d have a fit if she knew I was poking around into her dear little brother’s affairs.’

  George looked speculatively at Dorothy.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt really drawn to a woman. It wasn’t just her beauty, but something inside her. He’d dug around about Charity Stratton too and discovered that she’d bought Carmel Connor’s old escort agency. Now it was all slotting into place.

  ‘Look, Dorothy, I’ve stuck my neck out quite a bit asking around about all this. If Strat, Toby, whatever you like to call him is doing what I suspect, there’s other people involved who are a darn sight more dangerous than he is. I don’t want to be found in a back alley with a knife between my ribs, even for you. Now suppose you tell me the whole story over lunch? Then maybe we can work out where we go from here.’

  Dorothy looked at him appraisingly. In the old days she would have surveyed his expensive suit, calculated how rich he was and how much of his money he would lavish on her. Then if the stakes were high enough, she’d go out with him, whether she liked him or not.

  She knew George was wealthy already, but she was surprised to find she really liked him.

  He wasn’t even handsome or tall, his hair was thin and she didn’t care much for moustaches. But he had eyes that laughed even when his mouth didn’t. He didn’t take himself too seriously, which was unusual for a man involved with nightclubs. George was a good sort.

  ‘As long as you let me buy the lunch,’ she said.

  His mouth broke into an endearing, boyish smile.

  ‘I didn’t expect that – the lunch, I mean.’

  ‘I don’t make a habit of paying for men,’ Dorothy said with a wry smile.

  A bit of Charity seemed to have rubbed off in the last couple of days, Dorothy thought. She might even change the habits of a lifetime if she stayed a little longer.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘I thought I told you never to contact me here,’ Toby whispered hoarsely down the phone, kicking the drawing-room door shut in case Pat or Margaret were listening. ‘I told you I’d be in touch.’

  ‘I can’t wait for that,’ the voice replied. ‘Catch the eleven o’clock train this morning. I’ll meet you at Paddington.’

  ‘I’m rejoining my regiment today.’ Toby felt a little faint. He wanted to ask what it was about but didn’t dare – not over the phone.

  ‘I know that. But you have to get to Paddington. Be on that train!’

  The line went dead, leaving Toby staring at the receiver. It was just after eight and he’d planned to spend the morning showing Tom, Margaret’s husband, around the place; they were to move in while Toby was away. Now he wouldn’t have time.

  ‘Shit,’ he exclaimed, putting the phone down. ‘No wonder they call him Weasel.’

  ‘Breakfast’s ready,’ Margaret called out from the hall.

  ‘Coming.’

  ‘I thought you were hungry?’ Margaret looked down at Toby’s plate of bacon and eggs disapprovingly.

  ‘I was, earlier,’ Toby gave her the plaintive look that invariably brought out the mother in all women. ‘I think it’s due to remembering what army food’s like.’

  He liked Margaret, really liked her. She wasn’t false like most women. Plump and wholesome with soft grey hair and laughing eyes, she was never cross about anything. She loved to cook and feed people, but best of all she offered him the kind of uncritical affection that made him feel snug.

  ‘I’ve made a nice fruit cake for you to take back with you,’ she said. ‘I’m going to miss you, sir. It will be very quiet with just me and Tom here.’

  Toby knew Margaret wanted to ask why he’d fallen out with Prudence. But even though he now had his meals in the kitchen and discussed many things with her, she was always aware of her place.

  ‘You’ve been a brick, Margaret.’ Toby grinned up at her as she took his plate away. ‘Now are you sure you two will be all right? I’ll have to leave earlier than I intended.’

  Margaret had refused extra money to live in because she said there’d be less work, but Toby knew she’d press Tom into service, helping the gardener, chopping up logs and doing dozens of other jobs.

  ‘Don’t you worry about a thing,’ she said as she cleared the table. ‘We can take care of everything.’

  Toby left her washing up.

  ‘I wish you could take care of Weasel,’ he murmured as he went upstairs to change.

  Margaret stood at the sink washing the breakfast dishes, thinking about Toby. Gossip was still rife in the village about the colonel’s death and there were many who asked how she could bear to stay in a house where a murder had taken place.

  But Margaret prided herself on being a realist. The dead couldn’t come back and someone had to look after the house and the family’s interests.

  She liked all the children, but Toby was her pet. Her heart went out to him more than the others because in her opinion, he was the one who had suffered most through being orphaned. Toby had missed out on family life: shoved into public school, holidays here with old folk, and always his uncle manipulating him to become what he wanted.

  Yet Toby had risen above it in the last year or so. He had become a real gentleman, kind, considerate and so very charming. First the trauma of his uncle’s death and now the burden of the estate thrust on to him. He looked so troubled and anxious, the poor lamb.

  She could see him now, blond hair shining in the sun as he strode across the kitchen garden to speak to Tom. He had changed into grey slacks and a blazer, ready to leave, and he looked so handsome it was no wonder girls fell over themselves to speak to him. He didn’t really like the army, even though he always pretended to his uncle he did. What a burden for a young lad to carry!

  It would have been a pleasant journey up to London if it hadn’t been for meeting Weasel. A girl who introduced herself as Hazel sat opposite him in a short skirt and every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs he had a flash of pink knickers. He might have chatted her up if he hadn’t been so preoccupied, but he could only make the weakest attempt at flirtation.

  As he got to the barrier Weasel sidled up beside him out of nowhere.

  H
is nickname couldn’t be more appropriate. He was skinny, small with bright little dark eyes that were constantly on the move, and vicious. Personal hygiene wasn’t his strong point either. He had a couple of days’ growth of beard, his teeth were stained from chain-smoking and Toby could smell sweat. His clothes appeared to have been picked up in a jumble sale. A navy blue suit jacket which was too big and stained on the lapels, with brown trousers which hung over his dirty, rundown shoes. Next to Toby with his height, military bearing and tailored blazer, he looked like a tramp.

  Toby had never learned his real name. All he knew of the man was his reputation for doing anything for a price, and until now he’d thought he could control him.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ Toby said irritably. ‘I’ve paid you the first half and you agreed to wait for the second.’

  ‘That’s the word of an officer and a gentleman, is it?’ Weasel’s voice was high, almost like a girl’s, and the sarcasm was obvious.

  ‘Of course,’ Toby sniffed. ‘What reason could you have to doubt me?’

  ‘Plenty.’ Weasel caught at the handle of Toby’s suitcase. ‘Come over here and we’ll discuss it.’

  Toby looked all around. He had been paranoid about being followed most of the time since he flew back from Germany to Studley, although he hadn’t once seen anyone suspicious. Police had been countless times to Studley, picking over this and that. But they’d called less often in the last couple of weeks and he was sure they’d run out of steam.

  ‘There’s no one interested in us,’ Weasel snapped and led him over to the side of the station where the mail trucks were loaded and unloaded. It was quieter away from the milling passengers. A few pigeons gathered round an abandoned sandwich and a couple of old ladies were sitting on the only seat.

  Weasel sat down on the edge of a luggage trolley and motioned for Toby to join him, pulling a tobacco tin out of his pocket.

  Toby brushed off the wooden slats and sat down gingerly, lifting the knees of his grey slacks.

  ‘Come on then, out with it, you’ve clearly got a grievance.’

  ‘I want the rest of my money, now,’ Weasel said in a subdued voice, rolling a cigarette expertly.