How many more times was she going to be embarrassed like last week, when she had phoned Stephanie’s office after one of these episodes and told them that Stephie had an upset stomach?
‘Not again,’ the supercilious voice at the other end of the telephone had said.
She’s not going to hold onto this job much longer, Charlotte had thought.
She had said as much to Stephanie once or twice already.
‘Oh, there are always temp jobs for secretaries and WP operators,’ Stephanie had replied airily.
Footsteps clattered down the stone steps that led to the flat. Charlotte jumped up, a smile of relief forming on her strong aristocratic face. But no, the sound obviously came from more than one person. Then came the tinkling note of the old-fashioned bell, a remnant of the Victorian era in which the house had been built.
She turned down the gas under the pan, which now smelled strongly of a mixture of garlic, tomatoes and onions, and went to open the front door. Instead of Stephanie, two people stood in the doorway.
‘David, how nice to see you.’
Damn, she thought. I’d forgotten he said he’d pop in some time.
She was irritated that he’d come without warning, so that she had no opportunity to prepare herself. She was wearing a huge hand-knitted sweater and faded jeans, which she knew showed off her too large behind. She was sure that David had never seen her dressed any other way. She wished he had brought his woman friend to the office, where they would have found her looking quite smart, in a dark suit which made her appear slimmer, and with her hair up in a tidy pleat. To make matters worse, the woman beside David looked cool and composed, despite a dressing on the side of her face. Just the sort of person who made Charlotte feel edgy. Her fair hair was smoothed back and she wore an immaculate white tailored blouse and slim dark skirt.
Charlotte was tempted to give David a hug, as she had the last time they met, some months before but, without knowing the relationship between him and the woman, she felt inhibited.
‘Can we come in, Charlie? Or are you busy?’
‘Of course you can. Come in. Come in. Is this the friend you told me about on the telephone the other day?’
David made the introductions and Charlotte managed to sound interested and welcoming, even though she was already worrying that they would still be here when Stephanie arrived home.
‘I’m expecting a friend in a little while. Do you mind if I carry on cooking? I was just making a pizza. Would you like something?’
Charlotte led them in through the narrow hall into the spacious kitchen, where the pizza dough was resting on a wooden table, liberally sprinkled with flour, and surrounded by what was left of the other ingredients.
She turned off the gas and then resumed kneading the dough with large, red capable hands, flexing her fingers, enjoying the responsive plasticity of the dough.
David placed a bottle of wine on an empty corner of the table. Charlotte felt her smile fade.
‘Thanks, David. There’s really no need. Do take it back.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Charlie. We come bursting in here, uninvited, when you’re expecting someone. It’s the least we can do.’
‘Oh, very well,’ she said, still not smiling. Wiping the flour off her hands, she took the bottle, opened a cupboard containing baking dishes and put it right at the back. She wondered if Stephanie would spot it there.
She tried to ignore the couple’s puzzled look.
‘You haven’t given it up, have you, Charlie? You used to like coming out with the boys for a drink.’
‘Having a jar with the boys. Yes, those were the days, David. No I haven’t given up the demon drink.’
David refrained from mentioning it again. Charlotte felt relieved. She rolled out the dough and placed it on a tray.
‘Now, some coffee. Stephanie won’t be here for ages, so there’s plenty of time for the pizza. She’s my flatmate actually. But I usually cook, because she often works late.’
She put the kettle on, sneaking a glance at her watch as she did so, and put coffee into three mugs, each of them a statement of her philosophy. She selected Join hands with the Greenham Common women for Andrea and Say No to Cruise Missiles for David; her own mug, a tribute to a much earlier battle said, ‘Votes for Women.’ She poured the tomato mixture on to the pizza base, while she waited for the kettle to boil.
As the three of them sat at the kitchen table, David sketched in Andrea’s problems and Charlotte listened with sympathy. She was outraged at Justin’s behaviour and determined to give Andrea all the help she could. Andrea was less poised than she looked and Charlotte soon felt her own confidence returning.
‘He must be a bastard. I know just how you feel. I had one like that. Leaving him was the best thing I ever did. Don’t worry about the legal side. We’ll talk about it in the office and I’ll take you through every step of the way.’
‘Do you deal with a lot of broken marriages?’ Andrea asked.
‘My dear! I’ve seen them all. There’s nothing you can’t tell me about marriage. I’m unshockable. I’ve seen behaviour you wouldn’t believe from people who put up the most wonderful facade right until the end. I’ve seen wives who are nothing but prostitutes, doling out sex in return for kitchen gadgets and fancy clothes, and husbands, poor saps, innocently forking out for it all.’
‘That’s very cynical,’ said Andrea, looking rather shocked.
‘And then of course, there’s the other side - well you and I both know about that - where a man thinks because he’s married to you, he owns you, and that entitles him to treat you exactly how he likes. Thank goodness, the law is moving towards change in that aspect of marriage.’
‘I suppose you got divorced yourself,’ Andrea said.
‘You bet your sweet life I did,’ Charlotte replied with emphasis. ‘I can tell you I’ve given the bastards a wide berth since then. I should have known better than to get married in the first place. My father and my husband were two of a kind. Dad beat my mother up and me, too. There’s very few like our David here. Now he is a New Man. Sarah was a lucky girl to get him.’
‘Not so lucky,’ David reminded her.
‘No, poor child,’ said Charlotte, remembering the young college friend who had so prematurely met her death. ‘All her life ahead of her.’ To her embarrassment, she felt tears come to her eyes. Involuntarily she burst out, ‘I hope you find happiness again, David. You deserve it.’
‘I already have,’ he replied, brushing Andrea’s hand with the tips of his fingers.
Charlotte caught the movement, smiled a little at them both and, feeling suddenly superfluous, glanced at her watch again in a more noticeable gesture.
David, obviously aware of her anxiety, said, ‘We must let you get on with your cooking.’
Charlotte picked up the pizza and placed it in the oven. ‘Sorry I’m rather tense,’ she excused herself to David. ‘It’s just that I’m a bit worried about Stephanie. She’s not normally so late.’ She realised she had contradicted herself and rushed to change the subject. ‘You and I must get together again – and your friend too. Socially, I mean. We’ll have lunch, when you’ve arranged an appointment at my office. Mention it to my secretary.’
Filled with relief, now that they were going, Charlotte walked to the door with them and, with her warmth for David once again welling up, she caught his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
She watched them as they climbed up the stairs to pavement level, and, in a gently ironic tone, called after them, ‘Bless you, my children.’
Through the railings, she saw a taxi draw up in front of the house. She saw David walk a few yards ahead of Andrea to the car, getting his keys out. Thank goodness he didn’t see Stephanie, as she got out of the taxi, a coat draped round her thin figure, swaying slightly as she walked towards the basement steps. Charlotte saw her staring at Andrea with undisguised animosity and Andrea, embarrassed, turned away and followed David to the car.
T
he blonde girl descended the steps, calling in a too loud voice, ‘Charlie. I’m here. Let me in. I can’t find my key.’
Charlotte pulled her through the open door, her fingers digging into Stephanie’s thin upper arms.
‘Stop it. You’re hurting me,’ said Stephanie, shaking herself free and walking with unsteady steps towards the kitchen. She allowed her coat to slip off her shoulders on to the floor, revealing her patterned blouse in disarray, buttons incorrectly done up and her skirt swivelled round and unzipped.
‘Where have you been?’ The fear and apprehension in Charlotte’s voice made the question come out in a high pitched, almost hysterical screech.
‘I’ve been having a nice time, which you won’t let me have,’ replied Stephanie, slurring the words.
‘You’re drunk.’
‘I had drinks with one of the reps. He gave me three G & Ts and then I got laid. And then I had some more, for being a good girl.’
Charlotte went white.
‘You don’t mean that. You’re just saying it.’
‘I told him I’d do anything for a drink, and he said, “Anything?” I said “Anything.” So he took me into the exec., exec.’ she stumbled over the words. ‘Executive suite and found some drinks. And then we did it on the desk. Big, big desk. He could do all sorts of things that you can’t do.’
Charlotte slapped her hard across the face.
Swaying drunkenly, Stephanie started to cry.
‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
She rushed into the kitchen and vomited into the sink, panting and retching at each new wave of nausea.
Charlotte followed her, tears running down her cheeks. She found a damp cloth and wiped the other woman’s face and, putting her arm round her, fed her like a child with sips of water from a spoon.
Stephanie staggered to a chair and sat down shakily at the kitchen table.
‘I’ll make you some coffee, Stephie. You’ll feel better soon.’
The aromatic smell of pizza broke in on her thoughts. It was ready. Charlotte took it from the oven, and placed it on a dish on the table. Taking out clean mugs, she poured some more hot coffee for them both.
Stephanie sipped and began to recover.
‘Oh, Charlie. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I hated it really. I did it for the booze. You wouldn’t let me have any. I get desperate. Couldn’t I have just a little one now? It would make me feel better. Just a little glass of wine, or brandy. To perk me up.
Charlotte hardened her heart.
‘We haven’t any in the house,’ she lied. ‘Why did you say that he was good?’
‘I just said it to make you jealous. I saw that smart woman who came out of here. Who was she?’
‘You fool. She wasn’t anything to me. Just a client. Here with her boyfriend. He’s an old friend. No-one matters to me except you. Don’t you know that?’
‘You’re so good to me, Charlie.’
Charlotte got a basin and filled it with warm water. Taking the flannel, once again, she started sponging Stephanie’s face and neck, smoothing the ash blonde hair out of the way. The shirt was stained with vomit and she carefully unbuttoned it and discarded it on the floor.
Stephanie held out her arms, her eyes entreating, and Charlotte abandoned the sponge and caught hold of her lover in her arms, her large bosom enveloping the other woman’s slim figure.
Their faces were both wet with tears, as they kissed.
‘Oh Charlotte, you’re so good for me. How could any man match up to you?’
The pizza grew cold on the table.
Chapter 9: Tombola
(Friday Morning)
George Harkness was about to drive his car into a short term parking space, when a woman in a well-used Mini beat him to it. He growled under his breath, ‘Women! They’re everywhere. And always where you don’t want them to be.’
There was his wife, Joan, saying ‘Go and get me a loaf from the bakery in the High Street,’ just as he was settling down with the Telegraph. ‘You’ll have to go early if you don’t want to queue,’ she had said, but he suspected it was just a ploy to get him out of the house, so that she could listen to Desert Island Discs without him interrupting with the news items of the day. She hadn’t even remembered it was his birthday. Come to that, neither had Elaine. You would have thought she’d have sent a card to her father, even though she was such a busy career woman these days. Still, creeping old age wasn’t necessarily something to celebrate. In fact, what could be worse? A birthday and retirement in the space of a fortnight.
With care, he reversed the car away from the occupied space, his eyes on the mirror. Now he would probably have to do a complete circuit of the one way system, or go to the multi-storey. At the rev of another car engine, he glanced forward again. A young chap pulling out next to the Mini gave him a thumb’s up. After all, his luck was in.
Shooting into the space fast, before anyone else could take it, he found himself perilously close to the Mini, which was over the line. In fact, he couldn’t open the driver’s side door without hitting it. He would have an embarrassing struggle over the gear levers in order to get out on the other side, unless he took a chance and waited for the woman to go.
He glanced at the Mini again. The woman was leaning across to lock the car from the inside. Damn, the face was familiar - it was that solicitor woman with a double barrelled name who worked in the office next to his. Charlotte something or other. Large, overpowering creature - and her practice always filled with hysterical women. He winced at the memory.
He was forced to carry out a wriggling manoeuvre across the various protrusions, because the damn woman was waiting - probably to make sure he didn’t mark her door.
Charlotte had got out of her car and was straightening her black office skirt. Her face looked rather pale against her dark hair, bunched at the back in a severe office style. George debated whether or not to ignore her.
She took the decision out of his hands.
‘Good morning, Mr Harkness,’ she called, as he locked the car with the electronic remote switch. ‘I haven’t seen you at the office, recently.’
‘I retired last week,’ he growled.
‘I wouldn’t have thought you were old enough,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘What a terrible waste of all your knowledge and experience.’
He was genuinely flattered. She wasn’t the type to make that sort of comment unless she meant it. He warmed towards her a little and they strode off in the same direction.
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself, Miss, er, Ms, er, Charlotte. I’m reduced to running errands for my wife. It’s driving me mad already.’
‘Well, I certainly hope you’ll find some outlet for your talent, Mr Harkness. I don’t believe in ageism, any more than I do in sexism. Our advice centre could always do with some voluntary help.’
‘Thank you. I’ll bear that in mind,’ George said, mentally comparing the pack of women at the advice centre with the potent one at home. Looking for some means of changing the subject, he noticed a bottle shaped object under her arm. ‘You having a celebration this morning?’
‘I was going to find a home for it.’ Her voice now sounded embarrassed. ‘We - I’m allergic to red wine.’
‘Well, don’t throw it away.’ He waggled a finger at the building they were approaching. ‘There’s the very place.’
George often passed the church, so near to his old office, and liked its ageing appearance, contrasting with the modern buildings surrounding it. Today it was teeming with activity.
‘CHURCH RESTORATION FUND, BRING & BUY - 10 O’CLOCK,’ said a large notice. Helpers were setting up stalls in the hall inside.
Next to the church, they saw a shape in a doorway of an empty shop. A man in a filthy overcoat was sleeping there. His hair was wild and his face dirty and unshaven. An empty bottle lay near him in the alcove.
‘Disgusting,’ George exclaimed. ‘These down-and-outs - they’re just human litter.’
>
Charlotte shuddered at the man’s appearance.
‘Who knows what takes people along that route?’ she said and there was a tremor in her voice. ‘There, but for the grace of God, go you and I, Mr Harkness - or our loved ones, perhaps. Are you sure you think I should donate this bottle to the church? Isn’t it the cause of that man’s downfall?’
‘I can’t answer that, my dear girl. But people have to help themselves in this world. There are places available - your advice centre - you’re giving people support. Alcoholics Anonymous - that’s another kind of help. People have to get off their back-sides and go and look for help, if they can’t do something on their own.’
‘Alcoholics Anonymous,’ said Charlotte frowning. ‘I hadn’t thought...’ Her voice trailed off.
‘But I really think this chap here is beyond help,’ George continued.
‘I suppose it would be irresponsible of me to put this bottle in the bin,’ said Charlotte ruefully.
‘Another nail in the coffin for someone like him,’ George commented. ‘Just a pleasant little social habit for most people.’
He glanced at Charlotte. Her face looked so serious that he was suddenly aware that the old man was not the only subject of her concern. He patted her on the shoulder. ‘Given the right help and support, some alcoholics make a marvellous recovery.’
‘I suppose removing temptation is a step in the right direction,’ she said. ‘I’d better take this into the church. There’s bound to be a raffle or something. Nice talking to you, Mr Harkness. Don’t forget to drop into the advice centre some time.’
She smiled surprisingly warmly at him and then, turning away, walked with upright swinging gait towards the grey stone building, the bottle in her hand.
George watched the retreating rear with a degree of admiration. He’d always had a weakness for bottoms, as one or two of his secretaries had found out. Not that he’d ever got involved in - what did these feminists call it? Sexual harassment? He didn’t need to. You could soon tell when a woman was giving you the come-on. His last secretary had made a point of coming into his office and bending over his filing cabinet, her low cut blouse revealing such an abundance of inviting flesh it was difficult to decide which end of her to look at. It certainly added a small frisson to the office days, which he missed a great deal. A gentle pat on the behind had originally led to their out of office affair, which he was also missing now. She too had retired and gone with her husband to make a new life in the West Country, and the delicious naughtiness, which affected neither spouse, had been curtailed with reluctance on both sides.
A Bottle of Plonk Page 8