A Proper Charlie

by Louise Wise

  A redheaded woman, in a tight-fitting Union Jack dress entered his thoughts as he touched the floor. Her breasts bursting to escape the tight bodice, as indeed one did as she joined him at the buffet table. But now, with hindsight, he realised the woman had probably not known of her state of undress, even though she’d dressed like a common prostitute.

  A prostitute!

  The thought made Ben gasp and water filled his mouth. He swam to the surface and burst through, spitting out water then inhaling deeply. That’s it! That’s how he’d find his sister and end this stupid feud between her and his father; whether it was unethical or not he’d find this Readman woman himself, offer her a reasonable sum of money in exchange for information on the whereabouts of his sister.

  Ben swam furiously to the side of the pool and hauled himself out. He was wasting time. He needed to call Locke for more information on Readman.

  As he reached for the towel his mind came back to Core, and the hideous pop event his father made him attend.

  My God, he was going to have to give a so-called welcome speech to that haggle of employees on Monday morning.

  FOURTEEN

  It was Sunday and while others of London Core were still nursing hangovers from the night before, Charlie, in need of research, had decided to head down to the red-light area again. She needed to get inside the heads of the prostitutes if her book was going to be realistic, but she didn’t feel she was getting the right answers from the women – or rather she wasn’t asking the right questions – but being told to piss off in various ways before she’d opened her mouth wasn’t helping. What was she doing wrong?

  She entered the late night café; it was becoming her regular haunt lately and ordered a coffee. She sat beside the window and watched the prostitutes from across the road.

  A red car drove slowly and close to the kerb, as if the driver was touting for business. Charlie watched its movements with interest. The car speeded up, slowed, and then shot off as if the driver had been afraid of discovery.

  It wasn’t the punters she wanted to write about, nevertheless they did interest her. They weren’t always as creepy as she’d thought. Most seemed lonely. She checked her watch, 10 p.m. She didn’t want a late night tonight, the takeover was officially taking place tomorrow where the new owner, Sir Donald Middleton, would make his welcome speech and she didn’t want to appear tired, or worse, late!

  Instead of feeling pessimistic about the takeover, the excitement of others was rubbing off onto her. There wasn’t going to be any redundancies, but a few job shake-ups would be inevitable. She thought back to the party and ‘Frank’. ‘Let’s just hope not all of the Globe staff is as snobby,’ she grumbled.

  The red car came back, and she frowned at its baffling display of hiring a working girl. She hurriedly dug out a pen from her bag, and wrote the car’s registration number down in her notebook before the car could disappear.

  The car had pulled up close to the kerb again, but this time it had stopped. It was a very expensive looking vehicle, and the number plate, which she had jotted down, was private. She leaned close to the window and peered through the pane, using her hands as a tunnel to block out the lights from the café. Charlie didn’t know her cars, but she recognised the distinctive four overlapping rings on the front.

  She wrote Audi down in her notebook.

  The windows were tinted and the driver couldn’t be seen, but she imagined him to be leaning across the passenger seat as a young girl spoke to him through the window. She was nodding, and then took something that was offered by the red car owner, but she didn’t get in the car.

  Charlie went home in the early hours, tired but content. And after flinging her bag, which contained her tape recorder and notebook filled with her observations, onto the settee, she kicked off her shoes and sat down. She yawned; she really should go over her notes now because in the morning, half of them would probably not make any sense.

  She groaned. Her feet were killing her! She relaxed her head down on the armrest, and curled her legs up around her bottom. She would get up in a minute, she promised herself, make a coffee and read her notes and possibly expand on a few.

  She awoke feeling incredibly cold and stiff. She rubbed the back of her neck. The phone was ringing, and grumbling she went to answer it.

  ‘Where are you?’ Melvin said.

  ‘Eh?’ She yawned and turned absently towards the clock sitting on top of the TV. ‘My God, it’s after nine!’ She shrilled down the phone. ‘Why didn’t you phone me earlier, you might have known I was asleep!’

  Poor Melvin couldn’t answer to her logic as she slammed down the phone and headed towards the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and hair, tucked in her blouse and smoothed down her skirt. It would have to do. She had no time to change. The important meeting was supposed to take place today and it could mean a change to her career – or an end to it.

  She squirted perfume in a cloud around her head, and after a moment’s hesitation sprayed beneath her armpits too.

  She dashed from the bathroom, pushed her feet into her shoes, grabbed several biscuits from an old Quality Street tin, and dashed outside to her car. She drove, kangaroo style, as she struggled to apply lipstick and mascara to her face. She didn’t normally wear makeup to work – didn’t normally wear it full stop – but she wanted to create a good impression.

  She ran into the building breathless and up the stairs to the second floor where the meeting was to be held. But as she emerged at the top of the stairs, groups of people began to descend from the conference room. She groaned.

  ‘Charlie!’

  She turned to see Melvin walking towards her. He was wearing low-waisted jeans and a T-shirt with the slogan, It take balls to be a fag on the front. It was his best T-shirt. Obviously out to impress the new boss.

  ‘Melvin! Have I missed it?’ she asked pointlessly.

  He opened his mouth to answer her, but did a double take at her appearance. He stepped away from her and looked over her critically. ‘Baby doll, what have you been doing to yourself?’

  Oh God, she was wearing odd shoes! She looked down but on her feet were her usual black flats.

  ‘You have concealer on your lips instead of lipstick,’ he said with his hands on his narrow hips.

  Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, no! I wondered why the receptionist gave me odd looks as I came in.’

  Melvin closed his eyes. She could tell he was annoyed with her. ‘Doll, go to the ladies and sort yourself out, then I’ll fill you in with the details.’

  ‘I’m sorry Mel,’ she said.

  He waved a hand, then grinned. ‘I’ve lots to tell you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep, but I’ll tell you later. Go and straighten yourself out, you look like you’ve slept in your clothes,’ he said.

  ‘I have,’ she said miserably as she trundled off to the toilets.

  *

  Melvin put a cute kitten design place mat on his desk and placed a plastic cup of coffee on top. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘Biscuit?’

  ‘Er, no, thank you. I’ve several of my own.’ Charlie brought crumbling biscuits out of her skirt pocket. ‘Breakfast,’ she said with a grin.

  Melvin looked at her sternly. ‘You knew you had to be here on time this morning. Why the late night, Charl?’

  ‘I was watching a late night film, and must’ve fallen asleep watching it. It happens.’ She nudged his arm. ‘Forget that. Spill the beans about Sir Don.’

  ‘Post.’ The junior came over and dropped a bundle of letters on his desk. ‘I’ve put the office emails and faxes on your desk, Charlie,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said impatiently, and turned back to Melvin.

  Melvin picked up his mail and began to sift through it. Charlie tutted, and he put it back down. ‘OK, there will be a few changes with people moving departments, but nothing major. The main thing is that London Core, us, will be handled by Mr Middleton junior,’ Melvin paused for dramatic emphasis.
When Charlie didn’t even flicker, he sighed. ‘Mr Middleton junior doesn’t want too much change. He says the format we have is good. Only a few new staff from Globe are coming in, like his PA etc, the rest are staying where they are with the old Mr Middleton senior.’

  Charlie fingered the floating crumbs from her tea and sucked them off her fingers.

  ‘He wants to move Juliet and Graham to the gossip section, Pete and Mark are back on sport...’ he sighed. ‘He wants me to team up with Ron and Jeff. I’ve finally made it to senior rewrite editor –’

  ‘Isn’t that what Faye is?’

  Melvin looked horrified. ‘She’s a mere copy editor. I compose,’ he said.

  Charlie smiled at his resentment. ‘I’m glad for you, but I’m selfishly upset,’ she said. ‘We’re our own team,’ she continued. ‘I can’t work without you. We go together like Shaggy and Scooby Doo. So, where’s he put me? Not with Faye?’ she asked horrified.

  ‘He hasn’t put you with Faye. She’s still the copy editor and has her own team. He didn’t mention you. He didn’t move everyone.’

  ‘But we usually work together!’

  ‘You don’t work with me, baby doll; you work with the entire third floor. You forget to order the stationery, file things away where nobody can find them –’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘– Unfix interviews and disorganise the deadlines.’

  She scowled, took a gulp of coffee too quickly and spilt some down her chin. Melvin handed her a tissue with a chuckle.

  ‘Sweetie, I’m teasing. Well, maybe it was like that in the first few weeks of you starting, but now you’ve found your way. And people like you. That’s some achievement in this environment!’

  ‘I’m an office gofer,’ she said, wiping coffee off her blouse.

  ‘Why don’t you go and see Sir now and get it over with?’ he suggested. He had a strange glint in his eye, but turned to drop his plastic cup in the waste bin so she couldn’t analyse it.

  ‘He’s probably busy,’ she said. ‘I’ll catch him later.’

  Melvin brushed her biscuit crumbs into his cupped hand and emptied them into the bin as well, and then nodded towards the closed door still labelled; John Fanton, Managing Editor.

  ‘It’ll look good for you,’ he advised. ‘Apologise for missing his “hello, I’m your new boss” speech, smile your sweet smile and he’ll be eating out of your hand in no time,’ he said. He fiddled with his watchstrap and avoided her eyes. ‘You never know, you might wow him with your fantastic personality –’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Faye passing by and hearing the end of his words. ‘Sprinkle dog shit with glitter and you might get the same result, I s’pose.’

  Charlie glared at her. ‘That does it! I’m going to do it!’

  ‘Do what?’ Faye asked just as Melvin yelled,

  ‘Wait!’

  Melvin was chewing on his bottom lip as both women stopped and stared at him. ‘There’s something you should know,’ he said waving Faye away irritably, ‘I was going to be a bitch and let you find out for yourself, but –’

  ‘Don’t flap me away like an annoying fly, you bum-chaser!’ Faye flared cutting him off.

  ‘What did you call me?’

  ‘You heard! I s’pose you’re going to go all big-headed now because of your promotion, well let me tell you this -’

  Melvin raised a hand. ‘Please, your cheap perfume is nauseating. Any closer and I’ll pass out.’

  Faye placed her knuckles on her hips and faced him. ‘You’ve been acting like Gok Won over a big arse since the merger; think you’re working for the big boys now, do you, eh? Well, let me tell you something for nothing, you were a nobody before Middleton took over, and you’re still a nobody!’

  ‘Faye Craven, you bitch! I’m practically Fanny’s right hand man…’

  Charlie tossed her empty cup into the bin, and looked over towards Fanny’s office. Straightening her skirt and smoothing her blouse as Melvin and Faye fired insult after insult at one another, Charlie made her way towards the office. It was now or never.

  ‘Don’t go bothering Mr Middleton, Charlie,’ Mr Fanton said wearily from his new position. ‘He’s a busy man, you know,’ he added just as Melvin squealed from his desk,

  ‘Charlie! There’s something you should –’

  Charlie looked around at him as her knuckles rapped against the door; Mr Fanton audibly groaned and snapped, ‘Tuck your shirt in, girl, you look a state!’

  Charlie tucked in her blouse, and tried to smooth down her impossibly curly hair then gave Melvin the thumbs up.

  Bless him; he really worried about her too much.

  FIFTEEN

  The talk Ben gave to the staff this morning went better than he expected. Many of them were glad of the merge and relished the change. Some were still discussing the meeting; congregating in groups. Ben stood to pull the blind over the window that overlooked the office. He thought they’d earned their privacy for a while. A red-headed woman was striding towards Mr Fanton, tucking in a rumpled looking blouse.

  Ben pulled the blind, then turned to sit at his desk. He rested his forehead in his hands, and stared down at the photo on his desk. It was unassuming. An ordinary girl who could be anyone’s daughter or sister.

  It was a photo of Sally Readman, which the PI had faxed over this morning. Ben had been hoping she looked different; someone he could easily spot in a crowd.

  In one way, it was good that he worked for a newspaper, because he could keep his family business out of media attention, but also he had it first-hand how a possible killer was on the loose and settling his sights on prostitutes. He only hoped his sister wasn’t going to be a victim in a case of mistaken identity with Sally Readman.

  The man, so-called Gentleman Abductor by The Globe because he was reported to drive a ‘posh’ car and spoke with an upper class accent, seemed to be preying on prostitutes, and since the PI told Ben that Camilla had squatted – squatted – Ben closed his eyes. He couldn’t imagine Camilla ‘squatting’ anywhere, but apparently she had been with Readman, and unknowingly in danger.

  And Ben felt responsible. He could have handled their mother’s revelation better. In hindsight, he acted just like his father and ignored the situation – ignored Camilla’s distress.

  Ben picked up the photograph, and studied it. He’d ventured out into the red-light area Sunday night, before he had this information on Sally, just to test the waters, so to speak. He’d been shocked at the age of some of the women – some only in their early teens. But the ones he’d spoken to hadn’t seen or even heard of Sally, let alone Camilla.

  Ben tucked the photo back into the pocket of his jacket as he tried to focus on work. He felt almost tempted to let the newspaper continue its slide into the gutter and to hell with his father. He’d lost a lot of interest in the Middleton Group since his mum’s passing and his sister’s disappearance. It was as if he’d suddenly realised there was a lot more to life than work, but couldn’t find his way out of the dark and dank hole he’d dug himself in.

  If the sky was blue and the sun shining, he couldn’t see or feel it. Life had always been a cold and lonely place but now it was without meaning as well.

  A sharp knock on his door startled him because he’d been so engrossed in his thoughts. He gave permission to enter, and waited with a polite smile fixed on his face. The door remained closed, and the knock came again so loudly he wondered if the person on the other side was using something more than just their hand.

  ‘Come in!’ he shouted, and the door opened with a flourish. On the threshold stood a scruffily dressed woman – or was that the fashion these days? Her blouse and skirt looked as if she’d slept in them, and her hair was a mass of untamed red curls.

  She boldly came towards him with an outstretched hand and a huge smile on her face. ‘Charlie… er, Charlotte Wallis,’ she introduced herself. She stopped a little too late and banged into the corner of his desk with her hip.

  Ben clut
ched his rocking coffee cup, and stopped his Star Wars penholder from scattering all over the floor as the pile of papers in his pending tray floated towards the carpet.

  ‘Oops,’ she said with a chuckle, and dropped to her knees. Under the table, he could hear her muttering one or two swear words. She fumbled for the fallen papers, while behind his desk Ben rubbed the back of his neck.

  The mad woman, or rather, Ms Wallis, kneeled up and plonked a pile of papers on his desk, and then a pair of amazing bright green eyes laughed up at him.

  ‘Were they in some sort of order?’ she asked, without apology.

  He sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  She stood up grinning brightly, and extended her hand across the table. ‘Charlie Wallis,’ she offered again. She wasn’t a beauty, or even pretty, with her too wide mouth, messy ginger hair and a face full of freckles, but she certainly wasn’t unattractive. She was someone a modelling agency might term interesting. Ah… she was also the crazy woman from Saturday night’s party. She looked different today, of course. Her hair must have been straightened for the event.

  He tried hard not to look at her now covered chest, but couldn’t resist. His eyes darted back up again quickly, feeling a flush creep over his neck. Oh, God did she notice him stare?

  She still stood with her offered hand and Ben took it. He realised he must have been frowning hard at her, and remembering his manners, he said, ‘Were you hurt when you knocked the desk? It was quite a bang.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She sat in an un-offered chair, crossed one bare, and surprisingly, shapely leg over the other, and nodded happily at him. ‘Fine,’ she repeated, and they sat in silence for a while, with Charlie looking at him expectantly with those almost dazzling green eyes.

  ‘Fine,’ he repeated, and gave a slight laugh of embarrassment. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I missed the meeting,’ she said. ‘I was, er, waylaid. So, I thought I’d just pop in and say hello.’

  He shrugged wide shoulders. ‘And now you’ve said it.’ He bent over his desk again, that usually ended conversations with people. But this woman was undeterred.