by Ellis Major
What immediately hit Charlie, though, were the deeply sullen expressions on the faces of both children - and the rather grim frowns on the faces of their parents. It was enough to turn milk sour, especially the face of the girl.
“God yes, happy holidays,” he remarked under his breath. “Never take the kids on holiday with you once they hit puberty. There’s a reminder if ever I saw one.”
“Charlie,” Mary gasped. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
Charlie stared at her. This wasn’t like Mary. She was a sensible, cultured person. She had many admirers, had had the odd fling, but never seemed to find ‘the one’. Charlie sometimes thought she had absurdly high expectations but he wasn’t the sort of man to stick his nose or opinions into a woman’s love life. This was the last sort of comment he’d expect from someone so refined, though.
“You’ve gone quite white, Mary,” he told her. She promptly blushed, tore her eyes away from the sight and stared at Charlie.
“She’s the one,” she announced to him with utter conviction. “Look at her, those lovely legs, and those huge dark eyes. I just know it, deep in my soul, that we’re meant for one another.”
Charlie eyed the object of his companion’s affection. “She doesn’t exactly look like the happiest bunny in the burrow,” he commented, doubtfully.
“She has some dark sorrow. I can soothe it away, I can help ease the burden of her cares. Charlie you must help me.”
“Of course, Mary my love. What can I do? I’d be delighted to see you happily settled with the woman of your dreams.”
Mary frowned. “We must talk to each other, she and I,” she told him. “I must know. I can’t raise my hopes too high. My God, Charlie, my heart is racing. I feel light headed, but what if she hates me, rejects me, what if she likes men!! That would be awful!”
Charlie’s next comment wasn’t the most tactful he’d ever made. “Unfortunate for you, Mary, but not for men in general. She is a rather pretty thing after all.”
Mary frowned directly at Charlie. “Charlie, I hope that you aren’t thinking about competing with me. You wouldn’t queer my pitch would you?”
Charlie was shocked. “Mary, how could you think such a thing?” He laughed lightly. “You saw her first so, of course you get first go!” Mary’s eyes had narrowed. Charlie held up his hands in alarm. “Hey, Mary, I’m only kidding. Sorry, it’s obviously not a joking matter. I’ll move heaven and earth to help you. I agree with what you suggested. You need to try and chat with her, get her on her own and all that, as you say - see how she feels.”
Mary was nodding. “Of course, Charlie, but I can’t just stalk around after her and pounce if she wanders off for a moment. This will need some planning.”
“Ah,” said Charlie. Planning wasn’t his strongest point. Then he realised that Mary was doing planning for herself.
“I have to see whether there’s any spark there. Let’s walk past and see what happens. If she looks at me with complete indifference and scowls then we might have to change hotels. I couldn’t bear to be near her – the anguish would be too much for me!”
Charlie pushed back his chair. “Come on then. I think we’re finished and we must put you out of your misery straight away.”
Mary led the way past the table at which the new arrivals had just seated themselves. The parents were talking to the waitress and the son was staring at the table, so only the daughter looked up at Mary’s nervous smile. Her expression brightened slightly, then she spotted Charlie and darted a glare of pure hatred in his direction. It was so brutal he cringed inwardly.
“What do you think?” Mary demanded, the moment they were alone.
Charlie explained about the evil look he’d received. “I couldn’t tell you Mary, whether it was me she disliked, my outfit, or men in general, but the hatred was palpable. It made me quail in my boots. I would not want to be left alone in a light room with her, never mind a dark one.”
Mary’s voice filled with hope. “She perked up a bit when she saw me, but she might think we’re a couple.”
“We have separate rooms on different floors,” Charlie pointed out.
“Charlie, I doubt if she spends her time inspecting hotel registers,” Mary told him. “It’s a reasonable enough assumption for her to make, isn’t it. Two people of roughly the same age leave the restaurant together. That must be it. I could hardly be your mother.” She frowned. “The first thing we need to do is get the message across that we are not a couple. You must stop calling me ‘my love’ immediately. We’ll have to find a way of introducing ourselves and making it clear that we are nothing more than good friends.”
~~~
The opportunity to do as Mary wished came rather sooner than either of them had expected – so they hadn’t planned for it - and Charlie had to improvise...
He’d come down from his room earlier than Mary. This was something of a surprise, given how much time Charlie was normally able to occupy in readying himself to meet the world. He suspected Mary might be staring at herself, pulling petals off a daisy or two crying ‘she loves me, she loves me not’ to herself in a mirror. No matter, Charlie entertained himself by whistling a few bars from one of his favourite tunes. It being perfect for the quickstep, he then decided to improvise a routine with an imaginary partner in his arms. He was on holiday, after all.
Had the receptionist not been temporarily absent, Charlie would probably not have gone this far - on the grounds that she might have wanted to join him and she wasn’t his type, though very efficient.
As it was, he was pivoting and rocking backwards and forwards on his toes in a damned snappy fashion, if he said so himself, when ‘the mother’ came strolling down the stairs. She paused, as one might expect, at the sight of a man in a red and white check trousers and a sky blue blazer, arms outstretched in front of him, prancing around like Fred Astaire whilst whistling his heart out.
Charlie completed a rather spectacular pirouette and then caught sight of new arrival. He desisted from the dancing and the whistling and bounded forward with what he trusted was a friendly smile.
“Hello,” he called merrily, holding out his hand. “Delighted to meet you. I’m Charlie Tiptree.”
Her smile was somewhat glassy. “Annette Lane,” she replied, a certain reserve apparent in her voice.
“And are you staying long?” Charlie wondered.
“A week,” she told him, as reluctantly as politeness allowed.
“The same as me and my colleague.” Charlie managed to put especial emphasis on the word colleague. He thought that was a neat touch.
“Colleague?” Annette seemed slightly puzzled.
“Yes, Mary Goldsworthy.” Charlie thought he was on a roll. He’d managed to introduce two different surnames. He carried on. “Yes she happens to be very prominent in her field, anthropology; she’s wedded to her work.” (He was on fire!). “I’m just a humble researcher, privileged to be working with her. I dig stuff up, pass it on to her and forget it immediately. I’m burning out with all the effort, can’t keep up. She’s so kind.” He assumed an expression of pathetic gratitude. “She suggested we take a break, rest the little grey cells. Well I jumped at the chance, of course.”
Charlie’s efforts seemed to achieve some thawing in Annette Lane’s chilly demeanour. “Anthropology,” she murmured, thoughtfully. “Researcher. Not something I know much about. So, Mr Tiptree, you’re not married?”
“Indeed not, Mrs Lane; I’m unattached and fancy free.”
Annette Lane now smiled with greater warmth. “I’m sure we’ll be bumping into each other. We’re off out for the day today but we may well see you tomorrow.” She turned her head as she heard the rest of her family descending the stairs, the sullen daughter to the fore.
“Georgina,” she called. “Say hello to Mr Tiptree here, he’s a fellow guest.”
Georgina gave him a surly scowl. “Hello to Mr Tiptree here, he’s a fellow guest,” she said. Georgina had a nice voice, pit
ched low, but her tone was, if anything, even more sullen than her face.
Charlie laughed as Mrs Lane sighed. “Very droll,” he remarked, whilst she rushed to introduce him to her son, John, who merely grunted, and her husband, Arthur, who shook hands.
Charlie waved them off with the wish that they ‘have a nice day’, before sitting down to wait for Mary. He felt pleased with his achievements.
Mary was also impressed by his inventiveness. “Charlie, we will do whatever it was you wanted to do today as a reward,” she told him.
“Professor, as your humble research assistant, I have to be guided by your tastes do I not? We have to live in our parts, like method actors. So we do what you want. I’m sure it’ll be good for me.”
She had to concede that there was some logic in his argument – a relatively uncommon event in her experience.
“Then, Charlie, the National Trust beckons,” she told him. “Have you seen Lance yet?”
Chapter 6 – A Small Surprise (Year 1 – Early July)
Until that morning, Charlie and the properties under the care of the National Trust had been strangers to each other. By the end of the day, however, he was a convert. He loved chatting to the volunteers and they seemed to find him quite a novelty. So many of their visitors scuttled through the rooms, nodding politely to the guides but seemingly intent on getting maximum value for their annual membership by visiting as many properties as quickly as possible in any one day.
Charlie’s ability to natter was such that Mary and Lance ended up having to more or less physically remove him. Lance marched on ahead as he badly needed a pee.
“Charlie, it is delightful that you take pleasure in discussing the finer points of fabrics and their manufacture or preservation, but we do need to think about things that a little dearer to my heart.” Mary was trying to be severe but Charlie seemed so shocked that it was hard to maintain her front.
“Yes, Professor, of course but we are doing what you wanted to do. And, I’m just doing research. I shall be able to talk carving and carpets till the cows come home.”
“That’s splendid, Charlie, but it has little to do with anthropology. Had you picked on history as my subject then all your research today would not have been in vain. Do you actually know what anthropology is, Charlie?”
Charlie ignored the question as if it was beneath him. “Perhaps you could have changed disciplines recently. I just thought that anthropology was, you know, sort of obscure, so no one would have heard of you.”
Mary smiled and took his arm. “Anthropology is fine, Charlie, but we need to give ourselves some time to think – any more information on dusting, spring cleaning and furniture polish and I think I will scream and Lance will probably blow a fuse. Poor man, he’s been very patient.”
Charlie had a brainwave – just a small one. The matter so dear Mary’s heart, being delicate, had yet to be discussed with Lance. “You’re right, Mary. I’m being inconsiderate and it must stop. How about this for an idea? Why don’t we tell Lance all about it? He’s a military guy. They have all this training to help them think and he needs to avoid brooding. That’s why I’m pleased you were ok with him coming down here with us. He’d probably be back on too much of the hard stuff if I’d left him in the flat on his own.”
Mary was far from convinced by Charlie’s suggestion. “Lance strikes me as conventionally minded,” she said. “He was in the military as you say. They’re so conservative. I suspect he would still see Radclyffe Hall as a threat to the Empire.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. “Radclyffe Hall? Is that one of your National Trust Properties? Do they hold orgies there or something?”
Mary sighed. “Not exactly, Charlie. I don’t think you’ve got the hang of the National Trust yet, although I hope you’ve understood my point about Lance.”
“Lance is no older than you,” Charlie assured her. “But don’t worry. He was a professional. He’ll enjoy the challenge – it’s exactly what he needs. Don’t give it a second thought. Your liking for girls won’t worry him at all.”
“Charlie, are you sure?” Mary made a face at him. “You don’t know him all that well. I mean coming out to him, in the hope of his helping me to get close to a young lady. I don’t know, Charlie, is it quite the thing?”
“Of course, Professor, water off a duck’s back to Lance, I’m sure.”
Despite his confidence, Charlie was diffidence personified when he broached the subject with Lance, once he and Mary were comfortably seated in the back of the Bentley.
“Lance,” he began hesitantly, as they began to roll out of the car park.
“Yes, Charlie? You’re not going to test me on what sort of polish to use on mahogany are you because I’ll fail.”
“No, no, sorry, I got a bit involved. Won’t happen again I swear.” Charlie paused and cleared his throat. “Lance, er, you know that not everyone likes their bread buttered on the same side?”
Lance pondered Charlie’s question before responding, his eyes slightly narrowed.
“With ordinary sliced bread, Charlie, I can’t see how you’d know the difference between which side is which. If you mean a hand-sliced serving of a less evenly shaped loaf, a more unusual or exotic bread, such as a Pain de Campagne, proved with a wild yeast, the sort of thing our cooks used to knock up for us out in the field, then I could begin to understand what you’re getting it. Some people might prefer the smaller side buttered in preference to the bigger. I prefer the bigger side buttered myself. Is that what you meant?”
Charlie was momentarily distracted by Lance’s eloquence. It was puzzling although he couldn’t quite see why. “Did they really cook up stuff like that for you in the Army?”
Lance snorted. “Of course not. I was taking the piss. Did I give the right answer, Charlie? Do I get the prize?”
Charlie squirmed in his seat. “Not exactly, Lance, I was thinking more of the relations between the gents and the ladies, Lance.”
Lance pursed his lips. “Really?”
“Yes, Lance.” Charlie grasped the nettle. “In the sense that men might normally prefer the company of women, but, er, on occasion prefer the company of other men.”
Lance began to smile. “Got it, Charlie, rather like rugby players or golfers, you were thinking, or possibly tennis players?”
“Not quite there yet, Lance, especially not on the rugby front. I may not have explained myself clearly. I was more thinking in the sort of marrying or cohabiting way.”
Mary’s face was now a picture of horror. It was fortunate that Lance didn’t catch sight of her expression. He might have laughed.
“I think, Charlie, that I am beginning to catch your drift.”
“Thank God for that, Lance. And just as men might prefer men, there are women who might prefer women.”
“In the sense that Queen Victoria could not accept was possible, allegedly?”
“I daresay.” Charlie’s face was blank.
“Yes,” Mary squeaked.
“Then, yes.” Charlie had confidence in Mary’s wide breadth of knowledge.
Lance nodded, still smiling. “Yeah, I’m with you, Charlie. You mean ladies like those in Mary’s situation?”
Charlie and Mary stared at each other, mouths open. Lance could see Charlie’s face in the mirror and he chuckled. The round-eyed expression of surprise was quite something.
“But how did you know?” Mary’s astonishment was agreeably complete.
“Lance, she doesn’t wear dungarees and clogs or a leather jacket and big boots with a spiky haircut, or have tattoos. How on earth would you have found out?”
Lance emitted the faintest of sighs. “Charlie, not everyone gay advertises their inclination with such a lack of subtlety. Mary has a certain way about her.”
Charlie’s interest was piqued. “And you could spot that, Lance?”
Lance was smiling. “Yes, Charlie. Have you never heard the phrase ‘it takes on to know one’?”
Mary’s and Charlie’s
expressions now really did make Lance laugh. “I hope it’s not a problem,” he told them.
Charlie laughed out loud. “Ha, ha, ha. Well, Lance, Mary has clearly misjudged you. She thought you were a dyed in the wool bigot. Ha, ha, ha, I love it!”
Mary slapped Charlie’s thigh. “Oh Charlie.” She seemed puzzled but at the same time relieved.
“Bloody hell.” A thought had come to Charlie. “I’m in the minority here.”
Mary was frowning. “You two were winding me up were you? I think Lance was.” She poked him rather affectionately with her finger.
“No idea,” Charlie told her. “Really, Mary, I had no idea. We’re not a couple or anything.”
“No,” Lance told her. “I think he’s a great bloke but he’s not the type I sleep with.”
“Who is?” Charlie wondered.
“I’ll let you know one day,” Lance told him quietly. “I’m not really in the market at the moment.”
“How come you didn’t tell me?”
Lance shrugged. “Never really came up before, did it. Now seemed as good a time as any.”
Charlie was relieved for several reasons. Firstly, he didn’t recall making any casually homophobic remarks, secondly, he wasn’t Lance’s type so he wouldn’t find Lance pining after him or barging into the shower with a glint in his eye. Thirdly, and best of all, because Lance was gay he would be an enthusiastic ally.
“Well, excellent that you have the goods on Mary here and at least I know about you so I don’t make a fool of myself. Thing is, Mary is pretty certain that she’s fallen in love.”
“Well done,” Lance said. “And who’s the lucky girl?”
“The slim one with the lovely eyes staying in the hotel with her family,” Charlie told him.
Lance nodded and then frowned slightly. “She looks foul-tempered Mary, but she’s very attractive.”
Mary was pinker than usual by this point. “Thank you, Lance,” she told him awkwardly. “It’s just that I have no idea whether my feelings may be reciprocated.”
“Yes,” Charlie added cheerfully. “She doesn’t exactly want to rush up and declare her love on bended knee, only to get slapped down or watch mum and dad have a fit.”