by Ellis Major
Indeed, even Cole Porter failed to soothe Charlie, and he started to wonder aloud whether they should turn around and give up the whole dumb idea.
“It’s no distance now, Charlie,” Lance told him calmly. “And having come so far, it’d be a shame to abandon the idea now. Don’t forget to put it the way I suggested and it won’t be too painful. There may even be a few things we can do to help whilst we’re there.”
Lance’s words stiffened Charlie’s resolve.
“Yes, Lance, I’m sure you’re right. If I expect her to tell me to piss off then anything else is a bonus.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth. I doubt if she’ll say ‘fuck off’ unless she has a sick sense of humour.”
Charlie forgot his nerves as soon as he caught sight of the Hepple residence. A large Georgian rectory on the edge of the green in a small village, its wrought iron gates were chained shut and overgrown. Beyond them, the odd scrap of gravel could be spotted amongst the weeds which had completely colonised the entire area in front of the house.
The house itself was visibly neglected, stucco cracked in many places, covered in stains. One or two of the windows were broken, with shutters closed behind them.
“Lance, are you sure this is it?” Charlie muttered. “It looks derelict.”
“Quite sure, Charlie. This is the village and that’s a rectory if ever I saw one. Don’t forget she said to be sure we approached from the back of the house as the kitchen door’s the only one they can still open.”
“Jesus Lance, this is bad,” was all Charlie could say.
The substantial rear garden was tidier than the front. Although the borders were infested with weeds, a large area of lawn was neatly mown and a further section at the end of the garden had been turned over to vegetables, with a series of well-tended rectangular beds.
Rowena had obviously been watching out for their arrival. Charlie had barely put a foot onto the cracked and uneven flagstones when she opened the kitchen door and stepped outside.
She wore a rather shapeless floral print dress, an old frayed cardigan, hiking socks and battered old trainers. Her hair was a mess, loose blonde curls falling in all directions. She looked tired and pale and yet nothing could disguise her immense beauty. She was lovelier than Charlie recalled from their last meeting, and far more vulnerable. She didn’t look prickly to him. It was all he could do to stop himself putting his arms around her and hugging her – she looked as if she badly needed some affection. He resisted his urge. Best not to start off on the wrong foot.
“Hello Charlie.” She greeted him neutrally as he drew closer. “Nice of you to call in. We’re in a bit of a pickle at the moment. Father’s being awkward so come in while I just try and settle him, then we can sit in the garden.”
Charlie followed her through the bare and worn kitchen to a sparsely furnished room – just a few chairs, a table and a piano.
Rowena’s elderly father was standing staring out of the window. On hearing them enter, he turned, his eyes strangely blank until he caught sight of Charlie. There was a dull flare. For all his age, he was still a handsome man with a full head of rather tousled white hair.
“I like birds,” he quavered. “Are you a canary?” His eyes were on Charlie’s bright yellow blazer.
Charlie strode over and shook Mr. Hepple’s hand. “No, sir, Charlie Tiptree. Pleased to meet you.”
Mr Hepple stood there for a moment. Then a thought appeared to strike him. “Do you like jokes?” he demanded.
“I love a good joke,” Charlie told him cheerfully. He heard a slight groan from Rowena.
“Women are like fine wine,” Mr. Hepple told him. “You have to lay them down carefully when they’re young and then you can enjoy them to the full for many years.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” Charlie laughed politely. “That’s a good one.”
Mr Hepple cackled along and suddenly went quiet. He glanced out of the window and then back at Charlie. “I like birds,” he began again. “Are you a canary?”
“No father,” Rowena told him patiently. “Why don’t you sit down and have a rest?”
Mr Hepple allowed himself to be guided towards a chair but then abruptly stopped and shoved his daughter rather roughly to one side.
“Do you like jokes?” he demanded.
“Not ones I’ve heard before,” Charlie told him, a frown creasing his usually cheerful features.
Mr. Hepple ignored him and repeated his joke.
Rowena sighed. “He calms down if I play him a bit of music, but we’ve just had a misunderstanding with the electricity company.”
“What about the piano?” Charlie enquired.
“Hopelessly out of tune,” Rowena told him.
“That’s a shame. If only I had my tuning forks and so on.”
“They’re in the Bentley, remember,” Lance told him. “You thought the Boston’s piano would need some work as Angie would probably be breeding pigs in it.”
“Who are you?” Mr. Hepple demanded. “I don’t want double-glazing.”
“Er, no, Mr Hepple; there are probably higher priorities. Give me a minute.” Lance headed out of the room.
“Do you like jokes,” Mr. Hepple demanded on the general direction of Lance’s retreating back.
Mr Hepple’s joke was repeated several more times, accompanied by further cackles, until Lance returned and Charlie set to work.
Even the sound of Charlie’s tinkering seemed to soothe Mr. Hepple and he was persuaded to sit in his chair. By the time Charlie had sorted out the piano and reached the end of the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata, Mr. Hepple was soundly asleep.
Charlie and Rowena crept into the garden and seated themselves on the only serviceable piece of furniture, a battered bench down amongst the vegetables. Lance brought the hamper and withdrew ‘to keep an eye’ on Mr. Hepple. “I’ll fix anything I can whilst I’m about it,” he muttered. “Maybe tidy up out the front too.”
Rowena promptly burst into tears and Charlie took the risk of putting his arm around her shoulder to comfort her for a few moments whilst she sobbed into his blazer. He was still worried, though. She couldn’t knee him but would she go all irritated on him and bite his head off? She didn’t, though, and, after a minute or two, seemed to recover herself somewhat and apologised.
“Sorry Charlie,” she sniffed, gratefully accepting his proffered handkerchief. “I usually get that out of my system at night. I’ve made your blazer all soggy. Still, at least it’s good I can’t afford makeup. You’ve only got to dry the tears, not get the mascara out. You must have a sympathetic face.” She attempted a smile.
“Don’t worry,” Charlie encouraged her. He felt relieved. He might even have helped her let off steam. “I can see things aren’t exactly easy with your father. Now let’s see what’s in here. We can have a bit of a treasure hunt while you tell me about it. I do actually listen. You talk all you like. I’ve had plenty of practice with Lance. A trouble shared and all that.”
He opened the hamper whilst Rowena started to talk.
“It had all started to go pear-shaped well before my mother died, but that was the final straw,” she began, taking a plate. “My father was much older than my mother, of course. He’s seventy five now and she was only forty two when she died. Her parents strongly disapproved of him and they were right! He was charming and handsome, but he was a bad man; gambling, drinking, cheating people! My mother had a little money of her own, but her parents more or less cut her out of their Wills. My grandmother left a life interest in a property to her daughter so the income from that helped but that was all. Of course, that income stopped as soon as my mother died. At least mother left what little she had in a Trust for Freddie’s education. There was no way father could get his hands on that.”
“Freddie’s your kid brother as I recall?” Charlie asked. “Here, have a little caviar.”
“Yes, that’s right. He’s away at school and here I am, struggling to get by on father’s stat
e pension and what benefits we can get. We aren’t starving but it’s an awful battle, especially as father managed to mortgage the house somehow - the house was in my mother’s name and she paid for it! Something must be wrong in the loan paperwork but I have no money or time for lawyers now father has started going nuts.”
“You are having it rough, Rowena.” Charlie filled her glass with a drop of nicely chilled Chablis. “No family to help at all, I suppose?”
“Not a chance. There’s no-one on my father’s side that I know of and my mother’s side disowned her as I said.”
Charlie dug around in the hamper and came up with a variety of tasty surprises as Rowena continued with her tale of woe. Any picture, piece of crockery or stick of furniture with any value had been sold off bit by bit to help. Rowena had done her best to find part time work but she had no access to a car and the village publican had a jealous wife.
“You looked for work in a pub?” Charlie gasped.
“Well I’ve got the figure and the looks,” Rowena told him morosely. “I could work on roughening up the accent. The trouble is, even if I could find work, I would need to find a carer for father and they would cost more than I could earn.”
“Oh Rowena,” Charlie was shocked to the core that things might have reached such a pass. He involuntarily reached out and took her hand. Was that a bad move? No; she hadn’t reacted. “Didn’t Mary write to you?”
Rowena shook her head. “I got a very brief phone call from her mother just before she went on a cruise saying Mary had run off with a girl but no, I haven’t received a letter.”
Charlie frowned. “Funny, she said she was going to write to you.”
Rowena detached her hand from his but it was done gently. She didn’t seem annoyed. He watched her profile as she stared out across the garden. God, he thought, she was so beautiful. It was almost unreal. It was like sitting next to a dream.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Didn’t her mum say? Mary met Georgie when we went down to Devon.”
Rowena turned to face him and smiled slightly. “So she ran off and abandoned you.”
Charlie smiled back. It was impossible not to. “She said goodbye before she went, but she was worried about you. She asked me to help out if I could but she said she was going to write.”
“Lost in the post I suppose. Do you know, Charlie, I had no idea about Mary. We never talked about sex or that sort of thing. She never encouraged it. I thought she wasn’t interested.”
“It was love at first sight. I was there. It was heart-warming, Rowena, it really was, to watch it. I saw it happen.”
“So you’re here to help me are you Charlie.”
“If you’re interested I have a sort of proposal, well more of an opportunity.”
She frowned faintly. “Charlie, the answer is no.”
Charlie stared at her in puzzlement. “But you haven’t heard.”
“Charlie I’m not a fool. You turn up here out of the blue, dressed smartly, delicious picnic, ply me with wine, which is also very nice by the way, and then out of charity are going to ask me to marry you. You’re a kind soul, Charlie, to come running up here on your chivalrous mission after Mary was worried about me. I remember how kind you were after my mother died. But I simply couldn’t entertain marrying someone because they feel sorry for me.”
Charlie’s heart gave a great thump and a somersault at the prospect of what a frightful hash he’d nearly just made and how Lance would have ticked him off. What an idiot to use the word proposal! If she’d gratefully accepted he could have ended up in a right old mess. Lovely though she was, she really didn’t strike him as his type. And how could he have explained to her that marriage was the last thing on his mind. He started to wonder how he would turn her expectations around. He thought he’d go for a bit of flattery and self deprecation. He was good at that.
“Rowena,” he told her. “It never crossed my mind that someone as clever and beautiful as you would even look at a dim wally like me. I’m deeply flattered that you should even contemplate it. Anyway, I thought you hated men.”
“I don’t hate men. But that’s beside the point. Why are you here then?” This question was asked with the forceful practicality of a girl who has had to learn how to grow her own food. “I warn you,” she added. “No charity, however you dress it up.”
“I understand, Rowena. I may be dense but that’s sunk in.” He paused for a moment. “You just said you don’t hate men.”
“No I don’t. I’m not like Mary if that’s what you think. When I was younger I just hated the way they’d almost slobber over me. They only ever seemed to be after one thing. I wasn’t afraid to tell them what I thought of them. I’m still not!” She frowned, an expression that promptly changed into a mournful shrug.
“Mind you, now, stuck indoors in the rain, chilled to the bone, listening to father’s joke, I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss being admired every now and again.”
Charlie nodded and rummaged in the hamper once more. “Oh,” he exclaimed. “Try one of these little strawberry tarts. They look delicious.”
As Rowena nibbled and sighed, Charlie decided it was now or never. The wine had helped. He wasn’t as worried as he should have been. Alcohol was having its pernicious and deadly effect.
“Rowena,” he began cautiously. “You did mention that you’d even thought about doing bar work. Well some friends and I have an opportunity that is in that line of business, although a bit better remunerated.”
“A job in a bar in London? Charlie this isn’t terribly practical. What about my father?”
“He would probably be most comfortable here.”
“I couldn’t abandon him here to work in London.”
“You wouldn’t have to,” Charlie told her with a pleased smile.
“Charlie, those cakes are yummy and I would like another one, thank you. I would also like a glass of that dessert wine too. If I have some more to drink perhaps I can squeeze into your dream with you.”
“No dream, Rowena. One of my business associates (Charlie was pleased to be able to use that term) has a chopper. His pilot could pick you up here, whisk you into some heliport place in central London in no time and bring you back whenever your ‘shift’ was over. My associate is running the helicopter anyway, so it’s just the cost of the petrol that’s extra. And it wouldn’t need to go on for too long. Once you have a bit of dosh you can get proper carers in for your dad. It’s an opportunity. I thought I’d mention it. If you’re…”
Rowena narrowed her eyes slightly and interrupted. “Charlie, I can think of very few things that justify that sort of outlay, even if it’s ‘just the petrol’ as you say. The thing is, being a barmaid isn’t one of them. However...”
Charlie was a trifle lulled. She seemed quite relaxed. He pushed on. “Rowena, m’dear. I think you’ve almost got it. It’s work in the courtesan line of things.”
There was a silence. Charlie immediately began to regret what he’d said. He was suddenly felling horribly sober. He awaited the explosion and readied his metaphorical forces to beat a hasty retreat. There was no explosion, at least not an immediate one. Rowena’s expression was more pensive than anything else. Once more it occurred to Charlie that something discussed in the comfort of Mayfair was altogether different when you were faced with the reality and the consequences of what you’d just gone and done out in the field.
“A whore,” she sighed, at last. “What a lovely idea, Charlie. You’ve come all this way to suggest I become a whore. Did you not listen to what I just said about men?” She stared at him calmly enough but the contempt on her face would have frozen the blood of the most ardent suitor. Miss Prickly was back in residence.
No great surprise, Charlie thought, already inwardly shrivelled. He sought refuge in the line Lance had suggested. “Look, Rowena,” he explained. “I said it’s an opportunity. I thought I’d mention it. I didn’t think for a second you’d be interested but...” He taile
d off for a moment before backtracking further. “You could have made a lot of money, so I thought I’d, well…risk saying something about...” He tailed off. His instincts had been correct all along. This was going to be unpleasant. Even his bowels began to tremble. What an utter moron!!
Rowena remained very calm but the sarcasm in her voice made him cringe. Her expression began to change. “How very considerate of you, Charlie.”
It wasn’t the words that hurt. It was the sad and pitying expression in her eyes. That was worse than contempt.
“Look,” he muttered. “Can we rewind, forget I opened my mouth. Can I lend you some money?”
“You can’t unsay what you said Charlie.” She was shaking her head slowly, almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know you all that well, but I did think you were a bit different. I suppose you are, only not in a good way. After all, not all that many people set up a brothel so old men can pay money to screw people like me. Most people just want to screw me for themselves.”
Charlie hung his head. What use were all the trite arguments about meeting demand, and how if they didn’t someone else would, that the health and welfare of the girls would be a top priority? It was far worse that she wasn’t yelling at him. He could have felt a certain indignation. He could have told himself that she was over-reacting. This quiet contempt and disappointment made him squirm.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I’m so sorry. I was so stupid. There’s no point explaining why it’s happened or why I’m involved. I’m trying to help some people and I thought this might be an opportunity for you but it wasn’t and I’ve been a prize prat.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You have. And it’s worse that I felt better for seeing you. I don’t want anything from you now, Charlie. Pack your hamper and go. It’s so sad you could even think like that of me, it really is.”
It didn’t take Charlie long to throw everything into the hamper. She watched him impassively.
“Thank you, at least, for lunch,” she said, mechanically, as he stood up.