Charlie Had His Chance

by Ellis Major

  “Lance, of all people,” she told them. “Is not so much worried as a bit concerned abaht ‘im.”

  Cora was nodding. “I think I know what you’re going to say.”

  “Yeah, well I dint barely know ‘im much before the Club woz set up so I doan know. Lance reckons ‘e’s a bit dahn on account of this girl ‘e tried to bring in.”

  “Well we can hardly claim to know him well but he is definitely quieter than when he visited us in Scotland,” the Duke confirmed.

  “Oh yes,” Cora confirmed. “Very subdued. Lost a bit of his spark.”

  Babs nodded. “I fought so. I did fink abaht asking some of ‘is mates abaht it, like that Geoff an’ that bleedin’ idiot, Roddy, but, yer know, I fought wot’s the point, ‘specially that Roddy.”

  “Rather a waste of breath, I would agree,” said the Duke.” Charlie does strike me as an altogether more agreeable person than them. Lance has told me he owes him a great deal. He was at the end of his tether when he bumped into Charlie.”

  “Yeah, ‘e said the same ter me, Lance. An’ ‘e’s not the only one is ‘e.” Babs clicked her teeth. “’e ‘elps aht a bleedin’ drug dealer because ‘e’s a mate. I tell you, that Roddy! I’m sure ‘e’s still up to ‘is bleedin’ tricks. I fahnd some bleedin’ cocaine in the ladies a few weeks back. I ‘ad to read the bleedin’ riot act to the ‘ole bleedin’ staff an’ guess ‘oo looks bleedin’ guilty. I ‘ate drugs. I’ve seen wot they do. So many women go on the bleedin’ game ter pay fer ‘em. I told ‘em all, staff, owners, the bleedin’ lot before we even bleedin’ opened. This is gonna be clean I told ‘em.”

  “Surely not,” Cora cried. “After you told him that. It’s appalling.”

  Babs half laughed. “I saw Charlie and Geoff ‘avin’ a word so I sent Lance over. Lance doan like Roddy. I fink ‘e did that look of ‘is an’ that weird smile. More effective than a ten minute chat from Charlie an’ Geoff I’d say.”

  “So you think poor old Charlie got an earful from this girl, do you?” Cora was frowning.

  “Yer. ‘e doan wanna talk abaht it. Lance says it’s a mate of this Mary woman ‘oo ran off with a girl ‘oo was tagged an’ all that crap.”

  Cora laughed. “I had heard something about that. It sounds like a real hoot. I heard Charlie went up the ladder and met some worthy Yorkshire matron in a baby doll nightie. Can you imagine!!”

  Babs tittered “I’d ravver bleedin’ not. I prefer me Yorkshire puddin’ on the bleedin’ plate. Point is I fink Charlie was supposed to keep an eye on this girl whilst this Mary was away an’ the invitation sort of crept up on ‘im. ‘e got a flea in ‘is ear an’ so ‘e’s feelin’ bad.”

  “This Mary will be back before long though, surely.”

  “Prob’ly, but Charlie’s prob’ly worried abaht wot she’ll ‘ear when she’s back, an’ all.”

  Cora’s eyes widened. “Oooh, yes. Another flea in the ear in the making.”

  “Exacterly. I wondered if you’d got any foughts. I like ‘im. ‘e doan try it on wiv the girls at all which ‘e could if ‘e wanted, an’ I do luv some of the things ‘e sings. ‘e’s a good lad.”

  “I know exactly what he needs,” Cora announced. “A nice girl, someone to take his mind off his woes. Some love interest, not just nooky.”

  “Well, yeah, I mean if ‘e was just after nooky, we’ve got abaht as much variety ‘ere as he could ‘ope for.”

  “Of course,” Cora agreed. “A very impressive range indeed. But no, Charlie is something of a romantic, underneath all that easy-going exterior. You’ve seen his face, Babs, when he sings.”

  “Yeah, I know luv. But I ain’t abaht to introduce ‘im to the girl of ‘is dreams am I, not ‘ere?”

  The Duke was rubbing the lobe of his ear in a very thoughtful, aristocratic fashion.

  “Who is he, Cora,” he asked the Duchess. “That fellow we visit no more than once every couple of years because he insists on having all his parties when we’re at our busiest, the silly blighter? I saw an invitation the other day from the chap.”

  Cora gave a cry of delight. “Sir Michael Gold. He’s well known for his parties. They last all weekend and he has hordes of different people at them. He’s a raving queen but he loves young women almost more than he does young men, though you’d never believe it if you met him. And the great thing is they aren’t all drawn from a small Mayfair and Chelsea set.”

  “Blimey, Cora,” Babs muttered. “I doan want ‘im to move aht of Lundun. ‘oo’d play the bleedin’ pianner for me?”

  Cora laughed. “Not everyone has their own castle and is happy in it like we are, Babs. A lot of young ladies would welcome the opportunity to move into a large flat in Mayfair. Scotland is a wonderful place, but the English provinces can be a trifle dull.”

  “True enuff,” Babs conceded, thinking that a manhunt through, say, Milton Keynes might liven it up but would be harder to keep private than when you owned many square miles of almost uninhabited land, as well as all those few people who dwelled thereon.

  “I could call Sir Michael,” Cora suggested. “You could prime Lance to push him along a bit when the invitation arrives and, if nothing else, he might have a bit of fun. I’m sure if I ask nicely, he’ll be invited. Even if he’s a bit down, Charlie is still fun and he’ll soon liven up with a few pretty girls around. It’s just what he needs, Babs.”

  Babs was nodding. “I fink you’re right, Cora, sweet’eart. It’s time Charlie ‘ad a bit of luv in ‘is life. Let’s ‘ope ‘e finds it at this Gold bloke’s place then.”

  “We’ll keep our thinking caps on,” Cora declared. “What sort of girl do you think he likes, Babs? You’re the expert on that front. We can keep our eyes open too, even from a distance.”

  The Duke suddenly smiled. “Do you really think you can tell?”

  Babs pursed her lips. “I’ll stick me neck out,” she said. “’e likes you Cora, an’ ‘e likes Evie, so I’d say a sense of humour is very important to our Charlie an’ fer looks I’d say he’d go for wun end of the spectrum or the other. Eiver very dark, Cora, like you, or blonde, like this wun aht in bleedin’ Norfolk.”

  The Duke pondered for a moment. “Do you know,” he murmured. “I was considering a small wager, but I think you may be right.”

  “Well there yer go,” cried Babs, with a cackle. “Fools seldom differ.”

  Chapter 11 – Echoes (Year 1 – Late September)

  Charlie was singing more or less to himself as he played The Echo of a Song in Sir Michael Gold’s spacious music room. Babs, Cora and the Duke would have been disappointed thus far with the outcome of their minor plottings. Charlie had been subdued. He’d found the atmosphere a trifle too affected for his taste.

  Everyone seemed that fraction too keen to make themselves heard, and there was much networking in progress. Charlie didn’t really do networking, not consciously, and certainly not in the vaguely feverish way it was being done at Sir Michael’s weekend. It hadn’t been too bad at all but it hadn’t been too good either. There was plenty to watch at least.

  However, Sir Michael might like pretty girls but he liked them around him constantly, not slinking off with anyone else. And, though Charlie might have found any number of those young ladies present attractive to look at, there’d been no spark during any of the brief exchanges, Sir Michael’s egocentric requirements notwithstanding. Charlie didn’t, it seemed, have much to offer, being neither wildly handsome nor wildly dynamic, or in a position to advance them in any way. They smiled and moved on, as did most of the ‘creative’ men. So Charlie drifted away from the marquees outside and was, almost inevitably, drawn to the piano. As he played, his back was to the door. He was unaware that he’d gathered an audience of two until the applause began.

  Charlie turned with a smile and almost died. He thought for a moment that Rowena had walked into the room. No, it wasn’t her, but the thought of it filled him with horror. Charlie had stopped obsessing over how crass he’d been, but a reminder like
this brought it all flooding back. He’d considered picking up the phone on several occasions, but he had to be honest with himself and accept that cowardice had prevented him from actually doing so.

  It annoyed him that he couldn’t completely banish it from his head, the whole sorry business. Everything else was great. Lance was calmer than at any time, less prone to sudden bloody reminiscences, and the club was going fine. Fate, having been thwarted, had turned to easier meat – corrupt politicians – and another major scandal was enlivening the media. Evie had received a proposal of marriage from Mr Reeves senior, his wife having left him three years before, citing his priggish sanctimoniousness as grounds for divorce. Evie had politely declined Mr Reeves’ proposal but agreed a long term discount rate for a regular thrashing. Mr Reeves’ hypocrisy had been kept from his son out of courtesy but, regardless, Mr Reeves had been comprehensively neutralised.

  “You were in your own little world weren’t you Charlie.” Wendy Gale, dark and petite with an elfin face, was smiling at him. Charlie knew Wendy, although he would hardly have numbered her amongst his friends. He’d noticed her amongst the guests earlier in the weekend and had been careful not to approach too close. There was some ‘history’ and she hadn’t exactly burst into smiles when she’d first seen him from the opposite side of the juggling troupe out on the ‘Rose Lawn’.

  He wondered why she was smiling now, given her reaction when he’d been honest, although less than complimentary, when they’d last met. Wendy had singing pretensions and requested a frank opinion from Charlie. Charlie had delivered his verdict as tactfully as he knew how, having accompanied her for five songs. In the final analysis, she wasn’t bad, but she wasn’t good. She could more or less hold a tune but she lacked expression and substituted a sort of breathiness for genuine emotion. His verdict had not been well received. There weren’t any tears but there was a distinct frostiness in the air and a definite hardness about her eyes.

  At least she’s smiling, he thought. Hopefully, others have told her the same thing as me and she’s been reconciled to not treading the boards as Mimi at La Scala. She’s obviously decided to bury the hatchet.

  The other young lady was new to Charlie and was altogether more impressive – to Charlie’s eyes anyway. That from a distance he thought for a second she might be Rowena was revealing. She was blonde, pretty, curvaceous and not afraid to show more than a hint of her curves. Her hair was long and loose. Her colouring was fair so her hair might even be natural. Her eyes were pale blue and her lipstick was a deep red. Her eyelashes were dark and her lips were soft. The closer she came and the more he saw, the more it was clear that she wasn’t Rowena, but then Rowena was one of a kind.

  “Hello Charlie.” Her voice was a pleasant contralto. She held out her hand.

  “Francesca Evesham, Charlie Tiptree. I thought you two should meet.”

  Charlie had no objection at all to such an idea and thought he should make conversation. “Why’s that Wendy; does Francesca teach Special Needs?”

  Both girls laughed merrily at such a thought.

  “You see,” Wendy told Francesca. “I told you he was fun.”

  “I do my best,” Charlie smiled. “Does Francesca enjoy the old stuff then? You were clapping.”

  “I love the old songs,” Francesca declared softly. “I have been known to sing now and again but I’m not much good. Daffy is my biggest audience.”

  Charlie affected his most winning grin. “Lucky old Daffy.”

  He wondered if the reference to singing would cause any tension but Wendy was unmoved, continuing to smile faintly. Water under the bridge, Charlie concluded. Francesca smiled archly at Charlie’s words.

  “Francesca does some modelling on and off, although her father isn’t all that keen,” Wendy explained. “She has a few assignments coming up in London, and you being in Mayfair I thought if she was at a loose end she could give you a call and you could show her some of the sights.”

  “You wouldn’t mind looking after a country girl like me would you, every now and then?” Francesca’s expression had the merest hint of nervous plea. “London can be lonely, can’t it?”

  Charlie was stunned that a girl of Francesca’s looks should be worried about coming to London.

  “I’d be delighted to stop you getting lonely,” he declared, immediately. “Got your phone – I’ll give you my number. Where are you staying, Dorchester, Claridge’s, Savoy?”

  Francesca laughed. It was, thought Charlie, a laugh he could get used to.

  “No Charlie, my average modelling fee doesn’t run to that sort of place. I have an elderly aunt in the suburbs somewhere.”

  Charlie’s face fell. “You poor thing. I have plenty of room in my flat but if your father worries about you modelling then he’s not going to take to you sharing a flat with two men, however proper and above board it is.”

  Francesca smiled. “Very kind of you Charlie to think of it, but he is on the old fashioned side. Perhaps if you had a sister who lived with you it might be different but two men, oh no, and I couldn’t lie to him. He’d be sure to come and inspect.”

  “Jesus,” Charlie muttered. “He does sound strict.”

  Wendy glanced at her watch. “I’m glad we caught you Charlie. I have to run Francesca to the station.”

  Francesca smiled bewitchingly at Charlie as they shook hands once more, her fingers lingering a second or two longer than necessary.

  “Charlie, I’ll call you. Bye for now.”

  She does seem like a nice girl, Charlie told himself as he settled back down at the piano. Friendly and a very nice laugh. Unbidden the next song came into his head: Happy Days are Here Again.

  As the afternoon progressed, Sir Michael’s weekend house party gradually broke up. Those who were gainfully employed turned their minds towards the grind of another week, and their vehicles towards home. As someone who had never been burdened by the black depression of a Sunday evening, Charlie was amongst the last to depart, mainly though because Lance had got caught up in traffic. Captain Savage had been to a Regimental dinner and had taken several cases of the fine Kirkness Malt from the flat before dropping Charlie off and making away with Kali. He was very apologetic for his late arrival but found Charlie was in a brighter mood than of late.

  “Met a nice girl,” he informed Lance as they drove through the gates onto the main road.

  “Oh yeah?” Lance’s headache had almost subsided but he was not at his most chatty.

  “Francesca Evesham,” Charlie told Lance. “She’s a friend of a girl called Wendy Gale whose singing I criticised a while back. Thought I might have made an enemy but she seems ok. God, Lance, when I turned around I thought for a second that Rowena had walked in. I nearly had heart failure. Blonde, rather pretty I’d say. Can’t have been staying or I’d have seen her at dinner. Must have just come for the barbecue.”

  Lance grunted. “Wouldn’t have thought there were too many girls around who resemble Rowena.”

  “No. Not as spectacular, or as stunning close up but, you know, very pretty and she seemed very nice. I didn’t get the impression she’d shout at me if I said the wrong thing.”

  “And let me guess, from your mood of barely suppressed excitement you think you might see her again?”

  “Quick on the uptake, Captain, even if you’re a bit under the weather. That was why Wendy introduced us. Like Wendy, Francesca isn’t a London girl but she will be in London from time to time and Wendy thought that I could entertain Francesca now and again. I can’t see it being any hardship and, if nothing else, she may become a bit of a friend. You know I miss Pammy and Mary. It’s great having you staying, Lance, but you’re not a girl, of course.”

  “Ahha,” said Lance.

  “I don’t want to be premature but you never know. If I play my cards right I could scent a romance in the air.”

  “Take it easy Charlie. You’ve only just met her.”

  “No, Lance, I know that, but she did laugh at a couple of t
hings I said.”

  Lance blinked. “Don’t get too carried away, Charlie. It’s not unknown for people to laugh at a joke out of politeness.”

  “Lance, you are not your usual bundle of positive vibes today.”

  “I guess not Charlie but you’ve certainly perked up since I dropped you off and that’s no bad thing.”

  Chapter 12 – Contact (Year 1 – Late September)

  Some days elapsed before Charlie heard from Francesca. She called him and asked whether he’d mind keeping her company for an hour or two one afternoon.

  “I have two shoots and nothing to do in between,” she explained. “And I don’t want to sit on my own in a coffee shop, not if you’re available, anyway. Are you free Charlie? Could you keep me company?”

  Charlie was delighted to hear her voice and was certain he had nothing planned that could not be rearranged. They agreed a rendezvous in Piccadilly and Charlie was ten minutes early.

  Heads turned as she tripped over to him with a wave and a smile. The wind had messed her hair around and put a pink flush in her cheeks. Her eyes were sparkling and her smile was warm. She kissed Charlie on the cheek and, before she sat down, slipped off her white coat to reveal tight jeans and a soft, figure-hugging top.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she whispered. “I took too long getting dressed.” She reached over and tapped his wrist with her forefinger. “And before you go getting the wrong idea Charlie, I model lingerie, nothing naughtier than that.”

  It was a nice place Charlie had selected – they had waitresses, and one even approached conveniently at that point to take an order.

  “You having a pastry?” Charlie asked as Francesca ordered some amazingly fancy coffee.

  “God no,” she sighed. “I have to be so careful with my weight. You have one and I’ll have a nibble.”