Charlie, the man with the Mercedes Sprinter van, was charm itself when Charlie Tindal called his mobile on Monday morning.
‘My friend, I’ll be glad to help.’ The voice was gruff, but welcoming. ‘Come and see me, I’ll have the Sprinter waiting for you. Maybe tomorrow, huh? You’ll find me at my office in Notting Hill Gate.’
Charlie put up a flurry of excuses. Tomorrow he would be seeing Bella, and their meeting would shape his future.
‘OK, my friend, make it Wednesday. Come about midday, and bring the missus: you’ll need somebody to take your car home. I’ll give you both a bite to eat.’
Charlie hung up with a frisson of excitement. He knew he was picking up a hand in a dangerous game, because the world offers no free lunches. Charlie plainly expected to profit. But he would eat, and Jennifer would eat, and he would drive a Sprinter. He would play his hand with the best of his skill, and run straight for cover if the game began to look risky.
Jennifer came home for lunch, and was equally suspicious. But a free van is a free van, and a free lunch is a free lunch, and she was really very keen indeed to get her hands on more chandeliers. Charlie could do all the negotating, and carry any cans that came clanking along behind.
Tuesday dawned. Charlie made a pot of fresh coffee and toasted a chunk of staling baguette. The sky was clear blue again, and it promised to be another hot day. He sighed. It was a pity he could not go to Springfield Road on his own, because he would be passing the Western International fruit and flower market on his way, and could have filled the Volvo with flowers. But he could always drop Jennifer at her shop and then double back, and perhaps the market traders would cut their prices once the day began to heat up. He would buy as many as he could afford, and pile them in the Volvo in a great heap of scent and colour, and then cover them with a sheet, so that Bella would only know them when he opened up the car.
Springfield Road was dirty and dusty and junky again. Jennifer picked up a couple of footstools for recovering, plus a Victorian pickle jar and a pretty cup and saucer. But they hardly seemed worth the trip. Charlie was silent as he drove her back to the shop, because he could think of nothing but seeing Bella again. Jennifer was also silent, trying to work out how she could get Charlie out of the house and invite Freddie for a tasty little lunch, possibly followed by a spot of seduction. She would have to wait for Charlie to drive to Seer Green again, because she was certain that he would. She could not swear he had bedded his woman, but she knew Charlie well, and scented a cloud of guilt enveloping him. If he bedded her once, he would bed her again, and she would gain a ground of her own choosing for slaughtering him.
She stared at him as she got out of the car. ‘What are you doing today?’
Charlie was prepared, and his eyes gave nothing away. ‘Tax returns.’
Jennifer sniffed. Charlie was good at cooking their books, and she never interfered. But he was telling her that he was taking the day off from working for the shop, and it was a bad sign. She thought for a moment of asking him whether he planned a trip to Seer Green, but pushed the thought away. She knew he would lie, if he planned any hanky-panky, and asking would only show weakness.
Charlie drove straight back to Western International. He had saved about thirty pounds, and planned to put on a good show. The covered flower market was a riot of colours, rows of geranium and pelargonia, great sheaves of iris and tulips and late narcissi. But he had roses in his mind.
He found plenty, but one merchant in particular had stems that were still barely open, in colours ranging from plain white through delicate primrose hues and shades of pink to rich warm reds, and the buds sang softly to themselves of love. Charlie began to a cardboard flower tray, and then a second and a third, laying the stems gently each on the other, until he had emptied his wallet.
The roses were not heavy, and he carried them out to the Volvo, covering them with the old duvet that Jennifer used to protect chandeliers, and they made the car a small paradise of scent, and his heart began to sing the same song.
Bella opened her front door as he halted on the gravel in front of her house. This time she was dressed in a long pale green cotton shift and sandals, and she lifted her face to be kissed. ‘You have been thinking of me?’ She spoke in French, and her words were a caress.
Charlie beamed, barely brushing her lips before answering in the same language. ‘I come with my hands as full as my heart.’
Bella stepped back, her eyes filled with excitement, and she was like a small girl. ‘A present?’ She spoke in English.
‘A few.’
‘A few? Where? Where?’ She ran to the Volvo, but the roses were covered and invisible. ‘What’s under that?’
Charlie preened himself. ‘A surprise.’
‘For me?’ She turned to him. ‘Oh, Charlie, is it something nice?’
He opened the Volvo’s hatchback with a flourish, and she lifted a corner of the duvet, folding it back gently until she had uncovered the cardboard trays, and then she turned to look at him, and her green eyes filled with fire.
For a moment she was silent, and then she raised her arms to fold them around Charlie’ neck, and stared deep, deep into him. ‘Oh, Charlie, I love you.’
He was confirming everything for which she had wished and hoped, and she knew that she had found a man with a true heart. Alan had brought gifts, on many occasions. But they had been Alan gifts, things of gold, bits of jewellery, things to impress. They had impressed her, at the start: she had been young, and he had been a man to turn a girl’s head. But love had always been a commodity for Alan, a thing to purchase and trade. She had accumulated boxes of jewellery, enough rings to cover all her fingers many times over. But she had never held his heart, and at the end she had learned a man’s heartlessness.
She pressed herself against Charlie as though to enter and hide in him, and then stood back, and made to lead him into the house. But Charlie held his ground. He had a Volvo filled with roses.
Bella giggled as she understood his reluctance. ‘Of course. Help me take them into the kitchen and put them in water.’
She found homes for the stems in a large bronze urn with a glass liner and a couple of china vases, placing them on the floor of a small larder to be cool. Charlie helped her, and they embraced again. Then she led him upstairs, turning to face him as she reached the door to her bedroom. ‘Do you want me now, Charlie?’
Charlie made no reply, but began to kiss her, caressing the side of her face with his lips, before bending a little to kiss Bella’s neck, stroking her shoulders with the tips of his fingers as he bent. Bella was silent: she had closed her eyes as though she were in a dream. He gently unfastened her green cotton shift, pushing it down to free her shoulders, so that her small breasts under her brassiere beckoned to him, freeing the catch so that they lifted out towards him, kissing each with equal gentleness, turning the tip of his tongue on each nipple to caress it into hardness.
Bella moaned softly, without moving.
Charlie knelt in front of her, pushing at her dress so that it fell around her ankles, and pressed his lips lightly on her stomach, dabbing his tongue gently at her navel as he eased her panties down over her buttocks, and cupped his hands around them, stroking between them with the tip of his forefingers.
He kissed her again, nuzzling at the hair between her legs, stroking his palms down the line of her thighs and calves, and she moaned again, bending forward to place her hand under his armpits, lifting him. He stood, and she unbuttoned his shirt, kissing him gently as he had kissed her, standing back for a moment as she unfastened his belt and pushed his chinos down over his hips. She touched him gently, encircling his manhood with her hand.
‘Come, my love, and love me.’
They lay together, and they were again in the first heat of their loving. Charlie looked down at her, sinking into her eyes, moving himself gently at first, and then with increasing ardour. He knew the fire mounting like a gathering wave in his body was about to flare and break, but it was not a concern, because he was holding her tightly, and then Bella’s rhythm quickened, and she was moving against him in a kind of frenzy, and moaning, but now her moaning was the keening of an animal, and then then her keening broke into a long sigh, and they both lay enlaced and silent.
Bella kissed him gently. ‘I love you.’ She spoke in French. ‘I give you my heart, for always.’
Charlie kissed her. He was loved, and he could not ask for more.
They lay close, before coming together again and giving themselves, each to the other, and their giving made the best gift that man can give to woman, and woman to man. Time passed, or perhaps time stood still, but it was of no account. They were joined together, and both wished their joining could last forever. They dozed, and slept, exhausted from loving, before waking again, to be caught up again in a cycle of birth and rebirth, of dying and resurrection, and they knew they were learning each other.
But shadows began to move acrossed the walls of Bella’s bedroom, and Charlie felt a nagging feeling in his stomach. He raised himself a little to snatch a quick glance at the little carriage clock on Bella’s bedside table, and saw that it was well past time for lunch.
Bella folded her arms around his neck and pulled his head back down against her. ‘Do you want to leave me now?’ Her voice was light, but it held an undertone of concern.
‘I’m hungry.’
‘You don’t want to go back to your wife?’
‘I don’t want ever to go back to her.’ He paused. ‘But I would like a sandwich.’
She raised herself, resting her weight on her elbow, and her green eyes flashed. ‘More than me?’
Charlie closed his arms around her. ‘I love you.’
‘But more with a sandwich?’
He nodded, because he could not deny it. He was in love, but he was also hungry, and his hunger was a distraction. He kissed Bella, but his mind had been captured by another demand.
‘Oh, men.’ Bella’s voice filled with exasperation. She rolled away from him to sit on the edge of the bed and pull her shift over her head. ‘You are all such...’ She paused, searching for a word. ‘Such pragmatic creatures.’
Charlie eyed her hopefully. ‘I could make it.’
She stood looking down at him and smiled. ‘No, sweetheart.’ Now she spoke in English. ‘I must not let my lover starve.’ She stretched so that was standing so that the cotton of her pale green shift lay taut against her breasts. ‘I will make you do the washing up.’
Charlie dressed slowly. He would wash up, and dry up, and clean house, if need be. He felt as as though he had come home after a long journey.
Bella was already busying herself in her kitchen as he joined her. It was a big, open, modern space of a room, looking out through a picture window onto a lawn stretching away into shrubs in varying shades of gold and green. She had begun to prepare a salad on a work surface, and he stood watching, feeling that he ought to make some contribution. She paused, eyeing him, and he spread his hands a little helplessly. ‘I feel I should help.’
She thought for a moment, and then points at a small electric grinder. ‘Grind some coffee. You’ll find the beans in the fridge, the cafetiere’s in there.’ She tapped a cupboard, busying herself with her salad again.
Charlie ground beans and filled a kettle, and she paused for a moment in her work. ‘Are you always so helpful?’
Charlie moved to kiss her, but she twisted away. He kissed her bare shoulder instead, standing behind her so that he could cup his hand under her breast, and he felt the warmth of her body through the cotton, but she twisted away again.
‘No, Charlie.’ Her green eyes sparkled. ‘Kisses are not a good idea, not if you want something to eat.’ She waved at a drawer. ‘You’ll find knives and forks in there: you can lay the table.’ She waved at a table in front of the picture window. ‘Then you can open a bottle – you’ll find a corkscrew in the drawer next to the cutlery, and there’s a winerack in the little scullery, it’s the door next to the kitchen.’ She pointed with a knife. ‘Open one of the white bordeaux – they’re nice and light – and you’ll find glasses in the big cupboard behind me.’ Another wave, and she was smiling with all the freshness of a teenage girl. ‘That should keep you busy for a moment.’
Charlie eyed her hopefully, and she shook her head. ‘But no kisses, not until lunch is ready. Otherwise we’ll never get anything to eat.’
Charlie busied himself, and returned to the kitchen to find two plates on the table laid with thick slices of ham, a large salad bowl, and a platter piled with various kinds of cheese. Bella had taken off her apron, and now she stood by the table, and she was waiting. He kissed her gently, and his kiss was a measure of his engagement.
The ham was what the French call ‘jambon blanc’, the salad a bowl of torn lettuce and chicory and endive, dressed with olive oil and lemon juice and garlic, and the cheeses were all French, and it was as though they were already eating in France. Bella glanced at Charlie from time to time to make sure that he ate with pleasure, and he smiled at her, because his smile marked his enjoyment.
They talked about their lives as they ate, and Charlie learned that she had first grown up in France, and then gone to school at Mayfield, a girl’s public school in Kent, returning to France for her holidays.
‘I married early.’ Bella paused between mouthfuls of cheese. ‘Alan was an up and coming young businessman, and very dynamic. He swept me off my feet. I was young and pretty, and he wanted a trophy wife. We discovered after a couple of years that I couldn’t have children, but it didn’t seem to bother him: he wanted a woman to handle his diary.’ Her mouth tightened, turning down at the corners. ‘He built his own computer business and he was very successful. Then the dot.com boom came along and he cashed in. Suddenly he had pots of cash, so he found himself a younger woman.’
Now her voice had a hard, bitter edge again. Their eyes met, and suddenly she had shed her sparkle, and her eyes were chips of stone emerald, unyielding and unforgiving as she stared at him, and she spoke very quietly. ‘You face a risk with me, Charlie. You must stay with me with forever, if you choose to come with me, because no man will ever cheat me again.’
Charlie was silent for a moment. Tthen he took a deep breath, because he had also made up his mind, and his decision would be irrevocable. ‘I’ll come with you.’ He spoke slowly, measuring his words deliberately. ‘I just need to go home and get my passport.’
Bella shook her head. ‘No. You must meet this man tomorrow and go and get your wife’s chandeliers.’
Charlie shrugged.
‘No, Charlie.’ She reached out to take his hand. ‘You have promised to do this for her, and you must do it. Bring the van back filled with chandeliers, and then come to me, and stay with me. We will go to France together, and I will make you happy.’
‘I’ll get a job.’
‘No, Charlie.’ Bella shook her head. ‘You must go back to what you do best. I have asked several people, and they said you have a flair for making money. I will have money to manage, and you must manage it for me, and we will split the profits. You will have something to keep you busy, and something to stand you on your own two feet.’
Charlie felt tears prickle in his eyes. He was in middle age, and a new life beckoned. He stood to kiss Bella, and for a moment they were entwined. Then she stood back. ‘Now we must wash up.’
Later – but rather later, after they have lain together again, making love in the late afternoon sun - he returned home with Bella filling his mind. One life was ending, and a new life was about to begin.
Jennifer reached the house a few minutes after his return, but Charlie was already in the kitchen, with a bottle of claret opened and a glass half drunk, making pasta with garlic sauce. He needed to be busy, if he he was not to give himself away. He had also taken the precaution of opening a bottle of chablis, and storing it away in the refrigerator, because Jennifer was always most suspicious when stone cold sober. He took the bottle quickly from the refrigerator as he heard a key in the front door, and had Jennifer’s glass filled and waiting as she entered the kitchen.
Jennifer pecked him on the cheek a little absentmindedly, because she had enjoyed a good day, and sold well. She sipped chablis, and it made a really pleasant celebration cup. But she watched with a twinge of doubt as Charlie immediately refilled her glass. This was a little too quick. He also seemed distant, and he was flagging guilt.
Charlie beamed. He had begun a new life, and Jennifer could screw herself. ‘Good day?’
She drank more chablis. Charlie might have strayed, but the wine was delicious, and she could be equally short. ‘Nine hundred.’
‘How nice.’
Jennifer frowned. Charlie was normally enthusiastic when she did well, because they were partners. But now he did not seem to care much any more, and she knew he had been somewhere, and done something, outside his normal behaviour. Suspicions fell into place, like pieces in a jigsaw, and she knew instinctively that he had been with his woman again. She took a generous fresh sip of chablis, and wondered how to confront him. But now she was drinking too fast, and she had passed the point where she could slice into him with precision.
She spoke, but it was a disembodied Jennifer talking. ‘I sold a couple of chandeliers.’ She listened to herself, and heard her voice slipping, just a little. She sipped again, but her glass was full, as though she had never touched it, and she realised that Charlie was doing his best to made her drunk. ‘I think I need to sit down.’
Charlie returned to his pasta, peeling five large cloves of garlic and popping them into a little muslin bag, so that the cloves would not get lost, before dropping the bag along with the pasta into boiling salted water. Then he placed a small tub of Flora on a strainer over the pasta, waited for the margarine to liquefy, pulled out his boiled garlic and mashed it in, adding salt and pepper. Nice with a good solid red. He sipped some more claret. Life was good, and life was going to be wondrous, and he was going to eat well, and sink the rest of the claret, and devil take the hindmost.
They ate in silence. Jennifer was suspicious, and knew she should accuse, but her words blurred within her. He had been with his woman, and bedded her for sure, but she felt powerless. She would have to pour her heart out to Freddie, because fate was playing against her. But something would have to give, and give very soon.