So Close, But So Far
Phyllis Baxter is thankful that she didn't drink last night, that she enjoyed the party at the Frolicking Fox with only a little something fizzy. Elsie knows that there is a story there, something in Ms. Baxter's past but Isobel Crawley highly recommended her, and Phyllis' work has been excellent so she has said nothing. Elsie is confident that Mrs. Crawley's knows her business; that she takes care to place her girls with well suited employers, especially considering that the women her shelter takes in are fragile; that they have been battered, abused, perhaps have substance or alcohol addiction. Mrs. Crawley feeds them, teaches them a skill if they need it, shows them compassion; she provides them a suit or two of business clothing and helps them to find employment. Phyllis been with Elsie over a year and they get on very well together; Phyllis' work ethic matching Elsie's measure for measure.
Morning has come early and Phyllis has already packed her bags, everything she will need for a fortnight, and is helping Elsie to select the things that she will need as well. This will be the first time that Phyllis will accompany Elsie to America, as they make their way on a busy press tour down the east coast. Usually Elsie travels alone, but this trip is more important, the stakes are higher and she needs Phyllis to sit in with her on meetings, to take notes for her. Not that Elsie doesn't remember every single word that is said to her, not that she cannot, will not hold her own in the myriad of meetings that she will take in New York, but Phyllis will take notes, remember specific things that she knows only Elsie will make reference to.
Elsie has not told anyone save Phyllis and her mother that they are to meet Cora Crawley's brother, Harold Levinson while they are in New York. She has not told Beryl, well, because Beryl is Beryl and though she means well, Elsie know that she'll tell her to go ahead with the venture. Take all the cash that Levinson has to offer her. That she should stick away for a rainy day, buy a house, take a vacation, or save her retirement. But Elsie just can't sell out, not that easily and not to the likes of Harold Levinson. He wants the movie rights to her book and wants to make it into a television mini-series. Elsie isn't sure that she wants to see her book co-opted into a mini-series; it will mean a great deal of money, yes, but she knows that it may also mean that the finished product will hardly resemble her novel, especially if Harold has any part of it. She does not think too much of the Countess' younger brother, all brash and outspoken; out for a buck, the fastest and cheapest way that he can make it. And he has made mountains of them turning perfectly nice novels into hastily made vehicles starring American "movie stars" doing awful British accents. She is hoping that if he elects to turn Queen and Country into a movie that he will do it right, team with a British production firm, hire the right people and attempt to make a decent production of it. Elsie has not told anyone, but she is hoping to hold out for a small firm, one who makes nice, period pieces with respected actors and takes care with the production values. She hopes that her agent, Mr. Barrow, can come through with something before she has to make a decision.
"The purple is nice, don't you think?" Phyllis asks, holding it up for Elsie's approval. Elsie nods and Phyllis lays the dress across the bed, folding it carefully before packing it in the suitcase. It is the last thing to go in and she ticks it off her list.
"You've the tickets and the itineraries?" Elsie asks, though she knows the answer.
"I do, they are in my case," Phyllis answers with a smile. "The party was nice last night. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. Your Mr. Carson is very nice."
"Now don't you start too," Elsie replied, a little more sternly than she meant to, hearing her mother's voice lace her own. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the younger woman's eyes drift away; Elsie reaches out, touches her arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. He is very nice isn't he? But he isn't mine." Phyllis' smile returns and they natter on about this and that. When the telephone rings, Phyllis steps into the living room to answer it and when she does, Elsie dumps the contents of her handbag on the bed, tosses out what she doesn't need, keeps those things she does.
Elsie hopes that there will not be two weeks' worth of talk about Charles Carson because she has already spent one night thinking about him. She's barely slept; what with the slight headache behind her eyes and the thoughts of Charles running rampant through her mind, she's had barely three hours. She tosses some receipts into the bin, collects the tubes of lipstick, and puts them into her bag, along with her keys, her wallet, the little notebook and fountain pen that she keeps handy. She hears the conversation in the other room, knows that it must be Barrow; he is sending his car for them, to take them to the airport. She had hoped to hear from Charles, but he has told her that he has the test cricket today. She knows that he will be busy and that he owes her nothing. However, she lay awake thinking about him. About his smoky eyes and smooth voice, about his song choice and how she'd nearly made a fool of herself. Of how his fingers felt wrapped around hers, how she might nearly convince herself that her 'At last' had finally come.
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Elsie is thankful that the car ride to Heathrow is uneventful. She asks the driver to tune the radio to the test cricket broadcast. Thomas opens his mouth to make a remark, wants ask why Elsie is suddenly interested in cricket when Ms. Baxter distracts him, asks him about his previous travels to New York. Mr. Barrow is regaling Ms. Baxter with tales of his last visit to New York; Elsie looks out the window to keep from rolling her eyes directly in Thomas' face. She doubts that Thomas is as cosmopolitan as he likes to pretend, doubts that he has rubbed shoulders with all famous individuals that he claims. Despite the bravado, one thing she does know is that he is good at what he does; she does not surround herself with anyone who is not.
While Thomas chatters on, Elsie attunes her ears to radio and hears two men, voices that she does not recognize, then a name she does; a man called Charlie Grigg but the man he is talking with is not Charles, but is another man called Spratt. Elsie's heart flutters and she knows that she remembers correctly. Charles told her that he had the test cricket today and that his broadcast partner is Charlie Grigg. All that she can think of is what might have become of Charles Carson.
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Charles Carson rolls his feet off his couch, plants them on the floor, and rubs his hand threw his hair and down and across his neck. He is stiff, from the walk home, from sleeping on the couch, from sleeping in his street clothes and shoes. He groans when he remembers what happened the night before, when he found Grigg and Alice together. He had laughed in their faces, as if he expected to find her with someone, and he had, to some degree, just not Grigg. He knows that something has been wrong for some time; he just has not known what exactly was wrong. He still doesn't know exactly what went wrong or when, just that she does not want him and maybe she never has.
Charles toes off his shoes, pulls off his shirt and vest, his pants and trousers, and steps into the shower. The hot water beats down in steady pulses on his shoulders and he instinctively leans against the shower so that the water runs hard against his right shoulder, the one that betrays him. The one that reminds him that he isn't getting any younger, the one that ruined his chances of a long playing career. The scene from last night continues to haunt him, Alice with Grigg and Grigg's smug indignation. Surely, Grigg is to blame. Surely, Grigg seduced her, Charles reasons. He's seen Grigg in action enough. Whispering sweet nothings in a young lass' ear, telling her anything, everything she wants to hear. Buying her things, pretty things all so that he can take her to bed and then toss her to the side when he is done with her and moved on to someone else. How could Alice be so stupid? It must be because of low self-esteem Charles reasons with himself as he shifts in the shower allowing the water to warm his back, easing the tension from it. Her mother always told her that she was no good and she has believed it. Grigg must have played to that, must have played on her emotions. Perhaps if I talked to her, he thinks.
As he washes, he thinks back on the other events of the night. The other woman that he saw, the one who was interested in what he had to say, who he talked with so easily, whose friends he enjoyed being with. The woman who took on the challenge of singing to him, whose fingers wrapped under his felt so natural and inviting. Perhaps, he has only stayed with Alice out of habit and if anything, he is a creature of habit. He remembers something his father told him that some habits are healthy: consideration for others, hard work, decency; while other habits need to be broken: anything that is harmful, that does not make you happy. Alice Neal is a habit that he will need to break; she is habit that has been broken for him, he simply needs to wipe her from his mind. Deep down he knows that Grigg did not seduce Alice; Alice did not need seducing.
He calls in to work with the excuse that he is ill. Charles Carson can count on one hand the number of times in the last seven years that he has called into work ill and even then he had been confined to bed in hospital and a nurse had made the call for him. He knows that Spratt will jump at the chance to sit in his spot, to fill in for him. In a way, that might be sufficient punishment for Grigg; forcing him to broadcast with Spratt. Charles once said that he wouldn't wish Spratt, the little prig, on his worst enemy. But Charles simply cannot face that bastard Grigg with smug lopsided grin; he'll use the fortnight he has due him to look for new employment.
He shaves, pulls on fresh clothes, and makes some breakfast. He feels some better about himself, sees a new start on the horizon. He does not relish starting over at his age, at any age really, but perhaps he can start a new friendship with her, with Elsie. Perhaps that will steady him. Charles goes around his flat, finds the few pictures he has of Alice and tosses them in the bin, thinks briefly, sadly about seeing her smiling face in the bin with the rest of the rubbish and thinks about pulling the pictures out but leaves them. A fresh start Charlie, he thinks to himself. A fresh start.
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Beryl Mason shakes the cobwebs out of her head, she had more to drink last night than she remembers, but the pub does not open for another hour and she has two assistants who are on work experience handling most of the luncheon crowd. The menu is not terribly complicated and she trusts them, for the most part, but she is not up for shouting at them this morning, the throbbing in her temple has made sure of that. She is sitting at the bar, adding up some receipts when she hears a tentative peck at the door.
"We're not open yet," she calls. Another peck at the door, this time more insistent. Beryl huffs loudly, looks around for Bill who is nowhere to be found and finally, she pushes away and makes her way to the door. When she sees who is on the other side of the door, she hurriedly turns the handle and ushers him in. "Mr. Carson, come in. How can I help?
Charles slides in, past Beryl. "I wanted to say thank you for the party last night. I enjoyed it very much," Charles replies.
"Ah, well. It was our pleasure," Beryl replies. "But, um, can I help you with something?"
"Well, as a matter of fact you can," Charles answers, his cheeks blushing sweetly, a sight not lost on Beryl. "I'd like to thank Ms. Hughes as well, but I don't know how to get in touch with her." Beryl smiles knowingly but holds her counsel a moment prompting Charles to explain further. "I, well, you see, I didn't get her number and if you don't think that I would offend her…"
"…..Mr. Carson, I highly doubt you would offend her," Beryl teases. God bless this man, she thinks. Poor soul. "I'll happily give you her number but you won't get her to answer."
"Why not?!" Charles asks, sounding less dignified than he intended.
"She's gone to America for a fortnight. Left not an hour ago."
TBC…. So, our couple will have to wait a little while. It will give them time to think about things. Beryl may just make a trans-Atlantic telephone call, you never know. It may also give Charles time to spend some time at the Frockling Fox. I know that some of you are upset with Elsie smoking but rest assured that she is not chain smoking, it is a stress thing due to her break up with Joe and this new thing, whatever it may be with Charles (at this point) that is potentially heating up. I promise that she will stop and stop soon, please don't let it put you off the story. I do not advocate tobacco use. Thank you for all the reblogs on Tumblr, reviews here. To the guest reviewers and those to whom I cannot respond, I appreciate your reviews more than you know. Thank you very much. x