Charlotte 7

Many thanks to Dawnj for editing and general advice. Any mistakes are mine

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December 24. As usual, the firm was about to close for the festive season. The presses would be stopped for the time being and even the proofreaders went home without a text and a deadline. The entire staff had gathered in the canteen, and Mr March, the big boss himself, handed out the Christmas boxes to all staff. To all staff present, that is - Charlotte Tenson, his secretary and general dogsbody, wasn't there. She hadn't been in for a week.

"Okay then," March said. "One left."

"Fatso's off sick," Dillon, one of the young employees who worked in the shipping department, said with a smirk. "Chubby Tubby..." He was a cocksure, good-looking young man with a sneering voice.

March gave him a withering look and the young man's smirk faded from his face. March could get very angry, as everyone in the firm knew, and especially when it came to a lack of courtesy, he was never amused. He ran his business along the same lines as his father before him, somewhat old-fashioned but very solid.

"If you can't behave..." he said. He didn't finish. He didn't have to; everyone knew exactly what he meant, and it was well understood that the young man had better not speak out of turn for the next three years - March had an elephant's memory.

"Could anyone deliver this to Charlotte?"

The young man who'd just been told off had to bite his tongue not to make another snide remark. Most others showed a lack of enthusiasm, too. March looked at his staff with raised eyebrows.

Matt Thorne, one of the proof-readers, rather like Charlotte. He always said hello to her when he came to March's office - which wasn't too often as he generally used his email to get things done - and he'd always thought of Charlotte as a nice woman. She had auburn hair, a nice smile and she always greeted him by name. She must be in her early thirties, he guessed, and she invariably dressed well. She was somewhat plump - but in his opinion the nasty terms Dillon had used were completely beside the mark. On the contrary. He thought she was quite beautiful, and not a little attractive. He definitely thought March was right to silence Dillon.

"Has she been ill long?" he asked. "I certainly don't mind delivering the box to her - if it doesn't take me hours, at least. Where does she live?"

March explained. It was roughly in his direction; it would take him about half an hour extra, he expected.

"That's near enough. I'll go and see to it that she gets it," he said.

"Thank you, Matt," March said. He lived in the other direction altogether. "Charlotte is a good girl and she really deserves it. I do appreciate it!"

"Right-oh," Matt said. He had always been on speaking terms with March, and he'd known his mannerisms for a long time. March's appreciation was real; he smiled a little. "I think everyone deserves some good cheer. She actually knows my name, even though I don't see her too often."

Dillon looked at Matt in a pitying way, but Matt stared him down. If the younger man thought he could get away with such behaviour, the more fool he.

"She knows everyone by name - and most by character," March said pointedly. He wished everybody a good time and a good Christmas, and the staff slowly left for their cars.

Matt carried the two boxes along and dumped them onto the back seat. He'd been given Charlotte's address and punched it into his satnav. Then he drove off.

He had no trouble getting to Charlotte's abode. There were no lights on in the house she lived in, and the upper floor curtains were closed fast. Matt pulled up at the kerb, walked up the steps, and rang the bell.

It took a very long time before he heard uncertain footsteps come shuffling down the hall, and Charlotte who opened the door looked a sight. My God, Matt thought, she's really ill.

"H-h-h-hello, M-M-M-Matt," Charlotte said. "I-I..."

She stood swaying on her feet. Matt put the box down and grabbed her shoulders just in time - she was about to keel over. "Shhh! I'll go and help you back to bed first," he said, "and then you may talk, ok?"

Charlotte nodded miserably. She let herself be led upstairs by Matt, who put an arm around her waist. Her bedroom door was open, and he noticed a sour smell. Matt inspected the bed; Charlotte had obviously been sick in it.

"Come," Matt said, "you cannot go back into that. Let me see to it first, please."

He let her down into a chair, slowly, and then he methodically stripped the bed. He looked in the wardrobe for sheets and pillowcases, and quickly remade it. Then he told Charlotte to take off her robe. The nightdress under it was soiled; she apparently had thrown up over it when she was sick.

"Charlotte," Matt said, "you can't go to bed again in these. Can you change on your own, or do you want me to help? Or is there anyone I can call?"

Charlotte shook her head slowly. Her loneliness and Matt's having to see her like this were just too much. To Matt's embarrassment, she began to cry soundlessly.

"No friends? No family?"

Charlotte sniffed. "One friend, but she's gone to her family up north, and my family's up north, too - what's left of it."

"Okay, then," Matt said. "Shall I help you?"

She sighed, but she nodded. "Yes" she said. "Please - don't laugh."

Matt raised his eyebrows, but he set about helping her get undressed. Her nightclothes were really dirty and they smelled awful. He couldn't help looking at her breasts as he lifted her nightgown over her head. They were big, with really large areola, and, he thought, very beautiful.

There was a washbasin in the corner of the bedroom, and Matt went and turned on the tap. It didn't take too long before the water was warm enough to wash Charlotte a little.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I'm no professional. I'll do my best to get you a little fresher, though."

Charlotte let herself be washed. She was too tired to try and do so herself, and she realised that Matt was right, she couldn't go back to bed between clean sheets in a soiled nightgown. She actually didn't mind his hands on her; he was tender and fast, and perhaps not professional, but good enough, and he didn't recoil from her body.

Matt had to make an effort not to pay too much attention to those beautiful breasts. He rather enjoyed washing her. She was really plump, exactly the way he liked - not, he thought, like those emaciated catwalk models with their sunken cheeks and staring eyes, or his one-time mistake of a girlfriend. Just a nice, soft handful of a woman. He inwardly grimaced at his thoughts.

When he had got her fresh and smelling good again he went and found a clean nightgown and a pair of panties, and he helped her into them.

"That's better," he said. "Would you like to visit the toilet first?"

Charlotte shook her head. "No," she said. "There's n-nothing left inside."

"Hmmm. You'd better change that! We don't want you dehydrated!"

"I had a l-l-little water - but there's n-nothing l-l-left in the house, and I'm not fi-f-f-fit enough to make some t-t-tea..."

Her teeth were still chattering, and Matt took her arm and helped her onto her bed. Then he tucked her in.

"I want you to get warm," he said, "and I'll go and inspect your larder and then I'll bring you something to drink first."

He went downstairs, to find the front door still ajar, and the Christmas box sitting on the top step. It had started to drizzle, and he quickly picked up the box and closed the door.

He entered the kitchen and went through her fridge and her cupboards. She was right; there wasn't anything there, apart from a few tea bags. Nor did the pantry offer anything much. He opened the Christmas box to find some orange juice - not useful now, he thought - and a lot of stuff that would be great for a hale person, but not for Charlotte in this state.

He made her a cup of weak tea and took it up to her. He propped her up and fed her the tea.

He found a thermometer in the bathroom and took her temperature. It was only 37.9, to his relief. No immediate need to call a doctor.

He told her he would be away for a little time to do the shopping. Where could he find her keys? She told him, and he left the house. Boy, what a good thing he'd gone to deliver that box! The poor girl. She must have had an awful week. The drizzle had turned into a steady downpour, and he hurriedly got into his car. It had been grey for the past ten days - just the weather to go with Christmas, it seemed. A white Christmas? Pah! Grey and dull green, just the way he usually felt around the festive season.

He went to Tesco's in the neighbourhood and bought everything he thought he might need - food, some candles, something nice for when she'd feel better, a bottle of wine - and he stopped by at an off-licence for a bottle of his favourite whisky. He was satisfied with his shopping, and he went back immediately.

He took his purchases into the kitchen and went upstairs to have a look at Charlotte. She lay on her side, fast asleep; she hugged the duvet so that he had a good view of her back and bottom, in a pair of thin, pink panties. The sight was good for another couple of uncalled-for thoughts. He carefully took the duvet from her embrace and covered her up, and he stood looking at her sleep for a little while, shaking his head.

Then Matt went down and unpacked his purchases and put them away, together with the contents of the Christmas box. He put a kettle with water on the stove and then went upstairs again to collect the sheets and clothes to be washed. The wash basket was full, too, and he first put the contents onto three heaps - the 90 degrees stuff, the 60 degrees stuff and the 30 degrees ones. It was a good thing he was a self-sufficient single man who knew how to do for himself.

There was one week's underwear in the basket. Charlotte couldn't be too negative about her figure, he thought; she wore beautiful underthings. He felt himself getting hot and bothered, sorting them out and imagining Charlotte dressed in them. He decided to do the sheets first - they might be needed again soon, after all.

While the machine was working, he cooked some rice and chicken, and he prepared some crackers with cheese. When everything was ready he took the food and another mug of tea up to his charge on a tray. Charlotte was still asleep. She had turned over and now she lay facing him. Matt put down the tray and sat in the chair she'd used while he was making the bed, looking at her.

Her auburn hair lay plastered to her forehead, and the eyes under the dark lashes were closed. She had a sweet face with a really beautiful mouth, and Matt wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Oh well, that wasn't what he was here for. If he didn't wake her, the food would go cold.

"Charlotte?" he said.

She opened her eyes and looked at the room. Then she saw him, apparently, and she blushed. It made her look even more attractive, Matt thought, and he wondered why she blushed.

"I prepared some food for you," he said. "Do you think you'd like to try?"

She nodded. "I'd better," she said. "B-b-but..."

"I'll try and help out," Matt said.

"B-b-but..." she said again, "m-m-mustn't you go home?"

Matt gave her a smile that, he hoped, might be comforting. "Not I," he said. "No pets, no people. I'm master of my own time. Come, let's try and get you back to health again, okay?"

"Yes, please," Charlotte said. "It's really no p-problem for you?"

Matt shook his head. "Really and truly," he said. "I was prepared to have a lonely Christmas, reading, but it seems Lady Luck had different ideas. So I'll be here for the time being. I hope you'll want to celebrate Christmas with me."

He propped her up in the bed, and draped her gown round her shoulders. "Hmm," he said and wrinkled his nose. "Your gown could do with a soak, too." Then he sat down on the edge and said, "Rice and chicken, or crackers and cheese?" He grinned. "I'm afraid I won't make a very good air-hostess."

It produced a faint smile on Charlotte's face.

"Rice and chicken, please," she said. "And I think I like to have you around."

Matt nodded. "Good," he said. "Because I'll be here till you're really better again. I'll feed you, okay?"

Charlotte nodded. Her hands were too shaky. Matt fed her small spoonfuls and slowly but surely Charlotte ate a little over half the portion Matt had made. Then she said it was alright, and could she have some crackers later?

"Sure," Matt said. "More tea then - you'll have to make sure you drink enough."

She slowly drank the tea - she could just manage. Matt watched her drink. Even in this situation she was really beautiful, he thought. She had big brown eyes, a sweet mouth, soft cheeks... Come on, brother, he thought, stop it! But it didn't work, and he found it hard to take his eyes from her face and from the indication of her breasts under the gown.

When she'd finished he took the mug from her. He brought her her toothbrush and when she'd brushed her teeth he helped her to lie down.

"I'll have to leave you alone for a while," he said, "to pick up a pair of pyjamas, my sponge bag and a change of underwear. Do you have a spare bedroom? I can bring an air mattress if need be."

"Next room on the landing," Charlotte said. "Will you look in on me when you're back?"

"Of course. Is there anything I can bring to entertain you?"

"I just love it when there's someone there. Er... You could read to me, perhaps?"

Matt smiled. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "I may be so boring a reader that you'll fall asleep. And I'll bring some music and stuff."

He tucked his charge in. "Will you be alright?" he said. "Or should I take you to the bathroom first?"

Charlotte shook her head. She lay looking at him from her pillow, smiling at him - a little tiredly, but smiling. Her hair lay around her head on the pillow, and Matt was glad he had a reason to leave the bedroom before he'd say or do something awkward.

"I'll be back soon, Charlotte," he said. "Later!"

He took her robe downstairs and put it in the machine, with a few other items of clothing. Then he left the house.

Charlotte lay drowsily thinking about the previous week and the day's events. She'd come home feeling knackered, and she didn't have much of an appetite. She had been too tired to go shopping, and she'd eaten the last food in the house. That night she fell really ill. She couldn't remember what had happened, but she had emptied her stomach and she'd been too ill to reach the bathroom - she'd been too ill to get up. She'd slept most of the time. Today was the first day that she felt even a little better. The woozy dreams had stopped; that was one thing.

She knew Matt by face and by name, but he seldom came to the office. He had always seemed a very pleasant person, cheerful, friendly and handsome enough. She'd never expected she'd come to talk to him much; but he was a pleasant nurse, she thought. To her delight, he didn't seem to think she was an ugly, fat woman. She'd received an anonymous letter some ten weeks ago that simply said, "Chubby "Fatso" Tubby - yech!"

Her thyroid gland had always been a problem, and it made it hard if not plain impossible to regulate her weight too well. She tried to, nevertheless, and she thought she had it reasonably under control. It seemed a lot of men didn't think so, though. Mr. March was alright. And Matt. He'd always looked at her as if she was a normal woman, and not some monstrosity. Dwight, her one-time boyfriend, had loved her - but he had contracted lung cancer and died when he was only twenty-one.

She vaguely wondered what it was like not be alone all the time. Jessie, her friend, was usually there for her - but it wasn't the same; it wasn't someone to wake up with, to go through life with. Much too bossy, for one thing. And she wasn't attracted to women at all. She fell asleep on that thought.

Matt drove home in about twenty minutes. He deposited the Christmas box on the kitchen table, went upstairs and chucked everything he wanted into a small suitcase - clothes, razor, some books, a few CDs and his laptop. Then he locked the door and drove back.

He first went into the kitchen. The washing machine had ended its programme and he hung some of the clothes on a line in the scullery and put the robe in the tumble dryer. He loaded the machine again with Charlotte's underwear and a few T-shirts. He made another mug of tea, and a cup of coffee for himself, and went upstairs with the mugs on a tray and his suitcase. He put the tray down on the floor outside the bedroom, dropped his suitcase on the bed in the spare room and took out the books he'd brought to read to Charlotte. He went back to the landing, picked up the tray and went into her bedroom.

She hadn't moved since he'd left and she lay peacefully sleeping on her back. He moved the small table a little closer to the chair, put the tray and books on top and sat down. He looked at the sleeping beauty for a moment - and then he coughed softly.

She opened her eyes and looked around the room. When she registered his presence, she smiled.

"Hi! So you're back," she said.

"Yes," Matt said. "I like looking at you sleep. You do look a little better."

"I feel a little better, too. I'm thirsty, though."

"That's good. I made you some more tea - better take it a little slowly at first." He picked up the mug and gave it to her. Then he sat down to have his coffee while Charlotte drank her tea.

When she had finished her mug he took it from her, and she lay down under the duvet and looked at him. "It's the twenty-fourth today, isn't it?"

"It is," Matt said.

"Christmas Eve... Look, there's a bottle of wine in the Christmas box - I chose what's in them, you know. I would have bought some candles to create some atmosphere, if I'd not fallen ill, but I'd love you to have a glass up here - that will feel a little Christmassy, at least. Will you?"

"Of course. Can I bring you anything?"

Charlotte shook her head. "I'm fine," she said.

"Okay then." Matt went downstairs and opened the wine bottle. There were no wine glasses in the kitchen, so he inspected the cupboard in the living-room. Yes - right at once. He poured himself a glass. He took it upstairs with a box of matches, a few of the candles and a couple of saucers to place them on.

He found Charlotte still wide awake. When she saw the candles her eyes lit up, and she said, "Oh - how nice! That's really nice! We can have a little Christmas together." So Matt had felt that it would be nice to have some Christmas cheer, too - with her!

Then she rubbed her eyes. "Sorry," she said. "It's stupid, but I'm just so happy to have you here." She sniffed and blew her nose in a tissue from a box on her bedside table.

"Good," Matt said, and smiled at her. "Cheers, Charlotte! I'm glad to be here." He raised his glass and nodded at her. "Shall I read to you, then - or would you rather take a nap?"

"Please!" she said. "As if I could sleep now."

Matt nodded. "Shall I choose?" he asked.

"Yes, please," Charlotte agreed.

"Good. I'd like to start with a chapter from a children's book, right?"

Charlotte didn't protest, so Matt opened the top book.

"This is from

The Wind in the Willows

, a chapter called 'Dulce Domum'," he began. "The sheep ran huddling together against the hurdles..."

Charlotte lay listening to him read Kenneth Grahame's story of the Mole and the Water Rat preparing the coming of the Yule-tide carol singers at Mole's home. She remembered having read it, long ago; she'd forgotten, but it came back slowly but surely. She'd not realised then how well-written it was. She quite enjoyed listening to Matt read. He apparently knew the story well and he paused in the right places.