Chapter 1

At fifteen Rosie O'Donovan was an embittered girl, at war with the world. Her mother had been a prostitute who died after one of her johns had beaten her up in a back alley because she had refused to let him bugger her. That and her daughter's name and address were all she told the hospital staff before she died. Rosie was taken into care at the age of five. She was not told the cause of her mother's death but she resented the fact that she had died without a thought for Rosie. She also resented her foster parents whom she considered to be bossy and no fun. They did not allow her to go out and play on the street with the other children as her mother had done. Her foster-mother's friends did not give her sweets and tickle her bare legs. They were as stuffy as her foster-mother.

Her first foster-parents lasted five years and then were exhausted by her disobedience, rudeness, ill-discipline and complete lack of affection. They had never tried to win it. The next couple lasted six months whereupon the authorities decided that Rosie should go into a children's home. She managed to run away several times but was always caught.

If she had not had a permanent scowl and hard calculating eyes Rosie would have been very good looking. She had flaming red hair, big green eyes, which she could soften if there was something she wanted to wheedle, a retroussé nose, full lips which were normally turned sulkily down but which could smile winningly and a dusting of freckles. She had also developed a very attractive figure with a full but not oversized bosom, well-defined hips, a tight curvy bottom and long slim legs.

Shortly before her sixteenth birthday she ran away again. After forty-eight hours out of doors she was cold, wet, bedraggled, exhausted and very, very hungry. In desperation, she ventured out of her hiding place in the bushes and into the park. She hoped she might be able to beg some money to buy some food. It took a long time. Many people avoided her. Others roughly told her to go home. She had to hide again a number of times when a park keeper or policeman appeared. Finally she was lucky and a tall, kindly looking man stopped when she begged him for money.

"When did you last eat?" he asked.

"Two days ago, sir."

"And you've been out of doors all that time?"

"Yes, sir."

"You poor girl. What happened?"

Rosie bowed her head and said nothing.

"Come on, my dear, you can tell me. I won't tell on you. Promise."

She looked up again. "I ran away."

"From your parents?"

"No, my mum's dead. From the home."

"Ah," said the man understandingly. "I bet that what you want is food and warm, dry clothes, eh?"

"Yes, sir," said Rosie turning on her most liquid, pleading look.

"Right," said the man decisively. "You can come home with me and get both those things but if you don't want to get caught you'll have to do as I tell you. Do you understand?"

Rosie nodded. "Yes, sir," she said meekly. Inwardly she told herself that she would milk him until she got bored and then leave him. She might even manage to nick some money off him. He looked quite well off.

"Good. What's your name?" he asked kindly.

"Rosie, sir."

"Come along then, Rosie, and hold my hand. That way people will think we're together and you just fell in the lake or something and won't ask questions. If anyone does, you keep quiet and I'll answer them. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl. Off we go then, Rosie."

Nobody accosted them and he led her to his car. Rosie was impressed. In 1957 only the richer people owned cars or could afford to run them. She reckoned she had struck gold.

He took her back to a small suburban house in a quiet area and led her in. He showed her to a bedroom. It was not large but seemed palatial to her. There was a single bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a dressing table with a stool. On the dressing table were a brush and comb. He told her to wait and went and fetched a dressing gown. He showed her where the bathroom was and gave her a towel.

"When you've had a bath come downstairs in your dressing gown and we'll see about food. We'll also see about washing your clothes and drying them. Clear?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." She gave him a winning smile.

He smiled back and left her to it.

Rosie pulled off her clothes and left them in a heap on her bedroom floor. She slipped on the dressing gown and turned on the bath taps. While they were running she washed her hair with soap at the basin. It did not occur to her to look for shampoo. As soon as it was ready she climbed into the bath and rinsed her hair again then lay there revelling in the warmth. Finally, she bestirred herself and washed. After a final luxurious soak she climbed out and dried her hair as best she could and then her body. She slipped on the dressing gown, returned to her room and brushed her hair. It was not fully dry so it still hung in damp tails. She gathered up her wet clothes and went down stairs.

"Ah, Rosie," he greeted her. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, sir. Much better thank you, sir."

"Good." He led her to the kitchen. "Drop your wet clothes in the sink for the time being," he said. "Now, can you cook?"

"Only simple things, sir."

"Well you'll have to learn sometime so watch me closely. I'm not going to give you too much this evening. It will just make you sick but you can have a big breakfast. Now I'm going to give you a bowl of porridge."

"Thank you, sir."

"Very well. Watch what I do."

She did so and took everything in: the quantities, how he mixed the porridge oats, when he added the salt and how he just kept the mixture bubbling gently.

He instructed her where to find a bowl and a spoon and told her to help herself and then to run cold water into the saucepan.

She ate her porridge voraciously and felt much better for it. He made her wash everything up and put it away. He showed her where the washing powder was kept and had her wash her clothes, rinse and wring them out thoroughly. He then showed her how the clothes rack suspended above the bath worked. Finally, at his request, she made a pot of tea for them both and he bade her sit down opposite him in the sitting room.

"Now then, Rosie," he said, "we've got to decide on your future."

"Yes, sir."

"There seem to me to be two alternatives. I can turn you loose again in the morning or you can stay here. No!" He held up his hand as she started to accept the second. "There are conditions if you stay here. It's only fair that you hear them before you decide."

Rosie subsided. "Yes, sir."

"Right! If you stay with me there are conditions. The first is that you will earn your keep. You will wash, clean and cook." He held up his hand as she took a breath to speak. "I know you can't cook much at the moment and I will help you to the best of my limited ability but I will provide you with a cookery book and you will also learn from that. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"I will pay you three pounds a week full board. I will also buy you some more clothes tomorrow."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, Rosie, you obviously haven't been happy either in foster homes or in the children's home."

"No, sir."

"So what's going to stop you running away from me?"

Rosie gazed at him piteously. "Just to be treated as me," she whispered.

He met her gaze steadily. "I'll do that," he said, "as long as you go along with what I've asked."

She looked at him questioningly. "My wife died five years ago. We had no children. She was very precious to me though and I do not wish to spoil that memory by getting involved romantically with another woman. On the other hand, I do enjoy female companionship. Are you prepared to give me that?"