Beneath Us the Stars (6 page)

Mary flinched, took a deep breath. ‘Bill, I spent a
sleepless
night, agonizing about – about tonight. I want to – truly I do.’

She tried again. ‘You must believe me – but, well, to tell the truth I’m a bit frightened….’

Mary swallowed hard and continued ‘I haven’t done anything like this before.’ Feeling wretched she added: ‘I’ll probably be hopeless.’

Bill stopped, drew her into him. ‘If you mean what I think you mean – neither have I.’

She was incredulous. ‘
You
haven’t?’

‘No.’

Mary shook her head in disbelief. ‘But you’re
American
!’

Ruefully he chuckled. ‘I had a very sheltered New England upbringing.

‘Oh.’

She seemed relieved. ‘We’re both –
new
, then?’

Embarrassed, he admitted: ‘Yes.’

They resumed walking in silence. Bill glanced across at her. She seemed deep in thought, suddenly stirring to say: ‘I’m going to dress up for dinner – make an effort to be, well –
special
.’

‘You don’t have to.’

Mary shook her head fiercely. ‘I do. I want it to be right – just as if we were on our honeymoon.’

He protested. ‘But I’ve only got my uniform.’

‘That’s just fine. It’s the woman’s place to be – well as nice as possible for her husband.’

‘Aw honey – don’t worry about that. Anyway, where are you going to get more clothes from?’

Mary looked slyly up at him. ‘I asked my friend. She said I could borrow what she’s got here. We’re the same size.’

He stopped in his tracks. ‘I’ve got a hell of a lot to learn about you. So, would it be in order for me to give you some nylons now?’

Mary teased. ‘Oh, so that’s all I’m worth is it – a pair of nylons, eh?’

He protested. ‘No – no. I didn’t mean it like that!’

She poked him in the ribs, and said in mock cockney: ‘I’m rather thrilled – it’s naughty – taking nylons from a Yank.’

He gave her a gentle slap on the behind. ‘Good-time girl.’

Mary reached up and pulled his head down to her.

They kissed and she took his hand.

‘Come on, let’s go back.’

Bill, looking spruce in his freshly pressed and brushed uniform, put another log on the fire and slapped his hands together to clean them.

Mary’s voice carried down the stairs. ‘Fix yourself a drink.’

He made for the cocktail cabinet. ‘OK. You want one?’

‘Not just now, thank you.’

Bill checked out the bottles, found a whisky and poured a generous measure.

He called up the stairs. ‘We got any ice?’

She sounded exasperated. ‘No
we do not
. Drink it neat like the natives – room temperature, maybe with a little cold water.’

Grumbling, Bill took a sip, sniffed, took another sip, then poured some more. He moved to the gramophone, found a pile of records and sorted through them.

‘Hey, there’s some Glenn Miller records – can we play them?’

From the room above came: ‘Of course.’

He slipped one from its cover, placed it on the turntable, then lowered the arm to the undulating black surface.

A trumpet broke the silence.

Upstairs, Mary sat before the tiny dressing-table, her black petticoat straps dimpling her pale slim shoulders, her dark wavy hair brushed down close to one eye, like Pat Roc in one of her films.

By the light of two candles, one either side of the mirror, she applied a deeper than usual red lipstick which she had found in the drawer.

When she had finished, Mary sat back. A little shiver ran through her. There was no doubting the intent of the woman reflected back at her.

Mary’s blood seemed to be thumping around in her body. She stood up, thrust out one shimmering leg, cupped her hands around the wonderfully smooth nylon, and drew it up to tighten the seam at the back until she reached the top.

Her suspender was black, and contrasted with the white soft skin of her thigh. She did the same for the other.

From the wardrobe she took out a taffeta dress cut on the
bias, stepped in and buttoned it up. With her shoes on she swung from side to side, making the material rustle
seductively
. Her tummy seemed to be floating free inside her.

Mary took a deep breath, touched her tongue nervously to her lips, and whispered to herself: ‘Here we go.’

He was sipping his drink, foot tapping to the rhythm of the music, and looking into the fire. He heard her heels on the stairs and turned.

Mary knew immediately that she had achieved the desired effect. He was speechless. She came down to the last but one step, gave a twirl, knowing that she was
flaunting
herself.

He caught a glimpse of a stocking top, and above,
something
lacy.

She came to rest, hands on hips.

‘Well?’

He still said nothing.

‘Bill?’

He got his lower jaw back up. ‘You look … beautiful.’

Mary blushed demurely. ‘Thank you.’

He suddenly remembered his manners. ‘Drink?’

She didn’t want anything that would distort her senses, not tonight of all nights, even though she felt like drinking a whole bottle of the college port.

‘I’ll have a soda on its own. There’s a siphon over there.’

As he went to oblige, the record finished, the scratching hiss of the needle repeating itself with a regular click. She lifted the arm on to the rest, turned the record over and gently lowered the needle back – just as a yell came from the corner.

Mary turned, saw that he’d managed to soak himself with the siphon.

Chiding, she shook her head in mock despair. ‘Honestly – and you fly an aeroplane? Here, take it off and give it to me.’

She went into the kitchen and got a dry tea-towel. Dejectedly Bill stood with his jacket in his hand. ‘Sorry – it just shot out.’

Mary took it, then saw that his shirt had a large dark patch down the front. She put the jacket over a chair. ‘Undo you top buttons.’

He did as he was told, then she reached in with one hand and held the material as she vigorously rubbed the damp area with the towel.

Bill was conscious of the touch of her fingers on his skin, of her perfume, of her body quivering with the effort. An unstoppable urge exploded in him.

His hands seized her around the waist, as his mouth closed around her sweet-smelling neck.

Mary gasped, responded immediately, abandoning the tea-towel and thrusting her hands on to his bare chest. Buttons flew everywhere.

Somehow they found themselves on the floor, struggling like mad people at their clothing. Mary helped him
abandon
his shirt, clawing feverishly at his bare back as his hand traversed the length of her leg, pushing up her skirt until he reached her knickers. When he pulled at them they snagged on a suspender. Impatiently she pushed his hand aside and tore them down, the threepenny bit she’d used as a stud spinning away across the floor. Kicking wildly with
her feet scuffing the floor, she got them off one leg, leaving them to fly around on her other ankle.

Bill mounted her, Mary’s legs widening as his hard penis banged all over the place. Instinctively she grabbed it and guided it into her. With the next thrust Mary cried out at the fleeting pain.

Afterwards they lay side by side, she snuggled up in his arms.

Bill raised his head and surveyed the scene of
abandonment
, then let it drop back to stare at the ceiling.

In utter embarrassment he groaned. ‘God – I’m so sorry.’

She whispered, hardly daring to trust her voice, ‘It was wonderful.’

Moonlight Serenade
, the record of which they had barely heard the opening bars, had come to an end, the record was scratching away again and again, many times a minute; minute after minute. Unmoving, they lay before the fire hanging on to each other, as if afraid of ever physically parting again.

They ate by candlelight, and later danced, holding each other closely as a man’s soft tenor voice came from the wireless.

‘
At last my love has come along, my lonely days are over
….’

Mary had abandoned her crumpled dress and was in her black petticoat, Bill only in his shorts and dog-tags.

And then it happened again, only this time they tenderly, unhurriedly, explored each other’s bodies, the glowing skin of their youth enhanced by the slumbering redness of the fire.

That night, in the bed where she had first thought she would become a ‘real’ woman, she lay beside him in the dark, only the faint patch of light coming from the
stardusted
heavens showing in the tiny window, and the red glow of his cigarette.

She kissed his naked chest. ‘I feel a happily married woman already.’

He played with her hair, his voice imploring, ‘You really will marry me, won’t you, Mary?’

She poked gently with her finger. ‘You try stopping me.’

The music coming from the Bakelite radio they’d found on the floor beneath the bed died away, and the booming stately chimes of Big Ben rang out. The announcer’s voice followed the last fading sound of the deep bell. ‘This is the nine o’clock news, read by Alvar Liddell.

Today, large formations of British and American bombers, escorted by fighters, have carried out raids in support of the Allied armies pushing up through Northern France and Belgium. They attacked….’

Hurriedly Mary rolled away from him, reached down and turned it off.

She wanted nothing of the outside to intrude into their little world, their
peaceful
world.

Out there was a terrible war, a great uncertainty; of life and death in the balance for so many. Inside the cosy little cottage with Bill there was certainty, and life … and love.

She went to sleep curled into his shape, feeling his warm breath on her neck.

Every time it was different. When they awoke, warm and entwined already in each other’s arms, it came so naturally that she thought for a moment that she was still dreaming.

Breakfast was special. She fried slices of Spam with eggs they’d bought from a farmer on the way there –
miraculously
, they’d survived her crash.

Bill helped do the dishes.

When they were finished, and she was spreading the
tea-towel
so that it would dry, she said: ‘Bill – would you mind if we went to church today? There is a beautiful old one in the village.’

He raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘If you want to – sure, but you’re not feeling guilty are you? I’d hate to think—’

She cut him off with a wave of the hand. ‘No – don’t be silly. It’s just, well, I love old churches, and the tradition. I’m not a great churchgoer – but I do get a feeling of peace, of timelessness. Oh.’ She had a sudden thought. ‘I’m not troubling you, am I – I mean I don’t know what persuasion you are?’

Bill grinned sheepishly. ‘Not at all. I guess before the war
I was agnostic – at college anyway – but you don’t find many of them in the trenches, as they say.’

Relieved, she brightened. ‘Good.’

She waved at the window. Outside it was sunny with a clear sky, a light frost fast disappearing.

‘I thought we could have a picnic afterwards.’

Bill nodded, ‘OK. I knew you were mad the moment I set eyes on you.’

She gave him a peck on the cheek and skipped away before he could do anything. ‘Didn’t stop you having your evil way with me though – did it?’

An hour later they were ready. She packed the
saddlebags
as he closed the door, found his clips and applied them to his trouser legs.

Happily they cycled away. A couple of miles down the road they started to pass a few houses. Dogs ran out
barking
and running alongside. Bill kicked out his leg at one. When they went around a bend they were confronted by the church. To Bill it was like a picture off a chocolate box. There was a village green, and beyond it a Norman tower rising above a cedar-tree; beneath the tree was a graveyard of old weathered stones, some leaning at angles,
overgrown
and neglected.

They parked their bikes just inside the lichgate and entered St Gregory the Great through the doorway,
collecting
a hymn-book from the old man standing inside.

The church was half-full. When they found a pew and had settled in, Bill looked around at the congregation. They were mostly women, with a sprinkling of old men. There was a lot of coughing in the cold, musty atmosphere.
Eventually the organ heralded the arrival of the choir and vicar. The first hymn was announced. The congregation stood to sing ‘All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small.’

Mary glanced at him; his voice was hesitant and slightly flat. When it came to an end they sat down. The vicar, bald head surrounded by white fluffy hair wheezed as he climbed into the pulpit, and spent an immeasurable time fussing about with his Bible and spectacles.

Eventually he looked around at them all, until his eyes fell on Bill in his uniform.

‘It is a pleasure to welcome an officer of the American forces to our little church this morning – a man far from home, far from his family and loved ones, fighting to rid the world of a terrible evil. Please God, it will not be much longer before he can return to the bosom of his family. And that brings us to today’s first lesson.’

Out of the corner of her eye she could see that he had gone bright red.

An hour later they emerged into winter sunshine. He murmured into her ear as they waited to thank the vicar: ‘I’ll get you for this.’

She smiled. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

The vicar beamed when it was their turn, and spoke looking only at Mary.

‘Good morning to you both, and you my dear, I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?’

Mary was quite forthcoming. ‘No, we’re just spending a couple of days in the area – our honeymoon actually.’

Mockingly she clung to Bill’s arm and looked up
adoringly
at him. ‘Aren’t we, dear.’

Bill smiled, though he kept his teeth firmly clamped together. What the hell was she up to now?

The vicar was thrilled, though the three women with him seemed less so.

‘That’s wonderful. You must come to the vicarage – we can arrange two extra for lunch, can’t we my dear?’

His stern wife looked less than happy at the thought. ‘Of course we can.’ She took a suddenly horrified Mary by the arm ‘Mrs…?’

Desperate, Bill straightened up, intervened. ‘First Lieutenant Anderson, ma’am, United States Army Air Force. I’m sorry to say I’ve got to report back to my squadron – right away.’

The vicar’s wife looked triumphant, as did the other ladies.

‘Oh what a shame,
Mrs
Anderson.’

They were wished long life and happiness and
eventually
managed to get to their bicycles. Smiling and waving to parishioners, some of whom even clapped, they set off. When they were out of sight Bill said: ‘What the hell got into you?’

‘I could see what they were thinking – the women.’

Puzzled, Bill said: ‘What?’

Her legs raced around the pedals, making her skirt fly in the wind, setting a pace to carry them away as quickly as possible.

‘They kept looking to see if I had a ring on my finger.’

‘Oh.’

Bill looked at her hands gripping the handlebars. For the
first time he noticed that she was wearing white cotton gloves. She looked across at him and grinned.

‘They wanted to get my gloves off. At lunch.’

They found a barn full of hay.

Mary spread a blanket out and unpacked the picnic. With their backs against the wall of hay they dined on Spam sandwiches, some fruit and a little bit of cheese – actually her ration for the whole month.

From the tartan-decorated thermos she poured coffee in the screw-on cup and gave it to him.

He tried to make her go first but she wouldn’t have it. ‘After your central role this morning, my husband, you deserve it.’

He grinned. ‘I ought to put you over my knee.’

Mary giggled, but the thought made her newly
awakened
sexuality stir.

Bill felt a warmth and contentment the like of which he hadn’t had in what seemed a lifetime.

As he dozed off Mary looked at him, full of love – and pain. This time next week … She got up, went to the barn entrance, looked back at his still sleeping figure – he looked so boyish. Tears began to well up in her eyes at the thought of the future. Mary could bear it no longer and, pulling her cardigan more tightly around her, went for a walk around the field, crying like a baby.

That evening they stood on the terrace, drinks in one hand, arms around each other’s waists.

The sky was ablaze with stars that sparkled in the cold
air like millions of diamonds spilled on black velvet, with the Milky Way a slash of brilliance directly above their heads.

Mary murmured: ‘Isn’t it marvellous?’

Bill kissed the top of her head.

‘I’ve never noticed before.’

She turned to him, smiled suggestively.

‘Maybe our senses are different now?’

He chuckled knowingly, took her drink and put it on the table with his.

‘Here.’

He took her hand and to her surprise sat down on the cold stone.

‘Come on.’

Mary giggled, completely mystified.

‘Whatever are you doing?’

He pulled her gently down, then leant back flat out on the ground and put his arm out for her to rest her head on.

Mystified, she lay down beside him. Bill pointed upwards as he raised his legs.

‘Look, with you I’m walking on the stars.’

‘Why – you old romantic.’

But she did the same, seeing the dark shape of her feet against the luminescent sky. Giggling like children they lay there, pretending to walk the heavens. Eventually she looked across at him, at this man who had literally and metaphorically turned her world upside down.

‘It’s wonderful – like flying in space, with the stars
beneath
us.’

Tired of their game they stayed still for sometime in silence
gazing up at the heavens, sensing a moment that they knew they would remember for as long as they lived.

Later, in front of the fire, they bathed in a galvanized metal bathtub he’d found on the outside wall of the scullery.

Mary went first, sitting up in it, the firelight flickering on her nakedness, the suds sliding slowly down over her
pink-tipped
breasts. She’d tied her hair up. Bill, as naked as Mary, gently, lovingly soaped her back and shoulders.

Finally, wrapped in dressing-gowns belonging to the cottage, they sat on the floor, Bill with his back to the sofa, she leaning against him. Only the wavering light of the fire and a candle by the wireless lit the room.

A BBC announcer said: ‘So, from the Corn Exchange, Bedford, the BBC Symphony Orchestra will perform Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.’

Applause died away, and the music, after a pause, made its dramatic opening statement, the theme of which, repeated on a muted drum and broadcast nightly to all the occupied countries of Europe, brought hope when all else had died.

On their last night in the little bedroom he’d gone to sleep at last, curled like a little boy – a child – at her breast.

Again she wondered at the diversity of the act of love; something her sheltered existence had never entertained. Earlier, when they’d slid into the cold bed, she first, it had just happened. It had started as horseplay, tickling and smacking, and ended with her face down, held firmly but gently by his hand on her neck. He made love to her
without
her once seeing him, her eyes heavy-lidded as with a grunt she was moved forward by the force of their union.

And now? She kissed the top of his head and gently stroked the curls from his face.

From master to helpless boy; something a woman
obviously
had to get used to. She smiled into the darkness, secure in the knowledge that Bill was the gentlest of men, that they would be equals in all they did.

She came to the station to see him off. They were wrapped in each other’s arms, loath to let go, to be physically parted. She didn’t cry, she’d done that the day before, would do it again, many times, but not now: she’d resolved not to let him see the tears.

Bill was going to get permission from his CO to get married. They wanted it as soon as possible. She’d got his address, he hers. Both were writing that night – and every night.

A wisp of smoke in the distance announced the arrival of a train, for once on time. The locomotive clanked past, all hissing steam, the driver leaning out of his cab, flashing her a glance as he passed by.

When the carriages had squealed to a halt there was a corridor door right beside them. He opened it, threw in his bag, and then took her in his arms again, holding her tight, his cheek hard against hers. Mary fought back the tears. At last Bill let go, kissed her, then climbed into the coach, tugging the leather strap and dropping the window before slamming the door and leaning out. They kissed again, then with his hands still cupping her face she said: ‘I love
you Bill. I love you so much.’

He looked into her eyes. ‘I know, and I love you even more.’

A lump was already forming in her throat. She looked anxiously down the length of the train, frightened of seeing the guard with his green flag – the seconds were running out.

Bill said: ‘I’m going to try and get an overnight pass – as soon as the weather boys say we can’t go. Can I call the college number you gave me – will you get the message?’

Mary, now losing her struggle to hold back her tears, nodded. ‘Of course – and don’t forget the number of my other digs when I’m on my war work. And I could come to you if you like – even if it’s only for a couple of hours.’

‘Great, we’ll work something out, don’t you worry.’

And then Mary’s fear became reality as the guard waved the green flag and blew long and hard on his whistle.

There was an answering call from the locomotive. They were in each other’s arms again, Bill almost half-out of the window.

‘Excuse me, Lieutenant.’

Another American grabbed the door handle and began to open it. Bill had to part from her as the man boarded and the door slammed shut.

He ducked out, and grabbed her again. But now the train was on the move.

Mary trotted, still holding his hand.

‘You won’t leave me, Bill, will you – ever?’

‘No. We’ll be together now –
always
.’

They had to let go as a station column and a couple of
milk churns got in the way, and the speed of the train steadily increased.

At last she could no longer keep up, her progress being impeded by knots of waving people, mostly women.

As he drew further away she called: ‘Take care.’

He continued waving as the coaches lurched around points and curves, until he was lost from sight.

Mary turned and walked back, giving up her platform ticket and stepping out into the forecourt. Utterly bereft, she made her way into the city. She felt so lonely –
something
she had never before experienced, she had always been happy in her own company. But now, it was as if a part of her had been torn away.