War Baby (16 page)

‘Do they have a telephone? I need to contact my base and let them know where I am.'

‘There's one at the police station just along from the village hall. You can telephone from there.'

She knew Corporal Smith was still scowling probably because she was gushing with enthusiasm. It was those blue eyes, or perhaps the accent, the uniform – all manner of things.

Once the golden man standing in front of her had finished the pasty – she couldn't help thinking him golden – he brushed the crumbs from his uniform, clicked his heels and saluted her. ‘Flight Officer Ivan Bronowski. At your service, lady. That was very delicious. Now I must get back to my base. I have some explaining to do. And I need a new Hurricane. Could you please direct me to the police station?'

John got in a response before she could.

‘Yeah. We can arrange that pronto.' He sounded hyper-efficient, or merely just in a hurry to get rid of him.

Ivan walked beside her on the way back, Johnnie lagging behind somewhat.

Ruby chose to ignore him, instead paying rapt attention as the Polish pilot told her where he came from and how he'd come to England.

‘I was studying in Holland. The moment I heard that the Germans had marched into my country, I came to England.'

They parted at the police station, Ruby telling Pilot Officer Ivan Bronowski that if he had the time he would be more than welcome to come along to the village hall and fill up on food. ‘It's not as sumptuous as a peacetime spread, but it'll fill you up until you get back to Whitchurch.'

Once Ivan had gone into the police station, Johnnie suggested she'd been a bit too forward.

Ruby was having none of it. ‘I was just being friendly. He's an allied airman. I can hardly refuse to speak to him.'

‘It was more than that. The things women stoop to when there's an RAF uniform around!'

Wedding guests trooped down the stairs of the village hall, throwing home-made confetti over Mike and Mary. Ruby ran forward. ‘Almost missed you,' she said, kissing her sister on the cheek. ‘You looked lovely,' she whispered.

‘Thanks to you,' Mary whispered back.

Ruby whispered into Mike's ear as she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Take care of my sister or you'll answer to me.'

He grinned. ‘I can't always tell you apart – until you talk like that.'

Mary threw her bouquet and although she aimed it in Ruby's direction it was Lilly Martin who caught it.

Ruby lowered her voice and whispered to the bride. ‘She's got longer arms than me, plus I wouldn't dare push in front of her. She's built like a tractor.'

‘Are you coming to help me change?' Mary asked her. ‘I don't think I've got the strength left to do it by myself.'

Her voice was shaky, but then, thought Ruby, all brides are nervous.

She smiled reassuringly. ‘Of course I will. Someone has to make sure you look good enough to eat. Tonight's the night and that silky nightdress … Well … once he sees you in that there'll be no stopping him.'

Ruby thought it might have been her imagination, but just for a moment she thought she saw Mary's features tighten as she forced a smile.

‘Oh dear!' Ruby said chirpily. ‘You
are
nervous. Well, it's too late now, dear sister of mine. You've made your bed, so to speak, and you'll definitely be lying in it. In Clevedon!'

She laughed. Mary's laugh was more restrained.

Ruby helped her get out of the wedding dress and into a powder blue costume, an A-line skirt, a jacket with a peplum over the top of a silk blouse with tiny pearl buttons. Her handbag and shoes were a soft shade of beige.

‘There,' Ruby said, eyeing her approvingly. ‘You're all set, Mrs Dangerfield.'

The twins stood looking at each other in the room they'd shared for so many years. Now Ruby would only have Frances for company.

‘It's going to seem strange,' said Ruby.

Mary nodded, the nervous smile returning to her mouth. ‘I'm looking forward to getting back … what I mean is, I'm looking forward to my honeymoon too – being with Mike – but I also mean …'

‘I know.' Ruby interrupted. ‘You're looking forward to meeting little Charlie. It's going to be quite amazing.'

Mike's voice calling for Mary was the signal for the sisters to hug each other before the sound of his tread on the stairs preceded the opening of the bedroom door. His body half leaning into the room, hand clasped around the edge of the door, he smiled. His glance went from one to the other before settling on Mary.

‘Luggage pick up for Mrs Mary Dangerfield,' he exclaimed.

There was no mistaking the pride and happiness in his face. If an expression could be termed hungry, he would have eaten her up there and then.

‘I'll be right behind you,' said Ruby as Mary followed Mike out on to the stairs. ‘I just need to freshen up a bit.'

Mary paused in the doorway. ‘Ruby. I must say your hair looks better like that, brushed back from your face. You look stunning.'

Then she was gone.

Mike and Mary were ahead of Ruby, a crowd of wedding guests behind all insisting they would accompany them to the railway station. The train would take them to Temple Meads Station in Bristol. At Bristol they would change for the train to Nailsea then the branch line train to Clevedon where they were having their honeymoon.

Ruby hung back from the crowd of well-wishers, glancing intermittently at the police station as they passed by. There was no sign of her handsome pilot. There was only Miss Hunt, a sweet old lady of no more than five feet tall. The moment Miss Hunt spotted her, she explained that one of her cats was missing but there was nobody in the station at present.

‘Has the Polish airman left yet?' Ruby asked her.

‘That's just it, my dear,' she said in her high squeaky voice. ‘Apparently they've got nobody at the airbase to collect the airman, so the constable has to drive him there himself. It's very inconvenient,' she said shaking her head. ‘I so wanted to give him a description of my missing tabby. I would hate to think that something's happened to her.'

Ruby wasn't really listening. She was feeling disappointed not to have caught the airman before he left.

Before joining her sister and brother-in-law and the rest of the merry throng on their way to the railway station, she glanced across the road. Johnnie Smith was leaning against the driver's door of the car provided by the Ministry of Food. He was smoking a cigarette, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

She walked over the road and stood beside him. ‘You look very pleased with yourself.'

‘I am.'

‘What's happened?'

He nodded. ‘I'm afraid you've got me again. Though not for long. Only until my foreign posting comes through.'

‘Oh well,' she said chirpily. ‘There's always Ivan Bronowski to fill the time.'

Johnnie scowled. Ruby refrained from laughing. She didn't really mean it, but Johnnie could be so insufferable at times. On the other hand, she'd seen the way Ivan Bronowski had looked at her and had felt a fluttering response inside.

 

 

BECAUSE MIKE ONLY
had a two-day pass, their honeymoon was to be spent in a guesthouse in Clevedon not far from the pier and overlooking the sea.

The landlady, a Mrs Rees, welcomed them cordially. She had a round face, plump hands and smelled of lavender. Her dress was flowery and shapeless, trimmed with lace and almost reached her ankles.

‘Right. Mr and Mrs Dangerfield isn't it?'

She didn't mention them being there on honeymoon and Mary wasn't going to enlighten her. The woman need only to look at her flushed face to see she was a newlywed and nervous as hell.

As she led them up a wide staircase to their room, Mrs Rees told them all about the house. ‘It was built around 1803 in the French style, which is why you've got French doors that open out on to a lovely veranda with all that wrought-iron work. And you've a fine view of the sea of course.'

A smell of seaweed and salt came in from outside when she opened the doors leading out on to the veranda. Mrs Rees placed her portly body to one side of the window.

‘You can just about see the islands of Steepholm and Flatholm if you look carefully,' she said waving her hand vaguely to where salmon pink clouds were sinking with the sun into the sea. A pale moon was already throwing silvery light over the water.

Mike and Mary nodded respectfully when she told them that breakfast was from eight until nine and that she only cooked an evening meal on request and they were a bit late for that now.

Mike's smile was warm. ‘That's fine, Mrs Rees. We ate earlier,' he said courteously.

‘I see you're in the RAF, Mr Dangerfield.'

‘That's right, ma'am.'

‘A fighter pilot?'

‘No. Bomber Command.'

The smiling eyes turned hard. ‘Pray God you stay safe and that your bombs kill as many of the enemy as possible, wicked people as they are.'

Mike flinched at her comment. There were times when he and his colleagues did feel the enemy should be blasted to hell. But there were other times when they fell silent as they contemplated the civilians caught up in the mayhem. Nobody liked war.

Once the flowery dress had disappeared and the door was firmly closed, Mike placed both hands on Mary's shoulders and turned her to face him. His hands dropped from her shoulders to clasp her hands.

‘Well, Mrs Dangerfield.'

‘Well, Mr Dangerfield.' Her voice wobbled. She couldn't help it.

A soft breeze blew in through the window, disturbing the lace curtains lying inside the heavier drapes, and blowing wisps of hair across her face. Mike stroked them away, bent his head and kissed her. She shivered. His lips felt cold and he tasted of beer. He hadn't drunk that much, but the taste had lingered.

‘Happy?' he said to her once the kiss had broken, his hand cupping her face.

Even though she wasn't sure, she said yes because that was what was expected of her. Every bride was happy on their wedding day and she'd pretended all day that's all she was. No one had had any idea of how she was feeling inside, that she'd had second thoughts about marrying Mike.

Was it right to marry somebody just because you thought time was running short? Ruby had asked her if she loved him. She said she thought so, but did she really? They'd known each other for only a very short while before he'd proposed.

Marry in haste, repent at leisure; that's what Mrs Powell had said to her. She reminded herself that Gertrude Powell was a dried-up old woman, lines of bitterness sketched all over her face. She pushed the comment to the back of her mind. Mike was her husband now and this was their wedding night. She would be happy because he was happy – and he needed her. He needed her very much.

He rained kisses on her face, his ardour intensifying as his hands covered her breasts. His fingers went to the buttons of her blouse. His loins pressed tight against her and she felt his pulsating hardness.

‘Damn,' he said as one of her buttons popped off. It rolled off the rug and beneath the dressing table. Mary sprang after it, getting down on her knees to fish it out.

It crossed her mind to stay there under that dressing table. A silly idea, as though she could hide under there or, better still, suddenly become invisible. Her fingers curled over it, but still she stayed there, running her free hand over the floor as though still seeking its whereabouts, putting off the dreadful moment when …

‘Is it that important? It's only a button.' He sounded impatient.

Her fingers tightened over the button. This was stupid. She could hardly stay under here for ever.

‘I've got it.' She backed out and got to her feet. Her face was flushed. She held up the button between finger and thumb. ‘It rolled away.'

She placed it in a small glass dish on the dressing table. She caught sight of their reflections in the dressing-table mirror, a large mirror in the centre flanked by two smaller ones. Three Michaels and three Marys were reflected back at her from three different angles.

He reached out to finish where he'd left off.

‘Let me.' She reminded herself that she was a wife. She was his. She managed to smile, but something within her wasn't accepting this. It was hard to put it into words. If she'd been able to do that she would have confided in her sister. But she couldn't. She was emotionally tongue-tied.

Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned her blouse.

His head was bent over hers. She kept her eyes lowered, concentrating on the buttons of her blouse. She felt his hands around the waistband of her skirt. The zip being undone set her teeth on edge. She tensed as his hands pushed the lightweight skirt down over her hips.

She pushed his hand away. ‘I'll do it!'

‘Okay.' He sounded surprised, even hurt as he stepped back from her and there was a puzzled look in his eyes as though he were seeing her for the first time and trying hard, very hard, to understand. Seeming to come to terms with her behaviour, he took off his jacket, one finger hooked in the loop, his other hand tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

Even though he had a vest on beneath his blue shirt she averted her eyes. A single curl of hair sprouted over the top of his vest, under which were the contours of his well-developed chest muscles.

Her face felt as though it was on fire. The calves of her legs tensed in readiness to run away. It was suddenly difficult to breathe.

‘I'll just get my things …' She spun swiftly away from him, reaching for the small brown case he'd placed on a chintz-covered chair.

‘Things?' He sounded surprised and she knew that if she did dare look at him, he would probably look quite astounded too.

She pulled out the white silk and lace nightdress she'd brought with her, scattering rose petals over the floor as she did so.