War Orphans (40 page)

‘I'm weary,' he said.

The old sparkle was there in his eyes, but something else was there too; something darker, as though he were harbouring a sore memory that would not lie down.

The dream of the fishing boat came back to her. So did the memory of when he'd kissed her earlier. She'd thrilled at it while also curbing her enthusiasm to kiss him back. He was not her husband. He could never be her husband and, despite what Amelia had told her, she needed to hold on to her respectability. She could not have an affair with a man who was committed elsewhere. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but that was the way she felt. Perhaps her parents' long marriage had some bearing on the matter. Whatever it was, she couldn't help it.

The way Pierre was looking at her, she guessed he knew what she was thinking. The silence between them had to be broken. They had to move on with their relationship – even if it only stayed a friendship.

She poured his tea and placed two slices of buttered toast in front of him. ‘Was it very bad over there?'

‘Yes,' he said simply and finally. He quickly devoured the toast and drank the tea. Realising she was observing his gluttony he slowed down, apologised and explained. ‘I haven't eaten since yesterday evening on the boat. We crossed into the area of Spain called Galicia then I was taken by fishing boat out to sea. It took us four days to cross Biscay.'

Sally's heart lurched in her breast. ‘The sea was rough.'

He nodded. ‘Very rough.'

‘I dreamed you were in a rough sea.'

He looked surprised. A weak smile lifted his expression and his eyes were a warm brown in the salty roughness of his face.

‘I dreamed of you too. You were confronting a man who once fancied you. He'd moved on to somebody else and I dreamed you told him exactly how despicable he was.'

For a moment she couldn't quite grasp the identity of the person he was talking about. Then she remembered Arnold Thomas.

The fact that they had dreamed about each other made her tingle. She shivered.

‘Yes,' said Pierre on noticing her shiver. ‘It makes you feel like that. Fate is telling us that we're made for each other. Soulmates.'

‘Pierre . . .'

‘Hear me out. This war is going to last for a very long time. I am not always going to be around. I will not ask you to commit yourself until I am free. French law being the way it is . . .' He shrugged. ‘Adele was a mistake. While in France we met up and agreed to go our separate ways, but I cannot ask you to wait for me. Any commitment I had to her has been replaced with one to my country. I will be away quite a lot. Whatever our relationship is to be is up to you.'

His tired eyes failed to meet hers.

As well as his tiredness she felt the change in him. The terrible scenes he'd been witness to had altered him for ever. Before he'd gone away he'd informed her that he was the one for her, stated they would share a future. Now he was actually leaving the decision to her. He'd asked her to marry him, wanted her more than any woman alive, but wanted to be fair to her given his situation.

Sally pondered how much she'd been longing for his return regardless of his marriage to Adele.

She also thought of Joanna's father, marrying Elspeth in order to give his daughter a mother. Not the right reason to marry at all. And then there was Arnold Thomas, living under a cloud for years before hitching up with Elspeth, closing his eyes to her true nature because he was fed up of being lonely.

The world was in chaos and normal rules were no more.

‘Yes,' she said quietly. ‘I will wait for you.'

Pushing the kitchen chair behind him, he staggered to his feet, falling on her as if he would pass out if she failed to give her support.

When he kissed her his beard growth was rough on her skin. Both of his hands rested on hers, much rougher than they used to be.

Nothing
, she thought,
will ever be soft again.

She looked down at them, thinking of the time ahead when they wouldn't be together.

‘I need a memento of our time together.' She raised her head, her eyes moist with fear and longing. ‘I can't wait back here with nothing to remind me of you.'

He opened his mouth to interrupt and kissed her palm when she laid her hand over his mouth.

‘I don't mean a photograph. Pierre, I want more than that.'

He nodded and looked at her in wonder as what she was suggesting sunk in. ‘I understand.'

Knowing she would not wish her father or anyone else to hear, he took hold of her hand and led her out of the door and back to the barn.

‘The hay is soft. I well recommend it,' he said to her softly.

The night air was chill around them, but even after removing their clothes they were warm, the sweet-smelling hay forming both the mattress beneath them and a warm covering.

Sally shivered. ‘I've never done this before.'

Reining in his passion, Pierre took his time, kissing her lips, her nose, her face, his hands stroking her body until her flesh cried out for him.

‘I have dreamed of this time,' he said softly, his beautiful accent pouring into her ears along with his hot breath.

The smell of his sweat, the salty taste of his body, would be his personal memento to her, a reminder of this moment to sustain her when he was away. His hands were hot on her breasts, slightly abrasive as they travelled under her nightdress, loitering over the silky softness of her inner thighs.

When he entered her she held her breath and was tense at first until slowly sliding into pleasure, moving her hips in time with
his, gasping and arching her back until an incredible spasm shot through her body.

‘I wish you didn't have to go,' she whispered when they finally lay replete and happy.

Pierre kissed her head, breathing in the scent of her hair.

‘Neither do I. But I am ordered.'

He was called away two days later. Sally didn't ask where he was going. Deep down she knew he would be parachuted back behind enemy lines, though the actual destination was secret. All she could do was hope for his safe return and the day when they would finally marry.

A few days later she was still absorbed in thoughts about him and their night in the barn. Her mood was glum and she found it difficult to smile. Every small moment alone was taken up thinking about Pierre.

She was watching the red glow of sunset when she saw three figures coming towards her, no more than silhouettes against the glowing sky.

One of them was her father; another was Joanna. The third was Harry, his stout legs covering the ground between them.

Her father brushed past her followed by the other two.

Joanna was laughing and talking about the rabbits they'd found in the rough grass beyond the vegetable gardens.

‘Dad's going to trap them. He would have shot them, but Harry doesn't like guns.'

Sally smiled absentmindedly. ‘I wish everyone felt like that.'

Her father's eyes narrowed. She could tell he wanted to say something more but held off until Joanna was gone to bed and they were alone.

Sally made a pot of tea, frugally using the tea leaves from the previous brew in order to make their ration last.

Her father took a sip of tea then set his cup back in the saucer. Sally sensed he was about to give her a good talking to. Instead he burst into song.

‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem. Lift up your head and sing. Hosannas in the highest . . .'

Sally's jaw dropped. She'd never heard her father sing before.

Harry, who had been flat out in front of the fire, sat up and howled along with the tune.

The sound of footsteps came down the stairs, preceding Joanna's appearance.

Thinking she'd had another nightmare about Elspeth returning, Sally sprang to her feet.

‘Are you all right, Joanna?'

Joanna laughed. ‘I heard Dad singing and then Harry howling.'

When Seb finally finished, Joanna clapped enthusiastically before wrapping her arms around Harry's neck.

She looked up at Seb. ‘Dad, I didn't know Harry could sing. And that's such a good song. I like that song.'

Dad! Something jerked in Sally's mind. The first time Joanna called her father ‘dad' hadn't really registered, but it did now. It seemed so apt after everything that had happened. Joanna belonged here. With them. They all belonged here. Together.

She blinked under the intensity of her father's eyes.

‘We all have to be brave,' he said, quietly addressing his comments to Sally. ‘I was downhearted for a while after your mother went, but now I realise I was selfish. There were other people worse off than me.' Reaching down, he rubbed Harry's ears. Harry closed his eyes in response and made cosy noises. ‘It took a dog to shake me out of my selfishness.'

Sally smiled and narrowed her eyes to prevent the tears from falling.

‘I'll come up and tuck you in,' she said to Joanna.

The little girl beamed from ear to ear.

Before she had chance to close the door, Harry had bounded up the stairs to make in himself comfortable on Joanna's bed.

Sally sighed. She didn't really approve, but if the dog gave comfort, so what?

Before going back downstairs she thought about what her father had said about being selfish. She'd known immediately what he meant. It was no good her being downhearted while Pierre was away. She owed it to him to be brave and she would wait for him. She most certainly would.

Joanna hurried with the chattering throng of children armed with buckets of food for all the animals.

A terrible racket ensued once the animals heard their approach and Joanna joined in with everything that was going on.

Seb trailed behind them carrying the heavier buckets and making sure the smaller children didn't get left behind.

Keen to do her bit, Joanna emptied her bucket first.

‘Already?' said Seb, his eyes twinkling with fun.

‘Yes, Dad!' Joanna breathed a big sigh of satisfaction. ‘Everyone's been fed. We've all done our bit.'

Seb's eyes turned moist. She called him Dad all the time now.

He watched her as she met up with Harry, the glossy-coated cocker spaniel, the latter wagging as the two of them collided in a loving embrace.

He listened as she spoke to him while rubbing his ears.

‘See, Harry? We've got a great big family now. We're not orphans any more!' Seb smiled. ‘No,' he whispered, his eyes sweeping over the chattering throng of children. ‘You're not.'

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Copyright © Lizzie Lane 2016

Lizzie Lane has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

First published by Ebury Press in 2016

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 9781785033438