Wartime Sweethearts (2 page)

Ruby was adamant. The village lads were dull and stupid in comparison with Gareth. She much preferred his worldliness, the way he treated her as a woman, not a child. Ruby believed him utterly and totally; he had stolen her heart. And now her belief in him was about to be rewarded: he was going to ask her to marry him. That’s what this secret assignation was about; she was certain of it.

When she got to the Apple Tree, the swing of her hips and her bouncing step was brought to a sudden halt. Someone had left a handcart close to the back door leaving only the smallest of gaps to squeeze through. Whether she was meeting him or reporting for work, it was always via the back door. Even the fact of having to enter through the front door rather than the back failed to dent her buoyant mood. What did it matter which door she entered by? The outcome would be the same. Gareth would drop to one knee like the brave hero on some old-fashioned painting. He would be her faithful knight forever and she would be his wife.

Gareth came running in response to her gloved fist pounding on the front door.

‘Ruby,’ he said in that honey-brown voice of his, a sound that made her stomach flutter and her flesh tingle. No hello or how are you. There was no need; the way he said her name was more than welcoming, as if she were a chocolate pudding and he relished the thought of tasting her.

He had the most remarkable green eyes flecked like the inside of a glass marble with splashes of amber. She dreamed of those eyes at night; that, and his corn-coloured hair. Mary had told her that she was colour-blind and that his hair was silver in places.

‘He’s an old ram that thinks he’s a spring lamb. Watch out for him,’ she’d warned, yet again, the previous evening.

They’d had a row after that, Ruby accusing her sister of being jealous. Their young cousin Frances had been listening, twirling her braid around her fingers, her big blue eyes full of childish curiosity.

‘Do rams put their hands up girls’ skirts?’

The sudden question had brought the arguing to an instant halt. They’d looked open-mouthed at eleven-year-old Frances then burst out laughing.

Embarrassed by their laughter, Frances’s heart-shaped face had turned red before she turned and ran upstairs. They’d heard their bedroom door slam shut and the sound of springs as she threw herself on to her bed.

Neither her sister’s serious warning nor her cousin’s funny comment could hope to deter her from meeting with Gareth. Just wait and see when she asked them to be bridesmaids. My, but were they going to be surprised!

Gareth was dressed in tune with the warm day. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows revealing strong arms covered with a fine layer of golden hair. A few swirls of chest hair poked up over the open neck of his shirt.

‘Come along in, me love. Come along in.’

He made a sweeping movement with his arm.

Her heart raced when he stepped to one side, leaving only just enough room so her upper arm brushed against his chest. He smelled of sweat and shaving soap. His striped shirt was spotlessly clean but collarless. She wondered how a man alone could get his shirts so clean, so fresh-smelling. Mrs Burns, she thought. I expect Mrs Burns does his laundry. Mrs Burns, a woman in her forties with few teeth and a headscarf, cleaned the bar area and the draughty outside toilets. She arrived early and was always gone by ten in the morning, her metal curlers rattling as she swept and polished, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. Ruby, who only helped out in the bar of an evening, rarely bumped into her unless Gareth had asked her to work extra hours and her father didn’t need her in the bakery. It was on such an occasion that Gareth had first kissed her – once Mrs Burns was out of the way, that is.

Oblivious to the smell of cigarette ash and stale beer ingrained into the walls and ceiling, she felt herself blushing, stupidly wondering whether the old grey flagstone floor was clean enough for him to kneel on when he proposed to her; not that she minded if he didn’t kneel down. All that mattered was that he was about to ask her. Even though her father’s permission had to be sought, she would not refuse. After all, twenty-one wasn’t that far off, and then she could please herself.

She looked over her shoulder at him, saw him leaning back against the door, his eyes travelling slowly over her as though savouring every inch.

Ruby blinked in an effort to adjust her eyes to the inner gloom. The old pub had walls of burnt sepia, a bar of rough oak and an odd assortment of beer-stained tables and rickety chairs. Once, she’d laughingly asked Gareth if everyone in the village had donated an odd chair, the rest of the set burned years ago on a bonfire.

He’d laughed at that and called her cheeky. That was when he’d first arrived in the village just seven years ago. Even back then when she’d seen him at church or around the village he’d never really treated her as a child, smiling as he told her what a beauty she was. And he’d never tickled her. Some of the village boys had tickled her wanting to make her laugh until she was in danger of wetting her knickers.

But that was back then, when Gareth and his wife had only just moved to the village. His wife hadn’t lasted long. The story was she’d died of TB just after she was taken to a sanatorium. Ruby only vaguely remembered her. Even back then, Ruby had surmised that Gareth was very aware of her, paying her the same attention as he might an older woman. And that was when I was just a kid, she told herself. Fatherly affection. And now ….

‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ he said, his voice low and hushed, his fingers tangling in her hair.

To her ears it sounded as though he couldn’t quite believe she was here.

‘I had to come. You said it was about something special.’ She couldn’t stop her voice from trembling. Her legs were doing pretty much the same thing and her face felt as though it was about to burst into flames.

His smile took her breath away, his gaze holding hers as the gap between them closed until she could feel the whole length of his body pressing against hers. Her heart seemed to pound in her ears, so much that she could almost believe it was the freight train down on the adjacent railway line heading up to the Midlands.

But it wasn’t a train. This was her moment. It was all about her.

When he began unbuttoning the bodice of her dress, it felt as though a small bird was trapped close to her heart, its wings fluttering against her ribs.

She held her breath relishing the feel of his fingers burrowing inside her brassiere. It felt good and she wanted him badly, but there could be consequences. She would not, could not, bring shame to her family.

‘Gareth! No!’ She attempted to force his hands away. ‘What if Mrs Burns comes in?’

‘She isn’t coming in today,’ he said, his fingers groping her breast. ‘I wanted for us to be alone. This place and the world to ourselves. Don’t you want it too?’ he asked, his breath hot and moist against her ear, following the line of her jaw, falling over her face until their lips finally met.

She so wanted to give in, and yet she still held on to a strand of resistance.

He hadn’t asked her to marry him yet, but she still believed he would. Besides, it wasn’t the first time he’d caressed her bare breasts. He’d also tried shoving his hand up her skirt – just as Frances had mentioned. The little brat must have been watching, though kids picked up all sorts of naughty ideas in the school playground.

So far she’d just about kept the burly Gareth Stead at bay, insisting she was keeping herself for the man she married. Now he was telling her that the time had come, whispering into her ear that he wanted her and her alone, now and for evermore.

She tried to ignore the fact that the word marriage had not been mentioned. To her mind the words he was whispering into her ear meant the same thing. If she hadn’t been aroused, if she’d seen it happening to somebody else, she would have told them they were making a fool of themselves. But it was happening to her and she wanted to believe.

He took hold of her hand, holding it tightly, guiding it down to the front of his trousers. ‘Touch me,’ he said, his moist breath gasping on to her face. ‘This is what you are doing to me. I can’t help it.’

‘No … Gareth … I don’t …’

She clenched her hand into a tight fist while trying with all her might to pull away. He held on to her firmly, fingers clamped around her wrist.

‘Here!’ he exclaimed. ‘Touch me here.’

She let out a little gasp as he pressed her palm flat against his buttoned flies where the hard contours of his erection pulsated against her touch. The size of it was bad enough, but that hardness! It wasn’t what she’d expected. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it scared her.

In her youthful naivety, she’d expected something similar to the sight of her brother and the village boys when they had stripped naked as youngsters, hurling themselves into the brook at the bottom of Court Road.

Gareth didn’t seem to notice her reluctance and she in turn didn’t realise just how determined he was to have her there and then.

‘This is for you,’ he whispered, his voice thick and breath hot against her face. He planted a warm moist kiss on her lips then said, ‘Unbutton me while I explore your secret parts.’

She felt a draught of cold air as he lifted the hem of her dress, her favourite dress that she’d taken care to wash and press before responding to his invitation. It occurred to her that he hadn’t passed comment on her dress; in fact, he had paid no compliment to her at all.

His hand caressed that part of her leg just above the knee before climbing further and further up her leg. Finally his strong fingers and calloused palms were caressing the bare flesh between her stocking top and her knickers.

It wasn’t the first time he’d ventured there, but this time he seemed more determined.

Her heart was pounding, her blood racing. She wanted him. He wanted her, but a warning voice began to seep through and as it gained strength pointed out the reality of what was happening at this moment.

She’d come here expecting Gareth to ask her to marry him, to share his bed for the rest of their lives. But he hadn’t mentioned marriage, so it was up to her to bring up the subject before things went any further.

‘No!’

She struggled to free herself and because he was engrossed in dipping his fingers between her legs, the hand that held hers against his groin loosened.

She managed to hold him at arm’s length.

He looked stunned that she’d refused him.

‘Ruby, my darling girl. You don’t mean that. You want it. You want it badly.’ He shook his head mournfully though there was laughter in his eyes.

Suddenly she could see that he was mocking her. ‘I’m saving myself for marriage!’

‘No, Ruby my sweet. You’ve been asking for it for years, ever since you were a gangly girl with ribbons in your hair. I thought about giving it to you then, but held back. Decided I would be a gentleman and let you come of age – ripen, so to speak.’

Still clinging to her hands, fingers interlaced with his, he tried to kiss her. She acted swiftly, turning her head so he ended up kissing the side of her nose.

Ruby uncoupled her fingers from his, pushing him away at the same time as desperately trying to push down her dress.

‘Nobody says no to me,’ growled Gareth, his face growing red with anger.

He attempted to grab her wrists, cursing that she should feel grateful, a little no-account village girl like her, without grace, without manners, without the elegance or experience of the city women he’d known, including the one he’d been married to.

Somehow he managed to gain a hold on both her wrists. Ruby twisted and wriggled. When that failed she began to kick and then suddenly she screamed.

Gareth’s face turned white.

‘Shh!’ he said, putting a finger to his mouth, his eyes more furtive now, wary of her scream being heard. His frustration turned to anger. ‘If you didn’t want it, why the bloody hell did you come here?’ he said, glowering at her with chilly hard eyes, the mouth she’d loved to kiss no longer seductive but cruel and petulant.

‘I thought … I thought …’ Ruby stammered.

‘That’s the exit,’ he said to her, pointing at the rear door that he’d momentarily forgotten was blocked by a handcart.

Ruby realised he sounded impatient for her to be gone.

Ruby tried again. ‘I thought …’

Hands on hips, Gareth threw back his head and gave his exasperation, and his contempt full rein. ‘Go on. I might as well hear it. What the hell did you think I wanted?’

Ruby felt a hot flush coming to her cheeks. Suddenly she was again a little girl, not the sophisticated woman she so wanted to be. She felt such a fool.

At first she thought about just leaving him there without mentioning her belief he had asked her here to propose. But then if it was left unsaid he might presume that she had indeed come here for what he’d wanted but had chickened out. She had to say it.

‘I thought you were going to ask me to marry you,’ she said in a small voice, eyes lowered as she rapidly buttoned up her dress.

For a moment his expression was implacable, as though his face was carved from stone. He stared at her, a withering stare that made her feel as though she were just a stupid little girl who wanted to play at being a bride; not for real. Just pretend.

He shook his head.

Ruby wanted to believe that, despite him trying to force himself on her, there might still be hope. She’d imagined herself in a white dress walking down the aisle on her father’s arm, Gareth standing at the altar, turning his head and smiling, the light of love in his eyes.

The truth of the matter was that even her father had voiced his disquiet that she seemed too close to the man.

‘Running down there to help behind the bar, cleaning the place when old Mrs Burns has a day off. The man’s taking advantage of you,’ her father had grumbled just the other day.

Gareth Stead, a man with a passion for fresh virgin flesh, prided himself on being able to read female minds, to ingratiate himself with innocent young women until they trusted him. Once they trusted him, they were his to do with as he pleased and no matter what anyone said, including their family, he was the one they turned to.