She thrust her feet into her slippers and wandered out to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. A quick glance at the clock in the drawing room told her the hour wasn’t too advanced and she had plenty of time to get to work.
After stoking the Aga cooker with fuel, she changed her mind about the tea, deciding to wash and dress first. In the bathroom she dashed cold water over her face and body, shivering violently when she applied a damp cloth to her skin. She thought longingly of the days when she would soak in a bubble-filled bath with water up to her neck, another thing of the past since the onset of war. She dressed briskly in a green floral dress. Once she reached the shop, she’d wear an apron to protect her clothes. She brushed her hair and deftly pinned the strands up in a chignon. Humming softly, she tidied her room before heading to the kitchen.
She knocked on her cousin’s bedroom door, knowing she needed to report back on duty in less than an hour. “Christine!”
“I’m awake.”
“I’m making a pot of tea,” Pamela said, waiting until the thump of feet indicated Christine’s exit from her bed. “If you hurry you’ll have time to have a cup before you leave for the airbase.”
“Thanks. I won’t take a jiffy.”
With the tea drawing, she ate a piece of bread and jam and wondered if she’d see Michael again. She certainly hoped he kept his promise. Five minutes later, she was ready to leave for the shop. Her cousin hadn’t made an appearance yet.
“Christine?”
The door flew open. Christine appeared dressed in her WAAF uniform with her brown hair in disarray around her shoulders.
“I didn’t hear Owen leave.”
“It was after midnight,” Christine said with a yawn. “Are you going to meet Michael again?”
“I might.”
“Ah! I knew you’d hit it off with one of the pilots. I thought Bogle—” She broke off with a pained grimace.
Bogle was the pilot they’d toasted the previous evening. Pamela hurriedly took over the conversation because the sheen of tears filled Christine’s eyes. She’d cared for Bogle. “Michael walked me home last night. You look tired.”
“I am, but the late night was worth it. Thank you for letting us spend time together here at the cottage. I owe you.”
“It’s no problem. As long as your mother or one of the neighbors doesn’t find out, everything should work out fine.” Pamela hid her worry and smiled, bending close to kiss her cousin’s cheek. “Thanks for talking me into going to the pub. It was fun.” The small clock in the drawing room chimed the hour. “Oh, look at the time. I need to open up the shop or I’ll have a line of customers even more disgruntled than normal. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Thanks again. Both Owen and I appreciate what you did for us. And don’t worry. We were very discreet,” Christine said before disappearing back into her room.
Pamela left the cottage to walk to the shop. Old Mrs. Robinson pedaled past on her bicycle and gave a cheery wave. The scent of roses lay heavy on the air, the old bushes flourishing despite the lack of care. Neither she nor Christine took much interest in the garden, and apart from the vegetables she grew around the Anderson shelter, she let the plants grow wild.
The buzz of planes overhead made her head jerk upward. A flash of color attracted her attention before clouds screened the Spitfires speeding through the sky.
Michael flew a Spitfire. She sent a silent prayer for his safety along with the other pilots and hoped his lucky coin deserved the faith he placed in the talisman.
Chapter Three
Three days passed and Pamela still didn’t open her mother’s letter. She kept picking up the fat envelope and setting it aside, not wanting to read the contents. Guilt filled her—she wasn’t a good daughter, but her mother didn’t exactly win any prizes in the mothering department either. Regret struck her, standing alongside the guilt. She’d open the letter when she got home from work.
Pamela finished the cheese and pickle sandwich her aunt had left for her. Gaps in the canned goods shelf dictated she spend the afternoon restocking. She collected more stock from the storehouse. After pricing them, she filled the gaps on the shelves between customers.
Despite rationing, a steady stream of customers entered the store throughout the afternoon.
The local schoolmistress pushed through the door. “Hello, Pamela.”
“Has school finished for the day already?”
The woman smiled. “Yes, and I’m pleased the day has come to an end. I shouldn’t say this, but some of the children behaved like monkeys today.” Laughing, she pulled a shopping list out of her cane shopping basket and handed it to Pamela along with her ration book.
The doorbell tinkled again, and Pamela glanced over her shoulder. Her aunt stepped through the door. Her smile of greeting faded when she noticed the dour expression on her aunt’s face. Oops, that didn’t bode well. Immediately her guilty conscience and her timid angel prodded her sharply.
With nerves dancing inside her stomach, she turned her attention back to her customer, measuring sugar, flour, and tea. She crossed items off the list, packing them in the cane basket as she went. Her aunt chatted with the schoolmistress about the upcoming fete and the poor state of road repair. Evidently, Sarah Jones-Smith fell and twisted her ankle while attempting to cross the road in front of the school and young Tommy Grayson was in trouble for taking his Dinky toys to school.
Once the schoolmistress left, Pamela turned to her aunt with a faint sensation of foreboding. “Is something wrong?”
“Laura rang me this morning.”
“Oh.” Her mother had marshaled the troops and set her aunt on her.
“Yes,” her aunt said in a grim voice. “My sister—your mother—is threatening to come to visit.”
Pamela bit her lip and didn’t say anything.
“Unless she hears from you today. Your mother will drive herself into one of her sick states because she hasn’t heard from you. You will ring her today.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry she dragged you into this.”
Her aunt smiled then, a wide beam shadowed with love. She gave Pamela a quick hug and stepped back. “I’m not blind to Laura’s faults. Small doses work best.”
“I’ll ring her once I finish work. I promise.”
“Good. Have you seen Christine today?”
“No, but she’s been busy at the base.”
Her aunt nodded. “Do you need help with anything here?”
“No, I’m fairly organized. I restocked the shelves this afternoon between customers.”
“Splendid,” her aunt said. “Don’t forget to ring your mother.”
“I won’t.” Pamela kept a pleasant smile on her face even though she wanted to scream. Her mother used emotional blackmail every time she wanted her to do something. She hated to ponder the cause of her mother’s current ballyhoo—it was obviously something big because she’d involved her sister.
She couldn’t wait to discover what her mother’s fuss related to this time.
On the way home, she stopped at one of the village phone boxes and rang her mother.
“Pamela, it’s about time you contacted me. I wrote to you over a week ago.”
“I’ve been busy at the shop, Mother.” The apology in her tone made Pamela scowl. “I talked to you two weeks ago. With the hours I work it’s not easy for me to phone you.” She didn’t bother to mention her mother’s frequent absences at various charitable committee meetings made catching up with her even more difficult.
“I’m sure Susan wouldn’t mind if you used her phone.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I need you to come home to nurse me back to health. It’s my heart.”
Alarm filled Pamela until she realized her mother hadn’t mentioned her heart problems to her aunt, which meant they couldn’t be too serious. “I have a job, responsibilities.”
“Susan won’t mind if you return to London. She’s family. She’ll understand.”
“I haven’t visited the doctor yet. Didn’t you get my letter?”
“No. When did you post it?” She hoped a lightning bolt wouldn’t strike her down for lying.
“Typical,” her mother said with a sniff. “This war will ruin England.”
“Quite,” Pamela said, thankful her mother couldn’t witness her rolling eyes.
“We have a new minister. He’s not much older than you. Single, you know.”
Now they got to the point of their conversation. Her mother wanted her back in London to run ragged with her demands, and she wanted her married to someone she approved of, someone of her choosing.
“Mother, I’m sorry you’re not well. Have you made an appointment to see the doctor?”
“No, I don’t think a doctor visit is necessary,” her mother said. “When will you be home? I’m doing some volunteer work through the church. We need all the help we can muster.”
Pamela bit back a retort. “I’ll come home for a visit in three weeks. I’ll ring before I arrive, in case you have plans.”
“But Pamela—”
“Good-bye, Mother.” Pamela didn’t give her a chance to say anything else, hanging up on her. She sighed, pressing her face against the phone booth glass for an instant before exiting. Her mother wasn’t a bad person, but she’d focused her attention on Pamela and didn’t want to let go even though she’d reached adulthood.
Pamela walked home deep in thought. She refused to let her mother steamroll over her and direct her life. While she might have given in to her demands in the past, she wouldn’t concede again. An ache started up in her forearm the second she thought about Thomas. She’d gone from her mother’s control to Thomas’s, and she wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She valued her independence too much to let anyone make decisions for her.
Back at her cottage, Pamela reheated some of the vegetable and beef bone soup she’d made the previous weekend and toasted two slices of bread for her dinner. After washing and drying the dishes, she sat at the kitchen table to contemplate her mother’s letter again. She picked it up, and ripped the envelope open when someone tapped on the rear door.
She opened it and smiled. “Michael, what are you doing here?”
“I have the evening off and immediately thought about you. Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Pamela stood aside to let him enter and, after peeking outside to check for her elderly neighbor, closed the door.
“Don’t worry. No one observed my stealthy approach.”
“Am I that transparent?”
“I come from a village near the Cotswolds and know what small community life is like. The last thing I want is to give rise to gossip. In fact, I’ll leave if that’s what you want.”
“No, stay. Please. Would you like something to drink? Have you eaten? I have some soup.”
“No, I wanted to see you. I’ve thought about you a lot this week.” He didn’t exhibit signs of teasing, flirtation, or male posturing—just a simple statement of fact. He stepped closer, his hand rising as if he wanted to touch her. His arm dropped back to his side.
Pamela stared at him with a hint of uncertainty before she went with her gut reaction. “Me, too.”
“Good. I … we haven’t known each other long…” He hesitated, his green eyes meeting her gaze yet holding a trace of anxiety. “Can I kiss you? I won’t blame you if you say no. We kissed the other night—”
“Yes.” Pamela smiled and walked straight into his embrace. His arms came around her automatically while they stared at each other. “Of course you can kiss me.” She’d dwelled on their kisses often, even more than she’d mused about her mother’s letter.
“I didn’t want to presume.”
“And here I thought pilots took what they wanted and fought the girls off with a stick.”
“My friend—” He broke off, a flash of anguish darkening his eyes before he continued. “Not me.”
But he’d showed such confidence at the Poacher’s Pocket. He’d swooped in and hadn’t given the other pilots much of a chance to chat or flirt with her. He must have read her mind because he grimaced.
“I pretty much worked on instinct the other night. Once I saw you, I knew I needed to work fast or one of my chums would steal you away.”
“I don’t believe you.” Michael bore the same good looks as Thomas, and women had loved her husband. After their first meeting, she’d been surprised and gratified when Thomas asked her out instead of one of her more outgoing friends. Of course, in hindsight, she recognized he’d wanted a woman he could mold to an obedient wife, one who never questioned him. He’d mistaken her initial shyness for compliance and seen her as a biddable wife who would let him direct her. A mistake. That wasn’t her because, in order to deal with her mother, she’d grown an inner strength.
“I drank quite a bit the other night. A friend—” His voice broke and he closed his eyes briefly. This, more than anything he said, persuaded her to give him another chance. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. Chalk this up as a mistake. I’ll go.”
Pamela grasped his upper arm, halting him when he would have turned away. “No. Please don’t go. Why don’t I make us a cup of tea or cocoa if you prefer and we can sit and talk? We can start over.”
The tension left his big body. “Thank you. I’d like that. I haven’t drunk a cup of cocoa for months.”
“Why don’t you come and sit in the kitchen while I heat some milk? I have the radio in there. We can listen to the evening comedy show together.” When he didn’t move immediately, she grasped his big hand and tugged lightly. Obviously his friend’s death cut him deep. She didn’t know how the pilots did it, flying sortie after sortie, watching their friends and colleagues die, and not cracking under the strain. She worried about bombs falling around the village, but the stress must be so much worse for the men who fought the enemy on a daily basis.
Pamela pulled the blackout curtains shut, making sure no telltale light would shine through to earn her the wrath of the local warden. In the kitchen, she dropped the blind and pulled the curtains too, before flicking on a light. Behind her the soft strains of a big band tune filled the air.
“Have a seat. This won’t take long.” Pamela bustled about, pulling out the milk, cocoa, and sugar from the larder. Once she’d made the cocoa, they sat in a companionable silence, the music a pleasant buffer. “I will get a kiss before you leave, won’t I?” Yes, she was being forward, but her cousin was right. If she didn’t kiss Michael tonight and something happened to him, she’d regret it. She wasn’t sure about sex and sleeping with a man, though. That sort of commitment wasn’t something she was ready for. Not yet.
A gleam entered Michael’s eyes and he grinned. “That’s a good idea.”
A slow number started playing on the radio. She couldn’t remember the name, but the melody made her long to dance. She lifted her gaze from her cocoa and blushed when she caught him staring at her.
“Would you like to dance?”
Pamela nodded, falling a little bit in love with him in that moment. They both stood and she walked into his arms. With her head on his chest, they swayed together, hardly moving because the table and chairs took up most of the room. His scent surrounded her. He must have shaved before he came and she itched to run her fingers across his cheeks. Perhaps he’d construe contact of that nature as forward behavior. She snorted inwardly. Touching his cheek wasn’t much worse than asking him to kiss her. She gave in to temptation and curled one hand behind his neck while the other traced across his face. His cheek was a touch abrasive, not quite as smooth as she’d imagined while his hair felt thick and silky beneath her questing fingertips.
“If you keep looking at me lik
e that I will kiss you.”
“Who said anything about me stopping you?”
They stared at each other. Despite the talk of kissing, despite the fact they’d kissed on the night they’d met, this time felt as if they were crossing a line. Pamela didn’t know what hid on the other side of that line. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know. All she wanted was to kiss Michael, even more than she needed her next breath of air.
“Are you sure about this?” Michael seemed a bit more reticent. Maybe he’d already discovered what lay in the unexplored territory.
Instead of answering, she stood on tiptoe and drew his head down. Their lips met, and if anything, the kiss held more magic than their first. The little earlier knowledge made the difference. There was a perfect fit, a flicker of tongue in a gentle encouragement for her to open her mouth and let him deepen the contact. One of his hands smoothed across her back, holding her to him while the other rose to caress her cheek. He held her fast, yet the firm grip didn’t threaten her or remind her of Thomas’s violence. Her senses leaped, everything brighter and full of clarity. She relaxed against him, her skin tingling at each point of contact.
Michael pulled back to stare down at her. His breath feathered against her mouth; then, without another word, he reclaimed her lips, crushing their bodies together. Hunger, stark and true, flared between them. Slow, drugging kisses replaced the hunger as they tasted and explored each other’s mouths. Pamela sensed the frisson of danger, the enticement to take things further between them. Arousal swept from her breasts to the feminine folds between her legs, and she moaned softly, pressing against his body to assuage the ache that had sprung to life.
When they came up for air, they were both breathing hard.
“Can we sit down, maybe on the couch?”
Disappointment pierced her when he didn’t suggest moving to the bedroom. Silly, really, considering her fears for her reputation and the fact they didn’t know each other well. Not yet.
A Discreet Affair Page 4