* * * *
Michael found himself whistling on his way to the shower. He pushed through the door leading to the ablution block, breaking off midwhistle to curse under his breath. Bloody hell. Roburn. The man was an ass. Maybe if he ignored him, they could pretend not to see each other.
“What are you so happy about, Ace?”
The bags under Roburn’s eyes looked large enough to pack with luggage. No wonder since none of them managed a full night’s sleep these days. “Nothing.”
Michael put his kit down on a bench and started to strip.
“Who the hell has been chewing on your neck?”
Michael froze. What the blazes was Roburn talking about? He glanced in the wall mirror and bit back a grin. Pamela. He shrugged and didn’t bother replying.
Roburn stepped closer. “Ace, you’ve been with a woman.”
“It’s a rash of some sort.” Naked, Michael turned on the shower and jumped under the cold water, washing briskly. Roburn stepped into the stall next to him but Michael continued to ignore him. Best for everyone. He finished his shower, dried off and hurried back to his room.
Yet another new arrival sat on Bogle’s bed.
“Michael Stedman.” Michael offered his hand for the newcomer to shake. “Have you been to the mess yet?”
“Jeff Anderson. No, I haven’t. I only arrived half an hour ago.”
“I’m going to the mess now. Why don’t you come along and I’ll introduce you around?” Michael chucked his wash bag down on his bed and retraced his footsteps to the door. The kid followed him. He hoped this new arrival lasted longer than the last one.
In the mess, the steward brought them a beer each and Michael introduced him to the pilots who sat around the lounge. The voices became increasingly louder as the hour progressed, although most of the pilots in his squadron limited themselves to one beer. They needed their wits about them during the evening sortie to come.
“Are you feeling lucky, Stedman?” Roburn’s oily voice slid into his awareness.
“What’re you talking about?” Michael noticed everyone in the vicinity had fallen silent and listened closely.
“Stedman has a woman.”
“Shut it,” Michael snarled.
Roburn’s cronies smirked and nudged each other, reminding Michael of the school yard.
“Perhaps you need this?” Roburn chucked a coin in the air. It caught the light, glittering before he caught the coin again.
Automatically, Michael felt for his lucky charm. It wasn’t there. He sprang from his seat before he’d even registered the impulse. He threw a punch, wiping the smirk right off Roburn’s face. A table and tankards went flying. Someone cursed. Michael ignored them, intent on retrieving his coin. Roburn hit back, putting muscle behind his punch. He didn’t intend to make this an easy fight. He swept out his leg, tripping Michael. A fist struck him in the stomach, and he went down with a thump. For an instant, he fought for his breath, winded. Sheer bloody-mindedness forced him to his feet. His eyes narrowed on Roburn, his focus on getting his coin back.
“Thump him, Roburn,” one of his cronies shouted. “Aim for Ace’s pretty face.”
Roburn smirked, and Michael charged, swinging his fist at the same time. The blow connected with Roburn’s face in a satisfying crack.
The CO appeared in the doorway of the mess, and everyone fell silent. “Who started it?”
Michael didn’t take his eyes off Roburn. “I did.”
“Save the energy for the Huns.”
Michael thought the CO would ground him. He didn’t, instead turning and leaving without another word.
“Would you like this?” Roburn chucked his coin in the air again.
“Give him his lucky coin,” one of the other pilots said.
Roburn smirked and thumped the coin down on one of the tables that still stood. “It’s just a coin. It doesn’t have any magical powers. I don’t need it, but if you’re interested in sharing your woman I might consider.”
Jeff, the new guy, sauntered over and picked up the coin. “Ignore him.” He handed the charm to Michael. “He’s not worth the trouble.”
But Michael couldn’t forget the insult, both to him and Pamela. She wasn’t a tart and she didn’t deserve to have malicious gossip spread around the base about her. It wouldn’t take long for her name to come out, for the talk to filter out to the village. Somehow, he’d fix this mess. Somehow.
* * * *
“We need to do something special for your birthday,” Christine said.
Pamela looked up from her pile of darning to grab a length of wool from the supplies she stored in an empty Meltis Newberry Fruits box. “I’m having dinner with Michael.”
“Who’s Michael?” her aunt said, entering the room without warning.
“A pilot from the base.”
“I didn’t realize you’d met someone,” her aunt said, her blue eyes twinkling with teasing. “Is that why you haven’t spent as much time visiting us? Tell me about Michael.”
“I met him when I went to the Poacher’s Pocket with Christine.” Pamela hated the flicker of pain that swept over her cousin’s face at the reminder of Owen. Nothing she could do would ease Christine’s anguish. “We got on well together and have seen each other a few times since then.” She winced inwardly as heat swept her face. Hopefully her aunt would think her teasing caused the blush rather than Pamela’s guilty conscience. Yet despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t feel regret giving her body to Michael. She relished the physical closeness … Her thoughts trailed off and she felt herself frowning about the last time they’d made love. While she’d enjoyed their coming together at the store, he’d left her like a fancy woman when he’d walked away after their hanky-panky. She couldn’t help dwelling on the way he’d left her and she hadn’t seen him since. Unable to talk to Christine about it, she forced her fears aside.
“When are we going to meet Michael?”
“I don’t know. I don’t see him a lot. Besides, we’re just friends.”
Christine stepped in to help her. “They’re busy up at the airbase, Mum. Especially with the number of attacks coming over the channel.”
Pamela didn’t know how Christine managed to keep her tears at bay when talking about pilots. When Christine stayed the night with her, she cried a lot, late at night when she thought no one would hear.
“You could invite him and maybe some of his friends to dinner one night,” her aunt said, beaming at both of them.
“Maybe,” Christine said, her inner torment obvious to Pamela. Everything reminded her of Owen. “Although it isn’t easy for the pilots at the moment. They spend most of their free time sleeping. Everyone is exhausted.”
“I thought we’d have a luncheon to celebrate your birthday, Pamela. It’s not every day a young lady turns twenty-five.”
Knowing her aunt’s stubborn inclinations, Pamela conceded gracefully. “That sounds lovely.”
“Is there anyone in particular you’d like to invite?”
Pamela rattled off several names—young women of her acquaintance who lived in the village. None of them were close friends—not like Christine—but her aunt would expect her to invite them. She and Michael hoped to have dinner on Friday, the day before her birthday. If everything went well, he’d stay the night or at least some of it.
* * * *
The days passed, one seeming much like another. Early mornings. Late nights. One sortie after another. Tempers grew shorter with each day, and Roburn, in particular, continued to rile him. Ace this. Ace that. Michael wasn’t interested in scoring the most hits on enemy planes. All he wanted was to do his job and survive.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Jeff said, joining Michael in their room after yet another confrontation with Roburn. This time Michael managed to walk away without giving in to Roburn’s taunts, but even now anger pumped thick and strong through his veins.
“I don’t mind what he says about me, but when he talks about Pamela that way he a
nnoys me.” Jeff was an amazing pilot, with the luck of the devil, and slowly, Michael had let his natural reserve fade. It was good to have a chum to talk with, to grumble about the CO and the boring menu in the dining room.
“Do you love her?”
Michael’s mouth dropped open before snapping shut. It wasn’t the question—it was his ready answer that astonished him. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you ask her to marry you then? Have a short engagement and marry her. Marriage will stop the unseemly gossip straightaway.”
“But what if I don’t return from a flight?”
“It’s just as dangerous here,” Jeff pointed out. “A car almost ran me over in the village last night when I was walking back after the pictures.”
“She mightn’t want to marry a pilot.”
“But what if she does? You might have months or years of happiness in front of you. My mother says life is about taking chances. What we have to do is weigh the consequences first, then take a leap of faith.”
“She’s fairly independent. If something did happen to me, she could continue here or move to the Cotswolds and live with my family. They’ll love her.” The more he considered asking Pamela to marry him, the better he liked the idea. His parents had a good solid marriage, as did his three uncles. With that sort of an example, he had a good foundation for a marriage of his own.
“Then what are you waiting for? Ask her next time you see her.”
Was it that easy? Michael considered a future with Pamela and didn’t suffer the same panic he might have several years earlier. Instead, the idea of marriage didn’t remind him of a trap. He wanted to spend time with Pamela, get to know her better than he already did, and spend a lifetime doing it. His lips curled upward. Sappy, yet it was nothing less than the truth. “I don’t have a ring.”
Jeff grinned, his homely face glowing with sudden life. “A ring is only a symbol. It’s what happens inside here”—he thumped his chest—“that matters.”
Michael shook his head, not trying to hold back his laugh. “When did you grow so wise? You’re not even twenty yet.”
“It comes from years of listening to my grandmother. She has pithy sayings for every occasion.”
“So you think the lack of a ring won’t faze her? I bet her husband gave her one.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You won’t know unless you ask her. Besides, if she says yes, you can always buy her a ring later.”
Marriage. The more he thought about the idea, the better he liked it. The ring wasn’t a problem. He had the one his mother received from her grandmother. He could give her that once he had a chance to visit home. “What if she says no?”
“Hey, I’ve given you advice. Surely you don’t expect me to hold your hand as well?”
“I might need you to dry my tears if she says no,” Michael said.
“As my grandmother says, you won’t know until you ask her.”
“It’s her birthday on Saturday. I’m seeing her on Friday night.”
“Ask her then,” Jeff said. “What are you giving her for her birthday?”
Michael grimaced. “I haven’t had time to get her a gift. Do you think she’ll mind?”
“Women get upset about things like that. They expect presents.”
“How do you know?”
“I have three older sisters and one younger. That teaches you a lot about women.”
Michael sat on the edge of his bed. Maybe he should listen to Jeff. “Is there anything else I should know that might help me win Pamela?”
* * * *
“Michael.” Pamela pulled open her front door and ushered him inside. He looked better than the last time she’d seen him—still tired but his large body didn’t hold the same tension. She shut the door and turned to him. Before she uttered a word, he wrapped her in a bear hug and kissed her until she was breathless.
“Happy birthday for tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” She let out her breath in a tiny sigh of pleasure. If her future birthdays held kisses like that, she’d never grow into a crotchety old woman.
“I didn’t have time to buy you a gift.” He smiled suddenly, drawing back to grasp her hands. “I thought about stealing a flower from your neighbor’s garden but she was watching me from the window.”
Pamela groaned. “Really? She’s already asked me about the strange man she saw visiting me. I told her you’re my cousin who works at the airbase, but I’m not sure she believes me. If she’s seen you again she’ll probably ask more questions and start spreading gossip—if she hasn’t already.”
“Don’t worry. I kept walking and sneaked back once the curtains stopped twitching.”
“I wish you didn’t have to sneak. It’s none of her business who I have to visit or what time you leave. I can’t believe her behavior. When she fell out of her apple tree, I took her to the doctor and helped her around the house for three weeks. You’d think that would count for something—a bit of discretion at least.” She puffed out an indignant breath. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about Mrs. Pearson. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Hand in hand, they walked into the kitchen. The scent of mince and vegetables filled the kitchen with enticing scents, and she’d gone to great lengths to make the meal special, using her best china and cutlery and a small vase of daisies as the centerpiece. For a moment she studied the table. The setting looked … romantic and seductive. Had she gone overboard?
“Hey, everything looks wonderful.” Michael brushed a swift kiss on her cheek. “This is much nicer than the dining room at base. The company is better too.”
“Thank you.” The seductive glow in his eyes made her toes curl, and a sudden shyness swept over her. They would make love soon. A shiver of anticipation coalesced in a surge of heat to her sex. Unable to meet his gaze any longer she turned away and picked up a wooden spoon to stir the meat. A joint of beef with roast vegetables and Yorkshire pudding would have been better, but she couldn’t afford to produce a meal like that. This would need to suffice.
“Dinner smells good.” He seemed to sense her nervousness, and the knowledge steadied her.
“I wish my ration coupons would stretch to roast beef.” She could save her ration coupons and serve him something extra special. “Maybe another time.”
“I came to visit you. What we eat for dinner doesn’t matter.”
She grinned at him. “You always say exactly the right thing to make me feel better.”
“Pamela, I was going to wait until after dinner, but the delay is making me nervous.”
Surprised at the tone of his voice, she knocked the wooden spoon against the side of the pot and placed it on the countertop. She turned to face him again, ready to hear the worst. She’d given away the milk for free and now his interest had waned. She forced herself to speak when she wanted to shriek at him. Men always took what they wanted. No, that wasn’t right. Honesty propelled her to admit the truth. She’d offered her body to him. Freely, and she couldn’t cry rape now.
“Do you want to stop seeing me?”
“No! Of course not. The opposite in fact. I … will you marry me?”
Shock held her still. She stared at Michael, registered his hope and expectation as thoughts whirred through her mind like the rush of a news reel at the cinema. “You want to marry me?” No. No, this was the last thing she wanted. She’d never marry again.
“Yes.” His voice softened and he stepped closer, brushing his finger down her cheek in a delicate touch. “We haven’t known each other for long, but sometimes a man knows when a woman is right for him. According to my roomie—”
“You talked to your roommate about us?”
“Nothing too personal. He’s a young chap with a good head on his shoulders. He offered some excellent advice. A couple of the pilots have started to talk. I think about you all the time. Whenever we’re not together you’re on my mind.”
“But I didn’t realize you wanted marriage.” This evening wasn’t going the way she’d envisaged
. Surely Michael thought the same way as Owen? She’d counted on the fact.
“I don’t want to wait. Some of the boys think it’s better to wait, but nothing is certain in this world. I want to get married and spend the rest of my life with you, however long that might be. I want to make things right.” Although he spoke with confidence, his shoulders tensed while he waited for her answer, his green gaze not leaving her face.
“No,” she blurted. “No, I’m sorry but I can’t marry you.”
“What?” His face blanked of expression, but she caught a flash of pain. “I thought—” He broke off and swallowed, his hands dropping to his sides. “I might as well return to the base.”
“No! Wait. Please don’t go.” He couldn’t leave like this. She owed him an explanation, no matter how much she hated dredging up the past. She stepped away from him, wringing her hands, and paced around the kitchen table. “I suppose I’d better explain. My first marriage—it wasn’t a happy one. You’d better take a seat. It’s a long story.” She waited for him to sit, worrying her bottom lip. “Maybe I’ll serve dinner.”
“No, I don’t feel like eating.”
Weakly, she subsided onto a chair and tried to meet his gaze. Her throat felt tight, as if she’d swallowed a handkerchief, and she gulped, trying to control the sudden fear that assailed her. Would he understand, or sympathize with her husband and think a man had the right to treat his wife like a chattel?
“Tell me why you won’t marry me.”
“We don’t know each other well. I like you. A lot.” But not enough to give up her freedom. The knot in her throat expanded, repeated swallowing doing nothing to shift it.
“But not enough to marry me.” His eyes glittered like cold stones, and her heart ached for both of them.
She had to tell him the truth.
A Discreet Affair Page 9