A Discreet Affair

by Shelley Munro

  “I can’t,” she cried. “My first husband beat me. He drank, and when he imbibed to excess, he thought every man in the vicinity wanted me. I couldn’t talk to another man or smile at one. Even an innocent glance across the room earned me a punishment.”

  His expression softened. “Pamela, I’m sorry.”

  She waved aside his empathy. This wasn’t about pity or eliciting sympathy. It was an attempt to explain because the last thing she wanted was to hurt him. “When I first met Thomas he was a real gentleman. He courted me and wooed my mother at the same time, even though she never approved of our marriage.” She laughed, the sound holding not a trace of humor. Instead bitterness played through her like a bubbling stream. If she’d known his charm hid a lurking tiger, ready to pounce and devour her, she’d have run far and fast. She shook her head. “I was in love.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Almost five years. I married at eighteen. I was young, so naive. Way too trusting. I paid for it.”

  “What happened?” His compassion as he took her hand brought tears to her eyes. “He didn’t abuse you all that time?”

  “Not at first. Oh, he was strict with me. He suggested I give up my job. I didn’t want to, but in the end, I did it to keep the peace. We’d talked about children, and that was his argument for me to give up working for the local greengrocer. Once I stayed at home, he found other things for me to change. The way I cleaned the house. The way I unpacked the shopping. My appearance. Nothing I did was good enough for him.”

  “Why did you stay with him?”

  “Part of it was pride. He had me thinking our rocky marriage was my fault.” She concentrated on their clasped hands, blinking rapidly to remain in control. “I believe in the sanctity of marriage. It never occurred to me to leave—not even when things became bad.”

  “What about your mother? Couldn’t she have helped you?”

  “To anyone else our marriage looked happy. Everything happened so gradually I wasn’t even aware of the way he manipulated me. At first, it seemed we had the perfect marriage. Gradually things changed. He started questioning me each time we went out socially. He wanted to know what I talked about and who I spoke with. When he arrived home from work each day, he’d question me about what I’d done, who I’d seen or talked to. At first it was verbal abuse, then he started hitting me.”

  Michael’s hand clenched hers even tighter, to the point of pain. She didn’t object because it helped her to focus. “Didn’t anyone notice? You must have had bruises.”

  “Thomas took care to hit me in places that wouldn’t show when I went out in public. At first.”

  “At first?”

  “I got pregnant. No matter what I said, Thomas didn’t believe the baby belonged to him. He bashed me so hard he broke my arm and I had to go to hospital.”

  “I wish I’d been there. I would have liked to plant him a facer.”

  “He would have accused you of being my lover.”

  Michael stared at her without smiling. “I am your lover.”

  “Yes.” And that was all he could ever be.

  “So what happened after you ended up in hospital?”

  “Thomas told everyone I’d fallen off a ladder while trying to hang the curtains after I’d washed them. He told them I was clumsy and accused me of purposely risking our baby. He blamed me when I miscarried. Once I lost the baby, it became his baby and my fault. Once I recovered, he beat me for that too.”

  They both fell silent, Pamela adrift in the horror of the past. Relief had filled her when the policeman arrived at her doorstep to inform her of Thomas’s death in a motoring accident. She’d been so thankful she cried. The bobby had thought Thomas’s death upset her. She couldn’t tell him it was the sheer reprieve.

  “I’d never beat you.”

  She didn’t know him well enough to agree. “I know.” She gave him the reassurance without blinking. Intellectually, she recognized good men existed, but Thomas’s brutality had destroyed her ability to blindly trust. “Thomas put me off marriage.”

  “But what about children? Wouldn’t you like to have children?”

  Her arm started to throb, a constant and unwanted reminder of Thomas. Of course she wanted children. Every time she glimpsed a baby or a young toddler, she ached for her own child. “No.” She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “I’ll be content without children. My life is different now.” Lonely … until Michael came along.

  “I’m not going to give up asking you to marry me.”

  “You’ll be wasting your breath,” she said, standing to walk to the stove. She stirred the mince again and adjusted the heat. Soon the meat was bubbling. She served the meal, giving Michael a large portion. He was too thin. She set a plate in front of him, knowing she needed to soften her rejection. His friendship was important to her. “I think about you all the time, especially when we’re not together. I worry about you.”

  “Shh,” he said, sealing her next words in with a kiss. The caress was slow and gentle and took on a dreamy quality. Her pulse quickened and the desire simmering inside her increased in urgency. And still he kissed her—the passionate kiss of a lover. A kiss that said he desired her yet the way he held her told her his heart was involved. Pushing her guilt aside, she clung to his shoulders and kissed him back until she was dizzy with the need to breathe.

  “We’d better eat our dinner before everything goes cold.” He was probably wondering why she kissed him so passionately yet didn’t want marriage.

  “I might be hungry after all.”

  She smiled at him. “I’m a good cook. It’d be a shame to let this food go to waste.”

  “How’s Christine?”

  Pamela’s smile dropped away. “Not too good. She’s not saying much.”

  Michael nodded and shifted the subject. “What do you like to do when you have some free time?”

  “I like going for walks. I used to—” She broke off, remembering she didn’t paint or draw anymore because Thomas hadn’t approved.

  “Used to what?”

  Thomas couldn’t stop her love of art now. “I used to enjoy painting, but I haven’t picked up a brush for a long time.”

  “You should bring a sketchbook next time we go for a walk.”

  “Do you still want to see me?”

  “Of course I do. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

  “So you are.” And she wasn’t sure what to think about his continued presence.

  They finished their meal and did the dishes together. Michael teased and touched her often, running his hand over her arm, her shoulder, and occasionally her backside. Each touch sent a thrill through her until desire hummed like a busy bee and her reservations drifted away.

  Finally the kitchen sparkled, and they smiled at each other. Pamela held out her hand. “We could dance to music on the wireless, play a game of cards, or have an early night.” Her cheeks flushed a little when she made the suggestion. She couldn’t believe he was still with her and hadn’t stormed off in a huff.

  “Guess which option I’d prefer.” He paused. “Let’s play cards.”

  She gaped at him in shock. “Do you really want to play cards?”

  He managed a straight face for a fraction longer. Chuckling, he tugged her down the passage to her bedroom. “Of course I don’t want to play cards, silly. We have a birthday to celebrate in a special way.”

  “You tricked me. You won’t catch me out a second time.”

  He winked and kicked off his shoes. “We’ll see.” His jacket hit the chair seconds later. He advanced on her, the serious intentness on his face making her back up. She giggled when her back hit the wall. With a grin on his face, he caged her with one hand on either side of her body. Not an ounce of fear struck her. Instead she licked her lips, letting her eyes slip to half-mast. The art of flirtation returned to her easily.

  “I want you.”

  “I’m yours,” she whispered, rapidly unfastening his shirt buttons and sliding her han
ds over his warm belly. The touch wasn’t enough. She undid his belt and fly and pushed down his trousers and underwear. Suddenly they were busily undressing each other. Hands got in the way, and they laughed a lot, snatching kisses and touching each bit of bared flesh they revealed. Heat flashed through her. Desire. Love. Michael fished a sheath out of his pocket and fumbled to put it on. More laughter ensued and, finally, he pushed inside her. Trapped between the wall and Michael wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position, but she wouldn’t have changed a thing. He thrust hard, their breath blending. She kissed his face, his strong jawline, his cheekbones. His lips.

  “Michael.”

  Smiling, his mouth latched onto her neck, and the sensations grew. Her stomach went fluttery, the pleasure building higher and higher until she exploded. She wrapped her arms around him and held him as he took his own pleasure. It was good to feel happy again.

  Chapter Seven

  Each snatched moment with Michael was precious. The next morning, alone again, she extracted herself from the dip in the mattress. When she rolled over something dug into her upper arm. Her hand closed around a small disc, and she held it in front of her bleary eyes. Michael’s good-luck charm. Smiling, Pamela closed her hand around it, the thin edge of the coin digging into her palm. It made her feel closer to him, more connected. She sighed, a little apprehensive because she’d toppled into love with a man who was in constant danger of being shot from the sky by the enemy. Yes, love. Alone, she admitted to her feelings. Her heart ached at the thought of losing him, yet she couldn’t regret rejecting his proposal. Unsure of the time, she leaned over to part the curtains and pushed open a window.

  An early morning breeze crept through, bringing a shiver and a host of goose bumps. Michael had stayed longer than normal, tossing and turning and waking her with a nightmare. He’d refused to discuss his dream, instead rescuing the covers from the floor and holding her tight until she returned to sleep. Since most of the covers lay on the floor again, she deduced the rest of his stay hadn’t been peaceful. Worry brought a frown of concern.

  “Stop it,” she scolded herself, climbing from bed. She tucked her lover’s good-luck charm away in her dresser drawer for safekeeping until she met with him again. Michael would keep safe. He had to because he was an ace pilot. Everyone said so.

  “Morning, Christine,” she said ten minutes later when she hurried into the kitchen. Her cousin must have returned late in order to give her birthday wishes. She appeared tired and unhappy, but was dressed in her WAAF uniform ready to go to work and obviously attempting to keep to her normal routine.

  “Happy birthday.” She reached for another cup and poured Pamela a cup of tea before handing her a parcel wrapped in old fabric to make it look festive and gay. “I’m only working a half day today. I’ll be back at Mum’s in time for your party.”

  “You didn’t have to come back last night. We’ll see each other later on.”

  “I thought I might sleep better here at the cottage.”

  Her cousin hadn’t slept much at all. Her drawn face told the obvious story. “I’m opening the store today too, so we’ll probably arrive at the house around the same time.”

  “Why don’t you open your present?” Christine forced a smile, and Pamela’s heart ached for her. There was nothing she could say or do to fix her cousin’s blues.

  “You didn’t have to get me anything.” She made a big production of opening the gift, genuinely thrilled with the pair of stockings and small bottle of perfume contained inside. “Thank you.” She hugged Christine hard so her cousin wouldn’t witness the sheen of tears in her eyes. Sometimes love wasn’t enough to keep cherished ones safe. It was only too easy to imagine herself in Christine’s position and the knowledge chilled her. Not enough to tell Michael she wanted to marry him, though. Instead, she’d focus on the time they spent together and pray a lot when they were apart. “I snagged my last pair of stockings when I went to the pictures the other night with Michael.” She could have kicked herself when she saw the pain on Christine’s face. “I’m going to make some toast. Would you like some?”

  “No thanks. I’d better go now. Even riding my bicycle, the trip takes a good fifteen minutes.”

  After Christine left for the base, Pamela’s morning sped past and soon it was time to dress for the party. She donned her best frock and a navy hat for the occasion. The day was so warm, she decided not to wear stockings. A final addition of lipstick and perfume left her feeling happy and feminine. Despite telling her aunt she didn’t want a party, she was looking forward to this one. Thomas hadn’t believed in celebrating special occasions.

  The first person she glimpsed when she walked into her aunt’s house was her mother. Part of her feel-good mood evaporated.

  “Mother.” She tried to infuse her voice with welcome and failed dismally.

  “Pamela. Happy birthday.”

  She gave her mother an awkward hug. “Thank you.”

  “When are you going to give up this fancy and come home to London? You should be at home with me.”

  Her aunt came to the rescue. “We need Pamela to help us run the shop. I don’t know what we’d do without her. Besides, it’s dangerous in London with the constant bombing. Why don’t you come and stay with us for a while, Laura? We don’t have nearly as many interrupted nights here in the village.”

  “I am not letting those people drive me from my home,” her mother said. “There’s a lovely new minister at church. I’ve told him about you and he seems interested in marriage. It would be a good move for you.”

  Someone plied the door knocker. Pamela gritted her teeth, holding back her retort about husbands and marriage and her lack of desire to repeat the experience. She went to answer the door. The last thing she needed was a scene for the entire village to rehash for the next six months. She plastered a smile on her face and opened the door.

  “Mrs. Pearson, how are you?” she asked her neighbor.

  “Happy birthday, dear.”

  “Thank you. You know the way inside. I’ll wait for the new arrivals.” She indicated several other women walking up the front path. Once Mrs. Pearson disappeared inside, she greeted four regulars at the shop, some of her aunt’s neighbors, and two young mothers with children in tow. Christine arrived as she ushered everyone inside.

  “Your face is flushed,” Pamela said. “You shouldn’t have rushed.”

  Christine grabbed her forearm, halting her when she would have stepped inside. “Did you spend the night with Michael?”

  “Why? He came to the cottage for dinner.” The concern on Christine’s face brought a flicker of anxiety.

  “I don’t know how but there’s quite a bit of gossip circulating around the base about Michael and a mystery woman. He—”

  “Pamela? Oh, Christine. You’ve arrived. I need your help inside. I thought we could play one of the games first.”

  Pamela didn’t have a chance to ask questions. She couldn’t think why there’d be gossip at the base. Surely Michael wouldn’t spread details of their relationship around for others to discuss?

  The knocker went again and Christine left to let yet more guests inside while Pamela helped her aunt organize everyone for pass the parcel. It was a child’s party game, but her aunt had insisted playing would be fun, making everyone comfortable, helping them to relax and get into the celebratory spirit.

  “Happy birthday, Pamela,” the butcher’s wife said.

  They played games and did quizzes; they ate cucumber sandwiches and scones with strawberry jam. They laughed and drank copious cups of tea. When the time arrived to open the presents, Pamela sat on a chair in front of her friends and family. Frustration sat in a heavy lump at the pit of her stomach. What gossip? She couldn’t wait to maneuver Christine into a quiet spot and ask her some pointed questions.

  She opened a small box to find a brooch in which pearls and garnets made up a bunch of flowers. When she tilted the bouquet, the jewels caught the sun and glistened. The small card
indicated the gift was from her mother. “Mother, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “The brooch belonged to my mother. I thought you’d enjoy wearing it.” Her mother’s smile held a hint of uncertainty.

  “I will. I’ll treasure it.”

  “Open mine next,” one of the women sitting near her said.

  “I didn’t expect presents,” Pamela said.

  “What are birthdays for?” Christine asked. “We like spoiling you.”

  Pamela accepted the first present Christine handed her. After exclaiming over the contents—a set of pretty writing stationery—she glanced up. Two of the women sitting at the rear of the group had their heads together, whispering to each other. Every now and then, they’d stop to glance directly at her. When they noticed her watching, they halted their conversation. One nudged the other and they giggled. They were talking about her. Gossiping.

  Swallowing, she pretended she hadn’t noticed. Christine handed her another gift. Pamela continued to chatter and laugh, but this time she scanned the women. Something weird was definitely going on, and she was at the center of it.

  Her aunt wheeled in a cake on a tea trolley. Christine lit the many candles on top.

  “Make a wish,” someone said.

  Pamela closed her eyes and made a wish. The women clapped and eagerly accepted a piece once her aunt cut the cake. Pamela helped her aunt, taking around plates for everyone. Mrs. Pearson sat beside her mother.

  “Cousin? Oh, no. Pamela doesn’t have any cousins here in the village, apart from Christine of course.” Her mother’s piercing voice reached her on the other side of the room.

  Pamela halted, fear slamming her chest. It was too late to stop her mother. Mrs. Pearson spoke in an undertone, the women sitting nearby craning their necks trying to eavesdrop.

  “I don’t believe it,” her mother said. “There must be some mistake.”

  Christine touched her arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to warn you. Some of the pilots are gossiping about you and Michael. They know he spends quite a bit of time with you.”

  Pamela felt the blood drain from her face. Her hands trembled and she clasped the plate of birthday cake she held even tighter. “He asked me to marry him and I said no.”