A Discreet Affair

by Shelley Munro

  Christine shot a grim look toward Mrs. Pearson and Pamela’s mother. “I think you might need to rethink your answer. If you don’t there’s going to be a dreadful scandal.”

  “Pamela, come here,” her mother said, her sharp tone cutting across the conversation of the other women. Everyone looked from her to her mother.

  Slowly, Pamela crossed the distance separating them. To her relief both Christine and her aunt started the conversation rolling again, but she was aware of the intense scrutiny from the women, the speculation in some and the unholy glee in others. In their eyes, she’d slid off a pedestal and they couldn’t wait to spread the news. A blast of cold prickled across her skin, her heart fluttering in panic. This was bad. Very bad.

  “Pamela, Mrs. Pearson says you have a man visiting your cottage. At night, no less.”

  Pamela frowned and prepared for the acting job of her life. “The air warden popped by the other night. I was having problems closing one of my windows. The wretched thing stuck and he helped me close it so I could switch on my lights.”

  “See,” her mother said to Mrs. Pearson. “I told you there was a logical explanation.”

  “Then why did Pamela tell me her cousin was visiting? Why didn’t she mention the air warden?”

  Her mother and Mrs. Pearson both turned to her, accusation written on their faces. Indignation filled Pamela. Yes, perhaps she and Michael should have been even more circumspect, but she hadn’t done anything wrong. “I’m not discussing this any further. It’s not the time or the place.” She turned away, trying not to show a trace of her worry. Her mother would corner her later, and she could imagine the fuss she’d make, the strings she’d attempt to pull to bring Pamela to heel with guilt.

  Gradually the women started to leave. Pamela attempted to behave in a normal manner, but she’d need to have an eyesight problem not to notice the small huddled groups and the flurry of whispers speeding between her friends and neighbors.

  When the final woman left, her mother turned to her. “In the lounge, if you please.”

  Pamela did not please, but knew better than to inform her mother of the fact. Her mother sailed through the doorway in front of her, her carriage straight and proper. Her aunt followed, leaving Pamela with her cousin. “You’d better come and give me moral support.”

  Christine grimaced. “I’m not sure I want to witness this.”

  “The bloodbath, you mean?”

  “Yes. Your mother is scary.”

  Pamela didn’t answer the obvious. The whole situation appeared like a bad dream and nothing she did could halt the runaway bus she’d set in motion when she’d invited Michael into her bed. They’d been careful, discreet. If it wasn’t for Mrs. Pearson and her insatiable curiosity, she wouldn’t be in this position. She strolled into the drawing room and took a position in front of the fireplace. Her mother and aunt sat in matching brown armchairs, looking like sentries about to turn her away from the kingdom.

  “Is the gossip true? Have you had a man at the cottage overnight?” Her mother fired the first salvo.

  “I’m an adult, and I don’t have to answer your questions.” She maintained a serene expression, but couldn’t control the tremor of her limbs. She needed to sit down.

  “Guilty,” her mother said, her heavy sigh containing both chastisement and disappointment. “How could you be so stupid? The only way you can escape the gossip is to return to London with me. If we’re careful, the minister won’t hear a whisper. You can accept his proposal and have a ring on your finger before the past catches up with you.”

  “I don’t think so,” Pamela said. “I’m happy here.” She glanced at her aunt and what she saw alarmed her more than her mother’s take on the situation.

  “Pamela, I can’t have gossip of this nature when you’re working in the shop. Most of our customers are elderly or conservative. This sort of gossip will affect business.” Her voice was firm and decisive. “I won’t have it.”

  “But, Mum. Pamela—”

  “No, Christine. I expect better of Pamela. I’m disappointed in her actions.” Her aunt stood and left the room.

  Pamela stared at her aunt’s stiff back until she disappeared from sight. Regret assailed her, ice spreading through her veins. What had she done?

  * * * *

  Jeff snapped his fingers in front of Michael’s face. “Hello? Anyone there? I saw you down that 109. Smashing shooting.”

  “I asked her to marry me. She said no.”

  “Really?” Jeff didn’t try to hide his surprise. “I thought women wanted to get married. My sisters talk about weddings all the time.”

  “She’s been married before and doesn’t want to repeat the experience.”

  “Oh.” Jeff frowned, the grimace looking out of place on his freckled face. His puckered brow cleared and he grinned. “So change her mind. My sisters change their minds more often than they switch hats.”

  A laugh escaped Michael. “Do your sisters know you talk about them?”

  “They talk about me and my brother all the time. They’re always trying to fix us up with their friends.” He shuddered. “If you want to get married maybe I should take you home with me.”

  Michael laughed again, feeling better than he’d felt for months, despite Pamela’s rejection last night. She hadn’t sent him away, merely refused to make their relationship legal. That alone offered him an element of hope. “I want to marry Pamela, not one of your sisters.”

  “Did something happen in her marriage?”

  “Yes.”

  “But she’s still willing to see you?”

  Michael nodded.

  “So, take things slow and woo her. My sisters always babble about trust. If you court her and gain her trust you should end up right and tight.”

  A wave of noise greeted Michael and Jeff when they walked into the mess. Several pilots sat around a table drinking tankards of beer, the jubilant air clearly noticeable. The wireless played a big band tune and smoke drifted toward the ceiling. Their day’s sortie had been successful. They’d shot down several 109s and a couple of Heinkels with no loss on their side. Of course the ground crew were already busy at work repairing damage caused by return fire. Some of the planes looked worse for wear, their bodies like thin cobwebs in places because the Huns had hammered them so hard.

  A raucous laugh caught Michael’s attention. Roburn. He stood at the bar with some of his cronies. Roburn threw back his head and let out another laugh, nudging the pilot next to him with his elbow.

  “Steady. Ignore him. The man’s an ass.” Jeff must have noticed the way he’d stiffened.

  Unbidden, Michael lifted his hand to pat his lucky coin. He froze, patted again, and only felt his dog tags. “Hell.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Michael shot a glare at Roburn. “My lucky coin is missing.”

  “Maybe it’s in our room.”

  “Maybe.” Or perhaps Roburn had his talisman again. He took half a step toward Roburn, accusation at the tip of his tongue, before he halted. Jeff was right. He should retrace his steps and search everywhere before he accused anyone of stealing it.

  * * * *

  After the dreaded birthday party and another busy day, Pamela dressed in her favorite green dress, added a touch of precious perfume. Tonight, she needed a distraction because the decision of what to do with her future was weighing heavily on her. Her aunt had given her two days to come to a decision.

  Christine finished her preparations before her and tapped on her bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course you can.” She picked up her comb and started to tame her hair. She’d spent the afternoon trying to work out what she would do—either cave to her mother or leave the village and start afresh somewhere else. Neither option was appealing. She twisted her hair into a roll and started pinning the locks in place with hair clips.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “The way I see it, I have two alternatives. No, three actually. I ca
n return to London with my mother, I can leave the village and find somewhere else to live, or I can stay in the village and face the music.”

  Christine pulled a face. “Mum means it. She’s furious at you.”

  Pamela glanced away from the mirror to glance at Christine. Silent acknowledgment flew between them. Christine could have been in the same position in which she found herself now. “I know. I must seem ungrateful. Your parents have both done so much for me. I was going out of my mind in London.”

  “There is one other option you haven’t mentioned.”

  Pamela slipped the last hair clip in place and turned to face her cousin. “What is that?”

  “Accept Michael’s proposal.”

  “I don’t love Michael. I don’t want to give up my freedom again.”

  “But you like him. What’s the sex like?”

  “Christine!”

  Her cousin giggled, a rare sound during recent times. “I think we can safely say you don’t have any problems in that area.”

  “No,” Pamela said primly.

  “Accept his proposal then. Marriage takes work. If you both step into a wedding with honesty and the same expectations, how can you go wrong?” Christine sobered, and Pamela knew she was thinking about Owen. “If I were in your position I’d talk to Michael. Tell him everything that’s happened and work out if you can meet halfway. He might look like Thomas, but they have nothing else in common.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I’ll think about it.”

  “Will Michael be at the Poacher’s Pocket?”

  “He said so—all going well.”

  “You’ll need to decide quickly because the gossip will fly around the pub in no time.”

  Pamela’s lip curled up in scorn, furious at Mrs. Pearson and her mother. Not even her aunt escaped her disdain. “If the grapevine hasn’t already spread already.”

  As usual for a Friday night, the pub was busy with a mixture of locals from the village and air force staff from the base. A blanket of smoke filled the air, the scent of tobacco heavy and familiar. The landlord dispensed beer and drinks, chatted to customers and listened to the wireless at the same time. Pamela heard snippets of discussion about the war when they walked inside. Talk of the war was much better than the avid gossip she’d half expected.

  “There’s Michael.” Christine smiled but Pamela knew her well. It was a front. She was trying to behave normally so her mother didn’t ask too many questions.

  Michael glanced in their direction and waved. He said something to the young freckle-faced man standing beside him.

  “Are you coming with me?”

  “Yes.”

  Was it her imagination or were people looking at her? “Christine?”

  “It looks as if the ladies have tattled.”

  They exchanged glances and both squared their shoulders, lifting their chins as they made their way across the crowded pub to reach Michael.

  “Is my imagination working overtime or are people looking at us?” Jeff asked after introductions concluded.

  “They’re staring,” Pamela said in a tight voice. Turning to Michael, she continued, “Mrs. Pearson saw you at the cottage and jumped to conclusions. She mentioned her suspicions during my birthday party and now everyone is judging me.”

  Michael took her hand in a clandestine manner, offering silent comfort. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  His empathy and apologetic manner went a long way to easing her irritation. It wasn’t as if he’d done this on purpose. She bore her share of the blame too. Jeff and Christine were chatting quietly so she leaned closer to Michael. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.” His thumb stroked across her palm, the light touch sending a shimmer of pleasure through her.

  “I like you. A lot, but I don’t love you.” She wrinkled her nose as she thought. “At least I don’t think I do. I care for you.”

  His green eyes twinkled with merriment. He didn’t seem to mind her bluntness. “I care for you too.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  He checked over his shoulder to see if anyone was eavesdropping, his hand tightening around hers. “I didn’t think you wanted marriage.” At least he hadn’t laughed or made fun of her.

  “I…” She bit her bottom lip. No, she couldn’t tell him half-truths. He deserved honesty. She took a deep breath and explained her problem.

  “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

  ‘No. I’m responsible too.”

  “But you don’t want marriage.”

  Pamela sighed. “No, but I do like you. I care and worry about you. I think we could be happy.” Her words held a ring of truth even though both her angels stomped at her in frustration. Admit the truth, they whispered. She ignored them. Michael listened to her. He didn’t attempt to lay down the law or make her feel stupid. No, if she had to marry anyone, Michael was a good choice.

  “When would you like to get married?”

  The tension inside her eased at his words and she gave him a tentative smile. “Are you sure?”

  He grinned. “Very sure, and by the time we’re finished you’ll agree this is the right thing too. On our twentieth wedding anniversary I’ll remind you of today.”

  Pamela tapped Christine on the shoulder. “Congratulate us. Michael and I are engaged.”

  “This calls for another round of drinks,” Jeff said.

  Michael released her hand and stood. “I’ll help.”

  She watched him walk to the bar, a handsome figure in uniform. Her fiancé. Two young WAAFs eyed him when he passed and a trace of pride filled her. Maybe a marriage between them would work after all.

  “Are you pleased?” Christine asked.

  “I believe I am,” Pamela said slowly.

  Another two pilots joined Michael and Jeff at the bar. Instead of the greeting she’d expected, a dark glower tightened Michael’s face, and he looked so much like her husband she froze. A band of fear constricted her chest as memories crowded her mind. The pain of a fist striking her ribs. The shouting. The jealousy and suspicion.

  Michael turned to the person standing beside him when the man said something. Pamela witnessed the fury flash across his face an instant before Michael thumped him. His fist connected with a crunch, and the other man wavered off balance before recovering.

  “What’s going on?” Christine asked.

  “I don’t know.” Pamela winced at the crack of a fist connecting with flesh. The man Michael struck fell back against a table. It went flying, beer tankards and glasses crashing to the floor. Her heart pounded, a tight vise grabbing her as panic intensified, memories like an avalanche crashing down on her.

  “Break it up,” the publican hollered. They ignored him. Pamela stood and backed away before she even realized she’d moved. She was unable to tear her gaze from the brutality on Michael’s face.

  “Are you all right?” Christine murmured at her side.

  “No.” Pamela’s voice trembled, highlighting her horror. She’d almost made the biggest mistake of her life. Michael was like her husband, a man who lived by his fists and covered his brutality with a thin veneer of charm.

  “They’re just letting off steam,” Christine said, squeezing her arm in reassurance.

  Pamela didn’t believe her for a minute.

  “There was an accident earlier in the week. One of the ground crew died.” Christine studied her closely. “Things are a bit tense and the pilots are all tired because they’re flying such long hours. Didn’t he tell you?”

  Pamela shook her head. A clatter sounded when the man Michael was fighting crashed into another table. Why wasn’t someone stopping them? “I … I have to go.” She whirled away and left before Christine had a chance to reply. Outside, the cooler night air soothed the heat of panic racing through her. She realized she was running and slowed to a walk, her heart still pumping fear through her. Michael was no different from her husband, but she’d almost been too slow to recognize it. It d
idn’t take much to imagine Michael using his fists to settle arguments between them. She was lucky she’d learned the truth before they’d progressed to marriage. Tears trickled down her face, and she wiped them away impatiently. A vision of Michael’s face, twisted with anger, floated through her mind. Maybe it was a flaw in her and violent men attracted her.

  She found herself back at the cottage and entered on shaky legs. She prepared for bed, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Michael and how he’d fooled her into believing he was a caring, loving man, one she could trust with her life. The man who could help her solve her problems. It was then she realized she’d been lying to herself about her feelings for him. She didn’t just like him. Somehow, she’d toppled into love. Her heart wouldn’t hurt so much otherwise. A derisive snort escaped. How could she love a man when he used his fists rather than talking about the problem?

  About half an hour later a tap sounded on her bedroom door. Christine slipped inside even though she’d ignored her knock.

  “I know you’re awake,” she said, switching on the light.

  Pamela squinted against the bright glare, her throat tight and aching.

  “Ah, sweetie,” she murmured, sympathy tingeing her voice. “Michael is here.”

  “I … I don’t want to see him.” A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. She wouldn’t become involved with a violent man again. She would not.

  “I think you should. I’ll stay here the entire time. Besides, you owe him the courtesy of listening. Isn’t that what you always accused Thomas of—refusing to listen?”

  Christine had her there. “Very well.” Pamela grabbed her robe and wrapped the belt around her waist.

  Michael waited for her in the front room. His jaw looked red and angry and the beginnings of a bruise marked his cheek. He walked toward her, and she backed up rapidly.

  “Don’t touch me.” She’d fallen for him, despite her reservations. There, she admitted it. “Please don’t touch me.” If Michael touched her or kissed her, she feared she’d weaken and maybe give him another chance. She’d offered Thomas lots of chances and he’d failed every single one. No, she couldn’t make the same mistakes again.