“Ein blaues Auge in German, but a black eye in English. Interesting.” Paul looked thoughtful, then shrugged again. “And I think that if your brother had seen you sitting as we were with any man, even a British man, then he would have given him a black or blue eye too.”
He smiled, but then winced. “Do not be angry with him. If I found my little sister like that, I think I would do the same. We brothers are born with a job to do.”
“What job?” asked Lorna. “To torture their sisters?”
“No, Lorna”—Paul’s voice was wistful—“to stop you growing up. Because if you do, how can John ever protect you again?”
Lorna didn’t want to listen to his words. They made the guilt of her fight with John Jo even more painful.
“But he’s been away for more than four years now—that’s not what I call protecting me!”
Paul shook his head and sighed.
“To me, when my sister is at home with my mother, she is safe. Protected. That is why I can do my job and not worry about her.”
Lorna put her hand softly on his arm.
“But you do worry about Lilli, don’t you? And about your mother. Don’t you wish you could go back to Dresden to see them?”
Sadness flashed in Paul’s face, and he looked away as if trying to hide it. Lorna immediately regretted the question.
“I would love to see them, more than anything. Almost anything,” Paul eventually replied, his smile gone. “But do you think the Third Reich would let me go home? If I escaped from this country and returned to Germany, they would make me be a soldier again, and I do not want to do that.”
Lorna lifted her hand to Paul’s twice-damaged face and gently cradled the side of his head where the bloody bruise bulged. With her other hand, she covered his swollen eye, so sorry to have been the cause of this pain.
Paul took her hands and pressed them to his chest.
“I am not a coward, Lorna, but I will not fight for a government I do not believe in. So I will wait and when the war is over, I will go home, and I will see my family again. As your brothers will.”
Paul hesitated, then bent toward Lorna.
“Until then, I will stay in the most beautiful place in the world”—his lips almost touched her, his voice just a breath—“I will stay here, in Aberlady, with you.”
Then he kissed her, warm lips upon her cheek.
Lorna swayed, but Paul drew her into an embrace of such gentleness that a shiver ran through her whole body.
Could Paul feel her trembling under his hands as they traced delicate patterns across her shoulders? And when he rested his palm there—oh, yes, there!—warm and indulgent, in the small of her back as he had done when they’d waltzed? Then Paul’s lips were against her hair, her ear, her neck. His breath brushed her throat just before his lips did.
Lorna had to work to release the air from her lungs, letting it out slowly and softly. Paul must have felt it play against his skin, as she had felt his, because his lips hesitated, just for a second or two, before continuing their slow path along her jawline.
Suddenly, Lorna knew she could not wait any longer. She turned her face toward him until her mouth found his. She pressed her lips onto his, and they parted thrillingly under her pressure and followed where she led.
Paul’s hand was in her hair then, and on her back, and at her waist, and . . . and Lorna could not think or breathe or do anything else but lean her body against his, and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.
A while later, as Paul stepped back and Lorna could see his face, his smile reappeared and his undamaged eye sparkled.
“And when I do get home, I will certainly punch the eye of any man I catch doing that with my little sister.”
Nineteen
“So has he kissed you yet?”
“Oh my goodness, Lorna, of course he has!”
“Well, with him being the minister’s son, I just wondered . . .”
Iris swiped at Lorna with her white cotton gloves.
“That doesn’t make him a nun, you know.”
“That’s a shame; I can quite see your William in a black and white frock.” Lorna pulled off her scarf and draped it over her hair like a nun’s veil. “Very fetching, don’t you think?”
Iris stuffed her gloves into her pocket and put her hands, palms together, in front of her as if in prayer. Turning her face heavenward, she warbled an off-key “Ave Maria.”
“Do you remember Deanna Durbin singing that in, oh, what was the picture?” Lorna asked. “I know, Mad about Music! We went to see it for my tenth birthday, at the Palace. Remember?”
“Yes!” Iris clapped her hands. “My mum took us up on the train and we had tea at Mackie’s afterward. Mmmm! What I wouldn’t give for one of those chocolate cakes right now!”
They were walking back to the farm for dinner after the Good Friday service, and Lorna felt closer to Iris than she had done in ages. With everything that had happened with the dance, with John Jo, and of course, with Paul, she’d missed being able to talk to Iris—this Iris, her Iris—so much.
“I gave up chocolate cake for Lent, don’t you know?” said Iris, pasting a pious expression onto her face and putting her hands back into the prayer position.
“No,” said Lorna, “I think you’ll find that we all gave up chocolate cake for rationing!”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot! Though perhaps, not all of us had to give it up entirely.” Iris winked at Lorna. “Some of us had handsome American airmen feeding us chocolate cake as we danced, didn’t we?”
The laughter died in Lorna’s throat, but Iris didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, did your American feed you chocolate cake,” asked Iris, “as he waltzed you around the floor?”
Lorna tried to ignore the nausea Iris’s questions were causing, and fought to keep the smile on her face.
“Hmm? Am I right? Hmm?” Iris was clearly determined to get a response, so Lorna swallowed the bile burning the back of her throat and searched her mind for the sort of sarcastic answer Iris would be expecting.
“No, he didn’t have to,” she managed at last, “because, if you remember, I learned to feed myself at quite an early age. I was very advanced like that.
“And anyway,” she added quietly, “we didn’t waltz.”
But Iris had bent down to wipe some dust from her shiny leather shoe and didn’t appear to have heard. Standing up again, she looked at Lorna inquiringly.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
Instead of answering, Lorna tugged at Iris’s arm, casting around for a topic she knew would keep her friend distracted for some time.
“So,” Lorna said, with only a little dread, “tell me about being in love with Silly Billy Urquhart.”
And sure enough, it was at least another five minutes before Lorna needed to speak again.
As they walked through the gates into the farmyard, Iris was still chattering about how hard she was finding bridge lessons with William’s mother, since she could never remember which of the black cards were clubs and which were spades.
“I think Mrs. Urquhart is starting to get rather annoyed with me, but William thinks it’s sweet, or at least that’s what he said as he walked me . . .”
Lorna heard no more. Paul had come out of the milking parlor and was heading across the yard toward the Glebe field. His head was down and he was concentrating on something in his hand.
Her heart jumped at seeing him, and she could feel his lips on hers all over again. Had it only been a few hours since he had kissed her? And since she had so willingly kissed him back? It felt like days, but then again, perhaps only minutes. Through all of the hymns and prayers, and through Reverend Urquhart’s interminable sermon, Lorna had held on to the feeling of his soft dry lips pressing on hers. She had surreptitiously pressed her chilly hands to her burning cheeks as she remembered how she had opened her mouth without pause to his sweet kisses. And how the tip of his tongue had sought hers, insistent but not demanding. And ho
w its touch had twisted her insides and sent her head spinning.
Just as the sight of him was doing to her again.
“Oh Lorna, you have no idea what it feels like to be in love!”
Paul had paused by the corner of the house, working at the object in his hand. Although he was still wearing Sandy’s coveralls over his uniform, he had tied the arms around his hips and had rolled his shirtsleeves above the elbow, so his strong forearms were bare in the early spring sunshine.
“And how wonderful it feels to be kissed by a boy . . .”
The newly developed muscles on his back, chest, and arms were straining at the cloth of the shirt as his hands worked to break or separate the thing he was holding..
“. . . I mean, to be kissed by a man. I’m sorry, Lorna, I don’t want to upset you because I know you always had a fancy for my William, but I wish you could know how it feels when he kisses you. I mean, when he kisses me. Oh, you get what I mean, don’t you?”
Lorna’s fingers tingled at the thought of running her hands over Paul’s shoulders, that chest, of how she could smooth the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck . . .
“Lorna! Are you even listening to me?”
. . . and lay her head again on his chest so she could hear his heart beating beneath her ear as he held her . . .
“Lorna! What is wrong with you?”
And then Iris was there, standing in front of her, hands on hips, forcing Lorna to look at her instead of Paul.
“Here’s me, spilling all these juicy secrets,” said Iris with a huff, “of how it feels to be in love, and you’re not even listening. You’re too busy staring off into space to pay attention to me, too busy . . .”
But Lorna couldn’t keep her eyes from Paul for more than a few seconds.
Iris followed Lorna’s gaze, seeing Paul for the first time.
“. . . too busy looking at him.”
Iris looked back at Lorna.
Lorna fiddled with the top buttons on her coat. Why had it suddenly got so much warmer?
“Lorna, you are blushing!” Iris said. “Why are you blushing?”
Paul had either won his battle with the thing in his hand or had given up on it, because he stuffed the object into the back pocket of his coveralls and disappeared around the corner, apparently unaware he’d had an audience.
“Oh my God, Lorna!” Iris pulled Lorna closer, talking in a whisper virtually as loud as her normal speaking voice. “You fancy him, don’t you? You do. You fancy that German chap.”
Lorna opened her mouth, but no words came.
“Don’t you dare deny it. I can see it in your face. Your eyes went all funny, and you’ve gone all pink.” Iris stepped back and pressed her hands to her mouth. “Oh my God, Lorna, what is wrong with you? He’s a German!”
Still Lorna could find no words—she had not planned to share her secret with anyone. But Iris had known her a long time, too long for Lorna to hide anything from her, at least when Iris chose to look.
“Tell me, tell me!” Iris pleaded, and then groaned as Lorna shrugged. “Come on, it’s me. Tell me! Have you even talked to him yet?
“I mean, I’m not saying you ever should, because, well, you know . . .” Iris was clearly torn between being shocked and titillated. “And I’m not saying he wouldn’t have been quite handsome if he hadn’t been so . . . em, you know . . .”
Iris was still struggling for words, so she waved her hand around her face, putting on an expression to show what awfulness she was seeing in her mind.
“You know . . . burned.”
Iris glanced behind her as if she was worried that Paul might hear, then back at Lorna.
“What I’m trying to say is that even if he weren’t a German, which he is, but if he weren’t, then it’s not like you could actually fancy him, is it? I mean, because, after all, he is a German, and anyway, he looks like that.”
Lorna felt curiously removed from her friend’s panicked chattering. It was almost as if she were sitting at the pictures, watching it on the big screen. Iris was talking to her, and about her, but Lorna wasn’t really there. Why couldn’t Paul be handsome? Of course he was handsome, he was gorgeous. And kind and funny. The burns didn’t get in the way of that for Lorna, so why on earth couldn’t Iris see past them?
Lorna’s annoyance pulled her back to the conversation.
“Why not?”
To Iris’s astonishment, and her own for that matter, Lorna had asked the question because she truly didn’t understand what Iris meant.
“Well, first, because he’s . . . a German,” Iris repeated hesitantly. “And you couldn’t ever actually like a German, could you? That just wouldn’t be right.”
“Why not?” The question came again, but this time, Lorna didn’t wait for Iris to answer. “If he was just a man, like any other man who happened to come visit, then perhaps I could.”
Iris was staring at her, and Lorna couldn’t stop the words now.
“And if he was kind and friendly and funny, and if he told you about places so beautiful that you wanted to go with him to see them, and if he listened to you talk like he actually cared about what you were saying? And if he tried to protect you when other people tried to tell you what to do, as if they owned you? And if he has the handsomest face you’ve ever seen, no matter if the skin has been damaged, because he’s just lovely even so?”
As she talked, Lorna grabbed Iris’s hands. Suddenly they were twelve again, sharing their special secrets.
“And when he touches your face with his fingers, and then he plays with your hair—”
“Lorna”—Iris looked almost scared now—“I really don’t think—”
“But Iris,” Lorna pressed on, “think about the way you feel when your William touches your face, and your hair—”
“But that’s William. That’s not—”
“And when he kisses you—”
“But—”
“And kisses you—”
“Oh my God, stop,” whispered Iris.
“And kisses you again, and again, and again, until you think you’ll faint and—”
And suddenly, though she had seemed so shocked, Iris couldn’t fight Lorna’s magic spell any longer.
“I know, I know, I know!” she squealed, throwing her arms around Lorna.
The two girls shook with delight and hugged each other tight.
After a few breathless moments, they drew apart, still laughing.
“But why didn’t you tell me?” Iris playfully smacked Lorna’s arm again. “And I’m not saying I approve, but oh my God, when did he first kiss you?”
Lorna lifted her wrist as if to look at the watch she wasn’t wearing.
“About four hours ago.”
Iris squealed again.
“I can’t believe you kept something as huge as this a secret.”
“Well, I wasn’t really sure myself, and of course, I knew you wouldn’t approve.” Lorna grinned at her friend. “He is German, after all.”
“Oh, Lorna”—Iris sounded long-suffering now—“what am I going to do with you?”
Lorna hugged Iris again, and they walked on toward the house. Before they’d gone too far, however, Iris slowed to a stop, a frown shadowing her face.
“What’s wrong?” asked Lorna.
“Well, it’s just”—Iris hesitated—“William will not be at all happy about this. And neither will his parents.”
“But you can’t tell them!” said Lorna immediately, remembering how badly Iris kept secrets. “You mustn’t tell anyone. Promise me, Iris! No one can know about this. Paul could get into trouble at the camp if they found out, and you know what would happen if my dad heard about it. He’d hit the bloody roof.”
Memories of John Jo’s angry face flashed into Lorna’s mind.
“But . . .” Iris looked doubtful.
“You must promise me! Paul could be punished and sent away. I’d never see him again. God! I should never have told you. Iris, you’re my best f
riend, so please, promise me.”
“But William . . . ?”
“What about William?”
“I’ve never lied to William, and you shouldn’t ask me to lie to him either.” Iris’s mouth was pursed in its usual fashion when she was heading into prim and proper.
“But I’m not asking you to lie to him,” said Lorna. “I’m just asking you not to tell him. That’s not the same. Honestly it’s not.”
“But it is the same, Lorna,” Iris said. “If William asks what you and me did after church this morning, and I don’t tell him that we had this conversation, then I would be lying to him about what we did, wouldn’t I? William and I have already pledged total honesty with each other, a pledge that I like to think of as a first step toward the pledge we’ll make when we get married—”
“Get married to William? You’re not serious,” Lorna said, but Iris wasn’t listening.
“So you really can’t ask me to break such an important pledge over this. You’re my friend, so it wouldn’t be right.” Iris’s smile was apologetic. “But of course, he might not actually ask me. And in that case, I won’t have to tell him.”
Lorna was stunned by this warped logic.
“So if William doesn’t ask you directly what you and me talked about this morning as we walked home from the church, then you’ll keep my secret?”
“Of course!” said Iris brightly. “That’s what best friends do!”
Iris smiled at Lorna, as if that should have been obvious, and Lorna’s heart sank. She loved Iris dearly, but the chances of Iris keeping her mouth shut about this lay somewhere between slim and none. And once William knew, then his mother would know, and his father, and on and on how far? Who else would be invited to judge and condemn?
She and Paul had shared only one kiss, but suddenly Lorna knew that the whole world—or at least, her whole world—would soon be determined to make sure they would never share another.
Twenty
Lorna was right to worry. Only two days later, before she had even reached the church for the Easter Sunday service, she knew what Iris had done.
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