by Jules Wake
‘Where the bloody hell have you been, you little tart?’ he growled and lunged for her, grabbing her hair. As the pain bit she wished heartily that she’d gone and retrieved that gun.
‘Ow, Bert. Stop it.’
‘What do you think you’re playing at?’
‘I’ve been busy. On duty a lot.’
‘Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. You’re a bleedin’ typist, how busy can you be? Don’t think you can get away with playing me blind. Now, you going to tell me where the booze and the fags are, or do I have to beat it out of you? I’ve cased the place and I reckon they keep them up at the back of the house in those prefabs. I need a map.’
‘Bert, you’ve got it all wrong. They don’t keep those sorts of supplies here.’
‘Don saw them.’
‘He just saw the Officers’ Mess supplies. That’s all.’
‘Don’t answer me back. You think I’m stupid.’ He backhanded her sharply, his knuckles catching her cheekbone. ‘What are you keeping from me?’
‘Nothing,’ she said it too quickly and he knew it as well as she did.
‘Ah, so what secrets do you have?’
She sucked in a breath, conscious of the throbbing of her face.
‘Nothing.’
‘If there aren’t cigarettes and booze, what do they have? What aren’t you telling me?’
She wasn’t going to tell him anything, no matter what he did to her. Her eyes slid away from his. A mistake, because it gave her away.
‘I knew it. Something bigger.’ With a sudden movement, he pushed her up against the wall and she glanced upwards, aware that the balustrade of the terrace was only several feet above their heads, but she was probably still hidden by the shrubbery that grew up over the doorway. Her breath came out in a panicked pant as he pressed his body against hers and grabbed at her breast with a hard cruel hand squeezing painfully.
‘Stop it, Bert. Stop it.’
‘I could take you right here, you little bitch.’ His other hand wrenched up her skirt and grabbed at her between her legs with a vicious grip that frightened her more than anything else. She could take a beating but not that. She tried to pull away, her heart thudding furiously but he had her up against the wall, branches digging into her back and scratching at her neck. ‘Now you tell me what I want to know.’ Her head was pressed against the wall as she tried to back away from him, his hand cupped, painfully grinding against her pubic bone.
‘Don’t.’ Her words came out as a half sob as she tried to twist away from him.
‘You don’t mean that,’ he mocked. His mouth coming down onto hers, he bit her lip hard and she let out a muffled squeal of pain. Fight, Betty. You have to fight him. Don’t let him do this.
It was hard, though, when her muscles had gone into some kind of panicked spasm and she could hardly breathe. None of her body parts seemed to be able to obey her but she forced herself to push at his hand between her legs. But it was an impossible battle: the harder she pushed, the stronger he seemed.
Then, just as she felt as if she were drowning and that the water was closing over her head, there was light and air and blessed relief. She dragged in breath as the weight and pressure of Bert’s body was wrenched off her and she saw him literally hauled backwards. As she took a second unsteady breath, she saw him spin round and heard the hard thwack of a punch and the crunch of bone. He went down on the floor and his nose began to spurt with blood.
Betty looked up and she saw Carl towering over Bert, menace in his eyes, looking as if he were ready to kill. Every muscle, taut and lean, every sense alert and dangerous, and he looked ready to pounce and rip the guts out of the prey.
Bert staggered to his feet, leaking bluster and stupidity in his sideways, clumsy lurch. ‘Get lost. This has nowt to do with you.’ Next to Carl’s suave, panther-like grace, he looked as ridiculous as a pantomime cow.
‘I beg to differ,’ Carl drawled with contemptuous ease. ‘I won’t do you the honour of calling you sir. A maggot like you doesn’t deserve it.’
Betty wanted to cheer. No one had ever spoken to Bert like that. He’d always ruled the roost round here.
‘From what I could see the young lady was not welcoming your attentions.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t have been looking, should yer? And it’s nowt to do wi’ you.’ Bert rallied and Betty saw his muscles bunch, ready to lash out at the Major, but before she could warn him, Carl had already anticipated the blow, ducked neatly and got his own upper cut in, right on Bert’s jaw, followed by a second sharp blow to the stomach.
Bert doubled over and fell to his knees and although he got to his feet, she could see that he wasn’t quite as cocky as he had been. Instead he backed away nervously. She realised that aside from herself, who clearly didn’t count because she was a woman, no one had ever stood up to Bert. Even his own dad had let Bert take charge on the farm.
‘Now you listen to me, fella,’ Carl’s voice thrummed with menace that had the hairs on her arms standing to attention. ‘If I ever catch you within ten feet of this lady, I will kill you.’ He stared down at Bert, whose eyes had widened so much they were white pools in his dark, swarthy face. ‘Do you understand?’ Bert nodded but Carl wasn’t finished.
‘If you threaten her,’ he paused, his eyes boring into Bert, who couldn’t seem to look away, ‘or her family in any way, I will come and find you and I will…’ He leaned down and whispered something in Bert’s ear. Bert paled and fell backwards, shuffling back on his bottom before finally scrambling to his feet. Carl smiled but it was a ferocious, malevolent smile that put the fear of God into Betty, let alone Bert.
‘And being American, I’m immune to prosecution in this country, so no one will worry. If they find the body. Do you understand me?’
Bert nodded, eyes still wide, mouth open, never taking his gaze from Carl. Betty almost felt sorry for him – almost.
‘I don’t want to see you around here ever again and if I so much as hear that you have been bothering Sergeant Connors, you know what will happen. Now scram before I forget that I’m a gentleman and I rip your balls off.’
Betty blanched, her own eyes widening. She couldn’t decide if she was in awe or terrified of Carl. She’d never seen this side of him before.
Bert scrambled to his feet so quickly, he almost tripped over them and he limped away, hunched over, clutching his stomach, without even looking at her.
As she watched him leave, tears began to roll down her face and she realised she was shaking, properly shaking, and her teeth were chattering. Carl looked at her and she wanted to die of shame and embarrassment at him finding her like this. Disgust gripped her. What must he have thought? Bert’s hands on her, down there. And now look at her, lipstick smeared, her skirt around her waist and her curls adrift. Her tears ran faster and she wanted to curl up in a ball and hide from him, but there was nowhere to go. And look at him, she thought. So fine and handsome. As he straightened his cuffs and dusted off his smart cap that had gone flying off with the force of his first punch, he looked as if he’d been for a stroll in the park.
Carl came over and she closed her eyes as if that might hide her from his sight. She was so ashamed. When he gently tugged her skirt down back into place, she tried to stifle a sob but it was impossible; it burst out, followed by several more, and then she was crying – full-on, ugly, blotchy crying.
‘Oh Betty, sweetheart. My dear girl.’ And rather wonderfully he scooped her into his arms, just like in the movies, and carried her into the gardener’s shed where he sat down with her on his knee on an old wooden bench.
He cradled her in his arms and she sobbed into his neck, her body still shaking.
‘Hey, sweetheart. It’s OK, you’re safe now. I won’t let him touch you again.’ She kept her eyes tightly shut, not daring to look at him and see the disgust in his eyes when he looked at her. She couldn’t get over the gentleness in his voice when bare minutes ago he’d looked so terrifying.
Finally
she hiccoughed to a stop and drew in a heavy breath. Time to face the music. She tried to pull away from him, but his hold tightened, and when she did open her eyes, he was looking down at her with the oddest expression on his face.
‘Oh honey.’ To her astonishment and uncertain delight, he dropped a kiss on her forehead and used a thumb to swipe away her tears. ‘You’re safe.’
She stared up at him, so many emotions swirling inside, she didn’t know where she was at or where to start.
‘You were…’ She reached up and touched his chin and her heart did some kind of funny flip in her chest. ‘Thank you.’
‘Is that the fella that’s been bothering you? Did he hit you before?’
She nodded, swallowing.
‘Dang, I wish I’d hit him harder.’
‘Sir!’ She half hiccoughed and half giggled.
‘Think you might call me Carl?’
She nodded, suddenly feeling shy.
‘Are you OK? Did he hurt you?’
‘Not really, frightened me more. What he was going to do…’ she said, shuddering as she realised what a fortunate escape she’d had. Carl’s arms tightened around her.
‘I promise you, he’s never going to touch you again. I saw him skulking about and then I saw you and well, you didn’t look too happy, and knowing what had happened to you before… I heard him threatening you. What did he want?’
Betty sighed but she desperately wanted this off her chest.
‘He’s convinced that this really is a distribution centre. A while back his mate saw a lorry full of cigarettes and whisky arrive. He thought he could steal them to sell them on the black market and he kept badgering me to tell him where they were stored. Except I couldn’t tell him anything. I tried avoiding him but he caught up with me.’
‘Well, he won’t be bothering you anymore.’ The fierce glow in his eyes made her tear up again but at the same time gave her the confidence to finally unburden herself.
‘It’s my family I’m worried about. He threatened my ma and my little sister, and his family own the cottage we live in.’ She winced. ‘Jane is… She’s growing up but isn’t up here, if you know what I mean.’ Betty tapped the side of her head.
Carl’s mouth twisted. ‘Unforgivable. But if you have any more problems, you come straight to me. He won’t dare now.’
‘What did you say to him?
‘Ah, that’s not for a lady’s ears.’
Betty lowered her eyes and whispered, ‘I don’t think I’m a lady.’ He put a hand under her chin and gently encouraged her to look at him. ‘I’m so embarrassed. Thank you for helping.’
‘Embarrassed. You shouldn’t be. I’ve seen that sort before. Bullies, picking on women. He deserved what he got. And you are every inch a lady and you deserve to be treated like one. I don’t want to hear you saying that again. Don’t you ever doubt yourself. Now, we need to get you cleaned up.’
She screwed up her eyes. ‘Oh no. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.’
‘I’ll go and get some things. You stay here. Will you be OK?’
Betty didn’t want to be left on her own and she shook her head.
‘If you can go in front of me and I can get as far as the hallway, there’s a secret passageway up the stairs.’
‘There is?’
She nodded. ‘It takes you up to the second floor, and then if the coast is clear, I can run along to my room.’
‘I’ve got a better idea. I’ll take you to my room. I can get some ice from the Mess and I’ve got a shaving bowl and mirror.’ He cupped her chin very gently and kissed her softly on the mouth. ‘I want to look after you, Betty.’
‘Me? But I’m…’
‘Somethin’ special,’ he drawled. ‘From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I couldn’t take them off you. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, as well as being just about the damn smartest girl I’ve ever met. I tell you, sweetheart, it’s a heady combination.’
‘I’m—’
He stopped her with a gentle finger over her lips. ‘Shh. Let’s sit here awhile until you feel yourself again.’
As the sun dipped beneath the horizon and darkness fell, he held her in his arms, tucking her head under his chin, his arms wrapped around her, and she’d never felt so safe or cossetted in her life.
After a while they ventured out of the shed, Carl holding her hand, and they walked across the lawn towards the lights of the house. Through the diamond-paned windows of the Officers’ Mess, Betty could see the officers clutching their drinks, talking and chatting as if they were at some smart cocktail party. When they neared the front door, Carl left her in the porch and peeped through the door to check the coast was clear.
‘Where do we need to go?’ he whispered.
‘The alcove behind the suit of armour.’
Quickly they tiptoed across the black and white tiled floor and slipped into the alcove.
‘This is kinda exciting. I had no idea there were secret passages.’
Despite feeling like she’d been through her ma’s mangle, Betty managed to laugh at his little-boy enthusiasm. ‘They weren’t so secret to the servants. Rich people don’t like seeing the staff.’
‘Is that so?’ His voice echoed with disappointment as she found the latch, but before she could open the door they heard voices coming along the hallway and they both stiffened. Then Carl turned her round but stood in front of her, his arms enveloping her, ducking his head to kiss her so that even if anyone had seen them, no one would know who it was. His mouth was warm and soft and oh-so-gentle and with a little sigh she opened up to him. It was like a fairytale kiss, floaty and magical and she softened in his arms. She could have stayed there for ever but luckily he had a little more self-possession and as the footsteps died away, he lifted his head. ‘Plenty of time for kissing later. We need to get you sorted.’
They slipped through the door and into the dark corridor, waiting for a minute while their eyes adjusted. ‘There’s a light at the end on the wall before the stairs,’ she whispered and started forward to lead the way, but he grabbed her hand and insisted on holding it as she moved ahead.
Once they reached the top corridor, Carl stepped in front of her and peeped out of the door onto the empty corridor. ‘Wait here.’ He slipped out and walked to the very end of the corridor and opened the door to a room at the end. Then he came back and walked to the opposite end where he stood guard and gave her the all-clear and said, ‘I’ll be right along.’ Feeling a secret thrill, knowing that perhaps she shouldn’t be doing this (she’d never been in a man’s bedroom before; well, not with him in there), she darted down to his room.
She smiled when she entered. She had been in this room many times before, although then it was to dust it. The double bed was still the same with its barley-twist posts on each corner, along with the matching burnished chestnut dressing table, boot cupboard and wardrobe. When Lord Chesham had lived here, this had been one of the many guest bedrooms.
She sat down on the damask-covered stool in front of the dressing table and buried her head in her hands, sitting for a while, going back over what had happened. Was that really the end of things with Bert? After all her anxiety, had it been that simple? Her ma wasn’t going to be pleased when she realised that things were over with Bert. She’d seen him as a ticket to better things, but knowing his meanness of character, that was never going to happen. Betty prayed that Ma and Jane would be safe from now on.
Feeling more steady, she lifted her head and peered at her face, wondering where Carl had gone. A lipstick smear stained her chin and her hair was an unruly mess of curls. Wearily she sighed and then caught sight of the reflection of Carl standing in the doorway smiling at her. Wiping at her cheek, she turned around. ‘I look terrible.’
He shook his head and closed the door. In his hands he held two tumblers of golden liquid and a third full of ice. ‘Not to me. You always look beautiful.’
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a stern look, some
of her spirit creeping back.
‘OK, maybe you could do with a little tidy-up, but you always look perfect to me.’
‘That’s better,’ she managed a prim smile, although her eyes danced a little, and turned back to the mirror, lifting a hand to start removing the bobby pins.
‘Here, let me.’ Carl stood behind her, his fingers probing and seeking out the pins, gently sliding each one out and rubbing her curls between finger and thumb. It sent goosebumps racing over her skin and she watched him in the mirror as he took his time, absorbed in his task. The air felt thick and heavy and Betty’s limbs strangely achy and lethargic, as if she were waiting and longing for something to happen.
‘Your hair was the first thing I noticed about you. That and your perky attitude.’ A wry smile crossed his face. ‘You were never going to let on that you couldn’t really type.’
‘I thought I could,’ she said with an indignant huff.
‘Someone lied to you, sweetheart.’
‘I taught myself. I’d never seen anyone else type properly. I just thought I could do it.’ She wrinkled her nose as she thought about the professional competence of some of the other ATS women who knew what they were doing with a typewriter.
‘Priceless. You’re just a gem.’
‘You don’t really know me. Bert, that man, he’s the world I come from.’
‘And you think I care about that. Hell, my grandfather was born and raised on a pig farm in Iowa. He was dirt poor but my dad had the smarts and he became a salesman, married my mom and they moved to a nice house in the city.’