Blue Smoke

by Deborah Challinor

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  At that very moment Liam was sitting nervously in the parlour at Kenmore waiting for Tamar to come downstairs. Next to him perched the girl he planned to marry. He was going to marry her no matter what, but he did want Tamar to meet her first. She had, after all, been more or less a mother to him while he was gowing up, even though she was really his gran.

  ‘You’ll like her,’ he said reassuringly. ‘She’s been marvellous to me. She’s probably been the most important person in my life. She raised me, you know.’

  The girl did know. He’d told her the story more than once about how he’d been discovered under the beans in the kitchen garden after his father’s memorial service, and how there had been a note from his mother — whoever she was, because to this day still nobody knew — asking that he be looked after because she couldn’t do it.

  ‘Yes, sweetheart,’ she replied, laying a hand on his uniform sleeve. The nails were lacquered a very deep red. ‘You’ve told me several times now.’

  Liam looked at her and laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose I have, really, haven’t I? I can’t wait for you to meet everyone. Duncan and Drew are away of course, but the girls are floating about. You’ll like them, too, I know. They’re great fun. Especially the twins.’

  The girl uncrossed her legs, rose to her feet and walked smoothly on three-inch heels across to the china cabinet where Tamar kept her best pieces.

  ‘This is all gorgeous stuff. Mind you, it goes with the house, doesn’t it? Your grandmother must be loaded,’ she said, bending down to look more closely.

  Liam couldn’t keep his eyes off the taut, rounded globes of her bottom as it strained the fabric of her snugly fitting dress. He got an erection immediately, and moved his uniform hat onto his lap; she always had that effect on him, and it could be very embarrassing.

  In fact, he’d been sporting bloody great stiffies at the very thought of her, and at the most inopportune times, ever since they’d met two months ago when he’d first arrived at Ohakea.

  It had been at the end of the second week; he’d been absolutely knackered from the gruelling training regime, even though he’d been fit before he’d arrived and was intellectually very capable, and had at first declined his barrack mates’ offer of a ride into Palmerston North to sample the night life. But they’d given him such a hard time about it that in the end he’d decided to go, despite his fatigue.

  They’d gone to a pub and had quite a few beers until closing time at six, had a feed of fish and chips then headed for a dance at the community hall where, it had been rumoured in the bar, there’d be plenty of girls just dying to be swept off their feet by dashing young airmen. There were, and Liam’s mates lost little time ‘bagsing’ The ones they fancied and whizzing them out onto the dance floor, ignoring the dirty looks from the sour-faced civilian blokes. Liam, who couldn’t dance to save himself, was left sitting on a wooden bench against the wall, wishing he’d taken more notice of the dance lessons he’d been forced to attend at Napier Boys’ High.

  He was resigning himself to a night of bum-numbing boredom interspersed with surreptitious dashes out to the car for a quick bottle of beer, when suddenly his view of the dance floor was blocked by a pair of very shapely calves and the outline of equally curvaceous thighs beneath a floaty floral skirt. He’d looked up and into the face of the most enchanting, vivacious girl he’d ever seen.

  She bent over so her face was on the same level as his, at the same time giving him both a lovely view down the front of her blouse and a great waft of perfume. ‘Hello, love,’ she said loudly over the noise of the band. ‘Has she left you sitting here all by yourself?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Whichever girl has been silly enough to leave you alone and unguarded for five minutes. If I was her, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.’

  Liam didn’t know what to say. Never in his life had a girl spoken to him like this.

  ‘Er, no, I’m here by myself. Well, those are my mates over there on the dance floor, but I don’t have a girl.’

  The girl’s artfully pencilled eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that so? I don’t think I believe it, a big, good-looking young bloke like you.’

  Liam blushed and hoped the lights were dim enough for her not to notice.

  ‘No, I’m by myself,’ he said, then surprised himself by seizing the initiative. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like a glass of punch?’

  The girl sat down next to him. ‘I’d love one, thanks. What’s your name, love?’

  ‘Liam. Liam Murdoch.’

  She stuck her hand out with a clatter of bangles. ‘And I’m Evelyn, Evie to my friends. Lovely to meet you.’

  Liam smiled, dashed over to the canteen and came back with two glasses of punch. Evie took hers and put it beside her on the bench. Then she opened her purse and withdrew a small flask and unscrewed the lid.

  ‘Gin. Want some?’

  ‘I don’t think we’re allowed alcohol in here.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud. Here, give us your glass.’ She poured a decent measure into Liam’s punch, then topped up her own and swallowed a third of it in one go. ‘That’s better. Shall we dance?’

  Liam felt embarrassed again — he was bound to make a fool of himself. ‘Well, I don’t dance, really.’

  Evie stood up, took his glass out of his hand, and pulled him to his feet. ‘Of course you do, it’s easy. I’ll show you.’

  And it was. He stood on her toes twice — it must have hurt because she was wearing open-toed shoes, though she didn’t say anything — but after that he found the rhythm and started to feel more comfortable. She was a good dancer, if rather a close one, and the pressure of her thighs against his and her hand on his back helped him to work out which way he should be going. He relaxed and was starting to think he was actually doing quite well when someone jabbed him hard from behind. He looked around ready to apologise, and encountered not an irate dancer but the smirking face of Dick Curtis, one of his mates.

  ‘Doing well,’ he said in a stage whisper. ‘She’s a real looker. I’d hang on to that one if I were you!’

  Liam couldn’t help it — he smirked back and whirled Evie around in a burst of confidence and enthusiasm.

  ‘That’s the ticket!’ she said, laughing up at him. ‘You’re really getting the hang of it!’

  The song ended then and the band segued into a slower number, the woman vocalist dropping her voice from the rather strident pitch she’d been using to a semi-seductive croon that seemed to encourage the dancers on the crowded floor to move even closer together.

  Evie’s hand slid down to the small of Liam’s back and her hips pressed against his groin. He felt the stirrings of a very healthy erection and hastily sucked in his middle in an attempt to avoid poking her in the stomach. But it was too late — she’d already noticed.

  She laughed again and said teasingly, ‘I see you’re enjoying yourself.’

  He was mortified. ‘I do beg your pardon.’

  Her hand came up and she laid a finger gently on his lips. ‘Ssshh. It’s all right, love. You can beg anything you like from me.’

  This did absolutely nothing to minimise the lump in Liam’s trousers, and he gave up trying to hold himself away from her. He didn’t dare let his hand slide any further down her back than her waist, though he was itching to run his palm over her round bottom under the silky material of her dress. Her breasts pressed against his chest and he imagined he could feel their heat even through his uniform jacket. Dipping his head to her bright blonde hair, he smelt Palmolive soap and her perfume — strong, but heady and provocative.

  As they danced slowly among the other swaying couples, her body against his and the smell of her in his nostrils, he marvelled at the fact that he very nearly hadn’t ventured out at all tonight. If he hadn’t let himself be persuaded, he would at this very minute be lying on his bunk in his service pyjamas reading something exceptionally turgid about how to master topographical maps and recognise he
avily camouflaged German ammunition factories. This was infinitely more alluring.

  And then she did something that tipped him right over the edge.

  Their hands had been intertwined and resting against the front of his shoulder. Now she leaned back slightly and slid her hand out of his. Then, very slowly — lightly scratching his skin with her long nails as she went — she encircled his wrist with her fingers and thumb and held him in a grip so strong he could barely move his hand. He didn’t even want to; he felt caught, overpowered, and deliciously trapped. Then she lowered her head and licked the inside of his wrist, bit him gently there, then slid his thumb into her warm, soft mouth. It was so incredibly erotic that he had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning.

  He wondered desperately if he could convince her to come outside with him to the car. Or even for a wander in the paddock behind the hall. If he missed his ride back to Ohakea, too bad — she would be worth having to stick his thumb out for.

  In the end he didn’t need to convince her at all. When she suggested they go outside for a breath of fresh air, he agreed willingly.

  ‘We could sit in the car,’ he said hopefully. ‘There should be a few bottles of DB left.’

  Evie said, ‘Well, only for a minute. We don’t want to miss the supper.’ Then she burst into laughter at the sight of his crestfallen face. ‘Don’t worry,’ she giggled, linking her arm through his, ‘I’m only joking. I can think of much more interesting things to do than scoffing scones. Come on, Mr Airman, let’s go!’

  They threaded their way through the crowd of unattached men congregating around the door, then down the wide concrete steps and out onto the road. Dick’s battered Austin Seven was parked a short distance away under a tree; they walked towards it hand in hand, their shoes scrunching loudly on the gravel of the road.

  Liam opened the passenger door, took two bottles out of the almost empty crate on the floor, then stood there dithering about whether Evie would be offended if he opened the door to the back seat for her. But she opened it herself and climbed in, moving across so there was plenty of room for him. He clambered in beside her.

  Swivelling on the leather seat she turned to face him. ‘Well,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he said back, wondering what to do next.

  He considered opening his bottle with his teeth, but decided that such a show-off gesture could pose a needless risk and result in an enforced visit to the base’s somewhat cavalier dentist. Instead he took his penknife out of his pocket and prised the lid off with that, then did the same for her.

  But she put her bottle on the floor, where it promptly fell over and emptied its foaming contents everywhere. She reached for him and began to kiss him, and not chaste kisses either. Deep, tongue-probing, passionate kisses that smeared lipstick all over his mouth and set his trousers bulging again, while shivers of excitement raced up his spine and across his buttocks.

  And she just didn’t stop. Within minutes she had his flies open and her cool hand burrowed into his trousers, skilfully caressing his penis in a manner that made him suspect he wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer. She unbuttoned her blouse and opened it wide, positioning one of his hands encouragingly. He fumbled for a few moments, not altogether inexpertly, until she lost patience, removed her blouse completely and unhooked her best Berlei bra so he had full access to her heavy, satin-skinned breasts.

  His breath caught in his throat at the sight of them — their whiteness seemed to reflect the moonlight — and he moaned involuntarily as his damp hands felt their smooth, inviting warmth and weight.

  She moaned, too, and nuzzled his neck and nipped his ear. She had his penis out now in the cool, silky air and he knew it would only be a matter of seconds.

  So did she.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked huskily.

  He didn’t trust his voice and could only nod.

  She leaned back then, along the seat, and slithered her skirt up to her waist. Tucking her thumbs into the waistband, she wriggled her knickers down and kicked them off, revealing a suspender belt attached to gleaming silk stockings and a dark, lush triangle between pale thighs.

  In the semi-darkness of the moonlight, Liam thought her lips and eyes looked like black shadows.

  She reached for him, and he came to her, pushing his trousers down to his knees and settling himself between her welcoming legs. Two tentative pushes then a deeper thrust and he was inside her. Her feet, still in their high-heeled shoes, settled across his back and the car began to rock gently on its springs. He could smell the leather of the car seat, her perfume and the scent of their sexes mixing together, and lost himself completely.

  And that had only been the beginning. He saw her as often as he could after that, borrowing Dick’s car or thumbing a lift into town whenever he could get away from the base. Sometimes they had sex in the car, or under trees in paddocks, getting grass in their hair. Once they did it in a haystack, and on two memorable occasions they went to the house of Evie’s married sister, while she and her husband were out.

  They had sex in every position they could think of: she straddled him and smothered his face with her breasts; he sat her on his lap or held her up against a wall. She sucked him and bit him and held him down; he licked her and stroked her and left small bruises on her thighs. They groaned and giggled and cried out in their lust, and Liam, realising he would be going over seas in a matter of weeks, came to a decision.

  Which was why they were now sitting in the parlour at Kenmore waiting for Tamar.

  When she did appear, Liam leapt to his feet, smiling broadly. Tamar crossed the floor and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Liam, darling, what a lovely surprise. We weren’t expecting you for at least another fortnight. Your embarkation date hasn’t been brought forward, has it?’

  ‘No, but I managed to wangle a weekend pass, and there’s something I need to tell you,’ he said, holding his hand out to Evie who was standing in silence by the china cabinet. ‘Gran, this is Evie Jones. She’s from Palmerston North, and we’re getting married.’

  Tamar took one look at the girl, who was now holding Liam’s hand and smiling broadly herself, and her heart sank. The girl’s smile conveyed a hint of something that Tamar didn’t like at all. Ownership, certainly. Triumph? Quite possibly.

  And that wasn’t all. The girl was wearing heels that were too high to be anything but tarty, her cheap green and red dress was a little too tight across her considerable bust, there was at least quarter of an inch of brunette visible in the part of her otherwise blonde hair and her lipstick was an altogether inappropriate shade of red for day wear.

  Tamar’s face remained set in a welcoming smile. ‘Hello, Evie, how nice to meet you. Please, sit down.’

  As they arranged themselves Tamar glanced surreptitiously at Liam. She took in his glossy fair hair, still tending towards curls in spite of the best efforts of the base barber, his big frame and long legs, and the handsome, open and perennially cheerful face that so resembled his father’s. She noted his soppy smile as he gazed at Evie, and allowed herself a moment’s reflection regarding his sweet, trusting nature.

  Then she turned all of her attention to the girl.

  ‘Now, Evie, tell me all about these wedding plans.’

  ‘God, Kepa, she was awful.’

  Kepa, who had not arrived at Kenmore until after Liam and Evie had gone, sat at the kitchen table eyeing a steaming loaf of bread just out of the oven.

  ‘Awful in what way?’ he asked, succumbing to temptation and cutting himself a thick slice. ‘I should not be eating this. My trousers seem to have become smaller.’

  Tamar struggled to find words that would not sound too judgmental, and gave up. ‘She was a bit of a tart.’

  ‘Oh yes, and how do you define a tart?’

  ‘I can’t say exactly, but believe me, I know one when I see one. And so I should,’ Tamar added, thinking back to her long ago brothelkeepings days. ‘Myrna’s girls were good sorts, most of them, and a few
even went on to respectable marriages, I’ll grant you that, but there’s something about a woman who’s prepared to sell herself. For whatever gain. Much as I liked them, Myrna’s girls had whatever it is, and so does this Evie.’

  ‘And what is it that makes you think she is selling herself?’

  ‘Well, I could say the way she was dressed. Really, Kepa, you should have seen her frock — it was so snug I could see the outline of her suspender belt underneath.

  And her shoes, I’m surprised she made it up the front steps without toppling over.’

  Kepa raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

  ‘But it wasn’t just her outfit,’ Tamar went on, picking at a corner of the loaf herself. ‘It was more than that. It was the expression on her face. She looked at me, right into my eyes, and I swear she knows that I know damn well what she’s up to, but couldn’t give a hoot!’

  ‘And what is she up to?’

  ‘She’s taking advantage of poor sweet Liam, that’s what!’

  ‘Really?’ Kepa was interested now. ‘How?’

  Tamar gave a derisory snort. ‘She’s trapped him, of course. She’s bewitched him into marrying her. And I know how, too. He couldn’t keep his hands off her.’

  Kepa smiled broadly. ‘There is a name for his condition, but I will not tell you what it is.’

  ‘It’s not funny, you know,’ Tamar snapped. ‘And I am familiar with the term. I’ve seen more than enough men with the same problem silly enough to do just about anything for a woman’s favours. Including spending a week’s pay.’

  ‘Do you think Liam is paying this woman?’

  ‘No, of course not. But he’s agreed to marry her, hasn’t he? And he is an heir to the station; she must know that. She was taking a damn good inventory when I walked into the parlour.’

  ‘Ah, a … what is it? A gold-digger?’

  ‘Yes, I suspect so. She can’t be anything else.’