by Rosie Clarke
For a moment his face was filled with fury and then it disappeared and he slumped down in the chair. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been hell recently and I never expected to get this pass – and then you seemed as if you preferred to be with your friends…’
‘Not if I can be with you,’ Lizzie said and knelt by his side. He looked tired and drained and she didn’t understand – but he was obviously under strain.
‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, but it felt as if you’d forgotten me – shut me out. You’re obviously coping well and don’t need me…’
‘Of course I need you. I love you, Harry. You’ve given me everything. If you and Uncle Bertie hadn’t helped me, I should probably have been working in the munitions factory now.’
‘Sebastian Winters would take you like a shot.’
‘I turned him down. I’m your wife, Harry.’
‘I love you, Lizzie. You won’t run away and leave me will you?’
‘Where would I go?’ She laughed up at him. ‘You know I love you, darling. I expect you’re tired and hungry, aren’t you?’
‘Not particularly hungry… Why don’t we go out somewhere?’
‘There’s a good film on at the Odeon…’
‘No, I feel like company. A pub somewhere: one that has a piano. I want to see people enjoying themselves and having a few drinks.’
Lizzie hesitated, because she didn’t like pubs much and some of them in the district seemed to get rowdy.
‘You wouldn’t rather just stay in and have a few drinks – or visit your uncle?’
‘No, I want to go to a pub,’ Harry said. ‘Get changed into something smart, Lizzie. I want everyone to see what a pretty wife I’ve got…’
*
Lizzie was annoyed as the drunken soldier brushed past her as she made her way back from the cloakroom, because the soldier had managed to spill a few drops of his beer on her best red dress. She noticed that Harry had invited a man in RAF uniform to sit down at their table and, as she approached, another RAF officer arrived with a loaded tray and placed it on the table. Harry was laughing, clearly more at ease with his friends than her, and she had a feeling he’d arranged this even before he’d told her of his intention to visit a pub.
The two officers stood up as she came up to them.
‘Robbie and Jeff,’ Harry said, nodding at the two men. ‘This is my Lizzie – I told you, she designs hats…’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Oliver,’ the officers said and offered their hands. Lizzie shook hands and sat down opposite the one called Robbie. ‘Harry said you were beautiful,’ he said. ‘We all thought he was bragging, but he failed to do you justice.’
‘Watch him, Harry,’ Jeff joked. ‘Robbie has all the ladies swooning when he starts sweet-talking them.’
Harry laughed and lifted his glass to his friend, seeming not to take any notice of Jeff’s ribbing, but a little later when Lizzie was laughing at one of Robbie’s jokes, she noticed the dark look her husband was giving her.
Feeling slightly annoyed, Lizzie carried on talking to his friends in the manner she always spoke to everyone, polite, friendly, but nothing more. If Harry didn’t like the attention his friends were giving her then he shouldn’t have arranged to meet them. Lizzie hadn’t wanted to come. She would have preferred to stay home or go out for a quiet meal in a nice restaurant, but Harry wanted to be with his friends and it seemed that he enjoyed their company; it was Lizzie he was angry with and that was just stupid.
Harry was quiet as they walked home late that night. He’d had several drinks, more than she’d ever known him to have before, but he didn’t seem merry or drunk – just quiet and sullen. When they let themselves into the flat, Lizzie went through to the kitchen to make some cocoa. Harry was sitting in the chair when she returned with two mugs, his head back and his eyes closed.
‘Are you asleep?’ she asked.
Harry didn’t answer. She put his mug on the table beside him and then took hers through to the bedroom. She drank it while sitting on the edge of the bed, then went to the bathroom to clean her teeth. Harry hadn’t come through, so she peeped in the sitting room. He hadn’t touched his cocoa and was still sitting with his eyes shut.
‘Are you coming to bed, Harry?’
No answer. Lizzie hesitated for a moment and then went and climbed into bed. If he’d fallen asleep where he was, he must be tired and she didn’t want to wake him.
It must have been early morning when she felt the covers pulled back and then Harry’s weight as he crawled in beside her. The next moment his arms went round her and he was nuzzling her neck, murmuring endearments as he pulled at her nightgown, inching it up with one hand. She was still sleepy, and a little cross with him for his behaviour that evening, and not in the mood for lovemaking.
‘No, Harry,’ she muttered, still half asleep. ‘Tomorrow; I’m tired…’
‘You can’t refuse me,’ Harry muttered and then his body was lying on hers, crushing her into the mattress as he fumbled between her legs, forcing them open and pushing his fingers inside her. ‘Why aren’t you wet?’ he grumbled as she resisted what felt like an invasion. ‘Damn you, you don’t love me anymore…’
Lizzie tried to protest but his lips ground on hers in a punishing kiss and then he was thrusting into her with such ferocity that she felt a wild beast was tearing at her and she cried out in pain. Her mind refused to believe what was happening, because Harry had always been such a caring, tender lover. He couldn’t be doing this – it was little short of rape. She felt cold all over and a little sick. Harry must know how this would affect her – after what had happened when she was fourteen! How could he subject her to such rough treatment?
Lizzie tried to push him off but Harry was in the grip of some wild fit and he just pounded into her until he collapsed in a heap, groaned and then rolled off her, immediately falling into a deep sleep. He was snoring. Harry never snored; it either had to be the drink or he was feigning it.
Lizzie pushed away from him, got out of bed and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She ran a hot bath and got in, letting the tears stream down her cheeks. How could he do that to her? He wasn’t like the man she loved – he wasn’t her Harry. Something had happened to him and Lizzie didn’t like it.
She stayed in the bath until the water felt cold and then dried herself, wrapping her bathrobe round her and going through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. There was no way she was going to get back into that bed while Harry was in it – not while he was in the grip of whatever madness had taken him over.
She drank her tea alone, refusing to take him one; he didn’t deserve she should. Lizzie was very angry. Some women might put up with their husbands treating them like that but she wasn’t one of them. Unable to return to bed, she finally curled up in the sitting room with her coat over her and drifted into a cramped and uneasy sleep.
Church bells were ringing when Lizzie woke to see Harry standing there with a cup of tea in one hand and a bacon sandwich on a plate in the other.
‘It was all I knew how to make,’ he said, looking like a naughty schoolboy as he set both the cup and plate down on the table beside her. ‘I’m so sorry for the way I behaved last night, Lizzie. I expect you hate me now – I deserve it. I could beg you to forgive me, but if I were you I wouldn’t – what I did…’ he broke down, his face working with distress. ‘I can’t believe I did it – I was just so damned jealous. Robbie was making a play for you all evening…’
Lizzie stared up at him, feeling cold and unforgiving. ‘That doesn’t give you the right to rape me, Harry.’
‘Rape…’ he blenched as she said it. ‘I didn’t mean – I just wanted you so much and you said no – wouldn’t let me love you…’
‘So you took what you wanted regardless of my feelings? When you know what happened to me – what it did to me the last time?’ Lizzie stood up, looking him in the eyes. ‘I don’t take that from anyone, Harry. I’m not a doormat and I’ve got too much pride to live with
a man who thinks he can use me like that…’
‘Lizzie don’t,’ Harry begged. The tears were streaming down his cheeks now and then he was on his knees, catching at her robe, hugging her around the legs like an abject child. ‘If you leave me I’ll go to pieces. I can’t go on without you – you’re all that keeps me sane. You don’t know…’ he broke off shaking his head. ‘I’m so ashamed.’
Lizzie resisted for a moment longer, and then reached down to touch his hair as a feeling of love, or pity, overwhelmed her. ‘What’s wrong, Harry? What has happened to you? I don’t understand?’
He looked up at her. ‘I’m a coward, Lizzie – a miserable rotten little coward and I want to run away and hide.’
Lizzie sat down and looked into his face. ‘What makes you say that? What has happened to make you feel that way?’
‘We’ve been flying almost non-stop missions over enemy territory, taking aerial photo surveys and the flak is bad, Lizzie. Three of the squadron have been shot down this month and both pilot and navigator were killed – or burned beyond recognition…’
Harry’s hands were shaking as Lizzie reached out to take them. Everyone moaned about all the fuss and petty restrictions when nothing was happening, and it didn’t really seem as if there was a war at all, but what they didn’t realise was that some of the men were facing danger every day of their lives; men at sea and young flyers risking everything to find out more about the enemy’s installations and ships.
‘I’m sorry if you’ve lost some of your friends, Harry.’
His hands stilled as she caught and held them. ‘We’ve been lucky so far, Robbie and me – but I’m terrified every time I go up, Lizzie. I wanted to fly, wanted to do my bit for my country – but I’m a coward. I get the shakes sometimes and the only thing that keeps me going is the memory of you – of your sweet face.’
‘Harry, dearest,’ she said, her throat tight as she struggled to hold back her tears. ‘I don’t know what to say… I’m sure you’re not the only one who’s frightened of getting shot down.’
‘Robbie laughs at danger; he loves the thrill of it, and we always get the best pictures because he takes us in closer than anyone else dare fly. So far we’ve had the devil’s own luck, but I know it can’t last. We’ve done more than sixty missions, Lizzie, and a lot of the chaps only manage a handful. I think I could stand the idea of death but it’s getting burned…’ He shuddered and bent his head. ‘I’m so ashamed. What I did last night – and now you know I’m a coward. You won’t want me around, Lizzie. I’ll go to a hotel for the rest of my leave. It’s only until Monday night…’
‘Of course you won’t go to a hotel. This is your home, Harry. I got you a present for Christmas, even though you didn’t get home…’
‘I bought you something too,’ he said and looked up at her, hope in his eyes. ‘You don’t hate me?’
‘No – but you hurt me, Harry. Not just physically but mentally. I’m not going to leave you, but if you ever do anything like that again, I shall…’
‘I shan’t! I promise on my life. I wish I’d thrown myself under a train rather than hurt you like that, Lizzie. Can you forgive me?’
‘Yes, I think so, but it’s going to be a while before I feel I can trust you again,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you’re a coward, Harry. What you’re doing takes guts and even if you do feel terrified you do it – don’t you?’ He was still her husband, still a brave man doing a dangerous job, even if he had made her wish she’d never married him.
‘I have no choice. I couldn’t ask for a transfer – and it wouldn’t happen if I did. I chose to train as a navigator and observer and I’m stuck with it. If I wasn’t flying reconnaissance missions, it would be bombers or some such thing – and they will be in the thick of it once it really starts.’
‘You don’t think your commanding officer would put you on groundwork?’
‘I can’t ask, Lizzie.’ He looked rueful. ‘I can just imagine the looks I’d get – that’s the worst bit. I have to laugh and joke and pretend like the others – I’m even more afraid of being thought a coward than of dying. I couldn’t face the other chaps if…’ He shook his head and looked miserable.
‘Don’t you see, Harry?’ Lizzie said earnestly. ‘They probably feel just the same as you do – that’s why they brag and play ridiculous jokes, as they did last night. Robbie wasn’t after me; he was just showing off like a little boy…’
Harry arched his brows at her, before getting to his feet. ‘When did you get to be so grown-up and wise?’
‘Perhaps last night had something to do with it,’ Lizzie said, though she knew she’d been changing for a while. It had begun at that garden party, when she’d seen something in Sebastian’s eyes – a feeling of need and wanting…. She’d refused to acknowledge it then, but a more recent memory was haunting her. . Why that sudden urgency when he came to the workshop the last time? Was it because he was going away – perhaps into danger? The thought caught at her heart, giving her pain and she had to force herself back to the present, back to what Harry was saying.
‘Will you ever forgive me?’
‘Let’s forget about it for now,’ she said turning to hide her tears. ‘I’ll give you my presents and you can give me yours…’
*
Uncle Bertie came round later when Lizzie was cooking dinner. He caught the delicious smell of roast beef and looked envious as she took it out of the tin and turned it before returning it to the oven.
‘My favourite,’ he said. ‘Your aunt has a chicken whenever she can, but I’d choose beef every time – have you made puddings?’
‘Lizzie makes lovely crisp Yorkshires,’ Harry said and grinned. ‘You can have some if you like.’
‘I wouldn’t dare,’ his uncle said and chuckled. ‘Your aunt would be offended if I didn’t do justice to her Sunday dinner. I only came round to see you, Harry. I couldn’t believe it when Lizzie rang and said you were home. She didn’t tell us you were coming…’
‘It was a surprise,’ Harry said. ‘I didn’t know until half an hour before I caught the train.’
‘Come round for tea or supper if you like,’ Uncle Bertie invited. ‘Now, if we could have a word on our own, Harry lad. It’s just man-to-man stuff, nothing Lizzie would be interested in…’
Lizzie didn’t even turn her head. She wanted the dinner to be perfect. It was difficult making things seem normal after the previous evening and Harry’s confession. She felt guilty for not having realised what a strain he was under. How he would cope with the next months, and perhaps years, she didn’t know – because he was clearly cracking under the pressure and Sebastian said it had hardly started yet. Perhaps he didn’t know about the reconnaissance missions like Lizzie he was waiting to see what would happen when the two countries really came to blows.
No, she was sure he knew much more, was mixed up in things she knew nothing of – and perhaps that explained the way he’d been in her workroom when he’d seemed to plead with her to love him. Safe at home in her own little world, how could Lizzie understand what men exposed to danger were thinking? Some inner sense told her that Sebastian would be exposed to danger soon, even if he hadn’t been already. Most things to do with the war were kept secret until after they happened, because the Government suspected there were German spies or sympathisers everywhere. Lizzie and Beth had laughed at the idea, but perhaps there was a lot more going on behind the scenes than most people guessed.
She had just finished beating the mixture for the Yorkshire when Uncle Bertie came back into the kitchen, followed by Harry. He shook his head at her as she offered him a glass of sweet sherry.
‘The only thing that’s good for is a trifle,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if you finished that new design, Lizzie – the cap with the embroidered badge.’
‘Yes, I did finish it but I sold it immediately. I’m making more but they aren’t finished.’
‘You sold it before showing it to me?’ Uncle Bertie looked annoyed. ‘
Who bought it?’
‘Oh…’ Lizzie glanced at Harry but he didn’t seem interested and was investigating the trifle Lizzie had made the previous day and just finished with a decoration of cream and nuts. ‘Mr Winters called in to buy a few hats and saw it. He wanted it, so I let him buy it. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed…’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Uncle Bertie said, preparing to leave. ‘I hope you will be pleased with what I’ve done, Lizzie…’
Harry went to the door with him, returning just as Lizzie poured the pudding mixture into small bun tins. ‘Do you know what he just told me?’
Lizzie shook her head, pushing the tray into the oven before turning to look at him. He seemed abstracted, a little displeased.
‘He’s giving you half the business… well, leaving it to you in his will, apparently. Aunt Miriam will get the other half for her lifetime and then it comes to me – if I survive the war. If not, you will get the lot…’
Lizzie thought she heard resentment in his voice. Obviously, he’d thought his uncle would leave the business to him, as everyone had assumed, Lizzie included.
‘He shouldn’t have done that,’ Lizzie said at once. ‘I’ll tell him I don’t want it. I expect it’s just a precaution, because of the war…’
‘Because he thinks I may not make it?’ Harry said harshly. ‘It’s more than likely that I won’t. Pilots and their navigators will be some of the highest casualties in the future. He’s being sensible…’
‘Harry don’t – please, I didn’t mean it that way…’
‘No, but it’s what he’s thinking…what happens to the business when he goes if I’ve been killed…’
‘Your uncle isn’t going to die for years. He’ll probably change his mind once the war is over and you start working in the business again.’
‘He thinks you’re a huge asset to the business, told me he needs you. Apparently, there are other government contracts he could take on if you would oblige him.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Clothing mostly, I think, but you should ask him if you’re interested.’ His brows rose, seeming to mock her.