The Secret Years

by Barbara Hannay

‘Well, yes. I didn’t know when, exactly.’

  ‘Before that, Nick was going out quite seriously with a girl called Eleanor, she’s from Truro. We all expected an engagement announcement, but they broke up within a few weeks of Simon’s death. I don’t know what happened exactly. Nick wouldn’t talk about it, but he’s more or less lived like a Trappist monk ever since.’

  Lucy watched Nick now at the bar, laughing at something the barman said. Eleanor from Truro must have been his brush with the altar. And, given the timing of the breakup, it had to be connected to his brother’s death. Perhaps Nick had been too grief-stricken to contemplate romance?

  ‘He certainly looks very relaxed and happy this evening,’ Amelia said next.

  As they watched, Nick was grinning and waving to someone at the other end of the bar and he was still smiling as he picked up the tray with their drinks and made his way back to them.

  ‘Let’s hope he’s over the worst of it then,’ Lucy said.

  It had been a long day, starting with the early morning horse ride and ending with Nick’s surprising revelations about their family. Lucy was pleasantly tired when she and Nick climbed back into the Range Rover and headed for the Hall.

  She almost closed her eyes and sank back against the headrest, but she didn’t want to nod off. She wanted to enjoy every last minute of this lovely evening, the perfect conclusion to a perfect day. The rain hadn’t returned and as the car climbed away from the coast, she could see a slender new moon sailing delicately between wisps of cloud. If she turned her head, she could see Nick’s delicious profile, his lovely strong hands on the steering wheel.

  Silly of her, though, to pay so much attention. Despite the wonderful day and the exciting vibes, and despite the not-so-subtle hints Amelia had dropped, there was little point in sitting here eyeing Nick off, even though she could now scratch their blood relationship from her list.

  If Amelia was correct and Nick really had been reclusive and grieving for months, the very last thing he needed was some lust-addled Aussie chick complicating his life.

  With that settled, she felt commendably composed as Nick steered the Range Rover down the drive and brought it to a halt in front of the Hall.

  He freed the keys from the ignition and then turned to her. ‘Would you like to come in for a night cap?’

  Lucy was grateful for the darkness that hid her wistful face. ‘That’s not a good idea, surely?’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ After a beat, Nick said politely, ‘Perhaps you’ve already had enough to drink for one evening?’

  This was probably true, although it wasn’t what worried Lucy. She swallowed. ‘It’s just that having a night cap seems a bit – well, rather like a date.’

  Another small silence. ‘Is that a problem?’

  Lucy couldn’t see Nick’s face, but she could hear the smile in his voice. Was he playing with her? ‘Look, I’ve had a fabulous day, Nick, and I’m really grateful. I owe you a very big vote of thanks. But you have to admit . . .’

  She faltered.

  ‘What do I have to admit?’

  In the moonlit dark, Nick’s voice sounded deeper and more beautiful than ever. And yes, seductive. Lucy could feel it winding through her, making her wish they could . . .

  Stop it.

  She looked away through the passenger’s side window to the view of the gardens, filled with the silhouettes of trees and the long curving line of a hedge.

  When she turned back, she saw Nick’s face etched by moonlight. ‘I suspect you knew I was clueless about your father being adopted.’ When he didn’t respond she quickly added, ‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

  ‘I was waiting for the right moment.’

  A pulse in her throat leaped into action. Somewhere outside an owl hooted. ‘And why was tonight the right moment?’

  Now, Nick reached out and rested his hand on the back of her seat. She thought he was going to touch her, and her blood rushed under her skin. Her imagination went wild, anticipating the brush of his fingers against her neck, touching her cheek, her lips . . .

  But his hand remained excruciating inches from her shoulder.

  ‘I guess I didn’t want to risk scaring you off,’ he said. ‘Because I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you, Lucy. And I feel as if I’ve been waiting forever.’

  This silenced her. Several ice ages passed before she managed to speak. ‘Since that first night in the pub?’

  ‘Yes. I never believed in that “across a crowded room” business until you walked into The Seaspray Arms.’

  ‘But the next morning – you looked so pissed off, when I ran into you with your horse.’

  ‘Sorry. That’s because I’d resolved to avoid you. I suppose I was in denial about the way I felt. But now . . .’

  He touched her then, just the slightest pressure of his fingers on her shoulder and, despite the layers of winter clothing, her skin burned where he touched.

  She yearned to give in, to melt closer to him, to be finally in his arms. She forced herself to sit still, to be sensible, to remember all the other valid reasons why this was wrong.

  They were moving too fast. She was going home soon. This could only be a holiday fling. And then what?

  But Nick was touching her hair now, lifting a curling tress. ‘I’ve tried to resist you, Lucy.’

  A crazy intoxication zinged through her veins. Now she could think of nothing but Nick’s fingers in her hair. Of his hands on her skin. And all her logical reasons for keeping her distance were floating away. Zooming out of reach.

  ‘My problem is,’ Nick said next, his voice deeper and more sonorous than ever, ‘I seem to have reached the limits of my resistance.’

  Moonlight was streaming through the windscreen, showing her the lustre of his eyes, the hint of shadow on his jaw, the tempting sexiness of his mouth.

  And the longing that had been building in her for days spilled. She needed Nick to kiss her.

  ‘Come here,’ he murmured.

  And she was already there, tumbling into his embrace. His arms were around her and she could feel the strength of him through the thick wool of his sweater.

  Closing her eyes, she lifted her face. His mouth touched her lips once in a soft caress that sent flames flashing deep, and then he kissed her again. Slowly. Confidently. Thoroughly.

  Oh my.

  Lucy hadn’t expected to find herself sinking so quickly. This was seduction at its sweetest, at its most compelling.

  When a sudden burst of rain sounded overhead, drumming on the roof of the car, she ignored it. It would be too unfair if the most amazing kiss since the dawn of time had to finish before it had fairly started.

  Nick, however, was practical. ‘We’ll have to get out of here,’ he murmured, breaking off the kiss. Already he was turning away from her, reaching over to the back seat for the umbrella.

  The driver’s door opened and she felt a wash of cool, rain-drenched air. Then his door slammed and a moment later he was helping her out of the car, slipping an arm around her shoulders and they were running together across the driveway, huddled beneath the umbrella, dodging puddles.

  Instead of heading for the main front door, he took her to a smaller door at the opposite end of the house from the B&B.

  ‘Where’s this?’ she asked as he dealt with the lock.

  ‘My flat.’

  Of course. It made sense that he would have his own flat. A man of his age couldn’t happily live with his parents.

  She found herself in a black-and-white tiled front hall.

  Nick deposited the umbrella in a stand by the door and then he reached for her. ‘Bloody weather.’ He took her hand. ‘Where were we?’

  It was then Lucy realised how truly susceptible she was. Just one playful question from Nick, one touch and she was lost again. Melting, as he took her by the shoulders, as he leaned in to kiss her.

  There was no possibility of resistance. She was far too eager to return his warm, teasing, unhurried kiss w
ith one of her own.

  ‘Lucy,’ he whispered, making her name sound beautiful and special.

  ‘I’m here,’ she replied against his lips. ‘Right here.’

  He took her down a hallway and pushed open tall, white double doors.

  His flat was gorgeous, very modern, with a lot of black and cinnamon and silver. Near the entry there were sofas, a coffee table and a mantelpiece and down the other end a kitchen – sleek glass and stainless steel – with a dining area attached. The lighting was suitably dimmed.

  But before Lucy could take in many details, or begin to feel nervous, Nick steered her towards another doorway and gathered her close. ‘You’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.’

  ‘Ditto,’ she whispered back.

  His dark eyes shimmered with an eloquent message that made her breath catch. She knew a brief moment of panic as her pesky questions flooded back. What was she doing here? She’d come to find out about her family, not to seduce the son and heir.

  But the son and heir had lifted her hand and was kissing the inside of her wrist. When he kissed her mouth again, it was rather too late for quibbles or coyness. Not that she wanted to quibble. Not when his kiss cast such a delicious spell.

  Nick shrugged off his jacket and helped her out of her coat and he tossed them both in the direction of a corner chair, before he kissed her again.

  ‘You’re trembling,’ he said. ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘No.’ The central heating was doing its job perfectly. She risked a smile. ‘But I’ve never done this in a castle.’

  ‘Not a castle,’ he murmured as he slowly slipped his hands beneath her sweater and edged it upwards.

  ‘Next best thing.’

  Her sweater went the way of the coat and he traced the curve of her neck, then glided his hand over her shoulder. ‘You’re the next best thing.’

  He knew exactly the right things to say, and yet somehow he gave the words weight and sincerity. Confident now, Lucy began to unbutton his shirt, and Nick watched her, his eyes smouldering as he watched her hands, watched her face.

  No doubt he saw her eagerness, heard the catch in her breath as she peeled the fabric away.

  ‘Wow,’ she whispered, letting her hands glide over his chest.

  As she let her hands skim lower, she heard him suck in his breath. A beat later, she found herself scooped high in his arms. A heady swoop, and then she was tumbling, landing in a happy heap beside him on the luxurious, big black bed.

  20

  On Georgina’s first night in New Britain, she and Harry slept under an enormous tree at the side of a jungle track with a thin groundsheet as their only protection from the hard, damp and smelly ground.

  They’d gone as far as they could on the motorbike, bouncing along rough dirt roads until the track became too rugged and crevassed for even the bike to manoeuvre. It was only then, having abandoned the motorbike, that they’d reached the relative safety and privacy of the jungle, and Harry had finally taken her in his arms and kissed her.

  And oh, what a kiss . . . the tough soldier suddenly gentle as he kissed her brow, her cheek, her chin, her mouth.

  ‘George.’ Her name was a whisper against her lips, a sigh, a prayer. It was impossible to still feel terrified as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. ‘I don’t know whether it’s fate or God that’s done this, but if I could, I’d hold you forever and never let you go.’

  His words made her cry and she pressed her face into his shirt to blot her tears. ‘I’m not crying because I’m scared,’ she told him. ‘Not any more. I think I’m just . . . overwhelmed.’

  ‘’Course you are.’ Gently, Harry tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘It’s all right to be scared. Being scared will keep you alive.’

  She answered with a tiny nod, and Harry leaned back a little, searching her face. Only the faintest moonlight gleamed through the thick tree canopy, but there was enough light to show the deep emotion shining in his eyes. ‘Stick with me and you’ll be okay.’

  ‘Yes.’

  But now the guilt she’d been battling for hours resurfaced. ‘I’m worried about being a burden. The last thing you need is a woman slowing you down.’

  ‘Scrap that thought right now. No more talk of burdens.’ He dropped another warm kiss on the tip of her nose. ‘Besides, worrying won’t help.’

  Her nanny had told her this so many times when she was a child that now she managed a small smile.

  But she did feel bad that she’d landed herself in this mess. With the benefit of hindsight, she had to wonder why she’d been so jolly determined to rush to Rabaul to warn Cora and Teddy. She knew she’d been reckless, but perhaps she would have felt a thousand times worse if she’d stayed in Canberra and done nothing, only to later hear about Rabaul’s terrible fate.

  At least she’d seen Cora and Teddy’s lovely home and she understood how much it meant to them. And they’d been so brave. So British.

  Now it’s my turn. I have to follow their example.

  With gentle fingers under her chin, Harry tilted her face so he could look straight into her eyes. ‘You’re a brave girl, George Lenton. I saw how brave you were in London. You’ll get through this.’ It was as if Harry had read her mind.

  ‘Yes, I will.’ It was a promise. A promise to Harry. To herself.

  ‘Just remember I love you. Right?’

  That first night they ate a tin of bully beef, an item Georgina had found pretty ghastly in London, but this time she was so hungry the taste hardly mattered. It was followed by the luxury of a dessert. They shared a mango, which Harry peeled and sliced with a wicked-looking knife that he wore strapped to his leg. Then they drank a little of his precious water and tried to settle for the night.

  ‘Roll your sleeves down,’ Harry told her as he spread out the groundsheet. ‘The mozzies here are ferocious and you want to keep as much skin covered as possible. It’s lucky you’re wearing stockings.’

  Georgina did as she was told, but even though they nestled close and she could hear the reassuring steady thud of Harry’s heartbeats, she slept badly and woke often. The mosquitoes buzzed and bit at her hands and face and even managed to bite through her stockings, and the rattle and drone of distant machine guns and planes never really stopped.

  Added to these discomforts, she kept reliving the dreadful scenes she’d witnessed earlier that evening when she and Harry had fled inland along Bamboo Road. She’d seen the bodies of dozens of young Australian soldiers strewn along the grassy verges like discarded puppets.

  It had been unnerving, too, to see Harry, who already carried a pistol in a webbing holster on his hip, calmly salvage a rifle from one of the roadside victims.

  He’d looked so different, so cool and calculated as he’d worked the bolt and checked the magazine, and yet she knew he was only doing his job, a job he was clearly very good at. This was war, after all. War on the frontline.

  Georgina knew this and yet she still found it hard to believe that instead of working in her nice safe office in Dulwich, she was in a menacing jungle with a fearsome enemy on her tail.

  The night wore on and the thick darkness was filled with noises – the screech of flying foxes, the thud of falling mangoes, the whine of mosquitoes, and every so often, the throb and rattle of distant gunfire. Worse were the sounds Georgina couldn’t hear but imagined, especially the soft, silent footfall of Japanese soldiers stalking towards them through the black jungle. She was so grateful that Harry was always there, holding her. She suspected that he didn’t sleep at all.

  When a fresh blast of fury from planes overhead woke her just before dawn, Harry was already up, crouching a few feet away, peering through a patch of scrub.

  She sat up. ‘Harry,’ she called softly, and he whirled around, pistol drawn, frowning. His eyes shot a fierce message as he held a finger to his lips.

  Georgina froze, her heart pounding. Surely the Japanese weren’t already close enough to hear them? Terrifie
d, she sat very still, watching and listening. The Zeroes were gone now and the morning was silent, apart from the buzzing of insects. And then she heard the chilling sound of a match being struck. Followed by laughter. And then voices . . . Male voices speaking in what could only be Japanese.

  Terror strafed down her spine. Next, her heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t hear the men any more, could only crouch in the grass, frozen with fear.

  It felt like an age before Harry came back to her. ‘Japs out there in the bush,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t get a good look at them. But they’ve moved on now.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked fearfully.

  He nodded and smiled to reassure her, but she wondered if he did this to stop her from worrying.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked next.

  ‘Itchy.’ Unable to help herself, Georgina scratched through her sleeve at her armpit.

  ‘Itchy armpits and groin?’

  She blushed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s jungle itch, I’m afraid. Bloody little mites you can’t even see.’

  ‘Are you itchy, too?’

  ‘Yeah. No choice but to try to ignore it, George. If you scratch the bites, they’ll end up infected.’

  Breakfast was a quickly eaten mango, but even before Harry and Georgina set off, it began to rain. Fortunately, Harry had rain capes in his commando pack, along with sulphur patches, bandages, quinine, a billy and tins of waxed matches.

  At the first big clump of bamboo he stopped and cut long pieces, about head high.

  ‘They make good walking sticks,’ he said, handing Georgina a solid length. ‘Use it like a staff to steady yourself on the steep sections. Save your energy.’

  ‘All right. Thanks.’

  ‘Every time you slip or fall it will be harder to get back on your feet. We’re in this for the long haul. Right?’

  ‘Right.’

  After an hour or two, she felt she had the hang of using the yellow and green bamboo staff to support herself, easing her way along the rougher sections. But although the sticks and rain capes came in handy, the steep ground became slick beneath their feet and Georgina’s ATS-issue shoes were soon next to useless.