The Secret Years

by Barbara Hannay

  ‘Did she?’ Nick picked up the spoon again and gave the pasta a slow swirl. When he looked back at her his expression was wary. ‘Does that bother you?’

  ‘It doesn’t bother me exactly. But it does make this —’ Lucy gestured to the stove and then to the rest of his flat, including the doorway to the bedroom. ‘Slightly more significant.’

  His shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. ‘Amelia has an over-developed mother-hen gene.’ But he sent Lucy a quick, searching smile. ‘You made it clear the other night this is just a holiday thing.’

  Lucy swallowed. So she had. And apparently, the fact that she was leaving soon wasn’t a problem for Nick. Despite his eight months’ date drought, he was totally okay with having a fling, while she . . .

  While she was beginning to care too much.

  Actually, she wasn’t just beginning to care. It had already happened. She cared a great deal.

  Bloody hell.

  ‘Lucy.’

  Nick was watching her carefully and she probably looked miserable. Pinning on a smile, she said, brightly, ‘So we’re both on the same page?’

  He frowned. ‘Can I suggest you’re over-thinking this?’

  ‘I suppose that’s quite likely.’ She went to lift her glass and realised it was already empty.

  Ever the perfect host, Nick retrieved the bottle from the fridge and poured wine into both their glasses. Then he set his glass aside.

  ‘Amelia’s right,’ he said, leaning over the counter and locking his steady dark gaze with hers. ‘You’re the first woman in ages that I’ve wanted to take to bed.’

  His words lit dangerous flashpoints all over her skin.

  ‘I know you have a flight booked to Australia and you’ll be leaving soon,’ he said next. ‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean that we can’t see each other again.’

  Lucy swallowed. She hadn’t really dreamed, hadn’t dared to . . .

  Leaning closer, Nick kissed her lightly. ‘I really, really like you, Lucy Hunter, and I’m damned sorry you can’t stay longer.’ He brushed his lips over hers again in the sexiest of sweet teases. ‘But we can take this one step at a time. Okay?’

  Yeah, sure.

  He was making perfect, fabulous sense, especially when he was this close.

  ‘And at this stage,’ Nick added, looking clear into her eyes. ‘Let’s not rule out any possibilities.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ She was already imagining the possibilities. After all, Australia was only a day’s plane flight away.

  Her unhelpful conscience nagged that perhaps she should clear up the tiny white lie about her army career and get everything out on the table, but before she could find the right words, Nick skirted around the counter to be closer, and he was drawing her into his arms.

  ‘Have I told you exactly why you’re the only woman I’ve wanted to make love to?’

  Lucy’s heart began to bang unevenly. ‘Because I’m unquestionably the hottest thing on two legs?’

  His dark eyes shone as he smiled at her. ‘That’s a very accurate start, although I’d like to go into more detail later, but for now —’

  He drew her closer still and she lifted her arms around his neck. Their kiss was both intimate and stirring, turning quickly to fire, melting her worries.

  One step at a time, she told her conscience.

  25

  A loud blast ripped through the morning stillness.

  Lucy woke, her heart thumping, and her first thought was hit the ground – the order for any trained soldier in the face of a rocket attack.

  In one fluid motion, she shoved the bed covers aside and rolled to the floor as another blast sounded. Then another.

  She fumbled in the dark. Where the hell is my weapon? Panic strafed through her, white hot.

  ‘Where’s my pistol?’ she cried, feeling on the floor for the holster. It should have been there. Right beside the bed.

  ‘Lucy, what’s the matter?’

  ‘I can’t find my pistol.’

  ‘Your what?’

  ‘My fucking pistol!’

  ‘Lucy, for God’s sake.’

  She frowned. She was lying stock-still on the floor, her breath coming in fast pants, her body tingling with a familiar rush of adrenalin.

  Something was wrong. Why hadn’t she heard the sirens that warned the base of incoming rockets?

  Where were the shouted orders, the raised voices of her fellow soldiers?

  A light came on.

  Lucy blinked. On the wall in front of her hung a huge, gold-framed abstract painting that must have cost a fortune. Right beside her stood a king-size platform bed covered in black-and-cinnamon sheets. Nick Myatt’s bed.

  And there was Nick. In the bed. Sitting up, all wide shoulders and bare chest, his dark hair tousled and wild, and staring at her, shocked, as if she’d grown two heads.

  Or perhaps he was staring at her as if she’d just hurled herself from his bed and dived to the floor in readiness for incoming rocket fire.

  ‘It’s only the local pheasant shooters,’ he said.

  ‘Pheasant shooters?’

  ‘Yes, they’re practising with clay targets at the moment, but they’ll move off soon into the woods.’

  Not Tarin Kowt, but Cornwall . . . and she was lying stark naked on the floor, her chest heaving as her panic subsided.

  Small wonder Nick was looking at her so strangely.

  The crack of another gunshot sounded, totally non-threatening now. It was obviously someone shooting nearby.

  Out on the lawns.

  A shooting party.

  Friendly fire. Not the Taliban.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said, feeling all kinds of foolish as she hauled herself back onto the mattress. She rubbed at her knee. She’d banged it during her tumble to the floor and there would be a bruise for certain.

  Nick was looking worried. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

  ‘Sort of. I suppose I was still half asleep.’ It had been a very late night.

  ‘You were screaming about a pistol.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I panicked when I thought I couldn’t find it.’

  ‘Couldn’t find a pistol?’

  Nick looked so shocked and bewildered, Lucy knew the time had come to explain. She gathered the sheet around her, pulling it over her breasts. It would be easier to talk if she wasn’t quite so naked and exposed.

  ‘For the past six months I’ve carried a weapon every day. It was part of my job, Nick. In the army.’

  Horror joined the shock in his eyes. ‘The army? You’re a soldier?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ She saw him flinch, saw his Adam’s apple slide in his throat as he swallowed. ‘I work in logistics.’ There was no point in only telling him half the story. ‘And I finished a deployment to Afghanistan just before Christmas. I’m on leave at the moment.’

  Lucy had never heard Nick swear, but he swore now, colourfully and repeatedly and without restraint, as he leaped from the bed and strode across the room to snatch his jeans from the floor.

  His movements were rough and angry as he pulled them on and, when he turned back to Lucy, his dark eyes held the torment she’d seen on the day he’d first told her about his brother. ‘So, you’re not just going back to Australia tomorrow.’ He spoke coldly without any of his customary warmth. ‘You’re going back to the army.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For God’s sake.’ He lifted his hand in a helpless, agitated gesture, ploughing tense fingers through his wild hair. ‘You – you knew about Simon. I told you about him right at the start. Did you never think it worth mentioning that you’d served in Afghanistan?’

  ‘I – I wasn’t in the frontline.’

  ‘That’s splitting hairs. You were still a soldier in a war zone.’

  ‘Yes, we were based in Tarin Kowt.’

  For what felt like an uncomfortable age he stared at her, his expression both dismayed and p
uzzled, as he let this sink in.

  ‘Why didn’t you say something?’ he said at last. ‘Look at you. Look at what just happened. You’re – suffering too. Shell shock. PTSD. What the hell are you doing here? You should be getting help.’

  ‘Nick, I’m fine. I don’t need a psychiatrist. We were assessed by a whole team of them in Dubai. And that was weeks ago. I know I’m fine. We were told to expect occasional uneasiness. What happened just now was a normal reaction.’

  ‘You call that normal uneasiness? Screaming for a pistol?’

  ‘I was sound asleep and there were gunshots outside and, for a moment or two, while I wasn’t quite awake, I thought I was back in Afghanistan. That doesn’t mean I have PTSD. Nick, you’ve been with me for most of this past week. I’ve been fine, haven’t I?’

  He dismissed this reasonable appeal with an angry shrug. ‘God knows, I’m no judge. And I still don’t understand how you could have kept this to yourself.’

  With the benefit of hindsight, Lucy was asking herself the same question. It was clear her silence had really upset him and she couldn’t have been sorrier. The very last thing she’d wanted was to cause him more pain. All she could do now was try to explain.

  ‘I held off saying anything, because I knew you were very upset about your brother’s death. I was trying to be sensitive. I didn’t want to add to your distress.’

  Nick’s eyes narrowed. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’

  ‘Yes, I was planning to.’ Even to her ears this sounded weak now. ‘I – I was waiting for the right moment.’

  ‘And this is the right moment? Now? After —’

  Nick didn’t finish the sentence, but with another painful blast of clarity, Lucy knew what he was thinking.

  After he’d taken her on tours of the region and wined and dined her. After he’d made beautiful, unforgettable love to her and talked about possibilities for the future . . .

  ‘I’m so sorry, Nick.’

  His grim, dark eyes locked with hers. ‘Yes, so am I.’ And with that, he left the room, striding off towards the kitchen without looking back, as if he wanted nothing more to do with her.

  Aghast, Lucy watched him leave. She was sick with disappointment. With herself. With Nick. With the whole mess. Hell, Nick had a right be upset, but she didn’t deserve outright rejection.

  Surely he owed her a better hearing?

  Immediately, she decided that of course he did. She couldn’t just let him stomp off.

  ‘Hey!’ she called after him, and then, dragging a sheet free, she wrapped it around her, leaving it to trail like a train, as she hurried into the adjoining living space.

  Nick was at the stove, setting an Italian coffee pot on the gas, and he turned stiffly, with clear reluctance, his expression bleak. He looked gorgeous, wearing nothing but jeans hanging low on his lean hips. The past few days and nights with him had been the happiest she’d ever known.

  She had to put up a fight.

  ‘Nick, can you at least give me a chance to try to explain?’

  ‘I thought you had.’

  It was true that Lucy didn’t have a lot more to offer, but she had to try. She liked and respected this guy far too much to let things end this way.

  ‘Okay,’ she began, but her mouth was dry and she was forced to swallow and try again. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the army right at the beginning. It’s not something I normally hide. But when you told me about your brother’s death, I could see how you felt about military types, and I guess – okay, maybe I was selfish – I wanted to stay in your good books.’

  ‘You could have achieved that with a little honesty.’

  ‘Yes. Obviously, I got it wrong. I’ve wanted to say something. I almost told you last night, but – but I left it too late.’ To Lucy’s horror, tears threatened.

  She dragged in a deep breath, felt only slightly better, but knew she couldn’t give up. Not yet. ‘Just for the record,’ she said. ‘If we’re talking about honesty, it took you a while to admit to the adoption business. And not long after that, you started kissing me senseless. It was a bit too late then for me to say, “Hey, by the way, I’m a soldier”.’

  His eyes flickered over her as she stood before him, wrapped in his bed sheet, but his expression remained scarily hard. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Lucy. That was exactly when you should have told me.’

  ‘And what would have happened? Would you have stopped kissing me? Said a polite goodnight, and booted me out of your car?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Hands sunk into his jeans pockets, Nick looked away through the window and beyond, across the lawns, into the distance. He let out a heavy sigh. ‘Probably.’

  A chill skittered down Lucy’s spine. It was so easy to see now that the army was a huge deal for him. If only she had spoken up before she made the crazy mistake of falling for him, but the falling had happened so quickly and so very completely.

  Silence fell between them like a cold blanket of snow. She shivered.

  Apparently, this was it. After everything she and Nick had shared this past week: after last night, which had been, without doubt, the best night of her life, Mr Perfect was dumping her, here in his kitchen.

  Deja freaking vu.

  Lucy couldn’t hold back a groan. ‘Damn you, Nick. I wasn’t planning on falling for you. I’ve just been through a tough breakup. Seriously, I was all set to marry the guy.’

  Her lips were trembling now and she felt her mouth pull out of shape, but she forced herself to go on. ‘And here’s the funny thing, he had a problem with my career choice, too. Different reasons from yours, but still —’

  Suddenly it was too much. The fight was too hard. She had to stop before she broke down and made a blubbering fool of herself. But Nick was watching her with such pain in his eyes, she couldn’t hold back her tears.

  Embarrassed, she turned away and tugged a corner of the sheet free, so she could wipe her wet face.

  ‘Lucy.’

  She couldn’t turn around. Didn’t want to face him when she was such a mess.

  His voice sounded close behind her. ‘Lucy.’

  ‘What?’ she snapped, staring hard at her bare feet showing beneath the hem of the sheet.

  ‘I do owe you an explanation for the way I’ve reacted. Why don’t you get dressed? Have a shower, if you like. I’ll make coffee and toast.’ Reaching out, he gave her shoulder a tiny squeeze and perhaps it was pitiful of her, but she took it as a sign of encouragement.

  In the bathroom, doubts crowded in once more. Despite the steady stream of hot water, Lucy felt as tense as a doctor’s patient, expecting to hear potentially life-threatening news at any moment. She dressed quickly, pulling on her jeans, knee-high boots and cherry red sweater.

  ‘That was quick,’ Nick said when she reappeared. He was now wearing shoes and a rust-coloured shirt, but he wasn’t smiling. ‘I put everything on the coffee table.’

  Lucy’s nervousness deepened as they sat opposite each other. Nick leaned back in his chair and let his long legs relax, comfortably apart, but she sensed he was making a deliberate effort to appear at ease.

  ‘The coffee’s brewing, but it’s almost ready to pour.’ He offered her a plate of hot buttered raisin toast.

  ‘Not just now, thanks.’ She couldn’t possibly eat. Her stomach was churning. She’d be sick.

  Nick didn’t take any toast either.

  ‘So, my story,’ he said carefully, letting his gaze link briefly with hers before fixing on the coffee pot that sat between them. ‘I started dating this girl called Eleanor, while Simon was away in Afghanistan.’

  Lucy remembered her name. It was the same woman Amelia Hartford had talked about. Eleanor from Truro.

  ‘I really liked her and we got on very well,’ Nick said. ‘Things seemed to be getting serious and then, just before Simon was due home on leave, Eleanor told me she’d actually been out with my brother a few times before he was deployed. She’d slept with him.’

  ‘Ou
ch,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ Nick agreed. ‘It threw me, I can tell you.’ His expression was grim as he leaned forward and poured the coffee into two mugs – fancy matching mugs with a geometric design in black and green. Reaching over, he set a mug in front of Lucy. She murmured her thanks and he continued, grim-faced.

  ‘Eleanor assured me that her liaison with Simon was casual and brief.’ At this, Nick sighed. ‘Anyway, soon after Simon got back from Afghanistan I took him aside and told him how things were, and he seemed perfectly cool about the whole thing.’ His wide shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘So I continued to see her.’

  There was a pause as he picked up his coffee cup and set it on the leather armrest of his chair and then he regarded Lucy steadily, without any of his usual warmth. ‘It was only later that my parents and I realised how very badly disturbed Simon had been by the Afghanistan experience. And by then, while we were still trying to get him proper help, he – he had the fall.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how terrible that must have been,’ she said softly.

  ‘It’s one of those unimaginable horrors that’s impossible to describe.’ Nick took a sip of his coffee, then held the mug in front of him, gripped it in two hands. ‘He left no note, so we’ll never know for sure, but Simon was well aware of the dangers of those particular cliffs so we could only assume it was suicide. It was a terrible time for us, and then, on top of my family’s grief, Eleanor had a – a kind of breakdown.’

  His jaw tightened as he struggled with the painful memories. ‘Seemed she was overcome by guilt. Got it into her head that she had upset Simon and that she was a major part of the reason he died.’ Another tense shrug. ‘It became a huge issue between us and the only sensible thing, the only possible thing, was to break up. Eleanor moved away to Scotland.’

  And Nick hadn’t dated anyone else since, which meant the exper­ience had shaken him very badly, Lucy thought glumly. Then she had come along and Nick had started to open up, to trust her with his emotions, until she’d revealed that she’d fudged the truth about her job. When that white lie was combined with the fact that her job involved the military – whammo. She’d hit some very raw nerves.