by Annie Groves
Pulling on her dressing gown, she gathered up her precious supply of toiletries. Her mother had sent her some Pears soap for her hair, which Diane suspected was black market; she certainly felt guilty when she used it, but the alternative was to use boiled-down scraps of old soap bars, which, as everyone who used them knew, left the hair lank and slightly sticky, no matter how much one rinsed in cold water. With no lemons to bring a shine to her blonde hair she had taken to using a small amount of cider apple vinegar instead. One of the girls at her last posting had also been a natural blonde and had recommended it, and Diane had managed to buy several bottles from a country pub landlord.
She had her bath first, scrupulously making sure she didn’t use more than the allowed depth of water. Had Myra been here to witness this she would have laughed at her, Diane knew, having seen the clouds of steam billowing from the bathroom on those occasions when Myra had made use of Mrs L’s absence to sneak an extra bath.
A few drops of the carefully hoarded Essence of Roses scent that had been one of her pre-war twenty-first birthday presents made the water smell heavenly, and if she closed her eyes she could almost imagine she was twenty-one again, that there was no war, and that she was at home in her parents’ comfortable semi, the smell of her father’s favourite steak-and-kidney pie supper floating upstairs, along with the gentle hum of her parents’ voices. But there was a war, and somewhere across the Atlantic, Eddie’s parents would be going about their own lives, not knowing as yet that their son was dead. Diane tried to imagine how she would feel in Eddie’s mother’s shoes but it was almost impossible.
She gave a small shiver. Her meagre allowance of water was going cold already, or was it yesterday’s memories that were chilling her skin and acting like a leaden weight on her spirits?
Climbing out of the bath, she wrapped herself in a towel and started to wash her hair, carefully rationing the hot water for two thorough washes, and then using cold for the rinses. Only when she was sure that she had removed all the soap did she fill the basin again with cold water and add some of the cider vinegar, wrinkling her nose against the pungent smell.
At least it was effective, she told herself five minutes later as she made her way to the bedroom, her squeaky-clean hair wrapped in the towel she had tied turban-style around her head, a faint dusting of talcum powder giving a soft pearlised sheen to her skin. Despite her fair hair, her skin tanned easily and the summer had given her legs a good colour, which was just as well because she certainly didn’t have the money for black-market stockings, even if she had been prepared to overcome her scruples in order to buy them.
Of course, there were other ways of obtaining them now that the ‘Yanks’ were here, and all the girls had heard tales of GIs waving one stocking in front of a girl and then telling her that she could have the other to go with it in return for a kiss or two. And then, of course, there were her uniform stockings, dreadful thick lisle affairs that itched like mad in the summer heat.
Half an hour later, dressed in a pre-war sundress of white cotton overprinted with yellow buttercups, Diane went to sit in the garden to let her hair dry off in the sunshine, determined to lift her spirits.
Myra let out her breath in a private sigh of relief as the guard started to slam the train doors, in preparation for it leaving. They were on their way at last. Now, nothing could stop them from reaching London. She glanced at Nick, who had thrown himself into the window seat next to her. She had been furious with Nick for fighting with Walter, fearful when the police had arrived that it would mean an end to their trip, but he was a quick thinker, she admitted, and he had certainly managed to convince the police that the incident was nothing to do with them. She hadn’t been too pleased, mind, when she had discovered that she might not be allowed to travel on the train with him because it was reserved for the American forces, but again Nick had dealt quickly with the problem. He’d been angry at having to part with a five-pound note, from the thick bundle he had produced from his pocket, in order to get her on the train. And once they were on it he had complained loudly and angrily that he had already traded a favour to have a blind eye turned to her presence. His good humour had returned, though, when he had laughed at the sight of her wearing the soldier’s coat she had been told to put on to get on board the train, and she had been quick to hand it back. Myra didn’t like being laughed at.
Now, through the carriage window she could see a British soldier running down the opposite platform where the train was ready to leave.
Reaching for the leather strap to let down their own window, Nick called out tauntingly, ‘Learned to run like that at Dunkirk, did you, buddy?’
The other GIs in the compartment with them got to their feet, jeering and making catcalls as the train pulled out with the British soldier, who had now turned to glare at them, red-faced and obviously furious. He looked so enraged that for a minute Myra thought he was actually going to try to board their train. He was, she noticed, wearing the insignia of the Desert Rats, Jim’s unit.
‘Quit riling the natives, why don’t you, guys?’ a lone GI in the opposite corner drawled wearily as their own train set off, distracting the men and causing them to switch from catcalling to whistling and cheering.
They were off. Myra looked down at the ring on her left hand, and smiled to herself.
‘Why don’t you get yourself off home, love?’ the police sergeant suggested to Ruthie. The MPs, who had arrived in their Jeep, screeching to a halt in front of them, the two men in the back jumping out before the vehicle had even stopped and coming to them at a run, had quite intimidated Ruthie. But they had gone now, taking both Walter and Glen with them.
‘I still don’t see why they had to take Walter all the way back to Burtonwood instead of taking him straight to Mill Road Hospital, when it would have been so much closer,’ Ruthie fretted worriedly.
‘Well, that’s regulations and the army for you, lass,’ the policeman told her calmly.
The MPs had been so brusque and rough in their handling of both Walter and Glen that Ruthie had been shocked, but Glen had managed to reassure her that there was no cause for alarm.
‘But they were acting as though you were the one who attacked Walter, and they wouldn’t listen when you tried to tell them about that other GI,’ Ruthie had whispered worriedly to him, clinging to his hand over the side of the Jeep whilst the MPs spoke with the police.
‘We can sort all that out when we get back to camp. The most important thing now is getting Walter back there so that he can get some treatment,’ Glen had reassured her.
‘You’ll let me know how he is, won’t you?’ she had begged him.
‘You’ll be hearing from me just as soon as there’s any news,’ he had promised her, giving her a tender loving look that made her ache to throw herself into his arms and refuse to let him go.
‘I wish the police hadn’t let that other man go,’ she had fretted.
‘I guess they didn’t have any choice. Mancini isn’t the kind of guy who lets others tell him what to do. But don’t worry about it: the MPs will catch up with him when he gets back to camp.’
‘But he was trying to say that it was your fault and that you attacked Walter,’ Ruthie insisted.
Glen had laughed then. ‘Not even Mancini can get away with that. Who’s going to believe him when Walter tells everyone what really happened?’ he had told her.
‘But why would anyone do such a thing?’
‘That’s the kind of guy Mancini is,’ he had answered with a small shrug. ‘He’s got a grudge against Walter because Walter caught him out running a rigged card game – that’s cheating to you, hon,’ he had explained with a tender smile. ‘And my guess is that it wasn’t the first time either. Mancini has a crowd of guys around him that like to play for high stakes and he seems to win more often than he loses.’
‘But he was the one who was in the wrong in the first place, not Walter, for cheating at cards.’
‘Men like Mancini don’t think like
that, sweetheart. He’s a real bad lot, and that’s for sure. He saw his chance to pay Walter back and he took it. There’s more than one poor guy wishing now he had never met him, nor got involved in his poker games.’
‘Oh, Glen…’ Ruthie had sobbed, clinging to his hand at the side of the Jeep right up until the last moment.
She knew that he was right, of course, and once Walter had recovered he would be able to tell the authorities himself about the attack and who had instigated it.
‘Don’t you want to take a…a statement from me or anything?’ Ruthie asked the sergeant forlornly, after she had watched the Jeep until it had finally disappeared.
He shook his head. ‘That’s not up to us, love. It’s out of our hands now. It’s American military business, you see. There’s this new law just been passed saying that all American citizens here in Britain are subject only to American law.’
‘I can’t believe such a terrible thing has happened,’ Ruthie told him shakily.
‘Aye, well, love, that’s the way it is sometimes wi’soldiers. Get a bit of drink inside them, they do, and then…’ the sergeant gave a tired shrug. ‘You get yourself off home,’ he repeated.
What a horrid way to have cut short what should have been such a happy day. Poor Walter had looked so dreadfully unwell, and no wonder after the way he had been attacked. Now, walking slowly home on her own instead of with Glen, shock set in and Ruthie discovered that she was shaking from head to foot, unable to blot out what had happened. Her life had been a sheltered one; she had never imagined that one man could attack another so viciously, never mind expected to witness such a thing. Had her Glen been the one to launch an attack like that on another unprotected man – which, of course, she knew he would never do, not in a million years – but just supposing that he had, she knew she could never have behaved in the way that Myra had done and she certainly couldn’t have walked casually away with him, not saying a word when she had heard him trying to blame an innocent man. What Glen had said was true, though, she comforted herself. Walter would be able to put the record straight and tell the authorities exactly what had happened.
She felt a bit guilty about not joining up with the others and going to see the vicar about Ruthie and Glen’s wedding, Jess admitted, but she hadn’t had any choice, really, not having been invited to her mother’s second cousin’s eldest’s wedding. That had been a surprise invitation and no mistake. Officially the reason for the hastily arranged wedding was supposed to be the fact that the groom was about to be posted abroad, but the reality, at least according to her mother, was that the bride had confessed to her mother that she had missed her monthlies twice in a row.
Since the groom was a friend of Billy’s it was more than likely that he would be there, and that alone would have been a good enough reason for her not to want to go, but family was family, Jess reminded herself, and she couldn’t let her parents down by not turning up. She had thought about inviting Walter to go with her, but her own sense of what was right and fair had told her that if she had been the girl Walter had back home she wouldn’t have liked to think of him going out with someone else, even if it was entirely innocent. Having a few dances with him at the Grafton was one thing, but asking him to partner her to a family event was very different.
* * *
It was lovely sitting out in the garden in the sunshine, but her hair was dry now, and her weekly letter to her parents written, and Diane was guiltily aware that instead of reading her landlady’s copy of Picture Post she ought to be washing her uniform blouses ready for the new week. Getting up, she closed the deck chair and carried it down to the shed at the bottom of the small garden, returning to where she had been sitting to pick up Picture Post and take it back inside with her.
She had just put her foot on the first step of the stairs when she heard knocking on the front door.
Expecting the caller to be someone wanting to see her landlady, she went to open the door. But standing on the doorstep, his Jeep parked outside the gate, was the very last person she had expected to see.
‘I got your billet address from your captain,’ the major told her brusquely. ‘After yesterday I felt there were things we needed to discuss, in private, and that couldn’t wait until you were back on duty.’
Diane had known, of course, that there would be something like this to endure; had known it from the minute the major released her after that kiss. What was more, she had been preparing herself for this conversation, but what she had not been preparing herself for was that the major would come here to see her. But then she was not really familiar with the behaviour of guilty married men anxious to make sure that their misdemeanour wasn’t going to have unwanted repercussions, was she?
‘Our landlady doesn’t allow us to have male visitors,’ she began primly, but Major Saunders refused to be put off, shaking his head in rejection of her words and placing one foot in the open doorway and one hand on the open door itself. With those shoulders he probably wouldn’t have any problem at all in bursting open the door, if necessary, Diane decided as she added with what she hoped sounded like cool self-possession, ‘There really wasn’t any need for you to go to the trouble of coming to see me, Major. I’m not a green young girl, you know.’ Just to underline her point, she lifted her chin and told him determinedly, ‘Let’s not beat about the bush, shall we? I expect you’ve come here to warn me against reading anything foolish into what happened between us yesterday, but I can assure you that a warning isn’t necessary—’
‘The hell it isn’t,’ the major interrupted her savagely, causing a hint of betraying pink colour to flush her face, but other than that Diane managed to hold on to her control. She wasn’t going to allow herself to be intimidated or silenced by his anger.
‘No, it isn’t,’ she continued. ‘I know exactly why you’ve come here and what you want to say to me.’
‘Is that a fact!’
Diane took a deep breath, ignoring the grim look she could see darkening his eyes. Avoiding looking at his eyes altogether would be a good idea, she told herself since, as she had just discovered, it was impossible for her to look at them now without remembering the shocking surge of emotion that had gripped her when she had looked up into them and seen how different they could look.
‘You’ve come here to remind me that you have a wife and that you are a married man. Furthermore, no doubt, you want me to understand that you intend to remain married. You want to tell me that the simple act of kissing me means nothing to you and that I would be wise to make sure that it means nothing to me. You don’t want to hurt me, of course, but you feel you have a duty to make the situation absolutely plain to me. Since we may on occasion have to see one another through the course of our service to our countries, it makes sense to clear the air now so that there won’t be any misunderstandings. We are both professionals, both old enough to realise that sometimes things happen in wartime that cannot be related to our lives or our real feelings outside the war arena. These “things” are best forgotten by both parties since they mean nothing. A brief kiss shared in a moment of tension is not something you feel proud being a party to, but it did happen, and therefore you feel obliged to make sure that I am not harbouring any foolish ideas…’
She was running out of breath, and out of courage, Diane admitted, and the major’s silence was unnerving her so much that she was starting to feel slightly shaky. But she wasn’t going to stop until she had made it totally clear to him that he had no need to worry that she might have been silly enough to think that his kiss ‘meant something’. She took another deep breath and then concluded hurriedly, ‘In short, Major, you want us both to behave towards one another as though that k—as though what happened between us did not happen. Well, that’s fine by me. In fact, you could have saved yourself the trouble of coming round here because the truth is that since it didn’t mean anything whatsoever to me I had as good as forgotten the whole incident anyway.’
There, she had done it. Diane was so e
ngrossed in her own relief that she was totally unprepared for what happened next. At some stage the major must have stepped over the doorstep and into the hallway, and certainly he must have removed his arm from the door as well since he could hardly have kicked it closed behind him, enclosing them both in the hallway, if he had not done so. However, she had not registered either of those acts but she was certainly registering his current one. Indeed, it would have been impossible for her not to do so since he was wrapping her in his arms, and holding her so tightly that the medals on his jacket were pressing into her skin.
‘It’s a good theory,’ he told her grimly, ‘but it’s the wrong fit. Try this for size instead.’
Diane tried to protest, but it was too late. The slight discomfort of his embrace was forgotten as he started to kiss her. And not just a little ‘let’s be friends’ kiss either; not even an ‘I’m an angry man, and I’ll kiss you if I want to’ kiss, Diane acknowledged dizzily. This was a real man-to-woman, ‘I want you badly’ kiss, the kind of kiss that couldn’t be faked, the kind of kiss that her lips must have been sorely missing, to judge from the way they were responding…
Somehow the major had swung her round so that she was leaning up against the door, his body a hard weight against her own. She ought to put a stop to this, and right now. Her brain was demanding that she do so, but her body seemed to have developed a will of its own. It had been so long since she had been kissed like this…held like this…wanted like this, Diane acknowledged. So long since…
She gave a small gasp that could have been a protest when the major lifted his mouth from hers. His hands were cupping her face, forcing her to look up at him. The heat she could see in his gaze was transferring itself to her own skin, making her face burn.
‘I’ve been wondering what you’d look like with your hair down,’ the major told her softly. And then before she could say anything he kissed her again, slowly and tenderly this time, so that her heart bounced crazily against her chest wall, sending her a message as potentially damaging to her future safety as any German bomb.