Third Time Lucky (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Rosemary J. Anderson

  “Do you know if a Holly Young lives here?”

  “Mmm, well, there’s a young pretty piece living up there, but I dunno what ’er name is.”

  Nodding dismissively, Mason climbed the stone stairs at the side of the building and at the top opened the gate that led into a scruffy yard. His dismissive gaze took in the haphazard collection of earthenware pots and dead plants, and lifting a hand he thumped the shabby ill-fitting door.

  Holly jumped and, lifting her tearstained face out of her arms, she stared down the small hallway to the door. Who could be calling on her? It wasn’t rent day and the creepy mantislike landlord was the only person that ever came a-calling.

  Pushing back the chair and accidentally knocking it over in her haste she rose to her feet, feeling somehow nervous, but of what she had no idea.

  Lacking a small window or a spy-hole, she apprehensively turned the key and slowly opened the door. It creaked back on rusty hinges like a prop in a horror film. Staring at the tall impressive figure in front of her, her gaze travelled slowly upward to the granite-hard face and she closed her mouth with a snap. Immediately worrying about the way she looked, about the state of her crumpled clothing and of her red-rimmed eyes and mascara-smeared cheeks, she unthinkingly began to close the door only for the momentum to be stopped by a hard masculine hand.

  “Holly, do you remember me? Lieutenant-Colonel Black—Mason?”

  Holly stared back up at the granite face, the gray eyes, and the exceptionally sensuous lips that were quirking into a small smile, and her breath exploded on a shudder.

  “Yes, yes, of course I do. Adam’s commanding officer.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Oh, sorry, yes, yes, of course.” She stepped back, raking a hand through the mass of tangled curls, desperately trying to restore some semblance of order.

  Striding through the narrow hall toward the kitchen, Mason missed nothing from the out-of-date wallpaper to the aroma of frying bacon and damp walls. Bending, he picked up the forgotten chair and turned to face Holly.

  “Err, would you like some coffee, or, err, perhaps tea?” she asked nervously, her voice not its usual soft melodious tones.

  “Coffee would be good if it’s not too much trouble.”

  She cleared her throat, attempting to find some kind of normality. “No, no trouble, I was, err, I was just thinking about making some for myself actually.”

  Filling the kettle, Holly closed her eyes at the hash she was making of things, stuttering and repeating herself. She was acting like an immature, bashful schoolgirl.

  “Err, won’t you sit down, the, err, living room is a little more comfortable.” She led the way into the dark poky room that served as a reception room and bedroom as well, the bed screened by a blue velvet curtain. At the insistent whistling of the kettle, Holly rushed back into the kitchen, leaving the lieutenant-colonel looking around the room standing in judgment like the Archangel Gabriel.

  Chapter Three

  Mason stared around, his observant eyes taking in everything. The place was awful, spotlessly clean but a mess for all that. The wallpaper was ancient and yellowing, the furniture had seen better days, and there was a damp spot on the ceiling. What had happened? Why was Holly living like this? He had known that she would have to move from the marry-quarters. He had in fact petitioned for more time for her, managing to extend the usual two weeks into a month, but surely she could have gotten something more desirable than this—he stared at a patch of mould—slum? He was aware she had no family of her own, but what of Adam’s family? Surely they could have offered a helping hand, a home if only for a short time?

  Holly reentered the room carrying a tray of rattling cups and saucers, coffeepot, sugar basin, and milk jug. Throwing a self-conscious smile of thanks toward Mason as he took the tray from her nervously shaking hands, she drew a steadying breath. Placing the tray on a small table, Mason then remained standing as Holly poured the coffee, only speaking in reply to her questions on how he took his beverage.

  Nervously sipping her drink and searching around in her mind for something scintillating to say, all Holly could come up with was the English’s customary standby, the weather. Wanting the floor to open up and swallow her at such inane conversation, she relaxed somewhat when Mason responded easily with what appeared to be genuine interest.

  Finishing his drink, Mason placed the delicate china back on the table before getting to the point of his visit.

  “Holly, I was surprised to find you had moved without letting me know. I did say if there was anything you needed to contact me. The base would have known how to find me.”

  “Well, I, err, well, to be honest, Lieutenant…”

  “Mason.”

  “Mason.” She gave a bare nod of her head in acquiescence. “Well, as I was saying, to be honest, I know people say things like that in moments of, well, discomfort. Well, I never actually thought that you meant it. Besides, you hardly know me. I was just the w–wife of one of your soldiers.”

  “Holly, I meant it, and as the wife of one of my men, you have a very unique place in our unit. You become one of the family because we are a team, my men and I, and as his wife you automatically became part of that team. A very special part.”

  “Even if he’s d–dead,” Holly stated boldly, her voice harsh with pent-up emotion.

  Mason nodded and his eyes softened. “Especially if he’s dead.”

  Not knowing what to say, Holly remained silent, and moved beyond words she found she couldn’t meet his eyes, so pretended an inordinate amount of interest in the psychedelic swirls on the green-and-orange carpet.

  “So tell me what happened?”

  Lifting her head, Holly looked blankly at Mason.

  “Tell me how you came to be here.” He glanced disparagingly around. “In this place?”

  A halting explanation later and Holly was crying bitter tears, her eyes red and swollen and her nose running like a stream. Mason, to give him his due, allowed her to cry. To cry out her anger, her despair, and her bitterness at life’s unkind blows.

  The rattle of crockery had Holly lifting her head from her hands. She had forgotten Mason was there. Placing a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of her, he sat in the chair opposite.

  “Drink it while it’s hot.”

  Staring at him, Holly scrubbed at her face with a handful of disintegrating tissues and reached for the cup. Taking a few sustaining sips, she grimaced.

  “Is there brandy in this?”

  “It’ll help calm you.”

  In between jerking breaths and sips of coffee she silently maligned herself for breaking down in front of the lieutenant-colonel. What must he think of her?

  “Don’t sweat it, honey.” Amusement threaded his voice. “I’m not thinking any of the things you imagine.”

  It was like he could read her mind.

  “However, I am concerned as to your situation and I would like to help.”

  “Help?” She frowned in confusion. “How?”

  “Well, for a start you could stay at my place until you got settled, until you got yourself a job and saved enough to get yourself a decent place. God knows I’m never home, so you would be free to do what you liked, come and go as you pleased. Or, I could lend you enough money to get started, and you could pay me back if and when you were able. No pressure.”

  Holly’s mouth worked with the force of her emotions, but no words came out. Her first feelings were of elation. She would be free from penury and despair, but then reality set in and her heart dropped like a stone. There was no way she could let him do that for her. It wouldn’t be right. She was nothing to him but the widow of one of his men. And anyway where was her pride? She had nothing else. Everything was gone, taken away from her one bit at a time, but the one thing she still had was her pride and she had to hang on to that at all costs.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant-Coronel, but I…”

  “Mason, it’s Mason.”

  Tilting h
er head slightly, she shifted nervously. “Yes, well, thank you, Mason, but I can’t accept your most generous offer. I…”

  “Holly, before you refuse think about it. My helping you will give you some breathing space, because God knows, I’m sure you need it. Everything happened so quickly, Adam’s death, the move, the realization that you’ve no money. All of it was too much and you’re lost. Lost in this circle of despair and so you can’t see the wood for the trees. So indulge me in this. Let me help you out just one friend to another—no strings.”

  Holly gazed at Mason, her eyes swimming with tears. It would be so easy to accept his offer, to feel the weight of despair and grief lifting from her shoulders, to lean on him. However, she couldn’t do it, it would be just changing one prop for another, Adam for Mason and it wouldn’t be right.

  “Mason, I— I…”

  She dragged a trembling hand through her curls and took a deep steadying breath. “Mason, I can’t! It’s so wonderful of you to offer, but it wouldn’t be right. I am not your responsibility, not anyone’s in fact, and I have to stand on my own two feet. I have to make my own way, learn to take sole responsibility for myself, my life, and if I let you help me I wouldn’t be doing that.”

  Mason gazed at her silently, reading the determination on her face, and finally nodded in silent acquiescence.

  “Very well, Holly, if you’re sure, I will let it drop—for now. But, if you change your mind don’t hesitate to get in touch. No stiff-necked pride.” He scribbled some details on a scrap of paper. “This is my number, and that of the base. If I’m not available they will get a message to me.”

  Holding out the paper, he noted her trembling hands and shaking mouth and resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and hold her until the grief and pain disappeared.

  Shocked at his reaction, Mason looked at her, really looked. Holly was a petite, auburn-haired beauty with wide jade-green eyes framed by thick luxurious lashes. However, worry and stress had drawn her features and slimmed down her curves, but she was still the epitome of femininity and he felt a tightening in his groin. Disgust with himself and his active libido, he put the lustful feelings aside and instead focused on the distress evident in the young woman before him.

  “Holly, what about Adam’s parents? Couldn’t you go to them and ask them for help?”

  “No I…” She drew a deep breath, attempting to calm the frantic thudding of her heart as she recalled the conversation she’d had with Adam’s parents. “What I mean is, I d–did ask if they could put me up just for a few weeks, but they…” She drew a tremulous breath. “They refused and accused me of killing their son. You see…” She drew another ragged breath. “They said if it hadn’t been for me Adam would have stayed at home, gone to college, and followed his father into his accountancy business. But instead we got married and Adam joined the armed services and the rest…” She spread her trembling hands. “Well, the rest you know. So in answer to your question, no, I couldn’t go to Adam’s parents.”

  Mason felt a surge of anger at Adam’s parents. How could they have been so callous as to deny this young woman in her hour of need? Adam had been ambitious, a typical soldier, and never in a million years would he ever have become an accountant and settled down to suburbia. Whilst he felt compassion for Mr. and Mrs. Young, they were wrong to blame Holly.

  “I see. However, you do know you were not to blame for Adam joining the forces or for his death, don’t you?”

  Holly nodded. “I know, Adam always wanted to be a soldier and as for Adam’s mum and dad, well, it’s understandable that they feel a kind of resentment toward me. He was their son, their only child after all.”

  Mason was impressed with Holly’s compassion especially considering her situation. However, compassion wasn’t helping her now. He sighed, knowing that if he offered her a home again she would refuse him. He could see it in her straight back and the determined set to her chin.

  “Remember, Holly, if you change your mind…”

  “Thank you, Lieut— Err, Mason.”

  Gazing silently into her tear-washed eyes, Mason scooped up his cap and made his way to the door. Pausing on the threshold, his hand resting idly on the knob, he looked back at her. The sun was shining through the small window, the rays catching her hair turning it into a copper halo around her head. He wanted to help her, ease the grief from her eyes, but she wasn’t ready to give up her pain at the moment. However, he would be there for her should ever she need him. He owed her that, for Adam’s sake.

  Holly, staring at the closed door, felt a sense of loss and of desolation. It had been kind of Mason to want to help her and part of her wanted to run after him and tell him she’d changed her mind, but for the first time since Adam’s death she was resolute. She would pull herself together. She grimaced. How she hated that expression. Self-pity had been her friend and confidante for far too long and she had to change. She would find a job, get some money, and begin to live again. Plonking herself down in front of the computer, she stared at the screen.

  * * * *

  The days passed and eventually Holly found a job. It wasn’t much, and it was hard work, but it gave her a certain amount of independence. A waitress in a café, and whilst it was far from glamorous, and it tried her patience to the hilt, she was earning money—her own money—and it felt good.

  The same grotty flat notwithstanding, she felt better in herself. She had added a few extra touches, some flowers, bright cushions, and she’d eventually unpacked her boxes and placed a few photos around.

  However, loneliness still lay heavily on her shoulders and around her heart. She’d made a few acquaintances but no friends. Still consumed by grief she was too quiet, too introverted, and it put people off. However, she smiled. She had finally made friends and one in particular on an Internet friendship site and each night she logged on in eager anticipation.

  * * * *

  Pouring a mug of coffee, Holly switched on the computer and waited for it to reboot. Sipping the delicious brew, she eased her aching feet from her shoes and wriggled her toes.

  Her stomach grumbled and she pressed a soothing hand to it. She wanted her supper, but even more she wanted that one special message.

  The logo of the friendship site filled the screen and…

  “You have one new message!”

  Chapter Four

  Holly’s stomach tightened in excitement as she moved the mouse and clicked on the message.

  Hello, dear, how are you? I’ve missed you. Please mail me as soon as you arrive home. I am waiting to hear from you.

  Love, Alex

  Smiling in delight Holly’s fingers nervously sought the keys.

  Hello, Alex, it’s nice to hear from you. I’ve just got in as I’ve been to work, but I, I’ve…

  Holly hesitated. Should she? Could she be that bold? She’d only been writing to him for only a couple of weeks. Biting her lip, she drew a deep breath and took the plunge.

  …missed you as well. Anyway what have you been doing today?

  Love, Holly x

  Hitting the Send button she sat back and waited. Was he there as eager to hear from her as she always was from him? Or would she have to wait?

  Seconds that felt like minutes passed. Where was he?

  “You have one new message!”

  Joy filled her very being and her hands trembled as she moved the mouse. Click and the message opened.

  Hello, dear, I am glad you are home. I have been waiting to hear from you I have some news. I am getting ready to go on the ocean. My employer is going to Africa to pick up some machinery and so I will be away for about three weeks. I am sorry we haven’t been able to meet before I go, but as soon as I am back we will get together and you can meet my poor motherless daughter.

  Love, Alex x

  Holly’s heart sank. Alex was going away, just as they were getting to know each other. Would he forget her and find someone else? She didn’t think she could bear it if he did, not now, not when their
relationship was progressing so well and she was just beginning to find herself.

  Biting down hard on her lip, she thought for a second before her fingers flew over the keys.

  Oh, Alex, I am sorry to hear that you are leaving. I am going to miss you, miss our conversations. Please say you will still be able to keep in touch when you are at sea. And I would love to meet you and your daughter. What is her name?

  Love, Holly x

  Holly stared intently at the screen waiting for Alex’s response.

  “Oh please,” she whispered. “Please let him respond.”

  Minutes passed and the screen remained unchanged. Where was he?

  Thirty minutes became an hour and eventually the cold seeping into her inert limbs finally made Holly move. Rising stiffly from the seat and with a last lingering look at the screen, she went into the living room and switched on the fire. Entering the minute bathroom, she turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature, and, shedding her clothes, stepped under the running water. Reaching for the soap, she lathered a sponge and with sure, purposeful strokes she cleansed her body, her mind still on why Alex hadn’t replied. It was always like this, one moment he was there chatting, the next he’d disappeared without any warning. What was he doing when he was gone? Uncertainty washed over her along with the soapy water.

  * * * *

  Making her simple supper of cheese on toast, Holly thought back to when she had received her first message from Alex. He’d written that he’d seen her profile and was impressed by it and by her obvious beauty. She recalled her scepticism. She had never thought of herself as beautiful, relatively pretty, yes, but never beautiful. Adam had thought her beautiful. She gave a soft smile. But then he had been in love with her. She remembered that Alex had been interested, interested in what she was doing, how she felt, and what she did. He had also been kind and understanding about her grief, having been through the same thing himself, with the loss of his wife in a tragic accident. But it had in some respects been worse for him as he had a child. A daughter who had of course lost her mother.