There were six passengers altogether, four men and two women, looking bedraggled and very much the worse for wear. There was luggage too, boxes and mailbags, all of which had to be bundled aboard, taking up precious time. Hugh was sweating, despite the cold and the lashing rain, by the time they were finally ready to leave.
Down in the cramped cabin quarters, the refugees sat huddled together sipping rum or hot tea, nibbling on Spam sandwiches, although the bucket was also frequently being passed round. Hugh cast them a disparaging glance and hurried back on deck.
The crossing was growing rougher by the minute, with no let up in the weather and it was as they were approaching the Cornish coast, with dawn breaking, that out of nowhere came the sound: that all too familiar drone of an enemy plane. It emerged as a dark shadow from a pink and saffron sky, like a vengeful vulture inspecting likely prey. And then came a second plane, circling low, one minute the pair flying close, the next separating, swooping around and over the boat again.
‘Dear God, what the hell do we do now?’
For once, even Iris had no answer. The vessel was armed, but they had nothing that would touch two Heinkels.
Hugh was beginning to panic. ‘This is madness for us to be stuck here in the middle of the bloody sea with no navy escort.’
He looked up and saw that the Heinkels had been joined by two others, that there were now four planes circling overhead, but the newcomers were ours. Beaufighters had been sent out from Cornwall to escort and protect them from possible U-boat attacks.
They quickly engaged the enemy in a dog-fight which took place right over their heads, Hugh and Iris watching the performance awestruck, even as they struggled with engine and sails, frantically urging the little boat to catch the right wind and tack away as fast as it could. One of the Heinkels performed an acrobatic dive, firing at them and spraying the water all around with bullets. But it flew too near and the tip of one wing hit the water and it catapulted out of control, crashing into the sea. A loud cheer went up and the two Beaufighters had no difficulty after that in chasing the second Heinkel away.
Much later, a motor gunboat arrived to take the passengers on to a different destination, the Scillies perhaps, and Hugh gladly handed them over, thankful to have survived.
‘I must have been mad to agree to this,’ he said to Iris as they finally slipped safely into harbour, but she only laughed and teased him all the more.
‘You love it.’
And the awful thing was, he did, so if he found an antidote to fear in the warmth of her willing arms and luscious body, didn’t he deserve it, he told himself?
Bette and Chad met by the rocks in their favourite place and he gathered her close and kissed her. ‘Did you miss me?’
‘Of course I missed you.’ It felt so good to be held safe and warm in his arms. Bette couldn’t ever remember feeling so cherished. She felt overwhelmed with love for him.
She hadn’t set eyes on Barney since their night at the pictures and had done her utmost to shut their encounter out of her mind. What had come over her that night, she really couldn’t imagine. Barney Willert was wicked, appealing to the wickedness in her, yet the blithe way he’d walked her home afterwards and kissed her a polite goodnight, you’d have thought that nothing untoward had taken place between them at all. They’d both agreed, however, to make no mention of it to Chad.
‘He’s a bit of a puritan is old Chad. Best we keep this litter matter just between the two of us, okay?’ and Bette had been more than ready to agree.
So now as she smiled up into Chad’s adorable eyes and told him how much she loved him, she said nothing of her betrayal.
‘I love you too, hon. I’ve asked the major if we can marry and he says it could take a while to get all the necessary paperwork done, and for permission to come through. Months maybe. The army isn’t too keen on this sort of commitment, apparently. They believe marriage takes our minds off the job, that this isn’t the time for us to be taking on new responsibilities and personal obligations. Load of baloney. I love you, Bette. I adore you and want you to be my wife. There’s a war on, okay, and who knows what tomorrow might bring, so why the hell shouldn’t we enjoy what little time we’ve got left together?’
Bette was in tears by the time Chad had finished his rant, hugging and kissing him for all she was worth; guilt playing no small part in her emotion. Oh, but she did love him, she really did. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, but then he grasped her by the shoulders and held her away from him.
‘What about Barney? He dated you when I was laid up. He did behave himself, didn’t he? He promised me faithfully that he’d not lay a finger on you. If he did anything to hurt you, I’ll strangle him with my own bare hands and . . .’
Bette put her fingers to his lips. ‘He kept his word. Nothing happened, I swear.’
Would she go to hell for telling such lies? Surely not. But what choice did she have? Bette believed Chad when he said what he would do to Barney if he’d so much as touched her, and she really didn’t want a more serious fight between them on her conscience. She would have to view her lie as a way of saving a long-standing friendship.
Chad drew in a deep breath. ‘He’s the best buddy a guy could have. Come on, hon, give me another of those wonderful kisses. I hope you still want to marry me.’
‘Of course I do, more than ever.’
Gaining permission to marry turned into a tougher job than either of them had anticipated. Chad’s commander refused and said they would need to wait for a couple of months, to be sure of their feelings, then he could apply again.
‘I’m sure of mine.’
‘Me too, hon.’
‘You might go off me.’
‘No way. I love you babe. He’ll agree in the end but for now, he insists we go through all the proper channels, deal with all the policies and regulations, the dratted bureaucracy.
Bette was beginning to get worried. She didn’t feel sure enough of him to wait too long. ‘You might meet somebody else you like better.’
‘Aw, Bette honey, what a thing to say. We could just do it, if you like, and not tell anyone. Hell, what could they do about it then?’
‘I’m not yet twenty-one, not till June. I’d need Mam and Dad’s permission. Dad would give it, together with his blessing, but Mam never would. She doesn’t approve, for some stupid reason.’
They decided that they needed help. Chad tried the Red Cross who handed him the necessary forms and explained that they could help only with his moral welfare. They could do nothing to speed up the paperwork.
The chaplain told Chad in no uncertain terms that wartime marriages should be firmly discouraged, that a foreign bride wouldn’t necessarily be granted American citizenship, that she might not even get transport to take her to the US, such ships as were available being needed for shipping the wounded back home.
Stubbornly, Chad persisted. ‘Yeah, but she’d get citizenship eventually, and we’ll work on the transport problem. This goddamned war can’t last forever. Tell me who to write to. General Eisenhower, if necessary.’
‘Your lady friend isn’t pregnant, is she, son?’
‘She sure as hell is not.’
‘Forgive me for asking but it is often the case that some of these girls think it would be an easy way out of the war, to get themselves pregnant by a GI. They’re attracted by the lure of American freedom and money, and are prepared to use any tricks at their disposal in order to secure themselves a husband.’
At which point, Chad marched out of the chaplain’s office, slamming the door behind him.
Their disappointment was bitter, their love making that night holding a kind of desperation which intensified the pleasure each found in the other. Bette wanted to become a part of him, to capture the very essence of him, to put a stop on time and hold this moment forever in her heart. Afterwards, they huddled together in a crevice in the rocks, trying to keep warm against a cold off-shore breeze yet reluctant to leave this small sanctuar
y simply to find warmth.
They didn’t talk much but held each other tight, as if they could build a barrier against all the evils in the world with the absolute power of their love.
The following Friday evening when again Bette went to meet him as usual, it was Barney waiting by the rocks, not Chad.
‘It’s okay, don’t panic, sugar. He’s just been transferred,’ Barney said as she ran towards him with fear in her eyes. ‘To some place in Devon called Slapton Sands.’
Chapter Sixteen
If anything, Hugh became more brazen in the affair, spending far more time with Iris than was strictly necessary, certainly so far as operations were concerned, yet savouring every moment.
On one never-to-be-forgotten occasion he did take one risk too many, openly kissing her behind the bar when really they should have been preparing to open.
He had Iris pressed up against the beer pump, his mouth to her breast and his hand up her skirt, when he heard the latch click. He hadn’t realised Sara was actually in the building and certainly didn’t expect her to suddenly walk in upon them.
Fortunately he managed to leap away in time, and Iris too was quick to snatch up a dish towel and pretend to be polishing glasses. But he felt ruffled and slightly disturbed at being very nearly caught in embarrassing circumstances by his dear wife.
Iris, however, maintained her habitual calm. She didn’t have a nerve in her body, that woman.
Sara too seemed entirely oblivious of anything untoward. ‘Oh, Hugh, there you are. I just popped in to let you know that I’m going out for a while. Committee work.’
He scowled. ‘Seems to me that damned committee is taking over your life.’
‘Really, Hugh, don’t be childish. You’re the one who never seems to be in these days. I never realised the lifeboat was kept so busy, assuming that’s what is keeping you so occupied,’ and she tilted her chin slightly as she thoughtfully considered Iris’s innocent face.
Sara couldn’t exactly swear that she’d seen anything going on between them, and she might well be imagining the frisson of tension in the air, but there was something about the girl’s expression which troubled her: a kind of smug triumph.
Hugh suddenly became very busy wiping shelves, which, to Sara’s recollection, she’d never seen him do in his life before, and his neck had turned an almost ruddy crimson.
‘I mean,’ Sara continued, having got the bit between her teeth and seemed quite unable to let go. ‘I never see you these days. I’m not allowed to serve behind the bar so we no longer work together as a couple, and you rarely seem to even occupy my bed, since you’re out half the night on these so-called ops of yours.’
‘For God’s sake, Sara!’
‘Shall I go?’ Iris smoothly offered.
‘No, you damn well won’t. This is neither the time nor the place to air your private grievances, Sara. There’s a queue outside, if you haven’t noticed, and we’re all just trying to do our bit, after all.’
‘As am I, in my committee work, which you seem to despise so much.’
Sara felt close to tears. What had possessed her to admit so blatantly to her loneliness, and in front of Iris too, who was still wearing that self-satisfied smirk. She never used to argue with him, why was she doing so now? Sara met the girl’s amused gaze with defiance in her own. ‘In fact, they’ve been asking me to take complete charge of the fund raising instead of simply one event, and I might just do that.’
‘You couldn’t possibly. What about the children?’
‘Mam would gladly come in to baby-sit. You won’t be troubled. She’s with them now, as a matter of fact. Not that you would care, since you haven’t bothered to come up and see them all day.’ Sara was breathing hard, desperately trying to calm herself, wanting to ignore the challenge in the girl’s eyes and believe in her husband’s innocence. Unable to bear it another minute, she turned abruptly on her heel. ‘I must go.’
Hugh hurried out from behind the bar and took Sara gently by the shoulders, as he was apt to do when he thought she was being unnecessarily stubborn and needed a good talking to.
‘You see what a state you’ve got yourself into, over absolutely nothing. Doesn’t that prove my point that you are doing far too much? I’m only concerned for your sake, darling, that this dratted committee doesn’t ruthlessly take advantage of you. Far from taking on more work, I really think you should give it up altogether. As for my own affairs, er – work, it is vitally important, but you know that I really can’t tell you anything about it.’
‘Of course not. Bye, darling. Bye, Iris.’
Hugh followed her out, determined to continue with the argument, and win it. Iris quickly dashed into the stock room and pulled out an attaché case from the back of a cupboard where she hid it. Within seconds she’d made contact and was speaking in soft, hushed tones, quite unaware that a small boy, who saw himself as William Brown, had crept downstairs to see what all the row was about and quietly watched her through a crack in the door.
Later, when Hugh returned, the brown leather case safely stowed away back in its cupboard, Iris turned to him with a face tight with anger. ‘You didn’t handle that at all well. It doesn’t do to alienate your wife or have her get suspicious about what you do, so why drop great big hints like that? I really can’t tell you anything, she cruelly quoted. What sort of damn fool remark is that? You really must take more care.’
Hugh hated it when she was angry with him, or displeased in any way. He was the hero, wasn’t he? He was the one taking the most risks, not her. All she had to do was pull pints and smile at people. What right did she have to criticise? Women could be so dratted difficult.
‘I must take care? What about you? I didn’t see you fighting off my advances just now. It takes two to tango.’
Iris had the grace to blush. ‘All right, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that we must, but do please be careful, Hugh. No broad hints, not a breath that you might be involved in anything untoward or secret. You must maintain an air of complete innocence the whole time. The last thing we want is to arouse Sara’s suspicions, on any front. This arrangement suits us both very well. I wouldn’t like anything to spoil it.’
‘Neither would I, so we’re going to have to gird our impatience, I suppose and wait for later.’ He was smiling down at her, trying to make light of the incident but his eyes were greedy with need as they traced the outline of her full breasts, which he no longer dared to touch.
He saw her relax slightly and cast him a teasing glance up through the sweep of her lashes, a smile curving her scarlet lips.
‘I can see why you fell for her though. She really is lovely, particularly when she’s in a paddy. I feel so fortunate that you’re even prepared to look in my direction.’ Iris was playing her little girl act now, which always turned him on, knowing how tough she really was. It suited her purpose to do so, although this never seemed to occur to Hugh.
‘Your wife doesn’t know how lucky she is, to have you for a husband. I’d certainly appreciate you more than she seems to do, nor would I complain all the time about being neglected, or bombard you with inappropriate questions.’
He had to take her in the stock room after that piece of flattery and give her a quick one before tidying himself and pulling back the bolt to allow the usual rabble of GIs in.
Somehow, Iris had a way of always saying, and doing, the right thing. She made him feel wanted and special, and it give him pause for thought as to why Sara didn’t appreciate him more. If, in fact, he hadn’t married the wrong woman after all.
It proved to be a busy night in the pub and afterwards he took a big risk and walked Iris home. He’d seen Sara come in and slip upstairs to bed. Guessed that she’d be asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, never dreaming that her husband was anywhere but where he should be, either behind the bar serving late customers, on patrol with the coastguard or called out for service with the lifeboat. Hugh was arrogantly confident that she certainly wouldn’t imag
ine for one moment that he was lying naked in Iris’s bed, nibbling the rosy tips of her breasts.
He crept into bed sometime around two and Sara automatically turned to snuggle up against him. ‘Oh, your pyjamas are cold. Where have you been? No, sorry, I shouldn’t ask. Hugh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so petty before. I’d no right to quarrel with you. I was in a mood, I expect. It’s just that I miss you so, miss what we had, before the war, when we worked together. Well, I don’t mind so much for myself, it’s the children I’m thinking of. They rarely see you these days. I do love you and think you’re terribly brave, in case I haven’t said so already.’
‘Of course you do, darling.’ Hugh wasn’t listening, he was very nearly asleep.
‘You’re not involved in anything terribly dangerous, are you? Just tell me that, at least.’
She sounded so contrite, so sweetly concerned, and Hugh experienced such a rush of pride that he forgot all Iris’s words of warning and arrogantly informed her that he could say nothing, thereby making it perfectly plain that he was.
But then he wanted Sara to know how very important he really was, instead of regarding him with that faintly amused expression which somehow managed to make him feel foolish. She’d always been a quiet, self-contained sort of person, and despite him being so much older than she, and having won her, he was never certain that he fully understood her, or that he had her complete respect. It had been exactly the same with his mother, who hadn’t seemed to care for him very much either. So cold, so clinical, and so very distant.
He wanted his wife to appreciate what a fine man he was. Perhaps if Sara saw that the danger was real, his work vital, she might view him differently.
Tonight, Iris had told him that more information was needed on German defences of the Channel coast, that if he was able to supply it, she might have even more important work for him in the future.
For All Our Tomorrows Page 13