For All Our Tomorrows

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘I absolutely refuse to be involved any further. I’m a loyal British subject and will do no such thing.’

  ‘Oh, I think you will. Whatever we do, you and I, will have little effect on the long-term outcome of this war. We are very small fry indeed. The war is almost over and, sadly, I’m not entirely sure that my darling Klaus will be on the winning side. However, as a good and loyal wife I will continue to do my best for him and what we both believe in, and, if we’re clever, might even make ourselves a buck or two along the way. Isn’t that what our American friends would call it? So that Klaus and I can disappear some place together, when it’s all over. You aren’t against earning a little extra, are you Hugh? The Germans will pay good money for what we know.’

  ‘But men could get killed. Our men!’

  Iris shrugged. ‘Such is war. Everyone must look out for themselves. Surely you, of all people would agree with such a philosophy? Think of it. If what we give them is not entirely accurate, does it matter at this stage in the game? Take the money and run.’

  His temper was cooling slightly but still he hesitated. Hugh still didn’t entirely trust her. Knowing how tough she was, what a fighter she’d been, he couldn’t quite get to grips with this sudden turn of events. ‘Everyone but me sees you as an empty-headed young barmaid, but you’re neither as young nor as stupid as people imagine.’

  Iris burst out laughing. ‘You’re absolutely right on both counts. I’m twenty-nine. I was just turned twenty-one when I met Klaus in Barcelona in 1936.‘

  ‘All right, so you’ve been working for the other side all along but why me? Why risk involving me? What makes you trust me?’

  ‘Because you aren’t in a position to cause me any problems. Why should I go on taking unnecessary risks when I can send you instead? The perfect solution,’ and she tweaked his nose while Hugh’s face flushed a dark, angry red.

  ‘That’s why you didn’t spill the beans about that American bomber crew I left stranded. You saw that you could take advantage of what I’d done.’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  ‘Well, you’ve mistaken your man this time. I may rage against my stupid wife, who seems hell-bent on turning into a flighty tart just like her sister. I may hate Americans and be perfectly willing to do whatever I deem necessary to undermine their sanctimonious, self-importance, but I’m no traitor, and never will be. I’ll not do it.’

  Iris smiled, and it was not an invitation. It was a smile every bit as cold and calculating as his own. ‘Yes, you will do it, because otherwise you might find yourself looking down the collective barrels of a firing squad. I don’t think you really have much choice, do you?

  Hugh was still reeling with shock when he climbed into the marital bed sometime before dawn, turning over in his mind this startling turn of events with Iris, and not a little fearful for the future. What sort of a mess was she getting him into? This wasn’t at all what he’d intended, although he seemed to be stuck with it, could see no way out. The very prospect of a firing squad made him shake, feel sick to his stomach. He fully believed her when she’d threatened to talk if he didn’t do as she said. Iris Logan seemed to be one woman he was quite unable to control.

  Sara was asleep, curled up as innocent as a babe. But she wasn’t innocent, was she? Iris had seen her with that Yank, that young Lieutenant. It was bad enough to have Iris ordering him about, proving far more difficult to manage than he’d expected. Having his wife disobey him as well, was too much.

  He prodded her awake. ‘Sara, wake up. What have you been up to while I’ve been away?’

  ‘What . . .? Hugh?’ She was unfurling like a cat, warm and languid, her silver fair hair spread out on the pillow.

  ‘Who else would it be? Your soldier lover?’

  She gave a soft chuckle, as if he were making some sort of joke, but he recognised it’s falseness, the fragility of her nerves in the way her eyes blinked wide open, the tell-tale colour flooding in and then draining from her cheeks.

  ‘I’ve been worrying about you, Hugh. I’m so glad you’re safe home again.’

  She reached for him, her arms sliding about his neck, but he pushed her away. ‘Have you resigned from that damned committee yet?’

  ‘Goodness, no, why should I?’

  ‘Because you know I don’t want you involved. You’ve more than enough to do caring for me and the children.’

  She seemed to sigh with relief, as if this were a far safer topic to argue over. ‘Do stop fretting about me, darling. I don’t have half so much work to do now that I’m no longer needed in the pub, so it’s only right that I do my bit. We’ve had this out a dozen times and I am determined not to give up my war work. It’s important and they badly need my help. Besides, I really quite enjoy it, irritating as Nora Snell is at times. I need to feel useful. Please try to understand.’

  She gave him a peck on the cheek as if her words, and this tender action should satisfy him, and then snuggled back down into the pillows. ‘Do go to sleep, darling. You must be worn out. I certainly am.’

  If she’d hoped to fob him off with excuses, she’d mistaken her man. Hugh pulled her onto her back, lifted her nightdress and pushed his fingers inside her.

  Sara let out a startled cry. ‘Hugh, for heavens sake, what are you doing? Don’t do that!’

  ‘Why not? You’re my wife.’

  ‘Yes, but you could at least kiss and cuddle me a little first.’

  ‘Kiss and cuddle, that’s all you ever ask for. You shouldn’t need all of that nonsense. If you really loved me, you should be ready and waiting for me any time I want you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She was drawing up her legs, trying to get away from him. He pulled them back down again and she let out a tiny whimper. ‘If this is all because of some stupid jealousy over the GIs again, then you’re being very silly. Now leave me alone and go to sleep, you must be worn out after your trip.’

  She tried to push him away as if he were a naughty child but the gesture so infuriated him that he grabbed his pyjama chord, wrapped it swiftly about her wrists and had her tied to the bed-head in seconds, before she’d even realised what he meant to do.

  ‘Hugh, what on earth are you doing? Stop it! I don’t like this, please stop.’

  She was gasping, pleading with him but he ignored her. He didn’t stop. He shoved open her legs and took her quite brutally, making her cry out in pain, although she soon stifled her cries, no doubt fearful that the children might hear. Instead, she bit down so hard on her lower lip that she made it bleed. The trickle of blood somehow excited him to a greater frenzy, that and the vision in his head of three canoes frantically paddling through the mist, the cries of men calling desperately for help.

  He thought of railway lines blowing up, of Iris telling him she was going to make him act as some sort of spy. And while he was facing such danger, his wife was cavorting with her American lover.

  Rage came hot and tight in his chest, blurring her face to nothing more than an unidentifiable blob on the pillow, her mouth an oval of silent agony. He tried to take her again but she bucked beneath him, desperately struggling to fight him off, to kick at him with her feet. Ferocious as a tiger she spat at him.

  ‘Stop it, stop it! That’s enough, Hugh. Let me go, for pity’s sake. Untie me at once, please. Please, I beg you!’

  He liked it better now that she was sobbing and begging, all her quiet dignity gone, far more satisfying than outright resistance. It always irritated him that even in love making he could never entirely possess her. Sara had rarely responded to his love making as he would have wished, needed her to respond. She was forever fussing about kisses and cuddles, always a part of her that he couldn’t quite reach. So it was good to see her usual calm, self-possession, in ribbons. It felt good.

  He tied her feet to the bottom rail, her body spread-eagled on the bed, open and inviting for him to take or use as he wished, her eyes wide and frightened, proving her vulnerability. So enticingly seductive.

 
‘You know you love this really,’ he told her. ‘Is this what he does to you?’

  He saw her pale lips curve around the word who, but it remained unspoken, no sound came out.

  ‘Your lover. The Lieutenant. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on, why you insist on remaining on this damned committee, so that you can work closely with him. It has to stop. Is that clear? I’ve asked you to resign but since you’ve refused, I can only think the worst. But you need to remember, Sara, that you are still my wife, and I would like confirmation of that fact right now.’

  ‘I – I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve done nothing. Ch-Charlie is just a friend, nothing more. Let me go.’

  ‘Charlie is it now? Very cosy. Prove to me that you still love me. Do for me what you no doubt do for him. Take me in your mouth. Go on. Do as I say.’

  She was frantic to get away from him, wriggling and bucking so hard, the chords and straps making deep indentations into her wrists and ankles. But what did it matter? She was utterly helpless.

  The sensation of power soared through his veins like wine, for in that moment she was entirely his to command and do with as he willed, and he made the most of it. Nobody, least of all a Yank, would ever be allowed to take her away from him.

  Afterwards, when he’d taken his fill and finally released her, he generously bathed the wheals in warm, soapy water, smoothed Vaseline over the red raw sores. Sara sat unmoving, letting him do it, a shrivelled wreck of her former, sophisticated self.

  ‘You would do well to remember this night, darling, so that you can make the right decisions in future. All right, my love?’

  She said nothing, her defiance crushed at last. He could hear her weeping quietly into her pillow, but Hugh paid not the slightest attention. He simply turned over and went to sleep. He felt so much better now.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The moment Sara had taken the children to school she went straight to the salon. She could hardly walk she was so sore, but gave no sign of this as she entered. Bette was washing Ethel Penhale’s hair so could only give half her attention to Sara. She was surprised by her sister’s sudden appearance at such an early hour.

  ‘Is there something wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘No, no, I was wondering if I could just have a quick word.’

  Bette pulled a face, indicating Ethel’s head covered with soap suds which she was holding in the sink. ‘Bit tied up at present. Not too hot, is it Ethel?’ A bad tempered mumble came by way of response. ‘Sorry!’

  ‘Later then,’ Sara said. ‘Where’s Mam?’

  ‘Having the morning off, would you believe?’ Then glancing down at her customer, with much rolling of eyes and pulling of her face, indicated that Sara should lean closer while she whispered in her ear. ‘Barney is asking the major’s permission today about – you know. Getting wed. Ooh, I can’t wait to see him tonight.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll get it?’

  ‘Course he will. Barney has the sort of charm no one can resist.’

  Sara couldn’t help but smile. ‘You certainly couldn’t.’

  A screech rose from the sink. ‘Ooh sorry, Ethel, did I get soap in your eyes?’ Bette pulled a face at Sara who shook her head in despair.

  ‘I might pop in and see Mam. Bye, Ethel.’

  Sadie had her slippered feet up on a stool and was enjoying a mug of tea and a slice of toast and dripping while listening to Worker’s Playtime on the wireless. ‘Hello, what ill wind blows you in? Short of something to do now you’ve been sacked, are you?’

  Not quite the response Sara had hoped for but she reached for the kettle, determined not to rise to the sarcasm. Settled with a cup of steaming tea cradled between her frozen hands, which for some reason she couldn’t seem to get warm this morning, Sara prepared to put her question to her mother. There was never any point in beating about the bush with Sadie who could spot any attempt at clever manipulation a mile off. Certainly whenever Sara tried it. ‘Can I move in with you for a while? Hugh and I are having a few – difficulties - at present, so I need somewhere to go.’

  ‘What, to lick your wounds?’

  ‘I suppose you could say that, yes. I’d be bringing the children.’

  ‘Had a row have you? Been quarrelling with that lovely man? You don’t know when you’re well off, girl.’

  ‘Not exactly quarrelling, no, but I just need . . .’

  ‘You need your head seeing to, that’s what you need. And why would I want a houseful of children? Haven’t I enough with your sister’s men friends, and her coming and going, getting under me feet the whole time. I shall be glad when she’s finally wed and I can get a bit of peace around here. If you’re short of something to do, you could come and help out at the salon. You could wash customer’s hair at least, even if you’re not capable of doing anything else. Though I expect you think yourself above such menial labour.’

  Sara closed the door softly as she left. What on earth had possessed her to imagine that her own mother would help?

  The very next time Hugh went out with Iris in the boat, he felt as nervous as a young boy. Why had he agreed to this madness? Because he really didn’t have any choice, not if he was to live to see the end of the war.

  They picked up two young airmen and the operation passed off quite smoothly, as usual. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Acting as carrier pigeon was a far more hazardous exercise. His first experience came later in the week. Never had he experienced such fear. He was dropped somewhere close to the same area around the Brittany coast where he’d abandoned the aircrew, except that this time there was no canoe waiting. Wearing a rubber waterproof suit he swam ashore without too much difficulty. He carried false papers comprising a work permit and ration cards, all with official-looking German stamps which Iris assured him would pass scrutiny were ever to be challenged.

  Hugh didn’t care to even consider such a possibility. Placing a parcel by a railway line under cover of darkness was one thing, actually walking into town in broad daylight, into the enemy camp as it were, was quite another.

  Yet he did what was required of him. He secreted the suit behind a rock, then took the package to the address he’d been given, collecting some papers in exchange from the woman behind the counter of the little patisserie, and in a blessedly short time was hurrying back out of town in great haste.

  Never had he felt more relieved to be safely back on board his own boat. And to find Iris waiting for him.

  They enjoyed a bottle of French wine together on the journey back, which helped to ease relations between them but there was apparently to be no rekindling of their passion. When he made an approach, placed his hands on her breasts, she laughingly pushed them aside. ‘I don’t need to suffer your clumsy advances any longer.’

  ‘Clumsy? I didn’t hear you complaining of that at the time.’

  ‘Ok, so some of it was fun, but I have a much stronger hold on you now.’

  He hated her for that, could easily have strangled her with his bare hands there and then, were it not for his stronger need for his own survival. ‘So where’s my share of the loot,?’ greedy to at least get his hands on the cash.

  What loot?’

  ‘The money you promised me for doing this courier business for you.’

  ‘Be patient. You’ll get your reward, all in good time.’

  Following the rejection by her mother, Sara moved her things out of their bedroom, into the guest room. Hugh moved them back, remonstrating with her, pointing out that she couldn’t escape her responsibilities by hiding away in there.

  ‘I’m not hiding away, but I will not tolerate such love-making, if you can call it that. I won’t have it, Hugh.’

  He stared at her as if he’d never realised before that she had a voice, let alone the courage to use it.

  ‘Are you saying we are going to sleep apart in future, that you are leaving the marital bed?’ His eyes were hard and angry.

  ‘For
the moment, yes. Until you’re out of this dreadful mood or depression, that you’re in.’

  She could only think that his behaviour was influenced by these ops he was involved with, whatever they were. Somehow they seemed to have hardened and toughened him in a way that was really quite alarming. ‘If I didn’t firmly believe that marriage should never be abandoned lightly, I’d leave now, this minute.’

  She wouldn’t of course, because of the children. She already regretted involving Sadie because, like it or not, her mother was right in a way. Hugh was still her husband and clearly in need of care to help him deal with whatever devils were troubling him. Sara had made up her mind that this current difficulty was a phase which would hopefully pass.

  ‘You will not leave, Sara. You are my wife and will ever remain so. You can stay in the guest room, if you insist, but when I want you, I shall come for you. I have my rights.’

  Sara locked the guest room door and sank onto the bed to find that she was trembling.

  He was right, she couldn’t ever leave him. But if she couldn’t escape, then she must help to make him better. And if she couldn’t do that either, then she would simply have to endure. At least she had her darling children.

  She did her best to be understanding, to behave like the good, obedient wife she’d always been, the one Hugh expected and demanded. She was as compliant as butter, anxious to prove her loyalty and innocence, and to keep his unpredictable temper sweet. She made him tasty meals, kept the children out of his way, made no mention of her war work and never asked to borrow the car.

  She privately resolved never again to accept a lift from Charlie, or Lieutenant Charles Denham as she must now think of him. Any feelings she held in that direction must be resisted and ignored at all cost, on the grounds that she was still a respectable, married woman and would ever remain so.

  Night after night she would lie in the guest bed and hear him shuffle to her door and knock gently. ‘Sara, can I come in? I’m so sorry for what I did. I’m ashamed of myself. I don’t know what came over me. Come back to bed, let’s try again. I need you beside me. Let’s stop quarrelling.’