by June Tate
A Selection of Titles by June Tate
RICHES OF THE HEART
NO ONE PROMISED ME TOMORROW
FOR THE LOVE OF A SOLDIER
BETTER DAYS
NOTHING IS FOREVER
FOR LOVE OR MONEY
EVERY TIME YOU SAY GOODBYE
TO BE A LADY
WHEN SOMEBODY LOVES YOU
THE TALK OF THE TOWN
A FAMILY AFFAIR
THE RELUCTANT SINNER
BORN TO DANCE
Their Guilty Pleasures
June Tate
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First world edition published 2011
in Great Britain and in the USA by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.
Copyright © 2011 by June Tate.
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Tate, June.
Their guilty pleasures.
1. World War, 1939–1945–Women–Great Britain–Fiction.
2. World War, 1939–1945–Social aspects–Great Britain–
Fiction. 3. Americans–Great Britain–Fiction.
4. Prisoners of war–Germany–Fiction. 5. Prisoners of
war–Great Britain–Fiction. 6. Love stories.
I. Title
823.9’14-dc22
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-143-9 (epub)
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8077-2 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-375-5 (trade paper)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
For my elder daughter Beverley, who survived a horrendous car
crash with such bravery and courage. Whose mental attitude
in the months that followed was incredible, and who never
lost her sense of humour.
Amazing!
Acknowledgements
To Janet and Richard Cartwright in Stafford, who proved their friendship far beyond the call of duty. Ronnie, Beverley and I could not have managed without you. My grateful thanks.
Prologue
Southampton, June 1940
Jenny Procter stood at the French windows of her drawing room, looking out over the large garden before her. The rhododendron bushes were in full bloom, the horse chestnut trees full of leaf, and there was the promise of a bumper crop of fruit. Beyond one of the large lawns, the gardener was digging the earth and planting vegetables which had been started in the greenhouse. It was a peaceful scene, yet in Europe the Germans had swept through France. The phoney war was over and the nation stood ready to defend its coastline.
Adam Procter was to leave his prestigious post as bank manager at the National Provincial Bank and join the Hampshire Regiment. As an officer in the Territorial Army, it was to be expected, and Jenny stood wondering just how it would feel when his presence was no longer part of her daily life.
Her husband of fifteen years was heavy maintenance. Extremely fastidious about his appearance, demanding perfection in the ironing of his clothes, the upkeep of the home and the constant entertaining of his most wealthy clients, which with wartime rationing, was a headache for any housewife.
Jenny let out a deep sigh. She was tired. She had spent the previous days laundering, packing underwear and shirts – which, of course, had been meticulously ironed – and, in the odd moment, she felt it would be a relief when Adam was gone . . . and immediately was overcome with a sense of guilt. After all, he would be transferred to France to fight the enemy. She gave a wry smile. It would have to be a brave man that had to face her husband. She knew that the staff at the bank tried their best to please their boss, rather than face his wrath. His quick temper would be another thing that she wouldn’t miss either, concluded the lovely Mrs Procter as she made her way to the kitchen.
Adam Procter was in his office at the end of the days banking, sipping a gin and tonic, bidding farewell to some of the senior members of the staff, introducing them to the man who would take his place. He had mixed emotions as he chatted, making polite conversation, anxious to get away, now the time had come. He had enjoyed his prestigious position in the bank and his standing in the upper echelon of society in the town and knew he would miss it, but he felt the rank of captain would offer some sort of compensation. He eventually took his leave, calling a taxi to take him home.
As the vehicle made its way along the Avenue towards Chilworth, he gave a soft smile of satisfaction. He had done well, achieved much in his life. Had reached a good position in business, had been able to afford a large house in a high-class neighbourhood and was married to a woman who was not only beautiful, but who also had been able to grow with him as he climbed the ladder of success. Yes, he had really made it, and when the war was over he would return to the bank and take his place in society once more. After all, the war couldn’t last that long. It would be, in many ways, an adventure.
As a natural-born leader, he mused, he had enjoyed the military side and had thrived on the training – being in command. In one way, he was looking forward to the change. He liked a challenge, indeed he thrived on it!
Jenny heard the front door open. ‘Is that you, darling?’ she called.
Adam walked into the drawing room and taking off his jacket hung it carefully round the back of a chair. He loosened his tie as he walked towards his wife and gave her a brief kiss.
‘How did today go?’ she asked.
Adam walked over to the sideboard and poured two drinks. ‘It was fine. Everyone was very kind; you know, lots of good wishes, lots of hand shaking, a few drinks. The new man seemed all right, but a bit weak I thought. Too nice by far! You need to have a firm grip at the top to keep your staff in control. But of course he’s older – that, and the fact that he has bad eyesight, has kept him out of the forces.’
Jenny secretly thought how the staff would appreciate a man who wasn’t so controlling and, irritated by Adam’s attitude, said: ‘Of course, he’s had more years in banking than you. With so much experience, he must know what he’s doing, otherwise the bank wouldn’t have kept him on.’
‘Who knows!’ With that Adam changed the subject. ‘Is everything ready for tomorrow?’
‘Yes, everything is packed, uniform pressed, shoes cleaned. All you have to do is pack your toiletries just before you go. I can’t believe we have only twenty-four hours left and then you’ll be on your way.’
He heard the note of uncertainty in her voice and saw the look of concern in her eyes. It suddenly hit him as to how much he was leaving behind. Until this moment there had been so much to do at the bank to prepare for the handover that he’d had little time to think. Suddenly, the reality of it all was painfully apparent.
He took Jenny into his arms and kissed her, wanting to feel the closeness of her, the comfort of her warm body. His kiss became more insistent as he felt her respond. He took her by the hand and led her upstairs to the bedroom.
Onc
e there, he undressed her slowly, caressing her, kissing her, telling her how much he would miss her, until the two of them lay on the bed, their bodies entwined.
As Adam thrust himself inside her, Jenny sensed the desperation in his love-making. Unexpectedly, her husband had shown a certain vulnerability – but only for a moment. Knowing him as she did, she knew that he would soon be in control of his emotions once again. She opened her eyes and saw the relief on his face as, above her, he reached his climax. Yes, things were back to normal.
The following afternoon, a military car arrived at the house to take Adam, immaculately dressed in his uniform, to join his regiment; he handed his baggage to the driver and turned towards his wife.
‘I’ll call you when I know what’s happening of course, but I’ll be busy for the next couple of days, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me. Take care.’ He leaned forward and kissed her goodbye. There was no warmth or affection in his lips. It was a duty performed; his mind was now elsewhere.
Jenny watched the car drive away. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and with a sense of relief, she walked back into the house. She was determined to fill her time and do something useful with her new-found freedom, but at the same time she was mindful of the dangers that lay ahead for her husband and prayed he would be safe.
One
June 1943
It was almost three years to the day since Adam had left to join the army, Jenny mused as she opened a letter from him. So much had happened during the intervening years. Southampton had been decimated by the Blitz in 1940, and since then the war had escalated in Europe. Many children had been evacuated to other parts of the country, and a few were even taken abroad – some to the United States of America, others to Canada. This summer, the town had been invaded by American troops who would be using the docks to receive and send supplies – and their troops to the battlefields. Jenny was now on a committee set up to help them integrate into the British way of life, during their stay.
She read the letter. It was brief and to the point. Aware that censorship was essential, Adam, unable to say where he was, kept the details succinct. He was fine, the regiment was doing well, there had been some fighting, but he was unscathed. He hoped she was in good health, and he was happy that she was doing her bit for the war effort. There were no words of love or affection, except at the end he told her that he missed her. But it seemed a perfunctory remark – without meaning.
With a sigh, Jenny put the letter in a drawer with the others. She’d answer it tonight, but now she was off to a meeting where she was to liaise with an officer in charge of the welfare of the American troops that had been arriving by the truckload. It had been decided to hold a dance at the Guildhall, to introduce the troops to the locals. Jenny herself was not at all sure this was a good idea, but realized that sooner or later the local dances would be full of the visiting troops anyway. She foresaw a certain amount of friction between the British boys – both the troops and the local boys who were yet to be called up – and the gregarious Yanks, with their superior uniforms and pockets full of money. The red-light district was doing a roaring trade, according to the police, which put even more pressure on them as they dealt with drunken brawls to try and keep the peace and entente cordial with the Americans.
Jenny made her way to the headquarters of the 14th Port and was taken to the office of Captain Brad Jackson. The soldier accompanying her tapped on the door and, being told to enter, announced her.
‘Mrs Procter, sir.’
A tall man, with mid-brown hair and blue eyes, stood up and offered her his hand. ‘Mrs Procter, how nice to meet you. Please sit down.’
His voice had a soft accent and was cultured, she noticed, not as loud and brash as some she’d heard on the High Street as the troops investigated their new surroundings and eyed up the local talent.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ he offered. ‘Or would you prefer tea?’
Jenny chuckled. ‘I’d prefer coffee, thank you, Captain Jackson. I’m led to believe the Americans are unable to make a decent cup of tea as yet.’
He started to laugh and his eyes twinkled. ‘Just give us time, Mrs Procter, just give us time.’
During the following hour, they discussed how they could show the troops the British way of life. Ideas such as inviting some of them into local households on a Sunday, and putting on baseball matches, to show the Brits American sports, were talked about. During this time, they exchanged a few personal details. Jenny told him about Adam, and his having to leave his position in the bank. She asked the American what he did in civilian life. He told her he was a doctor.
Jenny wondered if this charming man had left a wife and children behind, but didn’t feel able to question him too closely after such a brief introduction, but when he confessed to having a couple of horses at home, and told her how much he missed riding them, she was delighted. It had been the one thing that had kept her spirits up during these hard times. Near to her home was a riding stable where at weekends she would go and help muck out the horses, as many of the staff were now in the forces, and she would ride out whenever she could, to keep the horses exercised.
‘Do you have any free time this coming Sunday, Captain Jackson?’ she asked.
He looked a little surprised. ‘As a matter of fact I have. Why do you ask?’
‘How would you like to go riding?’
He beamed at her. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Absolutely!’ Then she explained. ‘You will have to do a bit of mucking out first though. Would you mind that?’
‘I can’t think of a better way to spend my time! Somehow, around horses I can relax completely.’
‘I know just what you mean!’ she exclaimed. ‘I feel exactly the same. It’s like gardening, totally therapeutic.’ She then gave him her address and directions. ‘Can you be there at nine thirty in the morning?’
He said that he could, and they parted company.
As she walked back through the town, Jenny thought what a nice man Captain Jackson appeared to be. For her part she would welcome his company. She didn’t mind riding alone, but with him she could show him the surroundings, familiar to her but for the American it would be a new experience and she would review it again – but through his eyes, which would be interesting.
Rusty Dobbs reluctantly pushed back her bedcovers and moaned as she got to her feet. She was seriously hung over! She staggered into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water and drank thirstily. Her mouth felt like the bottom of a birdcage. She peered into the mirror and grimaced. If this war continued for much longer she would be old before her time. My God these Yanks could drink! Not that there was a great deal of spirits to be had these days in any of the bars, but all the GIs that had shared her bed had always seemed to be able to produce a half bottle of bourbon from their back pockets. She didn’t enjoy the sweetness of the liquor – she preferred a drop of gin – but with the shortages, you took what was on hand and didn’t complain.
Walking back to the bedroom, she sat on the bed, opened a drawer in the small bedside table and counted her money. It had been a good night! But she was tired. This is a hell of a way to earn a living, she thought as she washed her face and cleaned her teeth. But she’d been on the game these past four years, ever since she’d had a row with her mother and stormed out of the house. She’d never returned. Her father had walked out a couple of years before she had, unable to live with his harridan of a wife. He’d signed on with one of the shipping lines just before the war and had jumped ship in Australia. He had written to her and told her what he’d done and advised her to make her own way in life as soon as she was able.
Rusty loved her father and knew he would be horrified if he knew how she made a living. But life on the streets had hardened her. It could be dangerous dealing with strange men who were prepared to pay for sex. The majority were just lonely and wanted a woman, but there were those who had frightened her as soon as they had closed the door
to the bedroom, trapping her inside. She had a few scars to show for those times and some very bad memories, which sometimes caused her to have nightmares.
She could have got a job in a factory, at least that was safe, but life would have been so dull. She was a gregarious young woman and loved to party. The war had made many lose their inhibitions, knowing that their life expectancy could be curtailed, and there was a certain air of jollity in people, determined to enjoy themselves whilst they could . . . and she was one of them.
Rusty took a hairbrush to her long tresses. The light auburn hair really was her crowning glory. She wore it long and loose, knowing this was how most men liked it. Not for her the victory roll, the most fashionable hairstyle these days. Her clients loved to run their fingers through her locks. Many said her hair reminded them of Rita Hayworth, the glamorous American movie star, which always delighted her.
Once her hair was neat, she decided to take a walk. A look at the shops, and a stroll in the park afterwards, would do her good. She felt she needed to fill her lungs with fresh air before facing the evening and smoky bar rooms, but tonight she wouldn’t drink quite so much.
Southampton’s town centre had been decimated during the blitz, and one-storey shops had been quickly erected on the bombed sites. The windows were full of utility clothes, so called because all pleats, frills and any kind of frippery had been removed to save on material. Furniture was much the same. Plain with no frills.
Rusty gave a cursory glance at the goods on view, but she didn’t really need anything at the moment – and anyway, she didn’t have many clothing coupons left, which were needed when purchasing clothing. Hats were not on coupons, though, and she took a little time trying on the latest models before making her way to the park.
Although all the park railings had been taken down to help with the war effort, the local council still maintained the flower beds, which were always a pleasure to see, and now as Rusty walked through, she gazed at the flower display with great delight. At least some things still stayed the same.