He had come to a decision and must break the news to Ruth and dear old Nanny. Fastening his uniform jacket, he brushed his hand over the three gold rings to give himself courage. He had no qualms or hesitation in ordering men, but women were another matter. He adjusted his tie, ran a comb through his thick sandy hair and went down to the dining room, where he found the table laid for three and Nanny waiting.
Impulsively, he kissed Nanny on the cheek. She flushed with pleasure and said, 'Ruth will be down in five minutes, dear. Normally she doesn't take lunch.
'Then we'll wait.' He went to the sideboard. 'Sherry, Nanny?'
'Just a small one, dear.'
He tried to keep his face straight as he poured a generous sherry for the woman he loved as his mother. Nanny had remained in residence at Ingersley instead of at her own Ivy Lodge so that Ruth would not be living in an otherwise empty house. He had already told Nanny that it would be better for her to get away - back to safety with her sister in Ontario. He would be able to pull a few strings, get her a passage to Canada any time, but far better if she did it soon.
He poured a good tot of whisky for himself and drank it fast. The fiery heat of the rough brand he preferred hit the back of his tongue then slid down, warm and welcome. He said, 'I want to talk to you and Ruth this afternoon. I hope you have made no arrangements?'
'No. No, I have nothing,' she replied as she sipped the sherry. 'And Ruth has not much to occupy her time with Elizabeth gone.'
The door opened. Gordon turned quickly and started. It was Ruth -Ruth looking so like Elizabeth it was uncanny. She had grown her heavy blonde hair to shoulder length. She said, 'What a marvellous surprise. How long will you be with us?'
'Only a few days.' He spoke fast, to regain his composure. Then a little sharply, 'I want to talk to you both this afternoon. Not doing anything down at the stables, are you, Ruth?'She looked up quickly. 'Unless you would like to talk over lunch?'
'You make it sound ominous,' she answered. 'We'll hear it now.'
When they were at table, Ruth ladled lentil soup on to their plates, seated herself and said, 'Now, Gordon? What is it we have to know?'
He had not wanted to say it so soon, but since Ruth had raised the subject he said, 'You must be aware that soon we will be at war. There are five or six airfields, civil and military, within a seven-mile radius of Ingersley and fighter pilots and bomber crews in training in the area. There is not much time. I realise that I have been imposing on you both. You, Nanny, ought to have been enjoying retirement in Ivy Lodge.'
'I love being around you young ones,' Nanny said in a vague, faraway voice which owed less to sentiment than to the sherry and the large glass of wine she had already finished. Gordon refilled her glass. Nanny took a quick little sip, then, 'Anything you say, dear,' she said, and returned her attention to the soup.
Gordon was a little more confident. He turned to Ruth, who had not touched her wine and was toying with her soup. 'I’ve allowed you, Ruth, to carry all the weight of administrative work. I apologise.'
She put down her spoon and spoke very fast. 'Oh, please, Gordon. It's a pleasure, not an imposition. Believe me, I wouldn't have continued otherwise-'
'Thank you,' he said quickly. 'I intend to close the house. There is still time for Nanny to get away to Canada and for you, Ruth, to return to your family in Cheshire. I want you to go home.'
The silence that followed his announcement seemed to go on for minutes, though it could only have taken seconds before Ruth said in a voice high with protest, 'Close the house? Who will do the books and pay the farm wages?' The familiar calculating expression flickered at the back of her pretty blue eyes whilst at the same time the knuckles on her left hand closed into a fist so tight that her bread roll was reduced to crumbs.
He was not answerable to her, but since she had taken it hard he tried to tell her patiently, 'An agent will administer a much reduced estate. The park will be ploughed and 'Hamilton will have control of all the arable land. The staff -there are few enough -will be put at Hamilton's disposal, or retired.'
'But this is dreadful. The house could be commandeered if nobody lives here.' Her voice was shrill with outrage.
If he were dealing with a junior officer Gordon would have charged him with insubordination. He was not handling this well. He said calmly, to defuse the argument, 'It may be requisitioned by one of the ministries anyway, regardless of who is living here.'
Ruth's cheeks were flushed. She got to her feet, scraping the chair across the parquet. 'You'd let the estate go to ruin? There is no place for me? After all I’ve done for you!' Furiously she threw her napkin on the table and faced Gordon. 'I have never been treated like this! Never.I won't be threatened.' She rushed from the room.
Gordon made to go after her, but Nanny stopped him with a firmness he'd forgotten she had. 'Sit down, dear,' she ordered. 'Ruth is a very passionate girl. Self-willed. When she thinks she is under threat she reacts badly. Let her cool down. She is bound to see the sense of it.'
'It was not a threat, Nanny,' he said in his own defence. 'I have not done this well, have I? I find it simpler standing my ground against the Admiralty.'
Nanny said, 'I have seen Ruth like this before. But she will recover, my dear. It will be a very different Ruth who comes down to dinner tonight.'
Gordon managed a smile. 'I hope so, Nanny,' he said, but he had lost his appetite for lunch. Unless Ruth recovered he would have no appetite for either dinner or her company.
But six hours later, when he went downstairs for dinner, Nanny was proved right. It was a very different Ruth who waited for him in the drawing room. Again, he was startled at the sight of her. She wore a short dress of ivory silk that clung to her slender, athletic body. And again she looked so like Elizabeth that he was taken aback. She came forward to kiss him on the cheek, saying, 'Gordon. I'm sorry about my behaviour earlier, dear...' and he could smell her perfume -not quite Elizabeth's but so very near it. '... 1 know you are doing your best for us all,' she continued, and she touched his arm gently and let her hand linger there for a little longer than was necessary.
Struggling to regain the high ground, he pulled his arm away quickly, as if her hand were red-hot. 'Where's Nanny?'
'She has a headache,' Ruth said. 'Brought on by the prospect of having to live with her teetotal sister in Canada perhaps?' She laughed but there was no malice in her open, starry-eyed face. She had acknowledged the cause of Nanny's indisposition with poise and discretion, just as Elizabeth used to do. 'I suggested she had her meal served in her room.'
Relief flooded through him. He must make her see that he was closing the house because he was concerned for her and Nanny. 'Whisky?' he asked, and went to the monstrous trolley to pour drinks for them both. Then he smiled, seeing the grimace she made as she took a delicate sip before placing the glass down and going to the window. She closed the long wooden shutters and pulled the tapestry curtains to shut out sight and sound of the storm that still blew.
It was then that he saw that her legs were bare, and he found himself shocked yet excited by the thoughts that the smooth sheen of her shapely calves brought. He'd been taught that only low women went without stockings. He pulled himself together and said, 'What have you been doing with yourself while I've been away?'
Ruth looked over her shoulder at him. 'I'm on a few church committees.' Then, after a small hesitation, 'Everyone at church thinks highly of you, Gordon.'
'They approve?' He relaxed and his eyes twinkled.
She came back to the fireside and lifted her glass. 'If we have only a few days left, I'd like to spend them in your company.'
Again he was reminded of Elizabeth as a small, familiar thrill came tightening in him. Ashamed of this physical reaction and not wanting to seem churlish, he gave his attention to the drinks trolley, saying, 'Of course,' in a purposeful way. He refilled his whisky glass, drank it in a quick gulp and felt the neat, fiery spirit warming, lighting up inside him.
'Then put
a few logs on the fire. We'll...' Ruth laughed, '... we'll repair to the drawing room after dinner, shall we? As we did when Elizabeth ... Oh, sorry...'
It never upset him to talk about Elizabeth. He said, 'You can mention her name, you know. When Elizabeth was alive?'
She nodded and came to stand close to him, so that he had to step back a little to give her elbow room to sip again at her whisky. She swirled the glass until shards of amber light came glinting through the crystal to dance on her small, pretty hands. She did not look at him as she said in a low, throaty voice, 'You miss her dreadfully, don't you?'
'Yes.' He downed the last of his own drink and put the empty glass on the marble overmantel. 'But 1 don't want to talk about my loss tonight.' He smiled at her. 'You need not finish the whisky. Let's go into the dining room.'
Long afterwards he would realise that he had never been a match for a determined woman. Possibly it was innate chivalry - but once his initial reserve was broken, he found himself responding to Ruth, enjoying her company, her talk, her pretty, animated face and the scent of her. He was excited by the closeness of those bare legs that were within inches of his own, for she had set her place next to his at one end of the long oak table. She had chosen two wines - normally one bottle was enough for three - and had chosen well.
Mrs Stewart sent up potted trout with thin-sliced brown bread and butter to start the meal. For this course Ruth had chosen a fine white Burgundy, and she filled his glass again and again, saying, '1 do so want you to enjoy this evening, Gordon.'
'Why this evening in particular?' He found himself responding in the same slightly flirtatious manner.
'I will tell you later.' She laughed and touched his hand for a second; a feather-light brush of her fingers across his that made goose bumps rise on his forearms. To bring himself down to earth, he tried to think of his ship, the crew and the tour of duty in the North Sea that was their destination next week, and he concentrated on the food, the light-as-air golden pastry that flaked around rich brown gravy and tender braised steak. But already he was weakening.
Ruth insisted on his testing the claret before she poured it. It was smooth and full and rich and it shone ruby red in the bowl of his wine glass. He turned to Ruth and said, 'This is a fine vintage...' and then he stopped, because she looked exactly like Elizabeth and the candlelight from the silver candelabra shimmered upon the ivory silk dress that followed every curve of her body. Even her eyes had lost their hard expression and were soft and melting - and he was in danger of forgetting himself and his duty to his dead wife's little sister.
Later, feeling mellow and completely at ease, they sat by the blazing hearth where a log fire burned. The only light came from the fire and the few table lamps at the far side of the drawing room. Gordon watched the reflection of the flames flickering across Ruth's now serious face. He asked, 'Would you like brandy, my dear?' and she jumped to her feet to serve him. He smiled, for he was used to being served with alacrity and solemn discretion in the ward room and captain's cabin and it amused him to have this attention from Ruth. He allowed her to pour a measure of cognac and bring it to him, and as he watched her coming slowly, swaying her hips as she moved towards him, not a wrinkle showed through the ivory silk; not a line of elastic; not a slip strap. She was wearing nothing under the dress. She stopped, the bare legs only half an inch now from his knees, holding the glass out like a child, making him reach for it.
His strong hands felt the touch of her small, light fingers and this time her hand stayed on his as, with a nervous little laugh, she dropped gracefully to sit at his feet. She had not noticed that the dress had ridden up to her thighs, revealing a shocking length of smooth bare thigh. Gordon was disconcerted and embarrassed by his own body's response to the sight. Ruth came closer. 'You don't mind if I sit close to you, do you?' she asked.
And Gordon knew even as he hesitantly answered, 'I don't mind... ' that everything was changing. She smiled up at him before resting her head against his leg, and he could no longer hold his body back from arousal by the pressure of a soft cheek on his thigh.
He put down his brandy glass on the side table. Believing that his actions were prompted by affection and gratitude, he let his hand brush against her hair. And he was lost. Ruth immediately slid her arm up, reached for his hand and pressed it to her lips. With an almost electric shock and the excitement that had been simmering all night, he felt the tip of her tongue gently moving in the centre of his open palm.
'Ruth!' he pleaded. 'Don't do anything you may regret, my dear... ' But she pulled herself up and knelt in front of him, making him open his legs so that she could come in close, and the brandy fumes billowed inside his head and the scent of her, the sweet, heavy scent, blotted out his reason.
'I don't want to go, Gordon,' she whispered. 'Don't cast me out.'
'Ruth!' He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, but he could feel her fine bones through the silk and her warm body trembled under the pressure. 'I'm not casting you out, my dear. You will be safe in Cheshire.'
'Don't! Please don't talk that way, Gordon. Not tonight.' Her round blue eyes locked on to his, her hair was a thousand shades of tawny gold and her voice was low and husky. 'You must know, darling, that I have always loved you.'
He tried to pull back but his will was gone. He said softly, 'I didn't know.' But he was hard and hot in blood and breath and her fingers were undoing the buttons of his uniform jacket so she could press her face close to his chest. He was pulsing and heat was growing in him even as he tried desperately not to respond to her and to say, 'Ruth ... Dear ... Please ... don't let us.’ But his voice was thickening and his heart was thundering behind his ribs. Her pretty face was inches from his own, her eyes were half closed, just as Elizabeth's used to do.
'Gordon, Love me! Oh, Gordon - I want you .. .' she whispered. 'Please? Please, darling ... I need you...'
Then his mouth was on hers, locked into hers while he got to his feet and she rose with him to move close to the fire. His hands tore the ivory dress down from her shoulders. Her full breasts with their round and rigid pink nipples were thrusting forward for him as she arched her back and pressed her hips into the hard, urgent, throbbing and painful ... 'Oh God! Ruth...' was all he could say.
She leaned back a little and let him take her breast into his mouth, the nipple like rubber against his tongue as she made the exciting throaty sounds of a woman aroused and her hips moved sinuously away and back into him. Her hands were unfastening him, releasing him, and now she drew his trousers gently down his legs, her hands firm against his thighs. His head was light and reeling and all thoughts were gone, only sensation remained as she knelt before him, lowered her head on to him and took him in her mouth. He felt her tongue stroking around and along the length of him. Before he lost control completely he lifted her to her feet and removed the ivory silk dress so that her beautiful, slender body was revealed.
He pulled her to him, sank: to his knees and buried his face in her triangle of reddish hair, smelling the warm musk odour that drove every last rational thought from his distracted mind. Then she slid down to the Persian rug and reflections of the flames were dancing red and gold over the body that waited, trembling, eager and ready for him. He knelt between her thighs and pushed himself hard into her as she moaned and moved and grasped inside, fast and rhythmically, squeezing with muscles he never knew a woman had, crying out in delight even as he went first slowly to savour the pleasure, then in a fierce, thunderous release that he knew she shared.
Afterwards he lay, spent, his head on her belly while her hands stroked his hair and she whispered, 'Come to my bed...?'
'Yes.'
'I don't want to lose you now.'
'Nor I.'
Then she seemed to come back to reality with a speed that alarmed him. 'I might be pregnant. We must marry immediately by special licence...'
Chapter Six
Under the hot showers at Rosyth Naval Dockyard, Andrew scrubbed his soot-encrusted arm
s until the skin glowed pink through the black hair. Cleaning out the boilers with wire brushes had taken three days and it was hard, hot work. The weather too was unseasonably hot, that Saturday 2 September of 1939. Over the hiss of water and the smell of coal tar he called to Greg in the next cubicle, 'Going ashore, Greg?' Greg was no longer his oppo, for Andrew had been promoted to leading stoker.
The firebox would be lit and brought up to pressure tomorrow. The engine room artificer - a good bloke, ten times better than Pearce who had been dishonourably discharged - had passed their work and the stokers had twenty-four hours' shore leave until 10 a.m. on Sunday, when they would hear the announcement that war was declared. Nobody believed it would not happen. Two eight-inch and two secondary four-and-a-half-inch guns were ready, along with twelve two-pounders and eight torpedo tubes. Both the North Sea, which they patrolled, and the Atlantic were infested with German U-boats waiting for the signal to fire.
'If you are,' came Greg's laughing reply. 'Going to see Flora?'
'Aye!' Andrew turned the hot tap off and watched the grimy foam sluice away while the fierce cold jet stung his skin, making him aware of every nerve ending and every hair down the length of his body. 'Oooh!' He groaned with pleasure and lifted his arms to prolong the shock to his skin. 'What are you going to do?'
'Ask for a free issue,' Greg said. 'See if I can find a girl.'
Andrew turned off the taps, emerged from the cubicle, found his towel and started to dry himself vigorously in the relative spaciousness of the washroom. On board, their quarters were cramped - thirty men to a mess that held two twenty-foot tables with hammocks slung above, but there was a good bit of space here. He'd brought his best uniform from his locker and laid it out on the wooden seat.
Greg came out of his cubicle. 'How will she know?'
'I'll ring her from the dock.'
The Weeping Tree Page 10