Janet Woods

by I'll Get By

  ‘You’re making me feel ashamed.’

  ‘Quite unintentionally.’ She gazed at her empty plate and smiled. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I scoffed the straw-berries and shortbread like a ravenous dog. I do get a little extra on my rations, but I’m certainly looking forward to dinner tomorrow. My niece is an excellent cook.’

  ‘I’m sure she is. She’s also a clever young woman. I consider myself fortunate to be her superior officer . . .’ He sent her a grin. ‘In the workplace, at least.’

  Esmé didn’t want to eat the chocolate so soon after the shortbread. Nick ate a small square and left the remainder of it on the plate. Shortly after drinking his tea, he rose. ‘I mustn’t outstay my welcome. Thank you for your hospitality. Look after yourself, Mrs Thornton . . . or should I call you Esmé now we’ve formed a social connection?’

  ‘Please do.’ Put like that, she couldn’t really refuse, though she didn’t equate one morning tea with establishing a social connection.

  Nick Cowan rose like an elegant cat, so Esmé almost expected him to stretch his lean body and sharpen his claws on the furniture before moving any further.

  ‘I’ll see you out,’ Meggie said, the air of relief about her almost visible to Esmé. ‘Mind you don’t shoot yourself in the foot.’

  ‘I could think of more unfortunate places to get shot. No need to disturb yourself. I’m sure I can find my way, since I’ve been in several of these houses before and they’re all similar in layout.’

  A few minutes later and the front door clicked behind him.

  The two women gazed at each other, then Esmé laughed. ‘Now . . . there’s a man and a half for you. He just oozes sex appeal.’

  ‘He can ooze it all over somebody else . . . I don’t want him.’

  ‘Still hankering after that lawyer, are you?’

  ‘I’m trying not to. He doesn’t give me any encouragement by writing to me though. Rennie doesn’t want to be anything but friends.’

  ‘That’s a typical male defensive position. Perhaps you should give him some encouragement the next time he’s home on leave. If you allow men to become too noble another woman will settle for their less noble side, and snatch them from under your nose.’

  ‘If that happens it just proves he wasn’t worth waiting for. There’s a woman called Pamela that he was engaged to marry. She kept dropping into the office for a tête-à-tête with his mother when I worked there.’

  ‘That’s not right, Meggie. Love doesn’t come with a book of checks and balances. Some men need encouragement, and you might have to get the timing right. Other men know exactly what they want when they see it, and they go after it until the end of time.’

  ‘Was that what happened with Leo?’

  ‘Ah Leo, now there’s a technique for you . . . pure caveman. He thumped me over the head then dragged me off to his cave, shouting in triumph. “Me Jungle Jim and you a tabby cat.”’

  When she’d finished laughing, Meggie said, ‘I don’t think Rennie’s family think I’m suitable for him, especially where age is concerned. Anyway, I haven’t seen him for a long time.’

  Esmé’s baby began to kick. She took Meggie’s hand in hers and placed it on the gently heaving stomach under her paisley smock, moving the hand around. ‘That’s its little arms. It’s in a curled up sort of position with its knees out, and feet curled into the tummy. Down here is its bum, and this more solid bit here is its head. It’s in the breech position at the moment, but in about a month or so it will turn and the head will come down and engage in the pelvis. At least, I hope it does.’

  With some alarm in her voice, Meggie asked, ‘What if it doesn’t?’

  ‘It will either be delivered as a breech birth, or a Caesarean section will be needed.’

  ‘A Caesarean is when they cut you open, isn’t it? I won’t have to be there for that, will I? I’d probably faint, or be sick, or perhaps both at the same time.’

  ‘Certainly not . . . the surgeon wouldn’t allow it.’

  Esmé had gradually introduced the subject of maternity to Meggie, because if things didn’t go to plan, she didn’t want the girl to panic, but to do exactly as she told her. ‘Don’t forget there will be a midwife here to help me deliver the baby. She’ll be in charge and will get me to hospital if need be.’

  The sound of voices came to them and Meggie moved to the window and gave a running commentary. ‘He’s carried the shopping basket down for her.’ Obviously Judith arriving home coincided with Nick Cowan’s departure. Three minutes passed. ‘Here he comes.’

  Meggie waited until the car drove off, then frowned. ‘I wonder what took him so long.’

  ‘I expect he stayed as long as was socially acceptable. After carrying heavy shopping baskets for young ladies into basement flats, he couldn’t just run off, he would have made some small talk. He has good manners bred into him.’

  Meggie gave an unmannerly snort. ‘That must be it. Would you like another cup of tea before I take the tray away, wise auntie of mine?’

  ‘You could leave some of that chocolate, just in case Leo makes it home. It was nice of Nick to think of us. There’s something very likeable and attractive about that man, you know.’

  ‘I can’t think what it is,’ she said.

  ‘Then why are you fighting it? What was that about him shooting himself in the foot?’

  ‘Oh, nothing . . . we were having an argument, and he said he had a machine gun strapped to his leg and I could shoot him with it if that’s what I wanted. I don’t know what he meant by more unfortunate places.’

  Chuckling, Esmé said, ‘That rather depends on which way the muzzle is pointing, I suppose.’

  Her niece turned a rosy shade of red and said in a satisfyingly scandalized manner, ‘Aunt Esmé. Do behave yourself.’

  They dissolved into girlish giggles at the thought of such a fate befalling Nick.

  Twelve

  Meggie enjoyed her dinner the next evening. The lamb was delicious and it cooked to perfection in the old-fashioned stove. Jack Frost wove around her ankles, and then left her, to settle on what was left of Esmé’s lap. He began to purr loudly when she petted him, and kneaded her stomach, as though he was massaging the baby inside.

  Nick was wonderful company. They sat round the big kitchen table, laughing and chatting about anything that came into their heads, discussing books they’d read and poetry. She fell in love with Nick a little bit.

  Upstairs in the hall the telephone rang.

  Meggie rose. ‘I’ll get it. I’ll call you if it’s Leo the Magnificent, and you can waddle up.’

  ‘I’ll waddle up after you anyway. I hope you’ll forgive me, Nick, but I’m tired, and I fancy an early night. I enjoyed your company, and it was a pity that Leo couldn’t make it.’

  ‘We must do it again sometime,’ Meggie heard him say, and with enough sincerity in his voice to let her know that he meant it.

  Meggie took the stairs two at a time, hoping it was Rennie on the other end of the line. It was neither of the two men. It was her mother.

  ‘Hello, Meggie, my dear.’

  ‘Mummy . . . is everything all right?’

  ‘Of course it is. I just rang to tell you that Chad and Sylvia have a sweet little daughter. They’ve named her Patricia Anne, though they’re already calling her Patsy.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. Give them all my love.’

  ‘How is Esmé keeping?’

  ‘You can ask her yourself if you like. She’s just coming, leaping up the stairs like an inflated duck trying to be Margot Fonteyn in Swan Lake.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh, it makes me want to pee,’ Esmé said, laughing anyway.

  Meggie vacated the chair and pushed it towards Esmé with her foot.

  Her mother was saying, ‘I thought the phone was in the hall.’

  ‘It is . . . but I haven’t had time to tell you I’ve got my own flat in the basement now. I share it with another Wren, and I’ve just held . . . am holding my first
dinner party.’

  ‘A dinner party, on rations . . . how did you manage that? You must tell me all about it. How many guests attended?’

  ‘Only three. Aunt Es, my flatmate and my boss. Leo couldn’t make it. It was a sort of practise dinner. With the rationing it’s hard to entertain, but my boss provided us with a leg of lamb.’ She didn’t want to say too much about Nick, lest her mother got the wrong idea about him. ‘His father has an estate in the country and he brought some other food too. They have glasshouses.’

  ‘Ah, yes . . . Denton grew some Cos lettuces in a glass frame last year, but he left the lid off just as they were ready, and the rabbits came in from the fields overnight and ate them. It’s a pity we couldn’t have utilized Foxglove House to produce food. After all that intrigue that went on, it’s become a convalescent home for soldiers. Most unexciting, but the grounds look nice and neat, or so Chad tells me. The staff call him in from time to time.’

  ‘At least it’s being useful, at last. Anyway, I must get back to my guests. I’ll try and get down to Dorset after Aunt Esmé has delivered her addition to the human race. Or you could visit us, if you like. We have the room.’

  ‘With those bombs dropping all over the place I’d be too frightened. We’re worried sick about you.’

  ‘I know. Here’s Aunt Es. You can talk about the gory bits of childbirth to her if you like. Goodnight and God bless, Mummy.’ She handed the receiver to her aunt.

  When she went back down Nick was standing at the sink doing the washing up. There was no sign of Judith.

  ‘Your flatmate has gone to bed. She said she’s going to start on the book you loaned her, and read for a while. Which book was that?’

  ‘How Green Was My Valley.’

  ‘Ah yes . . . Richard Llewellyn wrote it, didn’t he? I enjoyed it too, so we have something in common.’

  She didn’t want to have anything in common with him at all, but deep in her heart she knew there were probably many things they had in common, and she wasn’t being practical. ‘You shouldn’t be doing the washing up.’

  ‘I know . . . I’m your guest and it’s beneath me.’

  ‘At least protect your suit.’ She took an apron from the hook and handed it to him. He held it up and gazed at it. ‘Which bit goes where?’

  Giving an exasperated sigh she shook it out and held it up. ‘Put your head through this collar.’

  Ducking his head, he did as ordered. She was flattening it tidily on to his shoulders when she found herself looking straight into the dark blossoming heart of his grey eyes.

  ‘You have a lovely mouth, like a crushed rose,’ he said.

  She was about to withdraw her hands in alarm when his fingers and thumbs closed around her wrists and drew her hands down and behind him. Pulling her close against the length of his body his mouth touched against hers with an incredibly tender caress. The alarm intensified when she realized she was experiencing a strong urge to go to bed with Nick Cowan, and do whatever it took to satisfy the urges that spread a tingling awareness along each nerve. It was like lightning.

  The sexual urge had a strong pull to it, and although she was a little bit scared of it, she was now filled with curiosity.

  ‘Heavens, that wasn’t fair,’ she said, which was the opposite of the sinful feelings fermenting inside her. In fact, she could almost smell her flesh singe from the heat he’d generated in her.

  ‘What wasn’t fair about it; didn’t you like being kissed? I’d say we were at flashpoint.’

  ‘I’m not going to answer that.’ For the sake of her own salvation she whispered, ‘Please don’t do it again, Nick Cowan. There are workplace rules in place.’

  He laughed. ‘We’re not in the workplace now, and besides, I live by my own rules. It’s so much more exciting.’ He trailed a finger gently over her lips. ‘Your mouth is as soft and downy as a bumble bee to kiss.’

  He kissed her again . . . as she knew he would and a swarm of imaginary bumble bees droned around her. Had he ever kissed a bee? She doubted it. He would have his own sting though, she thought, and sighed when the kissing came to an end.

  They finished the cleaning up between them, her mind dreamily absorbed by the way of bees, with an occasional bird of paradise thrown into the mix, when the warning siren sounded. The drone of bees became the throb of bombers in the distance.

  Esmé came down the stairs, a blanket wrapped round her. Judith emerged from her room in her dressing gown. They had recently begun using the space under the stairs, especially when it was cold or wet outside, but there wasn’t space for four of them.

  ‘You two use it. I’ll share the Andersen shelter with Nick.’ After all, she couldn’t leave a guest to fend for himself, and liked the unpredictability of him.

  Halfway down the garden, Nick said, ‘Have you ever been caught out in the open in a raid?’

  ‘Never. I always head to the nearest shelter, though the bombers usually leave our patch of London alone.’

  ‘They probably know that all the prettiest girls live here.’ He took her by the hand. ‘Come with me if you want an adventure.’

  Her interest piqued, she went. They turned about and headed through the gate into the lane and made for the expanse of green that passed as a park in the nearest square. Already they were being pursued by the noise of the approaching bombers with their lethal loads and fierce growls.

  Nick spread his coat on the grass and they lay on their backs and gazed up at the sky.

  They came like roaring monsters, the noise throbbing heavily, so it reverberated up from the ground and into her spine to compress her heart, causing its beat to swish an alarm against her eardrums. Her tongue tasted of the salt created by fear, and of the fuel exhaust drifting down from the dragons flying above.

  The bombers flew between the earth and the moon, deadly black crosses creating their own graves to mark. Meggie wasn’t afraid, but she’d never felt such exhilaration in the face of danger, though she’d never faced such danger before.

  ‘All that death flying over us, hundreds of pounds of high explosives,’ Nick said. ‘One bomb, and our bodies would disintegrate into the sum of its parts. No more breath except the ruby bubbles escaping to turn the moon red . . . no more words with which to lie to each other. No more partings with no endings, or making love and dying a thousand small deaths in the almost unbearable climax of it.’

  ‘Hush, Nick,’ she said, and although she’d never experienced a climax of a thousand small deaths, she could imagine what it would feel like because sometimes she thought she experienced a small percentage when she had to part with his company.

  But he didn’t hush. ‘Your breasts would never know the feverish homage of a man who’d lost the love of his mother, or a child who was born in the image of his father, because the need to carry on a name was more overwhelming than to love the child who bore it.’

  He was talking about himself.

  Opening her blouse he captured her hands against the cool grass and stooped to kiss each nipple through the barrier of her cotton bra. She sucked in an audible breath. The night air cooled them so the nubs were sensitive, hard and thrusting to the point of wanting to experience again the rough rasp of his tongue against them, and her breasts were prickled with a fine scattering of goose bumps.

  She hugged him tight, not knowing how to handle this sweetness of touch that made her body so strangely agitated and receptive.

  ‘If we die this night, your loins will never know or accept the touch of a man or have him fill your soft moistness with the hard, thrusting knowledge of his love and lust.’

  He edged up her skirt and he scratched gently on the divide of her sensible white knickers, making her moist with need, as though he was a knight home from the crusades, trying to rouse the keeper of the drawbridge so he could gain admittance and unlock his lady’s chastity belt. When he located the most sensitive spot, the need to scream with the aching joy of his touch and to open her thighs to the intimate stroke of his touc
h was almost overwhelming.

  ‘Dearest girl in her lisle stockings and passion-killer knickers, all tied up in elastic. Would you let the devil in, I wonder.’

  ‘I don’t believe in the devil.’ She kissed him to stop the darkness of his words. ‘And please stop spouting speeches, as though you’re a ham actor in a tragic drama.’

  ‘What’s going on around us is a tragic drama. You understand me, don’t you, angel? We’re a bit old for these fumbling advances in the dark, and I’ve got a hard-on as big as a fireman’s hose.’

  She didn’t misread the meaning of his words. ‘Yes, I do understand you.’ And she did, for his hurt had touched a chord in her. He needed her as much as she needed him. ‘Do you have one of those rubber protective thingamajigs with you?’ she lobbed into the depths of his passion, then giggled as what he’d said sunk in. ‘Do they sell them that size or are you just showing off?’

  Unexpectedly, he began to roar with laughter. ‘Where did that basin of cold water come from? What does a girl like you know of such sensible precautions as rubber thingamajigs? I don’t carry them around, just in case.’

  ‘My aunt is a nurse. She runs classes on birth control and advised me to ask the man if it appeared that intercourse was to take place.’

  ‘A lovely, and decent woman, your aunt is, but her lecture sounds rather clinical for this occasion. It would be a shame to ruin her trust in me now, though.’

  She fell quiet and waited, not knowing whether to laugh of cry while he did her buttons up, his fingers fumbling to find the buttonholes in the dark.

  The night’s bombing run had begun. Over near St Paul’s Cathedral a dull red began to make the sky glow like a shepherd’s warning. There was a crump, crump, crump of the explosives hitting their targets, filling the air with smoke and fury and a fiery eruption of sparks. She imagined men, women and children, cowering from the heated metal, slashed into strips by an inferno of metal and shattered glass.