by Rosie Harris
‘You’re trespassing, you know.’
He shook his head, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘No, we are allowed to walk in the grounds. I’ve never been to this spot before though,’ he admitted. ‘Quite spooky here, isn’t it?’
‘You’re not afraid, are you?’ she teased.
‘No, but there is something eerie about the place,’ he said. Frowning, he looked around at the riot of weeds and shivered slightly.
Helen looked at him with interest, surprised that he should be so sensitive about atmosphere. Shyly, she found herself blurting out the legend.
He listened intently, nodding from time to time.
‘I’ve never told anyone before,’ she said, a little awkwardly. ‘It’s … it’s a secret shared only with Donald.’
‘Donald?’
‘Donald Brady. His people own Bulpitts. He and his sister Isabel have always been friends of mine.’
‘A wonderful playground. You must feel sad to see it taken over by the Army.’
She looked at him sharply, wondering for a moment if he was laughing at her, but his blue eyes, as they met hers, were full of understanding.
‘I must be getting back,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘Are you going to stay here a little longer?’
‘No, I’ll walk part of the way with you and you can tell me how you were injured.’
‘I’m afraid it wasn’t anything heroic,’ he said, with a wry grin. ‘I was swinging the engine on a truck and didn’t let go in time when it backfired. The plaster comes off soon and then I’ll be going back to my unit.’
‘Oh!’ To hide her disappointment she asked quickly, ‘Where’s that?’
He pursed his lips in a silent whistle. ‘You’re not a spy, are you?’
‘No,’ she smiled, shaking her head.
‘Well, I’m not too sure,’ he teased. ‘They come in all shapes and sizes, and what better way to trap an unwary soldier into giving away the position of his unit than by sending a pretty girl along to chat him up?’
‘If I remember correctly, you followed me, not the other way round,’ Helen reminded him. She stopped as they reached a spot where the path joined the driveway. ‘Your quickest way is to the right,’ she told him. ‘I’m leaving by the side gate. I’ve seen enough soldiers for one day.’
‘But only for one day. You are going to come back? I am going to see you again?’ His blue eyes held hers, trapped.
‘It depends on how soon they remove your plaster, doesn’t it?’ she said, looking away and colouring.
‘I can still see you, even after I rejoin the unit,’ he said determinedly. ‘We’re stationed at Mere and that’s only about five miles away.’
‘Ssh!’ Helen held a warning finger to her lips. ‘You shouldn’t be telling me that. I might just be a spy after all,’ she added impishly.
They had reached a spot where the path divided and, before he could answer, she had taken the small, twisting path to the left that she knew led to a side gate.
As she reached the first bend, she turned round. The soldier was still standing there, watching her and waving.
She hesitated, wondering if perhaps she had been rather offhand with him. He was nice – and very good-looking. It had been exciting meeting him. She wanted to see him again, but an inner caution stopped her from telling him so. Resolutely she continued along the path. Too late she realised she hadn’t even asked him his name.
Chapter 3
It was almost six o’clock when Helen arrived home. After leaving Bulpitts she had gone for a long walk, her mind buzzing with thoughts of the soldier she’d met there.
‘Is that you, Helen?’ her mother called as she walked into the house. She came hurrying into the hall, her face beaming. ‘I’ve got a wonderful surprise for you! Come and see who’s here.’
Helen’s heart pounded and she felt the blood rush to her face. She knew the young soldier had been interested in her but even in her wildest fantasies she hadn’t thought he would find her so soon. She wondered if he had come back with her mother when she’d finished duty. Still, details didn’t matter, only that he was here.
She felt so elated that she almost pushed past her mother in her eagerness to get into the room. Then, once inside the door, she stopped dead, feeling completely let down when she saw Donald Brady standing by the window.
For a moment she felt too choked to speak. Even when Donald planted a hearty kiss on her cheek, a wide grin on his round, full face, she could only manage a watery smile and a tremulous, ‘Hello Donald.’
In his eagerness to tell her that he was joining up, Donald didn’t seem to notice the coolness of her greeting or that she was only making a pretence of listening.
‘And when do you go?’
‘Tomorrow. Terrible rush. My papers only arrived yesterday. Barely left me time to come back here and sort out my things before I report.’
‘Which regiment did you say?’ she asked, desperately trying to show some enthusiasm.
‘Helen, you’ve not been listening, have you? I’m not joining the Army. I’m going into the Air Force. I want to fly, so I’m hoping to train as a pilot.’
‘Isn’t that wonderful?’ her mother enthused. ‘Terribly brave.’
‘And very dangerous,’ Helen said quietly. ‘Still, if that’s what you want, Donald, then I’m pleased for you.’
‘I’ve told Donald he must stay with us tonight, so will you go up and put out some towels in the guest room, Helen?’
‘I’m only here for one night,’ Donald protested. ‘I can make do with my attic quarters at Bulpitts.’
‘Out of the question,’ Mrs Price insisted. ‘The whole place has been taken over by the Army. Since dinner won’t be ready for an hour or so, why don’t you and Helen walk over to Bulpitts and sort out the things you want to take away with you?’
‘I want to have a bath and get changed before dinner,’ Helen said quickly, anxious to avoid going to Bulpitts with Donald. ‘Perhaps Dad should drive over with him. I’m sure Donald has far too much to carry otherwise.’
‘Well …’ Mrs Price looked from one to the other in bewilderment. She had thought that Helen would have jumped at the opportunity to be alone with Donald, but she recognised the stubborn edge in her daughter’s voice and didn’t push the matter. If Donald was disappointed then he wasn’t showing it, she thought as she went into the kitchen to attend to the evening meal.
Helen filled the bath with far more than the permitted three inches of water and lay soaking in it until it was almost cold. As she dressed she studied her figure critically, twisting and turning in front of her dressing-table mirror, appraising her long, slim legs, her well-defined waist and firm, pointed breasts.
She had twirled her long hair into a knot and pinned it on top of her head before stepping into the bath. Now she loosened it so that it cascaded over her naked shoulders in a shimmering, dark cloud. Picking up her brush she began slowly and sensuously to sweep her hair back from her brow, taking the brush right from the roots to the very tips, in long, rhythmic strokes.
As static built up from the friction of her movements, a halo of fine tendrils framed her face. She leant towards the mirror, intrigued by the effect. She wondered how other people saw her and whether or not they thought her attractive.
The soldier had said she was pretty. No one had ever told her that before and she wondered if he’d really meant it. Experimentally, she combed some of the front hair into a fringe. The brown fronds partially concealed her forehead, emphasising the dark brows arched over her big grey eyes. Tentatively, she lifted two wide swathes of hair from each side of her face, taking them to the back of her head, then brushing the rest of her hair so that it draped over her shoulders. Tilting her head to one side she studied the result and decided that she liked it.
‘Donald’s back. Are you almost ready, Helen?’ her mother called from downstairs.
With a guilty start she let her hair fall and hurriedly pulled on a blue cotton shirt-waist dress. S
he could do with some new clothes, she thought, as she struggled to fasten it; this one was decidedly skimpy. Perhaps Donald had some clothing coupons to spare; he wouldn’t be needing them if he was going in the RAF. She must remember to ask him.
Donald monopolised the conversation over dinner. He talked earnestly to Dr Price about the RAF and about his sister, Isabel, who had been posted to a barrage balloon site on the east coast.
Helen pretended to listen but her thoughts kept wandering back to the soldier she’d met earlier in the day and comparing him with Donald.
They were both about the same build, Donald perhaps an inch or so shorter, but there the resemblance ended. The soldier’s powerful physique was lean and muscular. Donald, in flannels and a navy blazer, looked overweight and flabby.
When it came to looks, they weren’t in the same league, she decided, as she remembered the soldier’s handsome face, his firm jawline, and wide-set, brilliantly blue eyes. And his dark hair had been crisp and luxuriant in spite of its regulation cut, while Donald’s brown hair lay as flat as a skull-cap, emphasising the broad shape of his head and the roundness of his face. His hazel eyes were much too close to his prominent nose, she thought critically, and his full lips made his mouth seem overly large and his chin insignificant. By the end of the meal, his loud, cultured voice and forced laugh were beginning to grate on her nerves.
In an effort to get Donald off the subject of the RAF, she broke into the conversation to ask him if he had any unused clothing coupons.
‘I have, but I shall hand them in, of course.’
‘What an awful waste!’ Helen exclaimed.
‘Not at all! It’s the right thing to do,’ he told her virtuously.
‘Wouldn’t you sooner give them to me … I’m badly in need of some?’ Helen pleaded. ‘I seem to have outgrown most of my clothes,’ she added with an embarrassed laugh.
‘Surely you’ll be going into some kind of uniform yourself, so you won’t be needing civilian clothes,’ he said in surprise.
‘Helen’s going to university,’ Mrs Price said quickly.
‘Well she won’t need new clothes to go there, will she?’ Donald argued. ‘I managed for three years without buying anything new,’ he added smugly.
Helen pulled a face. ‘In that case you must have a full book of coupons.’
‘I have, and I’m handing them in!’
‘Pig!’
‘Helen! How dare you speak to Donald like that.’
Helen flushed at her father’s shocked tone. She knew Donald was baiting her – probably trying to get his own back because she wasn’t enthusing about his decision to join up, she thought rebelliously. Because she had always idolised him, he still expected her to hang on his every word. She suddenly felt guilty about the way she was reacting. He was, after all, off to do his bit, while she was staying at home. They’d never quarrelled before and he had always taken her part when Isabel criticised her, so she owed him some loyalty.
‘Sorry Donald,’ she said contritely.
‘That’s OK. I suppose I could spare you some of my coupons if you need them so desperately. Not all of them … I must hand some in.’
‘Thanks, Donald.’ She grinned across the table at him.
‘Look, if we’ve all finished, why don’t you and Helen go for a walk, Donald? I’m sure there are friends you want to say “goodbye” to,’ Mrs Price suggested.
‘I’ll give you a hand with the washing-up first,’ Helen said quickly. For some inexplicable reason she didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening with Donald and she hoped he might go off on his own.
‘No, run along. Your father will help me tonight,’ Mrs Price said firmly. ‘Don’t be too late back.’
Their evening wasn’t a success. Donald talked incessantly about the RAF. His enthusiasm was overpowering. He was in such deadly earnest that he seemed to have completely lost his sense of humour. After one or two witticisms that fell flat, Helen gave up trying and closed her ears to the boring, repetitive details. It even amused her that everyone was so impressed … until they began to catalogue their own achievements, plans and ambitions. They were all playing such a vital part in the war effort that she began to feel uncomfortably guilty … and envious.
As they walked home, Helen felt a sense of relief when Donald said he would be leaving very early the next morning. She was taken by surprise, however, when he stopped just inside the gateway, grabbed her shoulders, and spun her round so that she was facing him.
‘Look,’ he began awkwardly, ‘I don’t know how to say this but … will you write to me?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d have time to read letters. From the way you’ve been talking, what with the training and exams and night-flying and bombing raids, you’ll be lucky if you even find time to eat and sleep,’ she said, rather disparagingly.
His hands dropped from her shoulders. ‘I have rather exaggerated it all, I suppose. I don’t really know what to expect. In fact, I’m rather dreading it all. The thought of flying, even of just going up in a plane, scares me stiff … that’s why letters from you would mean so much.’
‘So why did you volunteer for the RAF then?’ Helen asked in amazement.
‘I didn’t have a lot of choice, did I?’ Donald answered, his mouth tightening. ‘With my parents working flat out at the War Office, and Isabel serving in the WAAF, I had to do something.’
‘You could have gone into the Army.’
‘No, it wouldn’t have worked,’ Donald told her grimly. ‘Dad would never have let me forget that he was a Colonel. This way at least there won’t be any comparisons.’
‘Except with Isabel.’
‘Not quite the same thing. I’m hoping to train as a pilot so I’ll be operational.’
Remembering how stern and blustering Colonel Brady always was, Helen suddenly felt sorry for Donald. ‘You’d better give me your address,’ she told him.
‘You mean you will write!’ he said with relief. ‘I’ll have to send it on to you. Tomorrow I just report to a reception depot where we are issued with our uniforms.’
‘Donald, you don’t really have to risk your neck being a pilot, do you?’
‘It’s what I want,’ he insisted doggedly, his mouth tightening stubbornly.
‘Why? It’s a death wish. You’ve only to listen to the news each day to know that. Every time there’s a bombing raid over Germany more than half of our planes are shot down or reported missing.’
Donald’s face hardened. ‘It’s what I want. As an Army conscript I wouldn’t stand much chance of ever becoming a Colonel, so Dad would always have the edge on me.’
‘Does that really matter?’ Helen asked in surprise.
‘To me, yes,’ he told her grimly. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone but you to know that, though,’ he added quickly.
‘Our secret,’ she promised. Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her lips against his cheek to seal the pact.
Donald caught her to him, crushing her so fiercely that his blazer buttons bruised her.
‘I wish you were older Helen,’ he groaned, burying his face in her hair.
Embarrassed, she tried to wriggle free. She was fond of Donald in a brotherly way. They’d grown up together, played together, shared secrets and teased each other. This new Donald, so serious and intense, made her feel uneasy.
Suddenly, she found his mouth was covering hers. She felt the sharpness of his teeth as he forced her lips apart and his tongue invaded her mouth in a ferocious kiss that left her gasping for breath.
‘Promise you’ll wait for me,’ he rasped, his eyes glistening in the dusk as his gaze searched her face. His hand grabbed tightly at her hair, forcing her head back so that he could, once again, plunder the sweetness between her lips. She found herself pinioned in the crook of his arm, while his other hand roamed feverishly over her body, cupping and squeezing her breasts, gripping her buttocks, sliding under her cotton dress and up the length of her thighs, his fingers searching and probing.
She struggled frantically, jerking her head sideways, pushing his hand away, wriggling and twisting until she managed to free herself from his embrace. Her heart was pounding against her ribs as she stumbled towards the house.
Only when she was in her room, and the door bolted, did she allow herself to think about what had happened. Her lips were burning and swollen from the assault of his mouth, her body sore from his rough, intimate handling. She was shaking with anger that he should treat her in such a way.
She went over to the dressing-table and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were feverishly bright and there was fear in their grey depths. This was the first time any man had ever kissed her in such a way and she was filled with a burning shame.
Still trembling, she undressed and crawled into bed. For a long time she lay there, curled into a ball, frightened and humiliated by the experience.
To her relief, Donald had already gone when she came down to breakfast the next morning.
‘He said not to wake you as you’d said your “goodbyes” last night,’ her mother explained. ‘He’s left you a full book of clothing coupons,’ she added. ‘We must have a day out when you’ve decided what you want to buy.’
‘Yes.’ Helen pushed the book to one side, almost as if it was tainted.
‘What are you going to do today?’ her mother asked briskly. ‘You can’t sit around moping just because Donald’s gone, you know. Perhaps you’d better come along to Bulpitts with me. I can find plenty there for you to do.’
Chapter 4
Adam Woodley left the medical room with a spring in his step and feeling pounds lighter. They’d taken off his plaster cast and replaced it with a khaki sling.
‘You’re leaving us then?’ Mrs Price smiled, as she saw him clearing his bedside locker. ‘Now mind you don’t overdo things with that arm. It will take a little time before it’s strong again.’
‘I know.’ He patted the breast-pocket of his tunic. ‘The MO’s put me on “light duties only” until I come back in three weeks for a check-up.’
‘You would have had a better chance of resting your arm if they’d sent you home on leave for a couple of weeks.’
