by Cathy Sharp
‘It won’t take a moment to cancel.’
Mark used the telephone in the hall to make the call, apologising and rebooking for another night. She looked up at him with a welcoming smile as came through into the pleasant living room. The apartment she’d made her home was at the top of what had been a warehouse before the war. An enterprising builder had restored the fire-damaged building, turning it into a light and spacious block of flats with skylights overhead. Angela had furnished hers with antiques and comfortable seating and made it her own with quirky twists that gave it a unique character. They sat down together but Mark kept hold of her hand, looking into her eyes. ‘You do know that I love you and want to marry you, don’t you, my darling?’ he said and knelt down by her side, taking her hand in his and carrying it to his lips to kiss it.
‘Mark, I’ve been so afraid that I’d lost you – I thought I’d kept you at a distance too long … and I’ve been angry over things that weren’t your fault. How can you put up with me?’
‘I told you after John died that I would always be there for you, dearest,’ he said and traced the line of her cheek with his fingertips. ‘What I haven’t dared to tell you before is how much I love and want you, Angela. I knew you weren’t ready and I thought there might be someone else in your life – and then …’ He drew a deep sigh. ‘Well, we don’t need to go into all that again. I can only hope you care for me enough to marry me?’
Angela felt like her heart would burst as he said these words. ‘I care for you deeply,’ she said, her eyes shining as she smiled up at him. ‘For a long time I couldn’t think of you as anything but a friend – but then, when I thought I’d lost you …’ She shook her head, her hair soft and silky, and its perfume rose like a cloud to inflame his senses. ‘We’ve both been fools, Mark – but we shan’t be any more, shall we?’
‘Not if I have anything to say about it,’ Mark said and bent his head. His kiss was tender and sweet with a hint of the underlying passion that filled him. ‘I want you, Angela. I love you and I want you – to make love to you – for the rest of my life.’
‘Are you asking—’ Angela got no further because he took her in his arms and kissed her again. She responded, melting into him until it felt as if they’d become one. ‘I love you, Mark, and the answer is yes, whatever you were asking …’
‘Are you very hungry?’ Mark asked and rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. ‘Or could that salad wait for a while?’
‘It can wait,’ she whispered in a husky, sexy voice that made him ache with need. ‘But I can’t.’
‘Angela darling …’
She laughed as Mark’s strong arms swept her off her feet, holding her close to him. Angela let her hands stray up into his hair at the nape of his neck. Her fingers began to stroke the tender spot there and he growled low in his throat as the heat spread through him, his breath quickening as he looked down at her. Those azure eyes seemed to entice and tease; this was the woman he’d dreamed of so often, all the sadness gone and only love left – love for him.
Angela’s bed looked freshly made and, as he gently placed her down on the edge and sat beside her, he could smell the sweetness of laundered sheets and lavender. Somehow between them, though afterwards he could never recall how, the covers were thrown back to reveal crisp white sheets and both his and her clothes were discarded over the floor and chairs close to the bed. Achieved with giggles, moans, teasing kisses and clumsy fingers, he was aware of buttons popping and a fragile blouse being torn, probably beyond repair, but nothing mattered. They were eager and needy and they came together with frantic haste, as the restraint and loneliness of years boiled over into heated passion.
She was so damned beautiful! Mark lost his head, because in all the dreams he’d had of making love to her nothing had come close to seeing the soft pearly whiteness of her skin and the gentle curve of generous breasts and a slim waist, and the gentle swell of her belly that made him want to bury his face in its softness. Her long legs were smooth and shapely as he ran his finger down them, between her thighs. Kissing each part he touched, right to the tips of her toes, he felt her tremble with her own need. He breathed her in, kissing and caressing her with his tongue and stroking fingers, exploring each new exciting place with tenderness and pleasure in the treasure he’d longed for. Touching her, kissing her, holding her naked body close to his was all heady excitement, his hands stroking down the arch of her back, her silken flesh quivering at his touch as she moaned and pressed herself against him.
She was so hot and wet when he sought out that intimate core of her sexuality and stroked, his fingers moving with a delicate touch that made her gasp and arch beneath him. It was like playing a priceless violin, as he paid her homage, the sweetness of her breath on his face and her perfume enveloping him, as they came together in the beautiful rhythm of love. As they lay together afterwards in the sweet aftermath of perfect loving, he felt drained of everything, as if all the pain and wanting and weeping had all gone out of him, swept away on a tide of desire and sweet fulfilment.
‘Mark,’ she whispered, and he pulled her into his side. ‘Oh, Mark, I feel so wonderful – happy …’ She looked up at him as he raised himself on his elbow and gazed down at her searchingly. ‘I wasn’t sure if – but it was so right – so good between us … I feel …’ she laughed and reached up to touch his face. ‘I feel different – new …’
Mark smiled and bent to kiss her. ‘I’m exhausted, hungry and – don’t ask me to explain, because I couldn’t: I’ve never felt like this before, I don’t think there are words to describe it. I suppose utter contentment might come close.’
Angela laughed, shaking her hair out as she sat up. He liked the slightly shorter bouncy style that made her look exactly as she had when she was twenty-two and he had first set eyes on her at a party. ‘I think earth-shattering might be nearer the mark,’ she said, and then slid her long slim legs over the bed, reaching for a pale blue silken robe, which she tied loosely at the waist. She still had the best ankles Mark had ever seen on a woman.
‘As you’re so exhausted and hungry, stay there while I cook the steak. The salad is waiting in the cool box.’
Mark made a grab at her as she passed him on her way through to the kitchen, but she avoided him and laughed. He got out of bed and followed her, finding her about to place the steaks in a pan. Still naked, he put his arms about her and nuzzled her neck.
Angela turned and kissed him, her eyes bright with laughter. ‘Please behave yourself, Mark. I’m trying to show you what a good wife I shall be.’
‘And when was that decided?’ he asked with mock severity. ‘I’m not sure I quite recall.’
‘Who said it had to be the man who asked?’ Angela said, throwing her challenge at him with eyes as bright as a cheeky robin’s. ‘I’ve decided that’s what I want – are you going to deny me?’
‘I wouldn’t dare,’ he murmured. ‘Come back to bed, darling – and then I’ll cook the damned steaks.’
Angela sat with a sheet of paper in her typewriter, staring into space. She hadn’t typed a word yet – she was too ridiculously happy to think about a mundane report. After John’s death she hadn’t expected to feel like this again. It wasn’t the same as she’d felt when John had swept her off her feet and married her before she had time to touch earth again. No, this time she knew exactly where she was and what she was doing. Mark’s love seemed to close the circle of her life, completing what she already had and making it whole.
Her work had given her a great deal, but she’d known something extra was needed. Mark’s loving; his presence in her bed when they woke up, made love yet again and then rushed madly from the bathroom to the kitchen, time only for a cup of tea and a slice of buttered toast that they finished eating in the lift, because they were both late for work, were a joy to her.
And it could be the same every night and morning from now on … A sigh left her lips; she hadn’t thought it was possible to feel this content. Not that it would
all be plain sailing. They would need to decide where to live, and Angela didn’t want to give up her apartment. Mark said he could sell his and they would live in hers until they bought something in the suburbs. She knew he meant when children came along, and that might be sooner than Angela wanted, given their passion for each other.
‘I shan’t ask you to give up work when it happens,’ Mark had told her as they lay in bed discussing the future. ‘I’ll share the child care and we’ll have a nanny for the times that neither of us can be there. I know that’s what you want. I would never ask you to give up the work you love so much.’
No one else but Mark – no other man – would ever have made that promise; he was ahead of his time, a special, caring man. Angela knew it, just as she knew he would keep his word and enjoy doing it. Mark wanted children, as she did, but he didn’t believe a woman’s place was necessarily in the home. What she wasn’t sure of was how she would feel when the babies did come along – would she want to continue working? She smiled to herself. Was it possible to have it all? To have a husband she loved, children, and hold down a job she knew was vitally important? She would certainly have a damned good try!
Smiling to herself, Angela started typing. Everything was well under way with the Christmas campaign. She’d had her cards printed to sell at the bazaar she was holding that evening, then on Saturday they were taking the children to the pantomime, and she was keeping her fingers crossed that for once the sick wards would be empty so that none of her children need miss out on the treat this year. She’d even managed to persuade Sister Beatrice to come along, as well as Mark and her father.
Angela’s father was coming up to town for a few days that weekend. He would be there for the pantomime and the carols, and then she would go home on Christmas Eve. Mark wanted a quiet wedding in the local church before they went on their holiday, which was now to be a honeymoon.
‘Angela, could I have a word?’ Nan said, breaking Angela’s happy train of thought. ‘I know you’re busy with all the preparations for the concert on Sunday afternoon and the bazaar this evening, but could you come and have a word with Tilly please?’
‘Of course, Nan. What is the problem?’
‘She arrived at work this morning with her stockings torn and blood on her hands and knees. It seems she had an accident on her way in.’
‘On her way in to work?’ Angela was surprised. ‘I thought she was living in the Nurses’ Home?’
‘Yes, she is, but last night her mother came to meet her from work and begged her to go home. It seems that one of the children was ill and her husband – Tilly’s stepfather – didn’t come home last night or the previous one. She was in a bit of a state, so Tilly went home with her. Now she’s in floods of tears and she wants to talk to you.’
Angela smothered a sigh and left her desk. It was too much to hope that everything would run smoothly for the whole of the day …
‘Ma was in such a state she couldn’t do anything,’ Tilly said, wiping her cheeks on the hanky Angela gave her. ‘I had to get Mags and Roddy off to school and then I ran all the way to catch my bus … but I had to cross the road and a bike came round the corner and knocked me off my feet. I missed the bus and so I walked in, but my knee hurts and I know I’m late and you’ll be fed up with me and my problems—’
‘We’re not so hard-hearted,’ Angela said, smiling as Muriel offered the trembling girl a cup of tea. ‘When you’ve had your tea, I want you to go up to the ward and let Michelle look at your knee. First of all, what happened when you were knocked over by this bike – was it deliberate?’
‘No. It was the apprentice from the butcher’s on the corner. He’s not long started work there and he couldn’t have been more apologetic about running into me, but it was my fault – I was in such a hurry to get here, I stepped into the road without looking.’
‘Tilly, we don’t want you to kill yourself getting here,’ Angela teased. ‘All I ask is that you do your work properly when you’re here.’
Tilly threw her a watery smile, then, ‘Ma is certain my stepfather has left her,’ she said, ‘but he hasn’t taken anything. I think he might have had an accident. I was wonderin’ whether I should telephone the hospitals. What do you think, Mrs Morton?’
‘I think you should get yourself up to Michelle and ask her to look at your knee. I’ll ring round for you – now what is your stepfather’s full name?’
‘Arthur Mallens,’ Tilly said and blew her nose on Angela’s handkerchief. ‘I’ll wash this for you and return it. Thanks ever so much for helpin’ me, Mrs Morton.’
‘No promises, but I’ll do what I can. Off you go now … can you manage to walk by yourself?’ Angela asked as Tilly hobbled a few steps.
‘I’ll help Tilly,’ Nancy said, entering the kitchen. ‘Jean is with the infants while I have a cup of tea. Take hold of my arm, Tilly.’
‘You’re all so good,’ Tilly said, eyes watering once more.
‘Well, I should think you could do with a cup of tea yourself after that, Angela,’ Muriel said when they had gone, but Angela shook her head.
‘I won’t stop now, if you don’t mind. I’ve a lot on this morning – and I must ring round the hospitals and the police station first, for Tilly’s sake …’
FORTY-ONE
Michelle patched Tilly up and gave her an aspirin to help with the pain in her knee. She listened while the girl told her tale of woe and then hobbled off to do what she could. Nan would put her on light jobs until her knee was better, but Tilly was determined to work and refused to take the day off.
‘I couldn’t do that after all Miss Angela and Nan have done for me,’ she said. ‘I should’ve looked what I was doin’, but everything’s been topsy-turvy all night.’
Michelle got on with her duties in the ward. Fortunately, they hadn’t had any serious illness recently and she was keeping her fingers crossed that none of the children would go down with the flu or a bad tummy bug before the weekend. All the children were excited about the pantomime on Saturday and the concert in the church hall on Sunday. Several of the children had been rehearsing their parts for weeks and it would be a shame if any of them had to miss it.
‘Why, it doesn’t look as if you’ve missed me at all,’ Wendy said cheerily as she came into the ward. ‘I’ve only this minute got back, but I thought I’d best come straight over in case you were rushed off your feet.’
‘We’ve been lucky these past few days, it’s not been busy at all,’ Michelle said, looking at her bright face. ‘It seems the trip did you good – how are the twins settling?’
‘Really well,’ Wendy said and smiled happily. ‘They love being on the farm with their aunt and uncle. Samantha’s spending her days learning to cook with her auntie, because she won’t start school until she’s learned a bit of French. Henri Bernard is as pleasant as his wife, and he absolutely dotes on the twins, especially Sarah. He takes her everywhere on his shoulders. He’s teaching her to ride the pony – and she loves it. You should hear her chatter away in French! She’s picking it up much faster than her sister, and she never stops talking to Monsieur Bertrand – it’s almost as if something has unlocked inside her and she’s a different child.’
‘I’m so pleased,’ Michelle said. ‘I know Angela will be too. Have you seen her yet?’
‘Not yet. Nan said she’s very busy so I thought I would come here first and see if you need help.’
‘Well, since you’re back, I think we’ll do a hair inspection – make sure none of them have nits. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I scrub them clean, back they come.’
‘That’s because a lot of kids don’t get their hair washed often enough at home, so our children catch them at school,’ Wendy said. ‘When are you going to fit it in? It’s the pantomime on Saturday …’
‘We’ll do the little ones in the morning and then bring the others in in batches once they’ve had their tea.’
‘There will be some long faces then,’ Wendy said, but
the smile didn’t leave her eyes.
‘You look so happy,’ Michelle said. ‘I thought you would be miserable, having to leave the twins in France.’
‘I’m going back next time I have a holiday.’ Wendy laughed huskily. ‘The twins want me to – and Henri and Françoise have invited me to stay whenever I wish … and I think I shall!’
Wendy obviously had a secret. Michelle suspected it was more than just her affection for the twins drawing her back to France, but she clearly wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Perhaps she’d met someone out there and fallen in love, or at least been attracted to someone.
The thought of Wendy finding love reminded Michelle that she needed to make up her mind what she was going to do about Eric, especially with Sister Norton waiting for an answer on Matty’s future. Eric had told her when she rang him that he was coming home this weekend, and she’d managed to get him a ticket for the St Saviour’s concert, though she couldn’t get one for the pantomime.
She was going to have to decide once and for all, because although Matty was still in the wheelchair he would be coming back to St Saviour’s for Christmas – and Michelle didn’t want to raise his hopes of a family life unless she was sure …
‘I hope you don’t mind me popping in?’ Wendy said later that afternoon. ‘Nan said you were busy earlier, but I knew you would want to hear about the twins …’
‘I do indeed,’ Angela said. ‘Are they happy there?’
‘Yes, very content,’ Wendy told her. ‘It is a lovely big old farmhouse with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof, and they have a huge old-fashioned bread oven where Françoise bakes gorgeous fresh loaves and croissants every morning. She gives the girls lots of butter and honey, eggs and soft white cheese, and thick slices of ham – and she is teaching Samantha to cook her special stews. Sarah didn’t want me to leave, but I’ve been told I can visit whenever I like.’
‘It sounds perfect, I almost envy them,’ Angela said. ‘I know much of France was devastated by the war, but it sounds as if the Bernards escaped without much damage.’
