The Granville Affaire

by Una-Mary Parker

  ‘Do you mean it?’ she asked, stunned.

  ‘With all my heart, darling. I’m crazy for you. I should have asked you years ago; what the hell was I thinking of?’ He shook his head, bemused. ‘My darling one, I want to marry you more than anything in the world. When this damned war is over, we’ll have such a good time. It’ll be like the old days, only better. Please say you will, Juliet.’

  She smiled slowly. ‘I’d really love to, Eddie,’ she said softly.

  ‘You will? My God, you will?’ He was almost shouting.

  Juliet nodded, feeling quite light-headed with the relief of knowing she now had a plan for living, a future with someone who loved her and would care for her.

  He gripped her hand so hard it hurt. ‘Let’s get out of here and go home,’ he said, flushed with happiness.

  Their love-making for the rest of the night was rapturous, as if the promise of a future together gave their relationship new meaning.

  ‘I love you… I love you… I love you…’ he said passionately, as the dawn came up, and it was time for him to leave.

  ‘I love you too,’ she said, holding him close for the last time.

  ‘I want you to have this.’ Edward took off his gold signet ring and put it on her finger. ‘Next time let’s announce our engagement properly. We might even get married if my leave is longer.’

  ‘I hope it’s soon,’ she whispered. ‘Write to me, Eddie. And I’ll write to you and hope you get my letters.’

  His last kiss, before he hurried away down the front door steps, left Juliet bereft. It had been the most marvellous and extraordinary few days. She’d found love with an old friend, of whom she previously been merely fond. Now she could feel happy and secure for the first time for ages.

  * * *

  Louise stole down the stairs, keeping close to the wall, groping her way until she reached the hall. Pausing, she listened intently, but there wasn’t a sound. The grandfather clock chimed a quarter past midnight; Jack would be waiting for her at their meeting place.

  Once through the green baize door to the kitchen area, it only took her a moment to unlock the back door, and slip into the garden.

  The night was warm and starry. Hurrying along the grass verge that bordered the drive, she was out of the gates, hurrying down the lane to the bridge. A dark figure suddenly stepped from the hedgerows. She gave a little yelp of fright.

  ‘It’s only me,’ Jack whispered, reaching for her hand. Louise’s heart thudded. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought we were meeting under the hawthorn tree.’

  His arm slid round her waist with such ease she felt it might always have belonged there.

  ‘Ta for the note,’ he said, as they walked over the bridge and then turned right along a tree-lined path that led away from the village. ‘I’m sorry you got grief from your Mum; she don’ like me, does she?’

  ‘Mummy doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t fit her picture of the perfect man,’ Louise retorted.

  Jack gave a soft chuckle. ‘A snob, is she? Cor! No wonder she finks I ain’t good enough for you.’

  ‘And it’s rubbish. Amanda and I had quite a row with her. I think Granny secretly took our side, but of course she couldn’t say so. It’s what someone’s like, not where they come from, that counts,’ she added robustly.

  ‘I like your sister. Gutsy, ain’t she?’

  Louise spoke with pride. ‘She wants to be a Member of Parliament when she grows up. She’s a dedicated socialist.’

  Jack’s chuckle deepened. ‘Know wot I read somewhere?’

  ‘No. What?’

  ‘It said: “A person who ain’t a socialist when they’re eighteen, ain’t got no ’eart. And a person who’s still a socialist when they’re forty, ain’t got no ’ead”.’

  Louise turned to look at him by the soft glow of the stars. ‘I don’t think I agree with that.’

  ‘’Oo cares about bloomin’ politics?’ He threw back his head and laughed. ‘It’s now that counts, ain’t it? This minute. An’ meetin’ you, like this.’

  She felt hot and trembly. They’d arrived at the grassy bank, and Jack gently pulled her down, and then tipped her back, so they were lying side by side in the long dark grass.

  ‘Jack…’ she began nervously.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he whispered, leaning on his elbow, and looking down into her face. ‘You don’ ’ave to do anyfink you don’ want to.’

  She smiled at him, trying to make out his features under the shadow of the overhanging branches. Twigs were sticking into her back, and she was sure the ground was damp, but a great wave of happiness flowed over her. For answer she reached up and put her arm around his neck. A moment later she felt his mouth on hers, kissing her deeply.

  They lay for a long time like that, though it only seemed like seconds to her, and then through her jumper, she felt his hand cupping one of her breasts, and squeezing it gently.

  She gave a little gasp of intense pleasure, and wriggling closer to him, became transported by the most exciting sensations she’d ever felt. She’d no idea it would be as wonderful as this, and yet they hadn’t even…

  Jack sat up slowly and carefully after a while. ‘Time I got you ’ome,’ he said in a throaty whisper.

  Louise felt a pang of the bitterest disappointment. ‘Really?’

  ‘You don’t want to get caught, sneaking back into the ’ouse, at dawn, does you?’ Jumping up, he grabbed her hands, and pulled her to her feet.

  ‘I suppose not.’ Her whole body ached strangely, and she felt resentful, as if she’d been deprived of something she’d desperately wanted.

  ‘When can we meet again?’ she asked, as they walked slowly back to the bridge.

  ‘Saturday night? ’Alf-past twelve OK?’

  ‘Yes. If I’m late, it means not everyone’s gone to bed. Daddy’s home at weekends, and sometimes we have people staying.’

  ‘Right-o.’

  They walked on in silence, holding hands. On the other side of the bridge, Jack took her in his arms again, and hugged her so that they stood close together.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  She whispered, ‘I’m fine,’ forgiving him for leaving her so unsatisfied, but knowing she’d see him again in three days.

  ‘Bye then.’

  To her surprise, the clock in the hall chimed four as she crept stealthily up the stairs, and back into her room.

  The next morning she had to surreptitiously shake her jumper out of the window, to get rid of the tell-tale twigs embedded in the wool.

  * * *

  ‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ Rosie observed curiously, at breakfast.

  Louise felt herself turning crimson. ‘I can’t think why,’ she said haughtily. ‘Except the summer holidays start soon.’

  ‘And,’ Amanda added brightly, ‘there’s a school trip to the local tannery this afternoon, which makes a nice change from maths.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ Rosie remarked drily, as she picked up the Daily Express to read the latest news on the war. Since Charles’s death, she’d withdrawn into herself, and her life had narrowed down once more into looking after Sophia and Jonathan, and helping in the house and in the kitchen garden.

  There were no more visits to Piltdown Court, Speedwell Cottage was a thing of the past, and she hadn’t been to London for months.

  ‘Give her time,’ Lady Anne observed, when Liza fretted about Rosie ‘letting herself go’.

  ‘She should be getting out and about,’ Liza pointed out. ‘She’s losing her looks, and have you seen her hands? All that gardening is terrible for the nails.’

  Lady Anne ignored this, as she clicked away with her knitting needles. ‘When Rosie’s ready, she’ll get into the swing of things again. Meanwhile, I think Sophia and Jonathan are greatly benefitting from being with her all the time. Especially now they have no father.’

  ‘But Rosie’s too young to be buried down here,’ Liza argued. ‘I’m trying to get her to go and
stay with Juliet for a few days. The air raids have died down recently, and it would do her the world of good. I want to go up to town myself next week,’ she added restlessly.

  And that, reflected her mother-in-law, was the crux of the matter. Rosie was doing fine under the circumstances, conducting her recent widowhood with dignity while she put her children first. It was Liza who was desperate to get back to town.

  * * *

  ‘My darling one. I miss you more than words can say. I can’t wait to have you in my arms again…’

  Juliet read Edward’s love letter once more, before placing it with the others he’d written, in a silver casket by her bed.

  She had no idea where he was, and certain lines of the letter had been obliterated with a thick blue pencil by the Army censor, cutting out clues as to where he was stationed. But he wrote constantly of his devotion, his longing for the day they could be together again, and his plans, once the war was over, to leave the army and get a job in the city.

  ‘…We’re going to have a blissful life,’ he’d written in one of his letters, ‘going to all the places we’ve never been to, like Africa and America. I wish we hadn ’t wasted all those years before the War, when we could have been in Paris, or Venice, or Rome. Darling Juliet, I want to see the world with you, and everything that’s in it. God knows when I’ll next get leave. I think of you all the time, and long for you every night.’

  Sometimes, when she was off duty, Juliet lay in bed at night, reading and re-reading Edward’s letters. Quiet nights now, except for the occasional air raid.

  Morale in London was good, though not relaxed. The intensive bombing could start again at any time, and everyone continued to take precautions.

  ‘How does this compare to the Great War?’ Juliet asked her father, as they lunched in the city, near Hammerton’s Bank, one summer’s day.

  ‘It was quite different then,’ Henry replied thoughtfully. ‘This time, civilians are in the firing line as much as the armed forces. Ian reckons nearly thirty thousand people have been killed so far.’

  ‘How much longer do you think it will last?’ she asked, realizing after the first mouthful that her tomato omelette was made from dry powdered eggs.

  ‘Darling, I haven’t the faintest. Thank God America has joined in to help us, after the terrible disaster of Pearl Harbour, and Russia is on our side, too. It’s going to be a long hard slog, though.’

  ‘Amanda’s mad about anything Russian. She thinks their communist state is wonderful.’

  Henry grinned at the thought of his rebellious daughter. ‘If Amanda has her way when she’s grown up, she’ll insist we’re all equal, even if that means becoming a communist herself!’

  ‘Mummy must be having fits!’ Juliet observed, laughing.

  Something hard appeared at the back of Henry’s blue eyes. ‘When are you coming down for the weekend, again?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘Soon,’ she promised.

  He looked at her closely. Her face was thinner, so her cheekbones were more sculpted, and her pale eyes looked larger than ever. Although she was a year younger than Rosie, Henry realized she looked much older; not in terms of age, but because experience and the terrible sights she’d seen had matured her way beyond her years.

  ‘I hope you have someone nice in your life at the moment?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Yes, I have, Daddy,’ she said, looking confidingly into his face. ‘Do you remember Edward Courtney? I met him years ago. He’s in the Army. Somewhere overseas.’ She sighed. ‘We manage to get letters from each other, which is something.’

  ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘He asked me to marry him when he was last on leave. And I said I would. But we’re not engaged or anything, so don’t tell Mummy. When he returns, we’ll probably announce it publicly.’

  ‘I’m so glad, darling,’ Henry said warmly. ‘You deserve some happiness. My God, is that the time? I must fly. I’ve got meetings all afternoon. Come down to Hartley, soon, won’t you?’ he said wistfully. ‘I miss you, you know.’

  ‘Oh, Dads.’ As they said good-bye, Juliet hugged him tightly. ‘What would I do without you? I’ll come down for a weekend, as soon as I can. And remember… not a word to anyone.’

  ‘I promise.’

  It was a promise he kept, which, looking back afterwards, he was to bitterly regret.

  * * *

  The moon was so brilliant, Louise was terrified they’d be seen. By now it was late July, a hot balmy month that was making her feel languorous and dreamy. She’d been able to creep out of the house on several occasions during the last few weeks to meet Jack by the bridge, before they hurried off to their secret place, where they lay on the grass in each other’s arms, kissing and talking in whispers.

  Tonight something was different. In the bright moonlight, Jack was staring at her, his mouth half open, his cheeks ruddy. Instead of taking her hand as he usually did, he just stood, quite still, his eyes wide, almost as if he were scared of something.

  ‘Hello,’ she said diffidently.

  He went on staring at her. Then he gulped. ‘I want you so much,’ he blurted out suddenly.

  Louise looked back at him, shocked, realizing what he meant. It was as if a dark, forbidden but terribly grown-up and exciting world was opening up before her, and she started trembling. But there was also a mysterious feeling, tugging deeply inside her, longing to be assuaged.

  ‘Do you?’ she whispered.

  He nodded. ‘I’ve wanted you for a long time. Don’ you want to…?’

  ‘Oh! Yes.’ Standing, looking frail and vulnerable in her little cotton frock, she reached out for his hand.

  ‘Come on then.’ He led the way in silence to their special place. Louise followed, clutching his hand, thrilled by the way he was taking control, being commanding like a grown-up. Only the back of his pale neck, visible above his shirt in the moonlight, wrenched her heart with tenderness, because it was the neck of a boy.

  When they reached their secret spot, Jack knelt on the grass, pulling her down so she was kneeling opposite him and they were face to face.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered, slipping his hands around her waist. He looked feverish as if he had difficulty in breathing.

  ‘So are you – handsome, I mean,’ she murmured, quaking with fear and desire. She reached up to stroke his face, which looked strangely intense, and he turned quickly to kiss the palm of her hand.

  ‘Have you ever…?’ he whispered throatily, his hands gently tracing the outline of her breasts through her cotton frock.

  ‘No, never.’

  He hung his head and spoke softly. ‘Neither have I.’

  Louise felt glad about that. It was going to be the first time for both of them; just like Romeo and Juliet.

  Pent up passion and nervousness made Jack clumsy as he took off his shirt.

  ‘Shall I take off my dress?’ she asked shyly.

  His kiss was hurried and rough. ‘I want to see all of you.’

  In that moment, she realized she’d see all of him.

  As she lay back on the grass, the impulsiveness of Jack’s youth swept him forward, wanting her now, quickly, urgently, driving him on to seek fulfilment. At first she felt pain and was scared. He had become a stranger, not the gentle boy who just kissed her. But then she heard him groan, as if in great pain, too; ‘I love you,’ she whispered, and in a rip tide of feeling and a moment of blinding delight, she experienced an almost unbearable sensation of pleasure.

  Jack lay panting afterwards, as if he’d run a hard race, and won. Louise felt energized, wonderful, as if she could keep on running.

  ‘I never knew it would be like that!’ she whispered with awe. ‘Did you?’

  His face was buried in her neck. ‘Sure I didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘Only a little. At first. But not afterwards.’ She moved her hips beneath him as if to recapture the moment, and almost immediately a searing, desperate need for him filled her again.

  ‘
Jack?’ she whispered. ‘Can we…?’

  As he moved once more, the feeling became stronger, there was no pain and only pleasure now, and she would have been happy to have died at that moment, as long as the sensations lasted for ever.

  * * *

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Peter Osborne asked, coldly.

  ‘I just don’t want to,’ Juliet retorted. ‘Taking me out to dinner doesn’t mean you can automatically go to bed with me afterwards, you know.’

  He crushed the remains of his Woodbine cigarette into the ash tray the waiter had placed on their table.

  ‘It hasn’t stopped you in the past,’ he said nastily.

  She drew herself upright, deeply offended. ‘How dare you talk to me like that,’ she exploded. Gathering up her furs and evening bag, she rose from the table.

  ‘I didn’t mean…!’ Peter pushed his own chair back and got to his feet. ‘Don’t be like this, Juliet. You know I think the world of you.’

  ‘Forget it,’ she snapped. ‘And don’t bother seeing me home. I’d prefer to go on my own.’

  He followed her across the crowded restaurant of the Savoy. People turned to watch their progress with amusement; was there anything as fascinating as a lovers’ tiff?

  But Juliet was serious. She’d promised to be faithful to Edward, and that was what she was doing. If her men friends couldn’t accept inviting her to wine and dine, without the expectation of having sex with her afterwards, then she wouldn’t go out with them again.

  ‘Come on, Juliet,’ Peter coaxed. ‘We’ve been good together in the past, haven’t we?’ As he spoke, the fumes of whisky on his breath assailed her.

  ‘I’m not discussing this any further,’ she protested angrily, hurrying to a waiting taxi.

  He grabbed her arm, pulling her back. ‘You know you love it. You know you want it,’ he growled. ‘It’s too late to be playing hard-to-get with me, old girl. I know you too well.’

  Juliet spun round, eyes blazing, wrenching her arm from his grip as she spoke. ‘I never want to see you again,’ she snarled. ‘Get the hell out of my life.’