“Then you do feel the same way about me as I feel about you!” he said. “I thought perhaps I was fooling myself and that it was all on my side only.”
“I love you,” she said. “It has been building up in me ever since I first saw you, something disturbing me and tearing at me. Now I know what it was. Simply love for you, Rodney.”
“I wish I could stay, Helen. There is nothing in the world I’d rather do than stay here with you. But I’m caught up in affairs not of my making, and I must play my part in them,” he said as he kept tracing imaginary pictures on her naked belly and breasts.
Helen pressed her head deeper into his shoulder. “I don’t want to go into the politics of it Rodney, I love you and I don’t want any cause, Rebels or State, right or wrong, to take you from me.”
“It must be so,” Rodney whispered. “My arm is healing well. I cannot stay any longer. But I’ll return. I don’t know what the future holds, and it would be wrong to deny that I am in the midst of intrigue which could lead anywhere. Whatever comes of it, though, I’ll find a way of returning to you.”
“They did harm before…they shot you in the arm, and they might do it again,” she mumbled miserably.
“I must take my chance tomorrow,” he said, stroking her hair.
“To go headlong into danger, even to be killed…to become another good man sacrificed in the stupidity of war!” She lifted her head to him, and he saw tears dimming her wide blue eyes.
“No,” he said huskily. “To come back to you and love you forever.” He crushed her to himself, and kissed her again.
Chapter 4
Helen lay in bed, thinking of how Rodney made love to her that day. All her fairy-tale illusions were gone now. She knew that when she was clasped in his arms and enraptured by his love making, she was in touch with the very well-spring of human happiness. She knew that he, as a man, and she, as a woman, were each totally capable of fulfilling each other.
Helen was convinced that she had found her love. The romance she longed for. But tomorrow, he was determined to go out into the dangers awaiting him, obeying his unswerving concepts of patriotism and duty.
Beyond Helen’s window was a fine quiet night…but she knew it harbored the menace of the men who would pursue and possibly injure Rodney for possession of his plans. They might even kill him, she thought, with a shudder. After all, this was war, and the conflict was particularly savage.
The savagery of that war seemed to be waiting outside, latent in the still night, ready to injure and perhaps destroy the man she loved.
Quite suddenly, an idea dawned on her. Why should she not carry the plans out of the house and keep the rendezvous with Colonel Baggot, Rodney’s commanding officer, the rebels, waiting outside, would hardly suspect a woman of bearing the plans they so urgently wanted! She could use her scooter to make the excursion from the house, thus giving Rodney a chance to slip away and make his getaway to meet with Baggot at the headquarters later.
She could conceal the large flat envelope inside her clothing, perhaps hidden inside the bodice of her gown; or better still, inside her panties.
Such a move would enable Rodney to make a break at reaching the headquarters, and even if the rebels caught him, they would be denied the valuable plans which meant so much to his cause.
But it was not for his cause that she would do such a thing, she told herself. On the edge of sleep. It would only be for Rodney.
Because she loved him.
The morning was bright, with only a lingering dampness in the air. Helen started her scooter, and she wore a leather jacket over her blue blouse, with a stretch denim pant. The combination complemented her own coloring, and was echoed in her fashionable little black helmet.
She was about to venture out of the house on the mission she had proposed to her uncle and Rodney earlier that morning. Both had expressed misgivings at first. At length, however, her uncle Elliot fell in with the scheme. Rodney was more difficult to win over, but he eventually saw that if Helen could take the plans to the headquarters, he himself would stand a chance of making an independent move. Even if the rebels successfully waylaid him, they would not lay their hands on the plans. So a new strategy was devised.
Only Helen, her uncle, and Rodney knew the secret of the panties which she would wear on the mission. Using tape, she had carefully secured the flat envelope so that it lay flat against the mound of her pussy, with a skimpy hot pant draped over and finally her contour revealing tight fitting denim stretch pants over it to provide the distinctive look of class.
Her calm bearing as she mounted the scooter showed nothing of the gnawing apprehension she felt. At the moment of parting with Rodney, she wondered if it was a parting forever. In the quietness of his room, he had embraced her the final time. She had felt the old surging longing quiver through her. She’d wanted to linger, to allow herself to be once more enveloped by his gentle strength. But she knew that she must not succumb, nor must she give in to the fear that she might not see him again. She fought down her tears as he kissed her passionately, almost hungrily.
“I’ll come back,” he’d whispered.
Helen turned, revved the scooter, and maneuvered it out of the yard. There was no sign of any watching stranger. Nevertheless, Helen’s nerves were keyed up as she turned in the direction which would take her in the opposite direction for her destination, which meant that she had to detour a distance of about eight miles to get on to the right track.
Helen was least bothered at the internal politics, as she sped on her scooter. She was acting only in Rodney’s interest…but she knew that in making this journey with the plans concealed upon her, she was involving herself in the fortunes of war.
She reached the corner of North Coast Street, which was busy with traffic. By chance, as she negotiated a bend, she caught sight of a rider some distance behind her. She saw him only in the corner of her eye, but something about the way he had stalled the bike and had the engine running, and the distinct interest he showed in her as she came into view, registered in her mind.
He looked exactly like the type of man she least wanted to encounter: a sentinel, planted within a short distance of her uncle’s house. A shiver of fear touched her, but she knew that she must not show any apprehension by turning and looking at the man. She must look straight ahead and ride on unconcernedly, as if the man was unnoticed.
Helen revved the machine gently to speed it up. She was now on Lawson Street, with pleasant tree-lined Torrington Square slipping quickly behind her. Her route meant a right turn at the junction, and then she would travel along upper Lawson Street to St. Patrick’s Street and on to the dockyard spread along the shore leading to Dyke Street.
Still without a backward glance, she turned onto Upper Lawson Street proper, and was soon pointing her machine at the bustle of traffic. With her nerves on edge, she rode the scooter with a stolid determination. She made good speed, in spite of the occasional obstruction caused by a badly handled taxi, a stray mongrel, or the ever-present barefoot beachcombers who chased among the traffic to beg coins from the well-dressed.
Back near Elliot’s house, a biker came upon one of his men sitting on his bike at the corner of the block, looking like a casual rider with nothing to do but kill time. The biker, who happened to be another veteran rebel, drew up beside the man, nodded, and asked: “Seen anything, Alfred?”
“No, sir. No sign of Rodney. Nobody’s left the house except the girl.”
“The girl?”
“Yes, sir, Elliot’s niece. We’ve seen her about from time to time. Fine looking girl. She’s just gone off towards Upper Lawson Street on her scooter.”
Abruptly, the veteran sat bolt upright on his own bike. “She’s gone in the direction of the beach, then?” he asked.
“Yes. I watched her turn right to Upper Lawson Street.”
“That’s the first definite move towards the beach we’ve seen anyone from Elliot’s house make!” the ve
teran rebel exclaimed. “She could be carrying Rodney’s plans and going to meet someone from headquarters.”
Alfred, not the brightest of the rebels, suddenly became more alert. “That’s right, but the headquarters is in the opposite direction,” he agreed shame-facedly. “We’d better go after her quickly.”
“Not both of us,” said the veteran impatiently. “Two bikers chasing through the city will arouse suspicion. I’ll go. You stay here, and keep your dim-witted eyes open for Rodney. No telling what he’s up to. The essential thing is that he doesn’t get away…and that I keep the girl in sight and find out where she’s going.”
He throttled his bike, and swung in a right turn at the corner of Upper Lawson Street, where he had a distant glimpse of a scooter. He identified the rider as Elliot’s niece, and the veteran rebel maneuvered his bike over the cobbles, negotiating the clutter of traffic.
He drew closer; then Helen briefly turned and saw him. She looked directly at him, as if able at once to single him out from the rest of the throng. She seemed to know that he was pursuing her, and she sped her scooter, making for the point where Upper Lawson Street met St. Patrick Street—a junction milling with traffic.
The veteran rebel snorted with impatience, as the bike was lost for a space among cars and taxis. He forced more speed out of his bike, swung it around a heavily-laden pineapple cart, and caught sight of the girl ahead of him. He throttled his bike and with rising horror, he realized that he had lost control, and was about to crash into the girl. This was the last thing the rebel wanted. He strove hard, wrenching at the handle to bring the bike under control.
Helen, aware of the mounting danger, turned again. She saw the bike bearing down on her. Breathlessly, she sped her scooter to cover more ground, but it was too late. The runaway bike loomed larger, its rider struggling with the handle. The next moment, it collided heavily with her scooter.
The small scooter rocked violently and, with her breath gusting out of her, Helen was thrown over the side. She hit the cobbles, feeling a sharp surface biting through the leather glove on her left hand. She thought nothing of it. Uppermost in her whirling thoughts was the envelope. Had it been jarred loose from her panties?
The impact slowed both machines, the rebel managing to keep his seat. Switching the machine off completely, he dismounted to go to the girl’s aid. The inevitable crowd gathered, with some pedestrians rushing forward to help Helen. She got to her feet, smoothing down her denim pants. Mercifully, the envelope seemed to still be in its hiding place.
She saw the powerfully-built young rebel approaching her, looking remorsefully at the grazed flesh showing through her torn glove.
“I’m most deeply sorry about this, Ma’am,” he said as he pulled his helmet off.
“Now, now, what’s all the row?” asked a guttural voice. “Are you hurt, Miss?”
Helen saw the blue uniform and hat of a policeman. Recovering her breath, she assured him that she was uninjured.
The policeman showed concern. “Quite sure you’re all right, Miss?” he asked. “There’s a cut on your hand, and a big smudge of blood on your pants knee.”
“Quite sure, thank you, constable,” she said primly. She turned to the tall rebel, and glared at him. A little strong playacting might be a good move now. “Why the hell were you trailing me as if your butt was on fire?”
Before the tall rebel could answer, the policeman spoke: “Will you please hand over your license and the key, and stay put till I come back and record your statement…and you Miss. I would advise you to follow me.”
“Where to?” she asked.
“The nearest place where you could get your injuries attended to…and that’s at the defense headquarters, yonder,” the constable said.
Until it was mentioned, Helen didn’t realize that she had almost reached her final destination, but did not let on that she was keen on visiting a place like the defense headquarters. “If you insist…it’s just a few bruises, nothing much to fuss about.”
“I am sorry,” the young rebel said again. “I really am distressed about the whole matter.”
“You are very foolish and reckless,” she said, and turned to the constable. “If you insist that I get medical attention, I will by all means do so, but I just don’t want to drag you away from your duty here.”
“In that case, you may proceed and I’ll attend to matters here,” the constable said, and dismissed the girl to attend to matters at hand. “Wouldn’t want to have to book Mr. Elliot’s niece, so I would advise you, too, to ease up a little on your scooter.
Helen looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You know me, constable?”
“Oh, yes, Miss. I think every man on the Force knows you by sight. You are the only young girl who rides a scooter alone in the city, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Indeed? Then I must be something of a celebrity! No wonder the young man was trailing me. I shall take care in future not to be the center of a public display!” She turned a freezing look upon the young rebel. But she was only play-acting, because she was thinking privately that with his powerful frame and his neatly barbered hair, he was a thoroughly attractive young man.
“I must be going,” she said. “Good day to you, sir. I trust I shall never be troubled by you again.”
The young rebel had no other option but to give her a full bow. “I can only repeat my most heartfelt apologies.”
Chapter 5
Behind his façade of formal politeness, there was blazing annoyance. She had fooled him…or had he simply fooled himself in chasing after her so intently. Perhaps she was not carrying Rodney’s plans. He watched the girl making her way reluctantly towards the headquarters.
There was no hope of pursuing her when he was under the eye of the policeman, who still detained him.
With Helen on her way in her scooter. Elliot and Rodney put their plan for Rodney’s escape into action. Elliot took his guest down to the kitchen where the kitchen help, Noel, had just finished his cleaning.
“Noel, you know that Mr. Gray has been spending a few days with us,” Elliot said. “And you know well enough that certain people have been lurking about, to catch a glimpse of Mr. Gray.”
“That I do, Boss” replied the man, who in his own discreet way had been a useful watchdog, keeping his boss informed of suspicious strangers visible from his own field of activity at the rear of the house.
“Exactly. Our watching friends have become familiar with your appearance, Noel, and Mr. Gray is just about the same size and build as yourself. They might not tumble to the truth if Mr. Gray were to walk away along the back lane wearing your clothes and carrying something large on his shoulder…say that big basket over there…and imitating your unfortunate limp.”
“A fine idea, Boss. I’ll exchange clothes with Mr. Gray.”
“First, let me get your walk just right,” suggested Rodney.
Rodney changed his clothes for the kitchen help’s breeches, gaiters, and jacket. With Noel’s cap pulled down over his face, and a big empty wicker basket on his shoulder, he limped out of the rear door and along the length of the back lane. Rodney made his halting way into a side street, and thence into a quiet alleyway, where he dropped both the basket and the limp.
He began to put distance between himself and Elliot’s house and, as he did so, he wondered what he was heading into and when he would see Helen again. Rodney yearned to see that smile again: to hear her laugh; to share quiet moments with her again, and to crush her lovingly against him. He knew that this yearning would intensify the longer they were parted. She was a thrilling and desirable woman, a treasure to be cared for tenderly…forever.
He traversed a number of small streets, taking devious short cuts, and finally was able to reach the headquarters.
Just as Helen entered the headquarters, she was challenged by a sentry: “What do you want here, Miss… You know that this place is out of bounds for civilians.”
; “Colonel Baggot?” she asked.
There was a puzzled note in the sentry’s voice. “I’m sorry, Miss. I can’t let you go in, unless I check with the colonel himself.”
“I am Helen Benson, Wilson Elliot’s niece. I believe the colonel is waiting for Mr. Gray. I have come in his stead,” Helen said.
The sentry passed the information to his commanding officer, and was instructed by him to frisk the young girl before she was sent in.
Colonel Baggot’s expression softened when he saw Helen. “Ah, Mr. Elliot and I are acquainted, of course, but I had no idea he had such a charming niece.” He added, “May I say this is hardly the place I expected to find a young lady, alone. Furthermore, I expected Captain Gray. Has some harm befallen him?”
Helen had never before heard Rodney referred to by rank. “He is well enough, but has been forced to take an independent means of making his way here to meet you. I have brought certain documents I understand you are waiting for.”
“Indeed? I am grateful for that.” The Colonel was still obviously bemused by the arrival of a young woman as the carrier of such an important document.
“Colonel Baggot, the documents I have brought to you are hidden in my apparel. I must crave your indulgence,” Helen told him.
The Colonel bowed. “I understand, Ma’am. I am a married man…unfortunately separated from my dear wife by the circumstances of war. I shall protect your modesty as staunchly as I should that of my wife.”
“Thank you, sir. Your gallantry does you credit.”
The officer turned his back on her. Standing to one side, Helen lowered her denim pants and then her panties, and went through the awkward business of fishing out of it the much valued documents from their hiding place.
When she had succeeded and her panties and pants were in place, she signaled Colonel Baggot with a discreet cough. He turned and walked towards her. Helen handed him the big envelope. Baggot immediately ripped open the envelope and went through the contents.
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