A Mortal Sin (17 page)

“Oh, Paul.” She ran into his arms. “I don’t think I could survive if we were separated again.”

“You’ll marry me?”

“Yes.”

* * *

They were married a week later. Paul insisted on a traditional wedding. Daphne chose an old-world gown, pearl tinted satin, a full skirt and long tight sleeves. A beaded Juliet cap held her limerick lace veil in place.

Helen was bridesmaid. She wore a frock of hyacinth blue jersey crepe with a topknot of primroses in her hair. Major George Duncan from British H.Q. was best man. General Percival couldn’t attend, but of the fifty invited guests, many were high- ranking military personnel.

Paul arranged leave for Robbie so he could give her away, and as they stood beneath an archway of white and pink flowers in the grounds of a prestigious hotel, Daphne blinked back tears of happiness.

The men wore their dress uniforms, and Daphne thought Paul was the handsomest man she had ever seen. The simple gold wedding band he slipped onto her finger was inscribed on the inside with both their names, and the date 15.11.1941. Paul made his vows clearly before the Army Chaplain, her voice was so low and tremulous only those at the front could hear it.

They held their reception in a private room at the hotel, and the colorful tropical plants, set out at various intervals, gave the place the look of an exotic garden. The sit-down meal consisted of several courses; seafood, followed by consommé, then huge platters of cold meat and poultry with roasted vegetables and salad as an accompaniment.

“This is really something, Daph.” A grinning Robbie tried every dish. He was the only non-commissioned officer, Helen, Robbie and herself, the only Australians.

“It’s quite disgusting the way you eat,” she teased. “You should be as fat as a pig.” Laughter lit up her eyes, and she couldn’t stop smiling.

She tapped Paul’s arm to draw his attention to something, and he clenched his hands under the table to stop himself from touching her. She was so exquisite he was impatient to leave so they could be alone together. Their first night would be spent here at the hotel, and after that they would have a week in the Malayan Highlands at Fraser’s Hill. He had wanted to take her to Penang for a week or two as well, but they dared not travel to such an out of the way place right now. Fraser’s Hill was over two hundred and fifty miles away, but at least he could be contacted there in case of emergency.

After the first two dances, Paul found himself having to watch as several of his officer friends, attending without female escorts, monopolized her. He circulated amongst their guests, undertaking duty dances with a forced smile. He wanted Daphne in his arms, not some fat, corseted colonel’s wife.

“She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?” Rob remarked, coming up to stand beside him.

Paul, staring into his eyes, suddenly thought this boy should be home with his parents, not over here fighting in a war.

“Enjoying yourself?” Paul grinned. “I saw you dancing with the bridesmaid.”

“Did you?”

Not just dancing either, he thought, having seen the pair of them sneaking off outside.

“Take care of Daphne for me, won’t you?”

“I intend to. Besides you’ll be around to keep an eye on her yourself.”

“Paul.” The hand touching his sleeve trembled. “Do you think some things are pre-ordained?”

The laughter had faded and Rob’s eyes burned with a strange intensity.

“I don’t know.”

“You’ll always look after Daphne, won’t you? After my mother, she’s the nicest person I’ve ever known. She feels things deeply.”

“Of course I’ll look after her. I love your sister to distraction, you know, and you’ll be around to ensure I take good care of her.”

“Will I?”

Paul felt suddenly chilled to the bone. He opened his mouth but no words came out; he could only stare into Rob’s intense young face. The boy’s skin was pale, and the wavy swathe of dark hair falling across his forehead was damp with perspiration.

Daphne, laughing happily as she came back on the arm of a young captain, interrupted them.

“I’ve delivered her back to you safely, Sir.”

“Thank you, Mark.”

“How about a dance with me, Daph?” Rob asked.

“Well,” she hesitated, glancing at Paul.

“Yes, dance with your brother, darling. It’s after midnight, and we’ll want to leave soon.”

Paul lit a cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully. As he watched them waltzing together, the creamy bridal gown billowed out, giving her an almost ethereal look. Why did he have a sudden feeling of cold dread? God, this had to stop, he was becoming maudlin.

He had been under a hell of a strain lately. Daphne didn’t know it, but had they not married, she would have been ostracized by the European population of Singapore thanks to the gossipmongers. The scandal attached to Molly Gratton’s murder certainly had hastened his proposal.

It took another hour before they could extricate themselves from their guests. Rob, who was staying at the O.Rs Club would return to camp early next morning.

“Goodbye, Rob. I’ll see you soon.” Daphne wanted to break down and cry when it was time for them to part, but she forced herself not to. Rob wouldn’t want his sister weeping all over him, no young soldier would.

* * *

For her first night as Paul’s wife she wore a pale blue, crepe georgette nightgown with a lace insert in the bodice and skirt. He wore nothing under his cherry colored silk dressing gown. She went into his arms eagerly. His kisses were gentle at first, but soon erupted into a demanding, white-hot passion when he felt her response.

“Touch me, Sunshine,” he groaned, and shyly she did as he asked. His lovemaking was not hurried at first, because he wanted to savor every delightful part of her. Taste all the sweetness she so eagerly offered. Her breasts were so soft and creamy, her nipples ripening in his mouth. It had been so long since they made love, he fought to keep his now rampaging passion under control so she would be ready for him.

When he could deny himself no longer, he slipped between her thighs and she received him joyously. He wanted to lose himself in the lush, moist warmth of her feminine recess. Wanted to be joined to her forever, and, though he knew he ran the risk of getting her pregnant, no power on earth could make him withdraw or use those hated French letters again. He wanted to feel her heated flesh laving his heated flesh, wanted them to be so sensitive to each other the slightest touch would send them plummeting over the edge of sanity.

He raised her hips slightly so she would take him more deeply into her garden of pleasure, that perfect, beautiful place that had known no man but him. He held back, God alone knew how, building up her need, stoking her passion until she trembled and gasped.

Daphne felt as if she had self-combusted; no mere mortal could endure such searing heat she thought, frantically clawing at his back. She didn’t want him to stop. Never wanted him to stop. Their bodies were attuned to each other, throbbing together, quivering and moving in perfect unison. Giving, taking, always desperate for more. This magic moment between a bride and her new husband would never come again. She closed her eyes to blot out the glare from a million stars swirling around inside her head.

“Daphne. My love,” he cried out as he exploded deep within her convulsing centre. Several more frantic thrusts and he came a second time and they collapsed, utterly and completely satiated and exhausted.

* * *

The next morning Paul woke up first. He propped himself up one elbow and stared down at this beautiful girl who was now, in every sense of the word, his wife. Her hair fell into bright waves on the white pillow, her cheeks, slightly grazed from the roughness of his beard last night, were rosy red against her alabaster skin. Her eyelashes were thick, light brown but tipped with gold. She looked young and vulnerable. He traced the outline of her jaw with one fingertip before running it across her pink, slightly puckered lips.

He wanted to wake her up so they might make mad passionate love again, but forced himself not to do so. Last night, in his desperation and greed, he had demanded too much. Before he succumbed to the temptation of his rampaging carnal desire, he swung his legs out of bed and stood up. Without even bothering to put on a robe, he headed for the bathroom.

Daphne woke up alone in the large double bed. She heard a click then Paul strode through the connecting doors with a towel draped around his hips.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ashfield.”

“Hello.”

“The bathroom is free if you want it.” Obviously taking pity on her embarrassment, he turned his back to collect fresh clothing, giving her time to slip on her nightgown.

After breakfast they commenced the long drive to Fraser’s Hill. They had pulled off the road to have their picnic lunch when they got caught in a tropical downpour. Daphne had never seen it rain so hard in all the time she had lived in Singapore. The rain pounded so hard against the car windscreen she feared it might break the glass.

“Ooh, what timing!” She laughed. “We would have been drowned if we’d been caught outside in this.”

He leaned across and kissed her. “I’m not complaining.” He gave a low sexy chuckle and draped his arm across her shoulders to hold her close. “Gives me a chance to do this.” He nibbled her earlobe and it sent excited tingles through her body. She loved him so much it scared her sometimes.

Paul was right. After a few minutes, in which there must have been an inch or more of rain, the deluge ceased and the sun came out. The branches on some of the jungle ferns had been snapped off by the ferocity of the raindrops, water streamed off the trees and, like a misty cloud, steam rose from the pools of water that had formed on the ground.

They ate their sandwiches propped up against the car, stopping every now and again to exchange kisses, before they set off again. Even with the car windows wound down it was stinking hot as they passed bamboo thickets and mangrove swamps. Further inland she saw large rubber plantations and the closer they got to the mountains, the cooler it became.

Have you ever played golf?” he asked suddenly.

“No, why?”

“Because there’s a golf course; it’s been there since 1925.”

“Really?” Of course, wealthy Europeans living in Singapore flocked to Fraser’s Hill for their holidays. Every luxury would have to be laid on for them. They couldn’t possibly be expected to rough it. She would have much preferred Penang. She tried to suppress a sight, but Paul obviously heard it.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“I was thinking about Penang. I’ve been reading about Georgetown, all those wonderful old colonial buildings.”

“I’m sorry.” He picked up her hand and gently squeezed it. “I had planned to take you there, but the brigadier would only give me eight days leave.”

“It’s not fair. I know it’s selfish with the war and everything, but two weeks isn’t much to ask.”

“It is with things the way…” his voice trailed off. The explanation unfinished.

She took a couple of steadying breaths to stop herself from asking what things. He spoke in riddles sometimes, but she knew his work was highly classified.

They finally arrived at Fraser’s Hill and she adored the pretty little cottage he had rented for them. The moment she stepped out of the car she felt the coolness like a gentle caress against her hot skin. A light mist had come down bathing the lush garden in a translucent web.

It was much cooler up here away from the coast. That night, as they lay satiated after a long passionate session of lovemaking, she pulled an extra blanket over them.

“Happy, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Yes, I love you so much.”

Their week went quickly, and they returned to Paul’s bungalow where things settled into a routine. During the day she had little to do except read or go for walks. Sam always drove her to the markets or into the city. She started sharing coffee with Valda, the wife of a colonel who lived in the next bungalow to them.

Valda Beaumont, a cheerful woman in her mid-forties, had lived in the Far East for years. Her twelve-year-old twin boys were at an English boarding school. She was slightly patronizing, but nevertheless friendly and did a lot to have Daphne accepted by the other wives.

Valda took her to the Officers Mess for the ‘Happy Hour,’ a get-together for army wives each week. What an eye opener. The bitchiness, petulance and sheer malice of some women was unbelievable. The way they denigrated each other’s husbands disgusted her.

Paul wanted her to become one of them. Never. The tennis parties and bridge afternoons were bearable, but after the first couple of sessions of the Happy Hour, she refused to attend any more.

What was wrong with these women? The Japanese were advancing. Refugees poured in with only the clothes they stood up in, telling stories of terrible hardship, yet their main worry was when to start Christmas shopping.

At night they attended cocktail parties and dinner dances. There was something on all the time. Paul didn’t mean to be selfish, but just once she would have liked to be consulted before he made social arrangements for them.

“It’s getting to me sitting around doing nothing all day,” she complained to Valda. “I’m a nursing sister. I should be at the hospital doing my job, not gallivanting around in an endless circle of useless parties. Most of the women can’t stand me. If it wasn’t for Paul, they’d snub me completely.”

“They’re bitches, most of them.”

“Valda!”

“Well, they are. I’ve had twenty-five years of being an army officer’s wife, and believe me this crowd are typical. Did you hear Louise carrying on about the morals of the enlisted men? My dear, that woman has gone through more lovers than I’ve had cups of tea.”

Daphne laughed.

“Probably miffed because the troops have more taste than to take what she so blatantly offers.”

“It’s revolting.” Daphne grimaced. “Still, she’s married to such an old man.”

“My dear, the colonel is the only son of an English Lord who is about ninety seven not out, pots of money, wants to end up a Lady.” They both laughed. “Actually, you’re not looking as a happy as a new wife should.”