A Nightingale Christmas Wish (20 page)

‘That’s true,’ Helen replied, pulling her coat tighter.

Christopher looked sideways at her. ‘We could go somewhere else, if you like? Catch a bus up West, have tea in Lyons?’

She shook her head. ‘I have to be back on duty at five, remember?’

‘Another time, then.’

‘Another time.’ Helen smiled with relief. Every time she saw Christopher, she felt a little flutter of panic that today might be the last time they met. Sooner or later, she thought, he would go back to sea, or meet someone else, or just grow bored with her.

But it hadn’t happened so far. In fact, after nearly six weeks he still made sure he saw her every day, even if it was only for a snatched half-hour at the hospital gates after Helen came off duty. If she had the evening off, they would go to the pictures or dancing. Or sometimes they would just walk down to the docks and Christopher would point out to her the various ships and where they’d come from. He’d been all over the world, seen places Helen could only imagine.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy, and it frightened her. She couldn’t trust it. She knew too well how quickly happiness could be snatched away. She was so wary she hardly dared allow herself to enjoy the moments she had, just in case she lost them.

Christopher had laughed when she told him how she felt.

‘Nothing lasts for ever,’ he’d said. ‘You just have to make the most of the good times while you can.’

But that was easy for him to say. He approached every day with the same breezy confidence that something good, or funny, or exciting would happen. Unlike Helen, he never planned, never worried or looked round corners, expecting something dreadful to be lurking there. He never stared up at the sky, searching for rain. It made him laugh that she took an umbrella with her everywhere, even on the brightest of days.

But gradually, under the warmth of his sunny personality, Helen felt the chill around her heart thawing. Sometimes she caught herself smiling for no reason.

They skirted the lake, and Christopher reached for her hand.

‘I’d forgotten how much I love this place,’ he said. ‘Charlie and I used to hang around here all the time, when we were kids.’

Helen waited for the pain that usually lanced her whenever Charlie’s name was mentioned, but for once it didn’t come. Christopher often talked about his cousin, dropping his name into the conversation as easily as if Charlie were still alive. And after a while Helen had got so used to it, it stopped hurting so much.

She smiled at Chris. ‘I bet you were always getting into trouble, weren’t you?’

‘I was a right little tearaway!’ He grinned. ‘No one really taught me right from wrong when I was growing up, what with my mum being ill for so long and my dad not being bothered. I thought I could just go on doing as I pleased when I moved in with Charlie’s mum and dad, but Aunt Nellie soon taught me different!’ He grimaced at the memory. ‘Even then, I was always getting into scrapes, and Charlie would have to wade in and help me. The times he saved me from a hiding!’

‘That sounds like Charlie.’ Helen smiled.

‘But he didn’t mind teaching me a lesson himself, if he thought I needed it,’ Christopher went on. ‘One time, when I was a nipper, I nicked a couple of apples from that stall over there.’ He nodded towards the small wooden hut on the far side of the lake, closed up for winter. ‘Charlie caught me eating one and gave me such a clout! He can’t have been much more than twelve himself, but it didn’t half hurt. Then he got me by the collar and marched me back round to the stall and made me give the other apple back. And the woman behind the counter gave me a clout too! I hated Charlie for that, but I learned my lesson, I can tell you.’

‘You never stole anything again?’

‘I made sure I never got caught!’

For some reason Helen remembered a comment she’d overheard at that Christmas party, the night she’d first met Christopher.

A leopard can’t change its spots.

They stood at the edge of the boating lake, a flat expanse of pewter-coloured water with the mist hanging low over it. A few miserable-looking ducks paddled around the shallows, searching for scraps in the soggy earth.

‘This was where Charlie and I had our first date,’ Helen recalled. ‘The park was closing but he persuaded the park-keeper to let us take a boat out. It was lovely, having the lake to ourselves.’

‘We could have it to ourselves now, if we took one out?’ Christopher suggested.

Helen frowned up at him. ‘Surely it’s closed down for the winter? The boats are all locked up.’

‘Yes, but I know where they keep them.’ Christopher grinned mischievously. ‘Come with me.’

Helen followed him around the edge of the lake to the boathouse. ‘Chris, you can’t steal one!’ she protested.

‘I ain’t stealing it. I’m just borrowing it for a little while.’

‘But what if someone sees us?’

He gave her a teasing smile. ‘Trust me, Helen!’

They picked their way across the soft mud to the boathouse doors. Christopher tested the padlock.

‘I reckon I could get into this,’ he said. ‘Got a hairpin I can borrow?’

‘But . . .’ Helen started to argue, then gave up. She took off her hat, pulled a pin from her hair and handed it to him. ‘Just be careful,’ she warned.

‘You keep watch for me,’ Christopher said, huddling over the lock. Helen thrust her gloved hands into her pockets, shivering with cold and fear as she looked this way and that.

‘This is silly,’ she declared. ‘I don’t know why you’re insisting on—’ She broke off as Christopher emerged from the shed, dragging a rowing boat across the damp shingle behind him. He looked so pleased with himself, Helen couldn’t help smiling.

He hauled the boat into the shallows, then turned to her. ‘Your carriage awaits, madam,’ he said, with a sweeping gesture of his hand.

‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m not getting in that thing.’

His face fell. ‘You mean I’ve gone to all this trouble for nothing?’

‘I didn’t ask you to break in and steal a boat.’

‘No, but I’ve done it now. So we might as well enjoy it, don’t you think?’ he coaxed. ‘Go on – just for a few minutes? We can stick close to the shore, I promise.’

Finally, he managed to persuade her into the rickety little craft. She yelped as it swayed and rocked beneath her feet, nearly knocking her off balance.

‘Shhh!’ Christopher hissed. ‘We don’t want the whole world to hear us, do we?’

He hopped in and sat down on the seat opposite, then rolled up his shirtsleeves and picked up the oars. Helen was very aware of him as they glided out on to the still, misty water. They were so close, their knees were brushing. She found herself watching his strong, sinewy forearms as he pulled on the oars.

And then, suddenly, she thought of Charlie, and how she’d watched him in the same way when he rowed them across the lake on that fine evening in early summer. She remembered how she’d teased him about his rowing, so he’d handed over the oars and made her try instead. They’d laughed, and the sun had shone down on them and the birds had sung and she’d thought her happiness would last for ever.

‘Helen?’ She looked up. Christopher was watching her closely. ‘Are you all right? You were miles away.’

She forced a smile. ‘I’m fine.’

He gave a wry smile. ‘I can see you’re not,’ he said. ‘We’ll turn back, shall we?’

No sooner had he turned the boat round than they heard a shout from the shore. Looking over Christopher’s shoulder, Helen saw the distant figure of the park-keeper waving from the open doorway of the boathouse.

‘Blimey, now we’re for it!’ Christopher laughed.

‘It’s not funny!’ Helen said. ‘What if he catches us?’

‘We’ll have to make sure he doesn’t, won’t we?’ Christopher swung the boat around again and headed away from the boathouse, skirting the shore as closely as he dared. But the park-keeper was keeping pace with them on the opposite bank, waving his fist and threatening to call the police.

‘It’s no good,’ Christopher admitted. ‘We’ll have to row back and face the music.’

‘We can’t!’ A horrible vision came into Helen’s mind of being frogmarched in handcuffs back to the hospital. She would be sacked for sure, and sent home in disgrace to face her mother’s wrath.

She looked desperately about her at the grey, weed-choked water. ‘We’ll have to jump,’ she said.

‘Abandon ship, you mean?’ Christopher stared at her. ‘But we can’t do that. The water will be freezing. It’ll kill us.’

‘My life won’t be worth living anyway, if my mother finds out what I’ve done.’ Helen was already on her feet.

‘Helen, don’t . . .’ But she didn’t wait to hear the rest as she pitched herself headlong into the lake.

It wasn’t deep, but the icy water made her gasp, robbing her of breath. The weeds caught at her, entangling her legs as her heavy coat dragged her down. The water closed over her head, cold and murky, filling her nose and mouth and ears in a roaring rush.

And then suddenly she was aware of strong arms grasping her around the waist, pulling her gasping to the surface. She opened her eyes and saw Christopher, his hair slicked off his face.

He swam backwards, threshing strongly through the water with one arm while dragging her with the other. As they reached the shore, Helen felt the rough shingle scraping against her legs and scrambled to her feet.

‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing her arm.

They ran as fast as they could, weighed down by their soaking-wet clothes, pushing their way through the dripping branches of the weeping willows that edged the lake, then out into open land.

‘This way.’ He half dragged her through some bushes. The spiky branches snagged and tore at her stockings, but Helen barely noticed in her desperate hurry to escape the park-keeper. On the other side of the bushes was the bandstand, and beyond that a small wooden hut where the deckchairs were kept. Helen struggled to keep up as Christopher sprinted towards it.

They reached the far side of the hut and collapsed on the damp, mossy ground. They lay wedged into the narrow space between the peeling painted walls and a rhododendron bush, and listened as the park-keeper came pounding towards them, still shouting and threatening. Helen was shivering so violently from cold and wet and fear she was sure he would hear her teeth chattering, but she couldn’t stop herself.

She looked at Christopher. He pressed his finger over her lips to quieten her. They waited. The park-keeper was getting closer, closer . . .

And then, by some miracle, his footsteps started to recede towards the bandstand. They both froze, waiting and listening, as his shouts grew more distant.

‘Looks like we got away with it.’ Christopher grinned.

The pent-up tension flowed out of her and Helen collapsed back on the ground. As she lifted her hands to push her soaking-wet hair off her face, she saw that they were shaking and blue-tinged with cold.

‘I thought he was going to get us,’ she whispered.

‘So did I.’ Christopher propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her. Admiration shone in his eyes. ‘Well, you’re full of surprises, ain’t you? Fancy jumping in the water like that! And I thought I was the one who liked living dangerously.’

‘I couldn’t think what else to do.’ She struggled to sit up. ‘Oh, God, I thought he was going to get us. I was just wondering how to explain it to my mother.’

Christopher laughed. ‘It was fun though, wasn’t it?’

‘No, it wasn’t. And I’ve lost my hat.’

‘You look better without it.’ He put up his hand to smooth a tendril of wet hair off her face. His thumb brushed her lips and Helen caught her breath. She was suddenly aware of how close he was.

His eyes met hers. The pupils had expanded, turning his blue eyes almost black. ‘You’re a bad girl, Helen,’ he said softly.

And then he kissed her, and it wasn’t a chaste peck like the kind they exchanged at the hospital gates. It was deep, and urgent, and like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Christopher expertly parted her lips, his tongue invading her mouth, shockingly intimate and terrifying. And yet Helen wanted more. Almost of its own accord, her body arched towards his as his arms went round her.

He pulled away from her, his face inches from hers. ‘Let’s go inside the hut,’ he said hoarsely.

Helen looked up at him, and suddenly realised what he meant. It was as if she’d hit that icy water again, all her drowsy senses shocked into alert.

‘No.’ She started pulling away from him, disentangling herself from his embrace.

He looked bewildered. ‘Don’t worry, the park-keeper ain’t going to find us. We’ll be safe in there.’

Helen risked a glance at him, his shirt clinging damply to the muscular contours of his chest. Safe wasn’t a word she would ever use to describe Chris.

‘I can’t,’ she murmured, looking away. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

‘Why not?’ He frowned at her, then something in her expression must have given her away because suddenly his face cleared and he said, ‘You mean to tell me you’ve never . . .’

‘No!’ She inched away from him, pulling her coat around herself, wishing she had more layers to swathe herself in because she didn’t like the way his gaze seemed to sear through her clothing.

‘But surely you and Charlie must have . . .’

She felt the heat rising in her face. ‘We wanted to wait.’

He watched her, his expression full of wonder, as if he were seeing her for the first time. ‘I’m sorry, I just assumed—’ His voice broke off then continued, ‘It didn’t even occur to me you were a virgin.’

Helen looked away. ‘I suppose you must think me very naïve?’ she mumbled.

‘Not at all.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’m glad. It just makes me love you more.’

Her startled eyes met his. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘What? I’m not allowed to tell you I love you?’ He grinned. ‘I do love you, Helen. I’d shout it from the rooftops if it weren’t for that damn park-keeper.’

‘You mustn’t,’ she said. ‘It feels like bad luck.’

‘What’s bad luck about being in love? It’s the best feeling in the world.’

She sent him a shy, sideways look. ‘I wish I could believe that,’ she said.

He winked at her. ‘Then I’m going to have to prove it to you, ain’t I?’