The Hidden Years (12 page)

She was shivering now, her body stiff with cold.

'Come on, sweetheart, you'd better get dressed. I've got
to go and see old Edward again before I leave…'

Her hands shook as she dressed herself. She felt numb
inside, her throat thick with tears.

'You're leaving so soon,' she stammered, forcing back her
tears.

'Have to, I'm afraid, old girl. Duty calls and all
that…'

'But… I thought…' She had thought
they would have longer together. She had thought there would be more
time…

'Don't worry… Shouldn't be too long before I
can get a twenty-four-hour pass,' Kit lied to her. The last thing he
wanted right now was a tearful scene.

Already, now that his desire for her was sated, he was
beginning to forget how sharply he had wanted her. Soon she would be no
more than another memory… another girl to join all the
others there had been. It was wartime, and a man like him who lived
constantly on the edge of danger was entitled to take what pleasure he
could from life.

They made their way back to where Kit had parked his car
in silence. Whatever she did, she must not give way to her
misery… she must not break down in tears. Men hated seeing
women cry, Lizzie knew. And, besides, she must be strong now, she must
send him away from her with a smile so that his last memory of her
would be a good one.

She ached to plead with him not to go and see Edward but
to spend what leave he had left with her, but acknowledged the
selfishness of her thoughts. Poor Edward had such an unhappy life. Kit
was the first visitor he had had since she had come to the hospital.
She must not be demanding… greedy. After all, he had
promised her that he would see her again just as soon as he could get a
pass… unless of course he was sent into action.

Action. The very word made her shudder with fear. Where
before it had simply been another word, a word to terrify other women,
now she knew its full horror and bone-chilling danger for herself.

Now she had been admitted to the ranks of those of her sex
whose loved ones were at risk and she knew the full anguish and despair
of what that meant: the inescapable weight of dread and hope for the
life of another human being.

From now on there would be no nights of peaceful sleep for
her; never again would she hear planes overhead without her stomach
churning with fear. Never again would she know a moment's peace other
than for those few precious hours that Kit could spend with her. Only
with him held in her arms would she know he was truly safe. Not until
this war was finally over would she know true peace of mind
again… the war over and Kit safely with her, the rest of
their lives ahead of them for them to share and enjoy, for them to
cherish their love, for her to show him emotionally and physically how
much he meant to her. Her physical coldness, her inability to respond
to him as she had wanted to respond—these were things she
must not dwell on now. She bit her lip, wishing for the first time in
her life that she had a female confidante, someone she could turn to
for advice and reassurance. To listen to the other girls in the
dormitory one would assume that sex was a source of huge amusement to
them, a careless sharing of their bodies, in return for their lovers'
gifts; from her reading she had learned that it was one of the highest
pleasures two human beings could attain together, and yet for
her…

She started to tremble. What was wrong with her?
Why
hadn't she enjoyed it?
Why…
?

They were standing beside the car now, as Kit moved
towards her and told her lightly, 'Better not give you a lift,
sweetheart. Don't want to set people gossiping, do we…?
Don't want to get you in trouble with that matron of yours.'

'No. No, I suppose not,' Lizzie agreed, and then,
abandoning her pride, abandoning her restraint, she threw herself into
his arms and sobbed, 'You will write to me, won't you, Kit…?
I'm so sorry I was a… a disappointment to you…'

She held her breath, waiting for him to deny it, to offer
her some soothing panacea… but instead he simply shrugged
and released himself from her, telling her casually, 'I expect you're
just one of those women who isn't any good at sex… Give me
your address… it will be better if I write to you first. If
I'm sent into action it might be a while before your letters catch up
with me. There's talk of us being posted abroad…'

'Abroad… but…'

Quickly he shook his head. ' 'Fraid I can't say any more,
sweetheart… shouldn't have told you that much. All very
hush-hush at the moment…'

Lizzie had a small notebook in her handbag and she tore a
leaf out of it, her hand trembling as she wrote down her address for
him. As he pocketed it, and before he climbed into his car, he told her
Carelessly, 'Chin up, old thing, and don't worry—just as soon
as I can get a pass I'll be back to see you.'

He was a man who never gave much thought to the
consequences of his actions. A conscience wasn't something that
bothered him unduly, but now, looking into her face, seeing the love
reflected so innocently there, an odd, unfamiliar sensation flickered
inside him.

It made him fed uncomfortable and irritated at the same
time. Stupid girl, didn't she realise…? He glanced at her
and saw the purity of her profile, the soft naturalness of her blonde
hair, the clearness of her skin, and something approaching regret
stirred inside him.

She was lovely, her body lissom and tender; his body began
to ache and he realised with increasing resentment that he still wanted
her. Characteristically he blamed her for it, reminding himself that it
was her lack of expertise that had cut short his lovemaking. Even while
he was resenting her, wanting to leave her, an impulse he couldn't
control made him lean across to cup her face with his hand so that he
could kiss her.

Lizzie's heart swelled with frantic joy. Just for a moment
she had begun to doubt…to wonder…but no, she had
simply been foolish. Of course he loved her just as she loved him.

'I'll write as soon as I can,' he told her thickly,
knowing that he was lying and that once he was away from her he would
soon forget this unfamiliar, unwanted ache she made him feel. Suddenly
another thought struck him. 'Not a word about this…us to
cousin Edward,' he warned her, and then, seeing her face, amended, 'at
least, not yet…'

He was right, Lizzie recognised. Their feelings for one
another were too new, too precious to be shared with a third
party…

As he drove away she watched until the last of the dust
raised by his wheels had finally settled.

Less than a mile down the road Kit suddenly frowned, an
unpleasant possibility occurring to him.

It was all very well for Lizzie to have agreed now not to
say a word to Edward about what had happened, but, when a few weeks had
gone by without her hearing from him, would she still keep that promise?

It wasn't that he cared one way or the other what Edward
thought about him, but what if Edward should attempt to get in touch
with his CO on the stupid girl's behalf? It was just the kind of thing
he would do, damn him!

Still frowning, he thought quickly. He had her
address—a brief note sent when he got back to camp, telling
her that he was being posted abroad and wouldn't be able either to give
her his address or get in touch for some time…
yes… yes, that should do it.

The odd letter, two or even three perhaps. He scowled to
himself, cursing under his breath, already regretting his involvement.

Damn Edward for the interfering old woman he could be, but
he dared not take the chance, however slight, of Edward making trouble
for him. He had already received a couple of warnings and the threat
that if his CO had to discipline him a third time he would be grounded
permanently, and he wasn't having that.

If Kit loved anything it was flying, flying and the
mixture of exhilaration and fear that came with going into action,
better by far than any thrill he got from having sex.

Yes, little as he relished the idea, once he was back at
camp he would have to drop the damned girl a line, carefully omitting
his address, of course…

In Lizzie's heart was a mixture of joy and desolation. Joy
in their finding of one another, in their coming together in a physical
celebration of their love—trying to forget her own pain and
shock, selflessly thinking only of Kit, of his pleasures, his needs,
his satisfaction. And desolation because they had had so little time
together.

Her body ached in an unfamiliar way, a faint tenderness
between her legs. She placed her hand over her body, wondering
uncertainly what it was that drove men so incessantly and violently to
perform such an act, and why she had found that all the wonderful,
singing pleasure she had been enjoying at the touch of his hands and
mouth against her body had disappeared at that moment of physical
joining, which should have been so wonderful—the physical
completion of their love for one another.

Was there something wrong with her? She started to walk
down the lane and retrieved the shoes she had left there the day
before, her pace quickening as anxiety tensed her body.

Aunt Vi had always refused to discuss sexual matters; the
information Lizzie had gleaned from the other girls' conversation had
been varied and sometimes unappealingly frank, but she had naively
assumed that, when two people loved, their physical union was blessed
with a spiritual leavening which lifted it above the mere physical
coupling she had heard described graphically and sometimes very
coarsely by her companions.

Now she wondered unhappily why she had not experienced the
wonderful magical pleasure of which she had read; why Kit's possession
of her had not transported her to that special plane which belonged
only to lovers.

She ached for Kit to be with her, so that she could talk
to him, unburden herself of her doubts.

All of a sudden she felt very tired, very
alone… very unhappy, her feelings in stark contrast to her
earlier elation.

When she returned to the hostel, subdued, with dark
shadows under her eyes, she was relieved to discover that she had the
place to herself. She was glad to be alone. She didn't want to discuss
Kit with the other girls; their relationship was special, sacred almost.

She had done something which Aunt Vi had always impressed
on her that no decent girl did outside marriage, but she felt no guilt
or remorse for having done so. These were different times from those
Aunt Vi had known. Sometimes a few fleeting precious hours were all one
might have. There was a recklessness in the air, a fierce determination
to take everything that life offered while life still existed, because
no one knew when that precious gift of life might be snatched away.

No, she felt no anguish at having loved Kit, only a
terrible aching need to have him with her…close to
her… holding her. He was a pilot and he hadn't needed to
tell her the dangers he lived with daily.

She listened to the news bulletins… read the
papers… she was an intelligent girl, and, even if she hadn't
already witnessed the devastation and destruction that could be wrought
on human flesh by the weapons of destruction created by mankind in her
work at the hospital, and experienced in the loss of her parents, she
had too vivid an imagination not to be aware that Kit could be killed
or maimed every single time he went out on a mission.

That night when she came off duty, and before she went to
bed, she prayed as she had never prayed in her life before, 'Please
God, keep Kit safe.'

And even as she whispered the words she knew that she was
only repeating what millions of other women over the country were also
saying, and that for every man whose life was spared there were others
whose lives were not… women whose pain she could already
imagine, recoiling from it as though it were her own, frantically
trying to push her knowledge of it out of her mind. She must be strong… for Kit's sake and her own.
She must be strong and brave and when she saw him again she must smile
and laugh and not allow him to see her fear. Must somehow find a way of
ensuring that she did not disappoint him, of hiding from him her
growing dread that sexually there was something wrong with her,
something that prevented her from enjoying his lovemaking as she wanted
to enjoy it.

Just over a week after she had said goodbye to him, Lizzie
received Kit's letter. She touched the envelope with trembling fingers,
turning it over and over before opening it, her heart bursting with joy.

If the few scant lines on the single sheet of paper
disappointed her, she forced herself to accept that a man on the verge
of leaving with his squadron to fight for his country was not in a
position to sit down and write a long love-letter.

Avidly reading and then rereading every single word, she
soon had them committed to memory.

Just a few lines to tell you that I shan't be able to be
in touch for some time, old thing. As I warned you, it looks as though
I shall be taking a 'holiday' in foreign parts.

Will write again as soon as I can. In the meantime,
sweetheart, think about me as I shall be thinking of you.

With love, your Kit.

Lizzie pressed the final words to her lips, torn between
tears and elation; elation because she had at least heard from him and
because his letter held no hint of the distance and irritation with
which he had left her, and fear because he was going into danger.

She frowned a little when she realised there was no
address on the letter, no way she could get in touch with him, and then
realised that she would probably have to wait for his next letter,
since he himself probably did not as yet know just where he was to be
posted.

She refolded the letter and put it back in its envelope,
and then put it in her handbag. From now on she intended to carry it
everywhere with her. She closed her eyes, trembling a little as she
tried to visualise Kit actually writing it… his hand
inscribing the words… his dark head bent over the paper.