The Hidden Years (8 page)

'No one. It was requisitioned during the early part of the
war, but it's empty now. It's too remote to be of any real
use—on the edge of a tiny village tucked away in the
Wiltshire hills. Ultimately, I suppose, it belongs now to my cousin.
His father was the elder son, mine the younger. Sometimes during the
night I dream that I'm back there…' A bitter smile twisted
his face. 'Pure escapism. If I do go back, it won't be as a boy free to
run around but as a useless cripple…'

Lizzie bit her lip, wondering if she had done the right
thing in bringing him out here… wondering if she had perhaps
not been kind in stirring up memories of his childhood.

Without saying a word, she turned the wheelchair round.
She knew from experience that when these moods of deep despair came
down on him it was best to simply let Edward speak. Rather like letting
poison drain out of a wound, only for his particular wound there could
never he any total cleansing and healing.

They were halfway back to the hospital when she saw the
man walking down the path towards them. She recognised him immediately,
her heart giving a tremendous bound of pleasure and shock. He was
walking with the sun behind him, so that his dark hair had a golden
nimbus, his easy, long-legged stride so male, so unconsciously arrogant
that her heart bled a little for Edward, whom she could see gripping
the arms of his wheelchair.

Such was her incandescent joy at the sight of him that
there was no time, no room in her mind to question what he was doing.
All she wanted to do was to fly towards him, to feel his arms tighten
around her, his man's body press close to hers, his mouth find hers to
possess and cherish it until the tremulous joy flooding through her
burst into a wild surge.

But it wasn't her he addressed—he seemed not to
notice her at all, speaking instead to Edward, saying casually, 'Ah,
there you are, old boy. They told me I'd find you down here
somewhere…'

'Christopher…'

Christopher… His name was
Christopher… It suited him somehow… She savoured
it silently, tasting it, rolling it around her mouth, marvelling at the
foresight of parents able instinctively to choose a name so fitting.

'I'll push this for you, shall I?'

Engrossed in her bemusement, she hadn't seen him move, and
now suddenly he was standing beside her, her body instantly aware of
his, so that she longed to move closer to him, to bathe in his body
heat, to breathe in his special scent.

She tried to look at him and couldn't, paralysed by
unexpected, awkward shyness. In front of her she heard Edward saying,
'Lizzie…this is Christopher Danvers… My
cousin… Christopher, Lizzie is—'

'I know. Lizzie and I have already met… This
morning when I practically ran her down…'

He held out his hand and gripped hers. The pressure of his
fingers against her own made her quiver with delight.

'Call me Kit,' he told her softly, while his blue eyes
laughed dangerously into hers.

She was so bemused, so entranced by him that it wasn't
until several seconds after he had released her hand and she had turned
away from him that she became aware of Edward's tension.

And then, hypersensitive to a point where she almost felt
as though she had stepped inside his skin, she could feel the pressure
he was placing on his fragile muscles and instinctively moved towards
him and then stopped, confused by her own actions.

For a moment she had wanted to place herself protectively
between Edward and Kit. But why…? And why to protect
Edward…? Kit was his cousin…

She was in love with him. He was wonderful, perfect. She
couldn't understand Edward's antagonism towards him.

'You always did drive too damn fast,' Edward was saying
curtly.

'Well, luckily there was no harm done, and when your
ministering angel told me that she was spending her time off charitably
entertaining one of her patients I had no idea she meant you.'

'What are you doing here, Kit?'

The way Edward Danvers asked the question was brusque,
almost as though he disliked the other man, which startled Lizzie.

'Felt I ought to, old chap, now that the old man's finally
gone. Duty. Head of the family and all that. Came to see how you were
getting on. What plans you've got for when all this is over…'

'I won't be burdening you with my presence at Cottingdean,
if that's what's worrying you,' Edward said stiffly.

Lizzie was beginning to feel uncomfortable. There was
something here between the two men which she felt instinctively should
not be aired in front of a third party.

'I… I think I'd better go,' she began
uncertainly, and appealed to Kit, 'You've obviously got private family
business to discuss…'

She started to move away down the path, but Kit followed
her, standing between her and Edward and blocking her view of the
wheelchair as he bent his head and murmured, 'You haven't forgotten
about our date, have you? I shouldn't be too long with old
Edward… Half-past two, remember.'

Her heart gave a tremendous thud as happiness burst into a
million tiny effervescent fragments inside her.

'Half-past two,' she agreed shakily.

Both men watched her walk out of sight, and then Kit
drawled, 'Pretty little thing for a skivvy.'

'She is not a skivvy, she is a nursing aide… By
rights she ought to have done more years at school. She's far too
bright for this kind of work.' Edward moved restlessly in his chair and
cursed bitterly, 'Damn this war… Damn it to hell…'

'Steady on, old chap. Can't say I blame you, though. Tied
to that thing and not able to do a thing about it, while you've got a
pretty little bit like that fluttering round you. Must say, I'd feel
pretty frustrated myself.' He watched in cynical amusement as he saw
his cousin's skin turn dark red.

Edward always had been over-prudish, which was perhaps
just as well in all the circumstances when you thought about it. Kit
hadn't been looking forward to this visit. While his father had been
alive he had carelessly pushed the thought of his cousin and his plight
out of his mind; he had more important things to think about, such as
winning a war and in the process laying as many pretty girls as he
could… One of the perks of being one of Britain's bravest.
As a pilot, it was virtually expected of him. Not that he found it any
hardship… But now his father was dead, and his CO had made
one too many comments about Edward's plight, so that he had felt
obliged to drive down here and see how he was doing, and to make it
plain to Edward that once this war was over they would both have their
own separate lives to lead.

'You leave her alone,' he heard Edward saying grimly.
'She's still little more than a child. She doesn't understand the kind
of rules you play by, Kit. She's an innocent…' He broke
off, realising that he was only affording the other amusement, and
asked instead, 'I take it you are still engaged to Lillian?'

'Of course. All that money, you know… Besides,
I don't have much option, do I?'

'If you don't love her—'

'Love? What a fool you are, Edward. You've been spending
too much time on your own,' he added derisively. 'I need a wife like
Lillian, but that doesn't mean I can't amuse myself in other
directions.'

'You haven't changed, Kit. You never did care about
people's feelings and you never will.'

'While you always cared too much, which is why you're in
that wheelchair. If you hadn't been so damned heroic, you'd still be a
whole man, instead of a helpless cripple,' Kit taunted him. 'You're a
fool, Edward, you always were and you always will be… And by
the way, old man, once Lillian and I are married, don't expect to find
yourself a billet at Cottingdean, will you? I dare say I shall sell the
old place anyway. Lillian wants a flat in London, and I dare say by the
time this is over Cottingdean will only be fit for knocking down.'

Kit always had had a cruel streak, Edward reflected
silently; as a boy he had been inclined to bully and torment. That
hadn't bothered him
then
… He suddenly
realised how tired and sick he felt, how helpless and vulnerable. He
felt his eyes mist with the helpless tears of impotence and
frustration, and he wished, as he had wished so many times before, that
he had the strength and the courage to put an end to it all.

'Got
a date, have you?'

Lizzie flushed, even though the question was asked in a
friendly enough way. The moment she had left Edward and Kit, she had
collected her bike and ridden back to the hostel.

Mindful of Kit's commands, she had rifled frantically
through her meagre wardrobe, looking in vain for anything that might be
described as 'pretty'. There wasn't anything, of course, but she could
unpin her hair from its braids, brush it until it shined and leave it
hanging loose.

That it felt odd and slightly uncomfortable didn't matter.
Kit had demanded it of her, and for him she was prepared to make any
sacrifice…do anything that might please him.

Now though, confronted by the amused scrutiny of the other
girls who also had the time off from working at the hospital, she felt
acutely self-conscious, her face burning as she stammered an assent.

'Not going to go out wearing that, are you?' another girl
commented, grimacing.

Lizzie blushed harder. She wasn't used to confiding in
others, to encouraging intimacy with them. Aunt Vi always kept her at a
distance and had taught her to do the same to others.

'I… I don't have anything else.'

It shamed her to admit it. She bent her head forwards, so
that her curtain of hair swung across her face.

'I could lend you something,' one of the girls offered.
'We're about the same size.'

'Give over, Rosie, you might be the same height, but she's
much thinner than you.'

'Not that much,' Rosie protested. 'She could wear that
dress I got from Meg the other week. With a belt round the waist.'

'Well, I suppose she could try it, only she's going to
need a bit of make-up as well, isn't she? And some decent shoes. What
size do you take, Lizzie?'

Thoroughly bemused, Lizzie stood there while they argued
good-naturedly and loudly all around her.

'It's a pity you didn't think to put your hair in rags
last night,' one of them told her. 'Then it would have a bit of a curl
to it. You're lucky to be so blonde. Men really go for that. What is
he? Yank?'

'No, no, he's—'

'Here's the dress,' Rosie interrupted. 'Come on, Lizzie,
try it on.'

Suddenly she was one of them, an outsider no longer, but
she flinched when they laughed at her sturdy utilitarian underwear.

'Heavens, just look at it,' one of them derided as she
slipped off her cardigan and blouse to reveal the heavy cotton
brassiere which, like the rest of her clothes, had been inherited from
someone else.

Normally she tried to undress and dress in privacy. Aunt
Vi had always made her feel somehow that her body was something she
ought to be ashamed of and, even when she had had the luxury of her own
bedroom, she had always studiously avoided looking at herself.

Now she blushed deeply as one of the older girls announced
cynically, 'My God, whoever he is, he's going to get a shock when he
sees that. Let's hope he's in the artillery. They're used to dealing
with armour plating.'

The other girls laughed, but it was good-natured laughter,
Lizzie recognised.

'You'll have to take it off,' Rosie told her decisively,
and before she could protest the other girl had stepped behind her and
unsnapped the fastener.

She had never stood in front of anyone before clad in only
her knickers and she felt a sharp stab of shock ricochet through her
system as she realised how easily she was shedding Aunt Vi's rules.

'Look at her,' someone said mockingly. 'She doesn't need
to wear anything. There's hardly anything of her.'

'No, but at least what she's got is in the right place,'
another girl responded.

Rosie turned to her and said kindly, 'Don't pay any
attention to Mavis, she's jealous because her boyfriend says her chest
is too big… Poor Mavis. She's used to them thinking it's
wonderful. She needed taking down a peg or two. The rest of us were
sick of hearing about how wonderful her forty inches were…
Here you are, get this on,' she instructed, handing her a flimsy cotton
garment.

Lizzie hesitated as she stared at the fabric, its white
background rather dingy from too many washings of a poor-quality cloth.
The fabric was overprinted with a too-busy design of bright red and
yellow flowers that made her feel slightly dizzy, but everyone was
waiting and if she refused she would offend Rosie and probably everyone
else as well. They were, after all, trying to be helpful.

As she put the dress on and fastened the buttons down the
front she realised how much plumper Rosie must be. The dress, which on
Rosie hugged the waist, hung loosely on her, and the V-neckline was
surely much more revealing on her than it was when it strained across
Rosie's plump breasts.

She tried not to feel relieved as she reached for the
buttons. 'It's kind of you, Rosie, but it doesn't look anywhere near as
good on me as it does on you,' she said tactfully.

Although she was loath to admit it she was actually
longing to get back to Lady Jeveson's cast-offs. At least in them she
felt she was decently dressed. She had been horror stricken to realise
that through the thin fabric of Rosie's dress it was actually possible
to see not only the outline of her nipples, but also the dark shadowing
of their surrounding areola.

'No, keep it on,' Rosie protested, 'all it needs is a
belt. You've got a red one, haven't you, Jean…? Bring it
here and let's see how it looks…'

Jean Adams was a tall thin girl, with dark hair and dense
brown eyes. The belt in question was made of bright red shiny plastic
and had been a present from an admiring GI.