Whisper on the Wind (17 page)

‘I’m lonely, Poll,’ she whispered. ‘Suddenly I’m so very lonely.’

‘Nay, ma’am, you’re weary. We all are. Sick and tired of this war and us never winning anything. There’s nothing the matter with any of us that some good news and a day free from worrying wouldn’t put right, and that’s a fact. So let’s make ourselves a pot of tea and be blowed to the rationing! Go on, ma’am. Put that old kettle on to boil, won’t you?’

‘Have you ever once wondered,’ Hester smiled, ‘what would happen if suddenly there was no tea?’

‘That I have. Many a time. And I came to the conclusion that if our tea ration dried up we’d just have to throw up our hands and give in.’

‘But we won’t, Poll?’

‘We won’t, Mrs Fairchild, ma’am. We won’t.’

Tuesday, beautiful Tuesday and only five minutes more until he came. Five long, lovely minutes, then he’d be here.

Roz waited, hands in pockets, coat collar upturned. Today was cold, yesterday’s little April forgotten. But the days were lengthening. Soon they would have to find some other place to meet. Soon, it would no longer be possible to wait, hidden by darkness, until she heard his footstep, his whistle.

Today she had seen catkins; not yet fat and fluffy and golden with pollen but her heart had beaten more quickly at the sight of them nevertheless. Today, everything was beautiful and precious, touched with their love; the gentle-eyed calves, fat little Daisy, the rooks, lazy wings flapping on the wind, and the daffodil tips, pushing out of the cold, wet earth.

She heard his footstep, then saw him as he turned into the yard. The sight of him set her pulses racing and she ran, not caring who might see them, into his arms, closing her eyes against the sweet, silly tears that sprang to them, lifting her face for his kiss.

‘Darling, I’ve missed you so.’ His voice was deep, husky with love.

‘Hey!’ She pulled away from him. ‘That’s what I always say!’ She reached for his lips with her own, wishing she didn’t feel so dizzy, so giddily happy. ‘I love you, love you, and I’ve missed you, too.’

‘I’m mad, aren’t I?’ His laugh was deep, and indulgent. ‘Why did I go? Why did you let me?’

‘Because I’m mad, too. Did you tell your parents about us?’

‘No, Roz. Mum would have gone into a dither about it and Dad would have given me a lecture on why a fighting man shouldn’t get serious about girls till the war’s over. I told Pippa, though. She was glad for us, though she gave me a stern, sisterly warning.’

‘It’s all right. I’m not pregnant. I told you so, when you rang.’ She was glad Paul’s sister knew about them; that someone knew they’d been lovers. ‘And did I tell you I love you?’

‘You did, but say it again. Don’t ever stop saying it, Roz.’

‘I won’t. Not ever. Fifty years from now I’ll still be telling you.’

He held her tightly. Fifty years from now. She said it often, tilting at Fate, defying it to part them. Fifty years, my lovely love? Fifty weeks, fifty
days
he’d be grateful for. He closed his eyes, resting his cheek on her hair, grateful to a war that had brought them together, hating a war that could snatch them apart without a goodbye.

‘I want you, Roz.’

‘I want you, too. I can’t think about anything else but wanting you.’ ‘Where shall we go?’

‘To the haystack, again.’ Every day for the last week she and Kath had cut deep into that stack, carrying hay to the cows wintering in the foldyard. Soon, it would all be gone, but soon it would be summer and the earth warm beneath them, freezing rain and biting winds forgotten. Soon, they would have no need of it.

They walked, not speaking now, fingers entwined, thighs touching, pausing only to kiss. Now fear was forgotten, caution flung to the sky. Need was all they knew and all else mattered little. The world was them, and only them; only this moment was real.

They sank into the hay and he unbuttoned his greatcoat, wrapped her to him inside it.

‘Do you know something?’ she whispered, her lips on his. ‘Last time, when I got home, there was hay on the back of my coat. I saw it when I took it off and I thought, “Oh, my God!”’

‘I’ll brush you down this time.’

‘Mmm.’ He unfastened her coat and blouse, reached gently to slip the hook of her bra. She wanted him to kiss her until she was desperate with need for him; wanted this night never to end. She didn’t care. She wouldn’t care if the whole of Alderby knew. She wanted them to know.

‘I love you,’ she whispered, as he took her.

It was late when they left the shelter of the haystack. The wind had scattered the clouds and a half moon glinted down on them. Suddenly he said, ‘There was a buzz, when we got back, that our replacement came.’ They must talk, now, of real things, of the world they lived in. ‘It’s brand new, I believe. A woman ferry-pilot flew it up from the makers, they told us, and they diverted her to Linforth – told her to land it there. We’ll have to go over and pick it up, I suppose, when the runway’s in use again. Imagine – a woman, all alone in a plane that size?’

There would be no death on the new Lancaster bomber. A clean slate, another rear-gunner.

‘You won’t be collecting it yet,’ she whispered confidently.

‘No. Not for about a week. Two great holes in the runway to be seen to. We can meet every night.’

Every night, for a week. Seven tomorrows, sweet and safe. She didn’t care about the replacement. It was ten miles away, at another aerodrome. The whole world was ten miles away.

‘I don’t want you to leave me,’ he said as they stood close together at the orchard gate.

‘I don’t want to. I want you to stay with me all night. Could we make it, do you think – a night together?’

‘I can manage it, sweetheart, but what about you?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll talk to Kath about it. Kath can get sleeping-out passes so I could say I was with her. She’ll help me, I know she will.’

‘York? We could hide ourselves in York.’

‘Anywhere. Anywhere they’ll let us be together.’

‘You’re sure?’ He cupped her face in his hands, touching her mouth gently, kissing away her doubts, if doubts she had.

‘I’m sure.’ She had never been so sure of anything in the whole of her life – except perhaps of how much she loved him. ‘Let’s try to make it soon, Paul; as soon as we can?’

There were sixteen more operations to fly; fifteen, and the last one. It had to be soon.

Kath stood in the darkness at the attic window, Barney’s letter clenched in her hand. The reply to her Christmas Day letter, the one she had filled with love and concern, had come.

Well Kath, no need for me to say I’m still hurt by your behaviour but I hope you will give me no more cause for complaint. It is very hot here, sand everywhere. I would give a lot for a pint of good English bitter, pulled of course, in an English pub.

I’m glad you are looking to the future and saving all the Army allowance. More than a hundred pounds a year. Not bad, eh? I can see I shall have that car I’ve always wanted when I get back.

No more cause for complaint? Well, thanks, Barney!

Hot, is it? Well, it’s so damn cold here you wouldn’t believe it. Some of the girls at the hostel were picking sprouts today. You should have seen their hands, Barney. Blue and swollen, numb with frost. I’ll send you some frozen sprouts, shall I, to cool you down?

That car you’ve always wanted? But when rugs and curtains and wallpaper are back in the shops again, I’d thought my savings could be spent on things for our home and some nice easy chairs.

She stuffed the letter into the pocket of her coat, breathing hard in her dismay. Chin on hand, she gazed into the night.

The stillness was touched with moonglow, but it did nothing to soothe her. She pulled her coat to her, shivering not with cold but with an unexplained apprehension.

Was it that strange, just-around-the-corner feeling, the certainty that something was about to happen or was she ashamed, still, of confiding in a stranger in a way no married woman should talk to any man – except her husband. But Marco was her friend, had saved her life, though saving her life should not have made him the keeper of her conscience. What, then, was this feeling of malcontent? Was she, for the first time, finding fault with her marriage or could it be that she missed not her husband, but being a wife?

Quickly she closed the window, drawing the blackout curtains, walking slowly across the room, hand outstretched, seeking the light switch.

Being a wife? She did not miss Barney
that
way. She never could, never would, for making love with Barney had been nothing more than an embarrassed giving, a closing of her ears to the rhythmic drumming of the bedsprings and closing her eyes to shut out the woman who listened on the other side of the partition wall.

She had known little about making love, save what she had heard whispered by kitchenmaids, so she had expected little from her wedding night. A duty, that’s what being a wife was; something necessary to compensate for her marital status and for the making of the children she wanted and which Barney said they would have one day.

She snapped on the light, blinking in the sudden brightness, then throwing off her coat she undressed quickly and slithered into the pyjamas she had wrapped around her hot-water bottle.

It had been a lot more fun when they were courting, when Barney’s kisses excited her. But even then she had been able to tell him ‘No!’ she thought miserably. And the kissing and cuddling had come to an end on their wedding night. From that night on he had merely taken her, grunting into a darkness for which she had been grateful.

Then why, suddenly, did she feel this way? Did she feel cheated or was this emotion one of envy? Was she jealous of Roz out there in Paul’s arms? Did she, Kathleen Allen, want to snatch at love as Roz did; snatch carelessly, knowing only the need to belong? And why didn’t she ache for Barney as Roz ached for Paul? Was gratitude a poor substitute for love, or did it outlast passion? She folded her clothes with deliberate care, angry with herself for harbouring such thoughts, shocked she could even think them.

Take a long, smug look in a mirror. You could have married any man you wanted
…

Mouth set tightly she walked past the wall mirror and taking her husband’s photograph from the chest of drawers she held it to her.

I’m sorry. Lord only knows what nonsense is in my head or where it came from. It’s this war, Barney; this terrible war
…

She shrugged into her dressing gown, hugging it around her. There would be a bedtime pot of tea on the kitchen table, and bread and jam. A cup of tea was what she needed, and a comforting jam sandwich.

I didn’t mean to find fault with you, Barney. And I’m sorry I said those things to Marco – but you don’t know Marco Roselli, do you
?

Oh, damn, damn,
damn
! She wasn’t going to that dance on Friday, even if she’d promised she would. Asking for trouble, it would be, with herself in this silly mood.

A pretty dress and gold dancing slippers, indeed! Oh, my word
no
!

For the first time since that mid-December morning, they delivered milk in daylight.

‘Paul all right?’ Kath asked. ‘Had a good leave, did he?’

‘Great. His sister managed to get home, too. Kath, I want you to help me –
need
you to help me.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Kath glanced up sharply from the delivery book.

‘Nothing’s the matter. We’re going to York for the night, and I’ll need an alibi.’

‘Roz! Good grief!’ Her cheeks flushed pink. ‘
All
night?’

‘All night. I don’t know how to fix it at home, though. What do I tell Gran?’

‘You tell
me
!’ Kath gasped. ‘Now see here, there’s no way I’m going to help you, but I won’t snitch on you, either. You work it out for yourself, then tell me about it. If I’ve got to tell lies, I might as well tell the same lies as you.’

‘Oh, don’t go all prissy on me. I thought you’d understand,’ Roz pouted.

‘I do understand, only I’ll not be a party to deceit; not deceiving your gran, that is. What did you have in mind?’ she asked grudgingly.

‘I thought I could say I was with you; that you’d got a sleeping-out pass and we were going to the last-house flicks.’

‘So we’d be too late to catch the last bus back and have to stay the night?’

‘Something like that. Or we could be going to a dance, maybe? The girls at the hostel sometimes go to a big dance in York, don’t they?’

‘I believe they do – a couple of times a year – but they organize transport to bring them back when it’s over.’

‘Damn!’ It wouldn’t be easy, Roz brooded; she’d never thought it would, but somehow she would make it happen, even if she waited until April to do it.

‘We might have to hold it back till my birthday. I don’t want to, but it might be our only chance.’

‘But wouldn’t you want to have your birthday at Ridings?’

‘Don’t see why. I suppose we’ll push the boat out for my twenty-first and have a good do, then – it’ll depend on the way things are. But I don’t think Gran would worry over much if I said one or two of us were making a night of it, on the twenty-fourth.