Wartime Sweethearts Read online

  To her ears it sounded as though he couldn’t quite believe she was here.

  ‘I had to come. You said it was about something special.’ She couldn’t stop her voice from trembling. Her legs were doing pretty much the same thing and her face felt as though it was about to burst into flames.

  His smile took her breath away, his gaze holding hers as the gap between them closed until she could feel the whole length of his body pressing against hers. Her heart seemed to pound in her ears, so much that she could almost believe it was the freight train down on the adjacent railway line heading up to the Midlands.

  But it wasn’t a train. This was her moment. It was all about her.

  When he began unbuttoning the bodice of her dress, it felt as though a small bird was trapped close to her heart, its wings fluttering against her ribs.

  She held her breath relishing the feel of his fingers burrowing inside her brassiere. It felt good and she wanted him badly, but there could be consequences. She would not, could not, bring shame to her family.

  ‘Gareth! No!’ She attempted to force his hands away. ‘What if Mrs Burns comes in?’

  ‘She isn’t coming in today,’ he said, his fingers groping her breast. ‘I wanted for us to be alone. This place and the world to ourselves. Don’t you want it too?’ he asked, his breath hot and moist against her ear, following the line of her jaw, falling over her face until their lips finally met.

  She so wanted to give in, and yet she still held on to a strand of resistance.

  He hadn’t asked her to marry him yet, but she still believed he would. Besides, it wasn’t the first time he’d caressed her bare breasts. He’d also tried shoving his hand up her skirt – just as Frances had mentioned. The little brat must have been watching, though kids picked up all sorts of naughty ideas in the school playground.

  So far she’d just about kept the burly Gareth Stead at bay, insisting she was keeping herself for the man she married. Now he was telling her that the time had come, whispering into her ear that he wanted her and her alone, now and for evermore.

  She tried to ignore the fact that the word marriage had not been mentioned. To her mind the words he was whispering into her ear meant the same thing. If she hadn’t been aroused, if she’d seen it happening to somebody else, she would have told them they were making a fool of themselves. But it was happening to her and she wanted to believe.

  He took hold of her hand, holding it tightly, guiding it down to the front of his trousers. ‘Touch me,’ he said, his moist breath gasping on to her face. ‘This is what you are doing to me. I can’t help it.’

  ‘No … Gareth … I don’t …’

  She clenched her hand into a tight fist while trying with all her might to pull away. He held on to her firmly, fingers clamped around her wrist.

  ‘Here!’ he exclaimed. ‘Touch me here.’

  She let out a little gasp as he pressed her palm flat against his buttoned flies where the hard contours of his erection pulsated against her touch. The size of it was bad enough, but that hardness! It wasn’t what she’d expected. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it scared her.

  In her youthful naivety, she’d expected something similar to the sight of her brother and the village boys when they had stripped naked as youngsters, hurling themselves into the brook at the bottom of Court Road.

  Gareth didn’t seem to notice her reluctance and she in turn didn’t realise just how determined he was to have her there and then.

  ‘This is for you,’ he whispered, his voice thick and breath hot against her face. He planted a warm moist kiss on her lips then said, ‘Unbutton me while I explore your secret parts.’

  She felt a draught of cold air as he lifted the hem of her dress, her favourite dress that she’d taken care to wash and press before responding to his invitation. It occurred to her that he hadn’t passed comment on her dress; in fact, he had paid no compliment to her at all.

  His hand caressed that part of her leg just above the knee before climbing further and further up her leg. Finally his strong fingers and calloused palms were caressing the bare flesh between her stocking top and her knickers.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d ventured there, but this time he seemed more determined.

  Her heart was pounding, her blood racing. She wanted him. He wanted her, but a warning voice began to seep through and as it gained strength pointed out the reality of what was happening at this moment.

  She’d come here expecting Gareth to ask her to marry him, to share his bed for the rest of their lives. But he hadn’t mentioned marriage, so it was up to her to bring up the subject before things went any further.

  ‘No!’

  She struggled to free herself and because he was engrossed in dipping his fingers between her legs, the hand that held hers against his groin loosened.

  She managed to hold him at arm’s length.

  He looked stunned that she’d refused him.

  ‘Ruby, my darling girl. You don’t mean that. You want it. You want it badly.’ He shook his head mournfully though there was laughter in his eyes.

  Suddenly she could see that he was mocking her. ‘I’m saving myself for marriage!’

  ‘No, Ruby my sweet. You’ve been asking for it for years, ever since you were a gangly girl with ribbons in your hair. I thought about giving it to you then, but held back. Decided I would be a gentleman and let you come of age – ripen, so to speak.’

  Still clinging to her hands, fingers interlaced with his, he tried to kiss her. She acted swiftly, turning her head so he ended up kissing the side of her nose.

  Ruby uncoupled her fingers from his, pushing him away at the same time as desperately trying to push down her dress.

  ‘Nobody says no to me,’ growled Gareth, his face growing red with anger.

  He attempted to grab her wrists, cursing that she should feel grateful, a little no-account village girl like her, without grace, without manners, without the elegance or experience of the city women he’d known, including the one he’d been married to.

  Somehow he managed to gain a hold on both her wrists. Ruby twisted and wriggled. When that failed she began to kick and then suddenly she screamed.

  Gareth’s face turned white.

  ‘Shh!’ he said, putting a finger to his mouth, his eyes more furtive now, wary of her scream being heard. His frustration turned to anger. ‘If you didn’t want it, why the bloody hell did you come here?’ he said, glowering at her with chilly hard eyes, the mouth she’d loved to kiss no longer seductive but cruel and petulant.

  ‘I thought … I thought …’ Ruby stammered.

  ‘That’s the exit,’ he said to her, pointing at the rear door that he’d momentarily forgotten was blocked by a handcart.

  Ruby realised he sounded impatient for her to be gone.

  Ruby tried again. ‘I thought …’

  Hands on hips, Gareth threw back his head and gave his exasperation, and his contempt full rein. ‘Go on. I might as well hear it. What the hell did you think I wanted?’

  Ruby felt a hot flush coming to her cheeks. Suddenly she was again a little girl, not the sophisticated woman she so wanted to be. She felt such a fool.

  At first she thought about just leaving him there without mentioning her belief he had asked her here to propose. But then if it was left unsaid he might presume that she had indeed come here for what he’d wanted but had chickened out. She had to say it.

  ‘I thought you were going to ask me to marry you,’ she said in a small voice, eyes lowered as she rapidly buttoned up her dress.

  For a moment his expression was implacable, as though his face was carved from stone. He stared at her, a withering stare that made her feel as though she were just a stupid little girl who wanted to play at being a bride; not for real. Just pretend.

  He shook his head.

  Ruby wanted to believe that, despite him trying to force himself on her, there might still be hope. She’d imagined herself in a white dress walking do
wn the aisle on her father’s arm, Gareth standing at the altar, turning his head and smiling, the light of love in his eyes.

  The truth of the matter was that even her father had voiced his disquiet that she seemed too close to the man.

  ‘Running down there to help behind the bar, cleaning the place when old Mrs Burns has a day off. The man’s taking advantage of you,’ her father had grumbled just the other day.

  Gareth Stead, a man with a passion for fresh virgin flesh, prided himself on being able to read female minds, to ingratiate himself with innocent young women until they trusted him. Once they trusted him, they were his to do with as he pleased and no matter what anyone said, including their family, he was the one they turned to.

  He had believed that Ruby had fallen under his spell, that she was ready and willing to let him have his way with her. Even though it might have seemed otherwise, Ruby’s belief that he would ask her to marry him had come as no surprise. If there was one thing Gareth Stead could do it was to sow the right seeds in a young mind, entice them with words and actions to make them believe one thing, when in fact he was feeding them lies. That these simple little girls misinterpreted his intentions amused him. The fact that he’d left broken hearts, broken lives and the odd bastard scattered around, didn’t worry him. Men ruled this world; women were the weaker sex. They were there to be enjoyed and kept in their place.

  He decided to give it one last shot.

  ‘We could be good together,’ he shrugged. ‘I tried marriage. Don’t rate it much. You could move in if you like, but I ain’t marrying you. And no babies either. Get pregnant, you get rid of it. There are ways and women who can do it.’

  Shocked by this pronouncement, Ruby raised her eyes. Those amber-flecked green eyes seemed positively devilish now; how often had she dreamed of those eyes. In her dreams he had been warm and charming, making her feel as though she were a princess. In this last half hour or so he had made her feel like something far sleazier.

  ‘Don’t you ever want children?’

  ‘No. I want sex. That’s all I want.’

  There was an air of finality to the way he answered. Gareth, Ruby realised, was not a man to be persuaded. He’d made up his mind as to what he wanted from women and from life. She wondered why she hadn’t seen that before? The old saying jumped into her mind. Love is blind. Had she been blind? Was she still blind? She wasn’t quite sure. Nobody got over things that quickly.

  She sucked in her lips, a childish action that would take off her lipstick, but was something she did when she felt chastised, and she certainly felt that now.

  ‘Do you need me behind the bar today?’

  ‘No.’

  The single word response was like a slap in the face.

  ‘Then I’d better be going.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, turning his back. ‘You’d better be going.’

  She paused, seeing him toss a glass cloth over his shoulder as he sauntered to the bar. It was terribly tempting to rush at his back, slide both her arms around him and ask his forgiveness. To say, yes, have me. Have me now. Whatever you want. But a warning voice that came from inside her but wasn’t quite hers advised caution.

  Ruby avoided Gareth’s eyes as she listened to the voice inside her head that she knew belonged to her sister.

  It was a well-known fact that twin sisters were closer than ordinary sisters. Sometimes they thought the same thoughts; sometimes they did the same things, though miles apart. They were like two sides of the same coin, though not even heads and tails. They were a double-headed coin, something rare and very special.

  Even though Mary wasn’t in the Apple Tree with her, Ruby could feel her presence, that warning voice telling her not to be stupid. They looked out for each other. They knew when one of them was worried or frightened.

  ‘Yes. I think I should go now and I won’t be coming back.’

  She said it abruptly so he would be in no doubt that she wouldn’t change her mind. It seemed that he wouldn’t be changing his.

  ‘Well, it was fun while it lasted. If you change your mind, I might consider having you back.’

  In between sips of a half pint of beer he’d poured himself, he smiled the old smile that had seduced her in the first place.

  She turned her back swiftly and headed for the back door, forgetting that she’d come in the front one.

  The back door was at the end of a passage connecting the bar to the outside and the draughty old toilets, one for men, one for women. The plain plank doors had a gap at the top and bottom. A zinc bath hung on a nail between the two of them, grating against the uneven brickwork when the wind blew.

  In the winter the toilets were freezing. A small lamp was left burning in the corner of the wooden rectangular seat; it was meant to help stop the pipes from freezing but it didn’t always work. In the summer the flies buzzed in and out of the gaps at the top and bottom of the doors. The waste pipes led to a cess pit at the far end of the untidy garden at the rear. When it rained heavily the cess pit overflowed and stank. The toilets stank most of the time, despite Mrs Burns and her trusty bottle of chlorus.

  The handcart was still there but it was now empty.

  A sudden bang came from the direction of the pair of wooden doors through which barrels were rolled down into the cellar. Whatever had been delivered on the cart had gone down there. Someone was down there.

  She managed to squeeze out through the gap. Just as she’d guessed, Gareth had followed her out, thinking perhaps that she might have to come back in and go out the front door. Nothing would make her do that!

  ‘See you on Saturday. Hope you win. If you do I’ll help you celebrate.’

  Gareth was referring to the village fete and sounded as though he was back to his old self, perhaps even thinking it wouldn’t be long before he could wear down her resistance. There wasn’t much chance of avoiding him at the village fete, but at least it would be crowded. Whether she won or not was a different matter. Competition was fierce and her greatest rival would be her sister.

  A dry stone wall separated the pub from the orchard next door. Nobody knew who owned the orchard, so everyone harvested the apples that hung low on the ancient trees. Some of its branches scraped against the side wall of the pub itself. The local kids built dens in there and played cowboys and Indians in the long grass.

  Everything that was so familiar today seemed tired and ugly. Gareth had made it feel that way. Suddenly she wanted to leave this place that had been home all her life. She wanted something new and different far away from the village where gossip was rife and old wounds took a long time to heal.

  As she passed close to the wall just before it joined the main road, she heard somebody calling her name.

  ‘Ruby?’

  She came to a halt as leaves and ripe apples bounced around her feet. The deluge was followed by her cousin Frances who was extremely good at climbing trees.

  Ruby had hoped to get home without seeing anyone, and that included her cousin.

  ‘Have you been scrumping?’ she asked though there was little doubt what her cousin had been up to. Still flustered and red-faced from her ordeal with Gareth, Ruby feigned annoyance. ‘Look at your knees! They’re filthy. And you’ve ripped your dress.’

  ‘I know.’

  Ruby watched Frances scooping up what rolling apples she could catch, darting around then tossing them into the sack she was carrying with the others she’d scrumped. ‘It’ll mend easy though.’

  ‘Easily. You mean easily,’ said Ruby impatiently.

  Frances, the daughter of Sefton Sweet, her father’s brother, had lived with them since she was four years old when her mother had left her and a note with the local vicar. Sefton’s wife had been determined, so she said, to start a new life. A child, she’d declared, would only slow her down and she had no intention of fading into a frump in a village where the high spot of the year was the village fete.

  And so Frances had come to live with them.

  Like her t
hree cousins, Frances had glossy dark hair. Unlike them she had velvet-brown eyes fringed with dark lashes. Mary, Ruby and Charlie, their brother, had inherited their father’s blue eyes.

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ she piped up. ‘I’ve got enough for you to make apple turnovers, apple pies, even baked apples with custard for our Sunday tea,’ she declared. ‘Our Mary will be happy.’

  ‘I dare say,’ Ruby said grimly.

  She resumed walking, her stride quickening in the vague hope of leaving Frances behind. She was still smarting from her ordeal with Gareth and could not quite believe that all her hopes and dreams of marriage were now over so quickly. Should she have given in to him? No. She should not.

  Heaving the sack over her shoulder, Frances kept pace with her.

  ‘Have you done the cleaning already?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘I haven’t been doing any cleaning. I’ve been to the post office,’ snapped Ruby, her jaw firmly set, her cheeks still rosier than any of the apples Frances had in her sack.

  ‘So why did you go into the pub?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you did. I was up in the tree. I saw you. That was after the man with the big sack went into the cellar. I think it was Mr Herbert. What did he have in his sack?’

  Ruby stopped so abruptly that the two of them collided.

  ‘I don’t know what he had in his bloody sack. Were you spying on me?’

  ‘Not really. I told you. I was up the tree. I saw you.’

  Ruby gripped her cousin’s shoulders and gave her a shake.

  ‘You were spying on me!’

  ‘I couldn’t help seeing you. Or Mr Herbert.’

  Ruby felt herself growing even redder, alarmed that Frances might have been able to peer through the pub windows from her perch up in the apple tree.

  She glanced back at the pub. Its four brick chimneys stabbed at the sky. Its windows were small and square and set into stone mullions. Those in shadow looked black, nothing of the inside to be seen. Those in sunlight reflected the old wall, the trees, herself and her cousin.

  All the same, Frances might have seen something. ‘You’re not to tell anyone I was in there this morning. Do you hear me? You didn’t see me. Do you understand?’