Dark Harvest by Amy Myers Page A

and smile. She wanted to laugh, to cry; gasping ‘I love you’ she hurled herself into his arms.
    As they reached the cab line, she noticed with anxiety that he looked almost bewildered. The lightness she remembered in his eyes had gone and, now their greeting was over, eventhe smile had vanished. She had to steer him into the cab herself, and was surprised when he gave an unfamiliar address in Westminster to the driver. It was his father’s flat, he explained, after they had arrived and been shown into the first floor apartment. Reggie threw himself into an armchair.
    ‘How long?’ she asked, watching him.
    ‘I have to leave at four. I came overnight.’
    ‘Did you sleep?’ Were these pointless time-wasting words all she could think of when what she really wanted to burst out with was how much she loved him?
    ‘Some of the time.’
    ‘You don’t look like it. Shall I make some coffee to wake you up?’
    ‘I’ll ring for some.’ He forced a laugh. ‘You’re looking splendid, Caroline.’
    Appalled, she faltered: ‘Reggie, this is me. ’
    He hid his face in his hands. ‘I’m sorry, darling. It’s so different.’
    ‘To how things were in Ashden?’ Oh, how she remembered the carefree ecstasy of last summer.
    ‘To over there. This time yesterday I woke up in a muddy trench dug-out, with a plate of lumpy fatty meat thrust under my nose. This morning, I climb into a cab, see the old crossing sweeper outside the station, the girl who sells lavender on the corner, people strolling around as though they haven’t a care in the world.’
    Illusion, Caroline thought bitterly. They had cares, oh they had. But not the same ones.
    She sat down and put her arms round him.He wasn’t shorter, that was an illusion too. He seemed further away, that was all. Surely she could bridge that gap with the right words? So she began to talk of Ashden, of Agnes, of the rota she and her mother were organising, of all the things they had once shared. Gradually she sensed that he was beginning to listen. ‘Do you want to talk about the war?’ she asked when she had exhausted her news.
    ‘No. Let’s have lunch at Romano’s, shall we?’
    She was disappointed. She wanted these precious few hours to be theirs alone. But she would not argue with him when time was so short.
    It was not the Romano’s of pre-war days. As a great treat. Aunt Tilly had taken her there, when it was crowded with theatre actors and actresses, and chorus girls with their escorts. Now all she could see was uniforms. But to her surprise, Reggie seemed to relax at last, laughing and joking with the other officers. Her heart ached. She seemed to be sitting opposite a stranger, a casual friend, not the man she loved, and was going to marry. She was even reduced to talking about the new coalition government Mr Asquith had been forced to accept.
    Then suddenly Reggie put his hand over hers. ‘Do you still love me, Caroline?’ he asked.
    She felt ridiculously happy. It was going to be all right after all.
    Once back in the flat she could not restrain herself any longer. ‘Reggie, I can’t stand life without you. When can we be married?’
    ‘When I see whole bodies around me again, not mangled or yellow with gas. When men can be husbands and fathers again, not cannon fodder. If only you knew—’ He stopped.
    ‘Tell me. Please.’
    ‘I can’t.’ But his lips did the telling, as he kissed her.
    ‘If we can’t marry,’ she whispered, ‘then let us at least love.’
    He buried his face in her hair, then kissed her again, his hands moving over her, her legs, her breasts. His body felt firm and alive. She closed her eyes with happiness, hoping that at last they would be one.
    Then he pulled back. ‘Shall I take my dress off?’ she asked uncertainly.
    ‘No.’ His voice was harsh.
    ‘Reggie, what have I done?’
    ‘Nothing. Nothing. I just can’t. Not with you, Caroline.’
    ‘Why not with me?’
    ‘Because I—’
    ‘Don’t you love me any