know if I’ve said it already, but you have the most beautiful eyes.’
‘I think you’ve mentioned it, yes.’
‘It’s worth mentioning again. Shall we go?’
‘Do we have to, Douglas? I don’t feel very hungry.’ She knew she did not want to spend the evening in a smoky restaurant.
‘No, not if you don’t want to.’ He sounded rather disappointed. ‘What would you prefer to do? It’s too late for a show.’
‘Then take me home.’ The words seemed to slip from her. A thrilling impulse, not a thought, and she felt a little frightened.
Lindsay said nothing, but offered her his arm and they crossed the square.
‘Have you missed me?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I’ve thought about you all the time.’
‘Tell me about Liverpool?’
They walked slowly along Whitehall, past the Admiralty, Downing Street and the Treasury and Lindsay spoke of HMS
White
and the prisoners. The commander of the
112
had been at Trent Park for a week: ‘Mohr’s men call him “the Buddha”. They respect him but they don’t love him. He looks like every British boy’s idea of an evil U-boat commander, black leather jacket, swarthy complexion – by no means the perfect Aryan man.’
She laughed. ‘You mean like you.’
By the time they turned into Lord North Street the sky behind the broken silhouette of St John’s was a rich blue. Mary took the key from her pocket. Her hand was shaking a little.
‘Where’s your . . .’ Lindsay cleared his throat. ‘Where’s your uncle?’ He was nervous too.
‘In his constituency.’
The door clicked behind them. Before she could switch on the light he turned her towards him, held her face between his hands and kissed her, slowly at first and then quicker, harder, with trembling urgency. She was clinging to him but he pushed her gently away and his fingers were on her face then on her breasts, loosening her blouse.
‘Where?’ She took his hand and kissed it.
‘This way.’
And fear was gone, and reason; there was only love and a wild excitement that just for a moment made her laugh out loud.
Later they lay together in silence, naked beneath a cotton sheet, her head resting on his chest. The steady beat of his heart made her smile. She was lying next to a man and that man had been inside her. Why had she let him make love to her? She was in love with him, she was sure of that. She had never been orthodox in her views about sex before marriage but it had happened tonight because, there in Trafalgar Square, she had wanted to draw him closer than any man had ever been to her, to give him a part of herself.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘Oh about you, about us.’
Her head slipped from his chest as he shuffled down the bed and on to his side to look into her eyes: ‘I love you.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ she said brusquely.
He laughed.
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to give myself to a man who didn’t.’ Lindsay smiled and stroked her face with his fingertips: ‘I was under the impression you’d taken rather than given.’
Mary pushed at him playfully: ‘Are you accusing me of being forward?’
‘No, I’m grateful to you, and in love with you.’ He reached beneath the sheet to caress her.
‘Grateful?’ She expected him to say something flippant but his face stiffened a little and he rolled on to his back.
‘Grateful? Oh for bringing a little hope into my life, some love, yes some hope.’
‘Was it so bleak?’
He gave a long sigh then swung his legs off the bed and stood up. She watched as he reached over to the bedside lamp and then he was lost in the darkness. A moment later she heard the clang of the shutter guard and thin white light poured into the room.
‘Yes, it was bleak.’ He padded back to the bed, sat on the end of it and reached under the sheet for one of her feet. ‘I don’t know. These things affect people differently but I’ve felt, well, angry, depressed, mostly guilty.’
Mary interrupted: ‘Your ship? But you did more
‘I think you’ve mentioned it, yes.’
‘It’s worth mentioning again. Shall we go?’
‘Do we have to, Douglas? I don’t feel very hungry.’ She knew she did not want to spend the evening in a smoky restaurant.
‘No, not if you don’t want to.’ He sounded rather disappointed. ‘What would you prefer to do? It’s too late for a show.’
‘Then take me home.’ The words seemed to slip from her. A thrilling impulse, not a thought, and she felt a little frightened.
Lindsay said nothing, but offered her his arm and they crossed the square.
‘Have you missed me?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I’ve thought about you all the time.’
‘Tell me about Liverpool?’
They walked slowly along Whitehall, past the Admiralty, Downing Street and the Treasury and Lindsay spoke of HMS
White
and the prisoners. The commander of the
112
had been at Trent Park for a week: ‘Mohr’s men call him “the Buddha”. They respect him but they don’t love him. He looks like every British boy’s idea of an evil U-boat commander, black leather jacket, swarthy complexion – by no means the perfect Aryan man.’
She laughed. ‘You mean like you.’
By the time they turned into Lord North Street the sky behind the broken silhouette of St John’s was a rich blue. Mary took the key from her pocket. Her hand was shaking a little.
‘Where’s your . . .’ Lindsay cleared his throat. ‘Where’s your uncle?’ He was nervous too.
‘In his constituency.’
The door clicked behind them. Before she could switch on the light he turned her towards him, held her face between his hands and kissed her, slowly at first and then quicker, harder, with trembling urgency. She was clinging to him but he pushed her gently away and his fingers were on her face then on her breasts, loosening her blouse.
‘Where?’ She took his hand and kissed it.
‘This way.’
And fear was gone, and reason; there was only love and a wild excitement that just for a moment made her laugh out loud.
Later they lay together in silence, naked beneath a cotton sheet, her head resting on his chest. The steady beat of his heart made her smile. She was lying next to a man and that man had been inside her. Why had she let him make love to her? She was in love with him, she was sure of that. She had never been orthodox in her views about sex before marriage but it had happened tonight because, there in Trafalgar Square, she had wanted to draw him closer than any man had ever been to her, to give him a part of herself.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘Oh about you, about us.’
Her head slipped from his chest as he shuffled down the bed and on to his side to look into her eyes: ‘I love you.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ she said brusquely.
He laughed.
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to give myself to a man who didn’t.’ Lindsay smiled and stroked her face with his fingertips: ‘I was under the impression you’d taken rather than given.’
Mary pushed at him playfully: ‘Are you accusing me of being forward?’
‘No, I’m grateful to you, and in love with you.’ He reached beneath the sheet to caress her.
‘Grateful?’ She expected him to say something flippant but his face stiffened a little and he rolled on to his back.
‘Grateful? Oh for bringing a little hope into my life, some love, yes some hope.’
‘Was it so bleak?’
He gave a long sigh then swung his legs off the bed and stood up. She watched as he reached over to the bedside lamp and then he was lost in the darkness. A moment later she heard the clang of the shutter guard and thin white light poured into the room.
‘Yes, it was bleak.’ He padded back to the bed, sat on the end of it and reached under the sheet for one of her feet. ‘I don’t know. These things affect people differently but I’ve felt, well, angry, depressed, mostly guilty.’
Mary interrupted: ‘Your ship? But you did more
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