A Mortal Sin (6 page)

“Don’t be afraid, I wouldn’t hurt anyone as beautiful as you.” His lips were only inches away from hers, his breath warmly fanning her face. “Sweet Daphne.” The flat of his thumb traced the outline of her jaw, but their lips did not quite touch. For a moment her world stood still.

“I understand we catch the ‘Weeroona’ at Station Pier,” he finally said.

“I’ve always wanted to take this trip, but never got the chance.” She pushed aside the hopelessness of their having a permanent relationship, deciding to enjoy whatever time she did have with him. “It’s a paddle steamer, did you know, Paul?”

“No, Ian didn’t go into much detail, just said it would be a splendid outing.”

“Is he Jean’s boyfriend?”

“Yes, we were at Eton together.”

“Jean says he’s a brilliant architect.”

“Top class.”

“Do you think, what I mean is, she’s fond of him.”

“I doubt if he’ll marry her, if that’s what you mean.”

He weaved in and out of the traffic with an arrogant confidence. Ian was selfish. Jean loved him, often staying overnight at his house, yet he wasn’t prepared to do the decent thing by offering marriage.

“Do you have to work tomorrow?” Paul asked.

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t you take the day off? We could go somewhere else, Mordialloc perhaps.”

“I’d like to, but I’m a working girl remember.”

“One day wouldn’t matter.”

“Nursing is important to me. Look at the seagull, he’s lost a leg.” She pointed to the bird that hopped about on his remaining one, as he fought with several others over a crust of bread. “Hope he wins.” When she looked beyond the bird and saw the boat, her excitement was tempered with trepidation. Don’t be so foolish, a large paddle-steamer like this wouldn’t sink.

Paul laughed. “Seems to be doing all right for himself.” He parked the car at the ferry terminal. “Do you want to go on the inside deck?” he asked, feeling carefree. He wouldn’t think of the social chasm that divided them. England, with all its high society requirements and restrictions, was thousands of miles across the sea. As was Hitler and his Nazis. He suddenly wondered why he thought of the German Chancellor. Perhaps it was the article he’d read in the newspaper over breakfast about Jewish refugees streaming into England with harrowing tails of persecution, and people disappearing into concentration camps.

She took off her hat and the wind whipped strands of hair across her face. “No, let’s stay here, I love the breeze.”

They found a spot along one side of the ferry, and he deposited the picnic hamper under the seat. The laughing, chattering crowd jostled each other good-naturedly for the best viewing positions.

The women wore colorful frocks, the men casual trousers and open-necked shirts. Daphne felt as excited as the rest of them in the carnival atmosphere. For this one day she would be selfish and not think of the patients being admitted to the hospital suffering illness as a result of malnutrition, or the black clouds building up over Europe.

The water, greenish blue in the distance, sent up little white spurts as the waves nudged the sides of the boat, but then it foamed as the big wheel started turning. Daphne leaned over the rails and Paul wrapped his arms around her waist, and they stood like this for a time without speaking.

“I hope I’m a good sailor.”

He laughed. “Haven’t you been on a boat before?”

“Only a row boat, nothing as big as this, and on the open sea too. Will it get rough?”

“I don’t know, but if you start turning green, I’ll shove you overboard,” he threatened.

She tugged at his hand often as she pointed things out. Paul probably thought she was juvenile, but she couldn’t contain her excitement.

“How old are you?” he suddenly asked.

“Eighteen.”

“Jean’s told you a lot about me, so she’s probably mentioned that I’m twenty-four.”

“Yes, she did tell me your age. I asked her.”

The blue sky dazzled in the sunlight, the almost white sand shimmered in the heat as they left the boat. I should have bought my bathers, she thought. What would Paul look like in his swimming trunks? Butterflies whirled around in the pit of her stomach.

Around a rocky point, Paul selected a secluded spot for their picnic. Obviously selfish in his newly found attraction, he wasn’t prepared to share her with anyone else, which suited her because she didn’t want to share him, either.

She enthusiastically demolished the hard-boiled eggs, cold chicken, ham, and fresh rolls prepared by Ian’s housekeeper. “Ah, beautiful,” she sighed. “Makes me feel drowsy.”

She packed everything neatly back in the hamper. Hand in hand they sought relief from the heat under the shelter of some trees.

Paul lay down first and she hesitated for a moment before doing likewise, so they were both stretched out flat on their backs. Resting her head on his arm, she lay quietly, closing her eyes to better savor his scent and the male heat emanating from his body.

Suddenly he rolled on to his side, moving his arm to connect with the one that was cradling her head, and she trembled.

“It’s all right.” His warm breath fanned her face. He gave a sudden strangled groan, and covered her lips with his own. “Open your mouth for me, Sunshine.”

She obeyed the husky, somewhat muffled instruction, and almost immediately felt the thrust of his tongue as it probed the innermost depths of her mouth. His leg came over to cover hers and she was pressed along the full length of his body, with her breasts crushed against the hard wall of his chest. She had gone out with a few young men from home, but had never been confronted with a man’s passion in such intimate circumstances before.

Paul started to harden with arousal, she must have felt it, yet was so innocent, especially for a nurse, that he wondered whether she understood what was happening to him. How easily things could escalate out of control. With a growl of deprivation he rolled away, while he still had the strength to do so.

“I’m sorry, Daphne, I took advantage of you.”

Her eyes, almost green and very wide, were now shadowed. “I should have stopped you,” she whispered.

She turned her head away, but not before he noticed that the lips he had recently tasted now trembled with emotion.

“I saw a kiosk near the pier, would you like to go back there for some tea?” He was annoyed with himself for treating her with such little respect.

“Yes please.” A smooth, dainty hand slipping trustingly into his, made him feel an absolute cad.

They both ordered Devonshire tea. The scones were light and fluffy, the cream and jam spread lavishly. “Delicious. Not quite as good as Mum makes, though.”

He laughed at her enthusiasm.

“Dad says she’s the best cook in Australia.”

He wondered what his own father would make of this woman/child, and, for that matter, what she would make of him. A working-class Australian. No, Sir Phillip would not be impressed.

They left the kiosk as soon as they finished their tea. Once they got outside Paul put his arms around her and they stood facing each other. “Where would you like me to take you this evening?”

“I can’t be late.” Her warm breath brushed his face. He lowered his head, and their faces were so close they bumped noses. “I have to work in the morning.”

“Couldn’t you miss it for once?”

“No, I have to earn a living.”

“If it’s the money, I’ll make up whatever you lose in your pay.”

“I couldn’t let you do that.” Her voice sounded normal, yet when he gazed into her eyes, he felt like cutting his tongue out. She looked shattered, as if she was crying, but there were no tears.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound so crass. I’ll pick you up after work, we could dine out somewhere.”

She didn’t answer. Turning her head away she stared out to sea, and Paul cursed the differences in their background and outlook.

* * *

The QueenVictoriaHospital was staffed and run by women. The patients were all female, and Daphne had often wondered what it would be like to attend the needs of a male. Had she been more familiar with the traits and temperament of worldly men maybe she could have behaved in a more sophisticated manner with Paul, instead of taking every word he uttered to heart.

Did the fact that he was a rich young Englishman made her wary and suspicious of him? I’m afraid of him. This insight pared her heart wide open, leaving it vulnerable and exposed. She had fallen in love with him, ridiculous and futile though it was.

She would be nothing more than a frivolous diversion for him, something different from his usual pursuits. A curiosity, a little colonial nurse he could tell his flash friends about when he returned home. Boast about how ‘easy’ she was. How she fell into his hand like a ripe plum. That should raise a few laughs over their champagne and caviar.

Thinking about how far she had let his lovemaking progress before calling a halt made her cringe.

You’re a fool Daphne Clarke. You want to be a nurse don’t you? You’ve slaved for months, studied for years. Surely, you’re not going to jeopardize your chances by falling in love with a rich, spoilt young man, who thinks working-class girls are fair game for a causal dalliance.

She felt tired and drained by knock off time. Had the Tutor Sister been over critical today? It was hard concentrating on splints and bandages with a broken heart, but how could you explain this to a fifty-year-old spinster.

Mrs. Gleeson had died that morning. Such a nice old lady too, and no visitors in the whole ten weeks she’d spent at the hospital. How pitiful to be so alone, with no-one to mourn your passing.

“What’s wrong with you, Daph?” A smiling Jean caught up with her. “Not letting Paul break your heart, are you?”

“No.” She held her head proudly and summoned a smile. She couldn’t tell Jean how bereft she felt at losing Paul. Her friend would never understand how she could let a man come to mean so much to her after knowing him for such a short time.

Chapter Five

One Monday, two weeks after the disastrous boat trip, Daphne trailed forlornly out of the hospital. Another evening at home, eating a solitary meal was not appealing. She had thrown herself into work, taking on extra shifts, anything to stop pining for Paul. Tomorrow she started afternoon shift, then it would be Christmas with a ten day holiday. She could hardly wait. Like a wounded animal, she wanted to make for the safety of home and family.

“Hello, Daphne.” She jumped when Paul spoke. “You nearly walked past me.”

“Sorry.”

“How have you been?” What a stupid question, she looked as miserable as he felt, and for possibly the first time ever he was lost for words.

“I’m all right.”

“It’s been a terrible couple of weeks, I’ve missed you like hell.”

“Have you, Paul?” Disbelief widened her honest hazel eyes and he felt a stabbing pain in his heart because she obviously thought he had gone back to his old womanizing ways. Well, who could blame her? If only she knew that he had volunteered to help at a soup kitchen run by the Salvation Army. It hadn’t been a resounding success. He had looked what he was, a wealthy man in expensive clothes ladling out largesse to the homeless to salve his conscience.

He would never forget what he read in the eyes of some of the people he had served. The hopelessness, the fear and desperation, worse still, their humiliation. “I don’t want charity from the likes of you,” one man had snarled at him. “I want a job.”

Sheer determination not to cut and run at the first obstacle had kept him handing out soup and bread, but he wasn’t like Daphne. He didn’t have the common touch, the compassionate aura that surrounded her. The way she could make people feel good about themselves with a smile, the mere touch of her hand.

“I tried to get you out of my mind, but you kept coming back no matter what I did.” After his failure at the soup kitchen, he had given the Salvation Army a large donation, and told them to send any likely candidates around to Smithers who ran Sir Phillip’s office in Melbourne. He might be able to find them a job in one of their factories. It wasn’t much, pitiful really, but he didn’t know what else to do. He had never experienced poverty, never really seen it first hand.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” They stood in a side street close to where the Buick was parked.

She hesitated. He thought she might refuse him, but her softly spoken words caused his heart to constrict.

“I did everything I could to forget you. I worked double shifts, did extra study, but it didn’t help,” she confessed with a wistful smile.”

“Oh, Sunshine, I’m so sorry for the way I acted.” He pulled her into his arms and regardless of any passer-by, who might witness it, kissed her. “Where would you like me to take you?”

“Somewhere quiet, please.”

When she slipped her hand into his, he squeezed her fingers gently and sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

“I’ll have to ring Mrs. Rogers to let her know I’ll be late, she worries otherwise.”

He could understand that. A girl like Daphne brought out the protective instincts in people.

He saw her into the car, and it was good to hear her chattering away next to him. How he missed it. The old man would disapprove of Daphne for anything more than a casual fling, but to hell with Sir Phillip and his plans and aspirations.

They partook of their meal at a leisurely pace as an orchestra played in the background. “Would you like to go for a walk?” he asked.

“A walk!”

He laughed softly. “There’s a garden out back, with an artificial lake and secluded little nooks for lovers. I want to kiss you, but not in here.” The warm night air enveloped them as they wandered along arm in arm. A strong, sweetly overpowering perfume came from a clump of bushes, but she could not see what they were. This place was at Brighton, not far from the sea. And she imagined that he could smell the salt in the air?

The night was pure magic. When he drew her into a small, darkened alcove she made no demur, even though she knew she should. Gentle at first his lips were a featherweight caress against hers, but when she responded the tenor changed into a hungry, all consuming passion. Shyly at first, but gaining in confidence, she returned his kisses, tasted his mouth and got drunk on his male scent as it permeated every corner of her being.