For All Our Tomorrows (15 page)

Those glorious golden-green eyes regarded him with cool appraisal and Chad felt sick inside at the thought of losing her. ‘Three maybe, and hey, Barney might have his eye on another even as we speak.’ Why hadn’t he just shut his mouth when he had the chance? Chad offered a shaky smile, wishing he could think of some way to change the subject and get out of this hole he was digging for himself.

Bette saw his misery and misunderstood, her soft heart swelling with fresh love for him as she kissed his cheek. ‘Don’t be jealous. It’s you I fancy, not Barney. You’re so kind and gentle, you’re the type I go for, not his brash sort.’ Who was she kidding? Bette shut from her mind the dreams she’d had since that oh-so-dangerous dance with Barney. He was far too exciting for his own good, that one, and Bette had every intention of being sensible. Barney Willert was the sort who would bring nothing but trouble. Chad, on the other hand, was indeed sweet and kind, and putty in her hands. ‘You’re the man for me, so long as you understand that.’

‘Aw, hon.’ Chad felt choked with emotion. He couldn’t remember a gal ever choosing him over Barney before.

‘I’m beginning to understand how it is with you Americans. Everything in your own country is so big, so wonderful, while we seem small and shabby by comparison. Our houses, our cars. Barney told me all about that too.’

He laughed with relief. ‘And you drive on the wrong side of the road.’ The awkward moment had passed and he relaxed, reaching for her again.

Bette sat up and began to tidy her hair. At least that was ostensibly her ploy, although she was well aware that this particular angle provided him with a tantalisingly perfect profile of her breasts. She heard his soft groan.

‘Don’t do this to me, hon. How’s a guy supposed to resist you?’

‘Take a cold shower?’ Bette giggled, and cast him another mischievous, sideways smile before leaping to her feet and laughing down at him. ‘I’d suggest you take a skinny dip in the river only with the kind of shells and mines that blow up even the fish, best not to, eh? Come on, you can walk me back to work. My lunch hour is over and you shouldn’t even be here.’

‘Aw no, you’re not leaving me already, so soon?’

‘You don’t want the military police after you, do you?’

‘The Snowdrops? Jeez, you say the sweetest things. Just give me one more kiss, then I’ll go back to base like a lamb. Just one, honey?’

And somehow he was pulling her down to him again, kissing her stomach, her breasts, her throat, all the way up until he reached her lips when he captured her completely in a breathtaking kiss that never seemed to end. Chad was certainly a good kisser.

By the time it was over and they’d walked the long way back, Bette arrived at the salon all rumpled and flushed, to much teasing and joking from the customers, and a sour look from her mother. Sara too was sitting there, looking unusually glum, while little Jenny was playing with curling pins and Drew scrabbling about the floor among the cut hair, playing with his dinky cars.

‘Where’ve you been till this time?’ Sadie demanded. ‘Up to no good, I’ll be bound.’

Sara put out a hand to hush her mother but Bette only tossed her head and reached for her overall, tying the strings very tightly around her slender waist. Oh, she’d definitely made up her mind. She loved Chad Jackson all right, and maybe next time, she’d show him just how much. If mam believed her to be a bad girl anyway, she might as well have the pleasures that went with the reputation.

‘Take no notice,’ Sara said to her, the minute Sadie went off for her midday break. ‘She cares about you, that’s all.’

Bette snorted with disbelief and picking up a comb began to tidy her disordered curls back into place before her next customer came in. ‘Pigs might fly. She cares only for herself, as you well know. She can’t be bothered with either of us. Sees us as rivals, not daughters to cherish. Nothing would give her greater pleasure than to see me come a cropper. Well, it isn’t going to happen. Chad loves me.’

Sara instantly looked concerned. ‘Has he told you so?’

‘Not in so many words, no, not yet. But I can tell. He’s absolutely besotted. Talks all the time about showing me his home in America, and a wonderful home it is too by the sound of it. This could be a marvellous opportunity for me, and all Mam wants to do is spoil it.’

‘Give her time, she’ll come round.’

‘Why do you always have to see the best in people? Sickening.’

Sara looked startled. ‘I don’t. I’m not. Is that how you see me? How awful. Maybe I just try harder than you, to be understanding of other people’s problems, I mean.’

‘Too understanding by half.’ Bette stopped titivating her hair long enough to glance across at her sister, then looked more closely. ‘Hey, what is it? Have you been crying? Not that bloody husband of yours again? Hugh hasn’t left you, has he? Or better still, you’ve left him. Tell me that it’s suddenly dawned on you what a useless bugger he is.’

Tears spurted in Sara’s eyes and Bette was instantly contrite. ‘Oh, lord, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. Look, I was just upset over Mam.’

‘Why are you crying, Mummy?’

Sara instantly turned to her children, recognising the anxiety in their little faces as they saw their mother upset. ‘It’s all right darlings, Mummy has a bit of a cold, that’s all.’ Then she gave them each a penny and told them they could go and buy themselves a lollipop. When they’d run off, giggling excitedly, she turned back to Bette. ‘He’s given me the sack.’

‘What?’ This was the last thing Bette had expected to hear. ‘What are you talking about? How can he sack you, his own wife?’

Sara sighed. ‘I mean, he’s told me that he doesn’t want me to work behind the bar any more. He’s going to employ Iris instead.’

‘For heaven’s sake, why? No, don’t tell me, I can guess. He was against your helping with the fish supper, wasn’t he?’

Aware that her husband and sister had never been exactly bosom pals, yet it troubled her that Bette could be so hard on Hugh, who was nowhere near as bad as she made out. ‘He’s concerned that I not be taken advantage of. And if he’s overreacted, well, he’s tired and overworked, that’s all.’

‘As we all are. He’s jealous as hell that you are popular and he isn’t. That’s the real reason. So he denies you the most sociable and liveliest part of the job, the part you most enjoy, and puts that fancy piece, Iris Logan, in your place.’
 

‘She’s very good at the job, actually. And she’s glad of the money since rumour has it she’s saving up to marry a sailor.’

‘No doubt you’ll still be expected to do all the cooking and cleaning, as per usual?’

‘Of course.’

‘Bastard!’

‘Bette!’ Sara was shocked.

‘I’m sorry, but he really does take the biscuit. So damned selfish, and you just stand back and let him walk all over you.’

Sara stared at her sister. ‘Is that how you see me, as a door mat?’

‘So prove to me that you aren’t. You’ve danced to his tune ever since you stupidly walked up that aisle, far too young to know your own mind. It’s time to do something
you
want for a change, without asking the wonderful Hugh’s permission first.’

Seeing the distress in her sister’s face, Bette put her arms about Sara and hugged her close. ‘Go on, why don’t you be brave and start thinking for yourself, for once. Now’s your chance, lovey. View this decision as a blow for freedom, as the moment for you to strike out and do something off your own bat at last. What do you fancy, then? What have you always yearned to do with your life but never been able to do because you were always too busy?’

Sara scrubbed at her eyes. ‘I haven’t the first idea.’

‘Then you’d best start thinking about it, start making some decisions of your own. Be yourself at last.’

Sara looked at her sister and half laughed at the earnestness of her expression. ‘You might well be right, love. Perhaps it’s long past time that I did.’

Chapter Fourteen

Having been granted the nod of approval by the Special Operations Executive, which controlled British agents in France, Hugh was put straight into training. There was the rigours of carrying loaded packs on long runs to build up stamina; a good deal of silent rowing both in boats and in canoes; learning to walk a shingle beach without making a noise; instruction in the use of radios and “S” phones; compass work, mapping and navigation. Hugh didn’t mind the discomfort, or the agonising pain of unused muscles. He welcomed it, revelling in the excitement, the thrill of it all.

It was essential that he be able to find his way in the dark without the use of lights, and not get lost. People’s lives, not least his own, depended upon it, as he was sternly and repeatedly informed. Most interesting of all, he was instructed in how to defend himself, both armed and unarmed, were he ever to get caught.

When the time came for him to go out on his first ‘op’, Iris issued instructions and Hugh calmly obeyed. He didn’t object because he was keen to prove his skills and be taken on.

‘Start the engine, we’ll proceed slowly.’

‘Someone might hear.’

‘Leave me to worry about that. Once we’re out of the river mouth, we may manage to catch a breeze then we can rig the sail. No lights, hold her steady.’

They ventured right out into the Channel, making what Iris called a trial run. Nothing untoward occurred and although there was indeed plenty of shipping about: French fishing boats, a passing German convoy, mine sweepers and the usual motor gunboats, they elicited no attention from any of them.
 

On his second trip they repeated the same procedure but this time made it a much longer trip, anchoring just off the Cherbourg peninsula where Iris brought out a camera and took some photos of the shore, then told him to return home.

‘Aren’t we picking anyone up?’

‘Not on this trip.’

After that, a routine was established which soon became second nature to him and he started taking it all for granted. In fact, Hugh found it quite titillating to be given orders by a woman, and a young attractive one at that, with whom he was enjoying carnal relations. And as with the sex, so it was with the ops, Iris seemed to push him a little further on each occasion.

The trips routinely involved going far out to sea, putting them in real danger of being spotted by submarines, although the coast was no safer with the E-patrol boats keeping a close eye on activities there. Generally Hugh would rendezvous with the French fishing vessels which then sailed on to the Breton coast where they would disembark their special cargo either on shore or by handing them over to the tunny fleet.

Sometimes it might occur to Hugh to wonder what might happen to these brave souls as they climbed up a rope ladder onto a fishing trawler and vanished into the darkness.

In what part of France would they end up? What dangers would they have to contend with?

Some claimed to be journalists, others freely admitted to being agents, generally being young and unattached. In the main they remained grimly silent, giving no indication at all of the work they were about to undertake.

Sometimes it might not be men at all he was carrying, but boxes of equipment, metal containers or mysterious parcels wrapped in waterproof silk. He was never told anything, either about their contents or their purpose, which he thought just as well. Hugh was content to keep his involvement in the enterprise to the very minimum.

Iris didn’t tell him much either but did once mention that some of the boats might look French, but actually weren’t. ‘Many are British but have been painted in French colours and rusted over to make them look older, somewhat less well maintained like the French fishing fleet. And with the crew dressed in canvas trousers and smocks, and the right flags on board, no one would spot the difference.’

‘But why?’

‘Don’t ask questions, Hugh. Just do as you’re told.’

‘Sorry.’ He hated to find himself in the wrong, and whenever she slapped him down in this way, he took his revenge by punishing her with even more violent love-play later, sometimes tying her up and plunging into her just as hard as he could. Or he would tease her and refuse to have sex with her at all, making her pleasure him instead. How else could he make it clear that he only did as she told him because he wished to, that he was still the one in control?

But however much training he might do, however diligent and brave he was, it did little to ease the sensation of terror that curdled in the pit of his stomach on each and every mission. There were many trips when he would be gone for days, his crew comprised of strangers, while she stayed behind to run the pub. He liked those the least. It was always much more fun with Iris on board.

Once she asked him to row a dinghy ashore and place a parcel on a railway line. ‘Someone will pick it up later,’ she explained.

Never had he known such terror, sweat slicking his brow, making his palms slippy so that he almost dropped the damned thing. Only then did it occur to him that it might be a bomb, to blow up the railway.

A light flashed and he flung himself to the ground, wishing it would open up and swallow him as two Germans strolled by, swinging their torches this way and that. His relief when they’d passed by and he could deposit the parcel, as instructed, and make a speedy return to the dingy, which he swiftly and silently rowed back to the yacht, was enormous.