Guarded Passions

Table of Contents

Cover

A Selection of Recent Titles from Rosie Harris

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

LOVE AGAINST ALL ODDS

SING FOR YOUR SUPPER

WAITING FOR LOVE

LOVE CHANGES EVERYTHING

A DREAM OF LOVE

A LOVE LIKE OURS

THE QUALITY OF LOVE

WHISPERS OF LOVE

AMBITIOUS LOVE

THE PRICE OF LOVE

A BRIGHTER DAWN

HELL HATH NO FURY
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STOLEN MOMENTS
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LOVE OR DUTY
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available from Severn House

 

 

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

First published in Great Britain and the USA 2013 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

First published 1986 in mass market format under the title Soldiers' Wives and pseudonym Marion Harris.

eBook edition first published in 2014 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright © 1986 & 2014 by Marion Harris.

The right of Rosie Harris to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Harris, Rosie, 1925- author.

Guarded passions.

1. Widows–Fiction. 2. Mothers and daughters–Fiction.

3. Great Britain–History–George VI, 1936-1952–Fiction.

I. Title II. Harris, Marion, 1925- Soldier's wives.

823.9'14-dc23

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8419-0 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-570-3 (ePub)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

For Pam and Tony

Two uniformed men stood looking at her, their faces solemn. Their lips moved but no sound was coming from them. Yet she heard the words drumming inside her head, over and over again:

‘We've bad news … bad news … bad news … There's been an accident … an accident … an accident …'

It was just as if she was actually there and it was all happening in slow motion. She felt her gorge rising at the sight of the mutilated face that had taken the full force of the explosion. Red rivulets of blood flowed from the multiple gashes, dripping in slow, fat blobs onto the khaki uniform. They glowed richly, like enormous jewels, before turning into an obscene smear as his life-blood drained away.

His glazed eyes were a dark pit of pain and terror; his mouth gaped wide in a soundless scream.

Alone and frightened, Helen Woodley tried desperately to control her trembling limbs as tremor after tremor racked her body. Sobs tore at her throat as she groped for the bedside-light switch. Drenched in sweat, she pulled the quilt up to her chin and sat huddled beneath it, breathing hard, waiting for the spasms to end and the stark terror in her mind to subside.

Gradually, the drumming inside her head eased, the runnels of sweat between her breasts became a cold clamminess. She shuddered violently. Why, oh why, did she have to endure this awful recurring nightmare? It had all happened such a long time ago.

She buried her aching head in her hands, rocking backwards and forwards, shuddering violently. On each previous occasion the nightmare had heralded some dire disaster. What had fate in store for her this time?

A tall, slim girl, her dark brown hair tied back in a pony tail, her huge grey eyes shining like molten silver in her sun-tanned oval face, stood poised on the top step of the coach, looking for a familiar face in the waiting crowd.

‘Ruth! Over here!' Helen Woodley called.

‘You're as brown as a berry,' she exclaimed as they hugged enthusiastically. ‘Brecon must have suited you.'

‘It was great! I had a wonderful time.' She looked around eagerly. ‘Where's Lucy? Hasn't she come with you?'

‘No, she wanted to stay and help Mark with the milking. She's missed you, though. It's been a long ten days. Come on, let's collect your case and get home.'

‘Just a minute.' Ruth laid a detaining hand on her mother's arm. ‘There's someone I want you to meet.'

They stood together, grey eyes on a level, so similar in looks and build that, but for the obvious age difference, they might have been sisters, not mother and daughter.

‘Mum, this is Hugh … Hugh Edwards.'

Helen found herself looking up into a pair of dark eyes under straight black brows, set in a strikingly arrogant face. His firm, chiselled lips widened into a smile as he greeted her.

Helen felt strangely disturbed by the animal magnetism of the young man and the immense power of his strong handshake. She was equally unnerved by the velvet brown eyes studying her so intently, and she was suddenly conscious of how frumpy she must look. She wished she had remembered to put on some lipstick, or even found time to change, before coming to meet Ruth.

‘I've invited Hugh to come and stay, Mum.'

For a moment Helen could only stare disbelievingly at the tall, handsome man and shake her head negatively. She had no idea who he was or why his hand was resting so possessively on Ruth's shoulder. His self-assurance annoyed her.

Aware that curious glances were being directed at them, Helen pulled herself together and made an effort to hide her hostility. ‘I see. Well, in that case, you'd better both fetch your luggage then. I'll wait for you in the car.'

Her mind numb, Helen watched Ruth and Hugh walking across to join her. Hugh was carrying both Ruth's heavy case and his own hold-all in one hand, as if they were featherweight, while his other hand held hers. And Ruth was looking up into his eyes, hanging on to his every word, as if they were the only two people in the world.

Once they reached the farm, Helen left them to unload the car while she went to lock up the chickens. She wanted to be alone. She needed time to think, and to plan how to handle the situation.

‘Damn Hugh Edwards, damn him, damn him,' she muttered fiercely, as she marched angrily across the meadow to see to the hens. Ruth obviously believed herself to be in love with him. It was written all over her face and in every look she gave him. He was certainly attractive, Helen thought, grudgingly. He must be at least six foot tall and, with those massive shoulders and slim hips, he had a magnificent physique. She could well understand Ruth falling under the spell of such a man.

It was at times like this that she missed Adam most and felt more desperately alone. Those days when he had been there to help shoulder her problems, and love and cherish her, seemed light years away – another life altogether. At night, when she was too weary to sleep, she tried to imagine he wasn't gone from her forever, but was only away on a tour of duty, or on an exercise somewhere, and that he would be home again soon. At any moment he would walk in, sling down his khaki hold-all and sweep her into his arms, kissing her tenderly, a long, lingering union that was full of promise for the passionate loving that was to follow.

Such sweet retrospection had an hypnotic effect. She would drift into a sleep that was filled with erotic memories. She would feel Adam's arms around her, his firm lips hot on her flesh, caressing and exploring, rousing her need of him to fever pitch. Then she would wake, sweat-soaked and trembling, to the cold loneliness of her bed, knowing there would be no fulfilment, no easing of the ache within her.

So often at such times she would find Lucy standing at the side of her bed, as if intuitively drawn there. And, instead of sending her back to her own bed, Helen would gather the four-year-old to her, gaining some measure of comfort from the feel of the child's small, soft body curved trustingly against her own. Poor little Lucy; she'd never even known her father.

Ruth and Mark missed Adam, too, but Mark most of all. At sixteen he seemed to find it hard to accept her guidance and authority; he needed a man to relate to … Helen had seen the resentment in his eyes when she'd had to reprimand him. He never answered her back, but his top lip would curl superciliously and his voice would be harsh and mocking.

Ruth was laying the table for their evening meal when Helen got back to the house. As she heard Mark and Hugh laughing, her anger flared up afresh. That was all she needed, that Hugh should win Mark over to his side.

As she took out of the oven the casserole she'd prepared earlier in the day, Helen paused, a half-smile hovering on her lips. It was a long time since she had bothered to change for their evening meal, but this, she felt, was an occasion that demanded it.

She chose a blue silk dress with a flattering low-cut draped neckline, and high-heeled black sandals. She brushed out her light brown hair from its tight pleat, turning the ends under and letting it frame her face. As she outlined her mouth with a light pink lipstick, and dabbed some perfume on to her wrists, she felt much more confident about facing Hugh Edwards.

As she took a final look in the mirror, her face flamed. What on earth was she doing! Ruth and Mark would think she had gone crazy. Ruth would know she was trying to impress Hugh.

With a feeling of resentment, she tore off the silk dress, kicked off the high-heeled sandals and tossed them into the back of the wardrobe. Then she put on the green and white cotton dress she had intended to wear when she went to meet Ruth, and put her hair back into its usual style.

Listening to the excited chatter and banter that went on around her all through the meal, Helen realized she would have to take a strong line. Hugh Edwards was fast becoming ‘one of the family'. Mark was soaking up every word he said and she had never known Lucy to have so much to say for herself; usually, she was very shy with strangers.

After she had washed up, and Ruth had put Lucy to bed, Helen told Mark to take Hugh upstairs and show him his record collection. Then she called Ruth into the sitting-room and closed the door.

‘I think we'd better have a talk, Ruth, don't you?'

‘If you want to. Only look, Mum, don't preach or try and reason with me. I know what I'm doing.'

As their eyes met, Helen struggled to keep her temper in check. She had an overwhelming urge to slap some sense into Ruth, but realised it would serve no useful purpose and would only antagonise her.