Winter on the Mersey(32)
How many other chances would she have to do this before he had to return to action? She must make the most of it and treasure it, putting away the memory for safekeeping, just in case the worst were to happen. She would always have this moment, this evening, in this beautiful flat, with the most courageous and handsome man on earth. Please don’t let this be the last time ever, she prayed fervently, screwing her eyes even more tightly shut. It had been bad enough getting the news when her brother had failed to return. She didn’t think she could stand any more of it but, knowing there was no point in making a scene, she released him and sat back, reaching for her drink and passing him his. She noticed that he drew in a sharp breath but tried to hide it as he sat up. He would never, ever complain about the pain from the old chest wound.
‘Happy days,’ she said lightly.
‘Happy days,’ he echoed, raising the glass and sipping. His eyebrows shot up. ‘Congratulations, Fawcett. Even by your standards, that is strong stuff. Good lord. I don’t know why we have the finest brains in the country trying to come up with weapons to destroy Hitler and his crew. We could just send you in disguised as a waitress and have you serve them the likes of this. They wouldn’t stand a chance.’
‘Whereas you, my love, have had plenty of practice withstanding the punch of a knockout cocktail.’ She sipped her own and smiled in satisfaction. ‘Just how I like it. You must thank your uncle. He’s too kind.’
‘He is.’ Peter nodded in acknowledgement. They were lucky, he knew, having the loan of the flat for an evening, and not having to make do with a half-empty pub with watered-down gin, or a restaurant that had little in the way of choice, or, even worse, trying to get past the dragons at Laura’s strictly women-only billet. For this brief interlude they could persuade themselves that all was right with the world, and that they had a glittering future ahead of them. Had they met under normal circumstances that would have undoubtedly been the case; he knew they looked good together and both came from privileged backgrounds. Their prospects would have been gilded. Now everything was clouded with uncertainty. He didn’t want to burden Laura with what he had just been told would happen. If they could keep this one evening special, he could think about it when he was in the thick of the action. He knew that would not be far ahead now.
‘He’s said I can come to see him here, when he’s off duty,’ she went on. ‘What a poppet. I don’t want to take up his time, though. He’ll have other things on his mind.’
Peter shifted slightly. ‘He’ll welcome your company; it’ll be a diversion for him. All work and no play, and all that.’
‘Well, you’re one to talk.’ She faced him with a quizzical expression. ‘I know what you’re like – you must get it from him. Promise me you’ll get a good sleep whenever possible, when … you know.’
‘I promise.’ Peter knew there was little point in arguing with Laura. He might be the captain and used to giving orders, but she was something else again. ‘Anyway, how was your day? How were the other lady drivers?’
Laura pulled a face. ‘They’re all right, they’re good sorts really. They just think I’m fearfully standoffish. They always want to know every detail of what I’m doing, whereas I like to maintain a little privacy. I’m certainly not going to tell them that I came here with you. They’ll go positively green. It’s not fair on them; they don’t get the odd night of the good life, so why torment them?’ She paused for another sip.
‘Bet they can’t reverse like you can.’
‘Of course not. Nobody can reverse like I can.’ She said it jokingly but there was a core of truth to it. She was extremely good at her job, but that wasn’t why he loved her to distraction. He thought she was the most beautiful, elegant, smart woman he’d ever seen, and knew she had deep reserves of courage too. She was also unbelievably stubborn and scarily determined – but all those qualities put together made her the right woman for him. He only prayed they would have time together to enjoy life properly when all the fighting was done.
She rested her head on his chest – carefully, to avoid where the wound had been – and he wrapped his arms around her. She was wearing a silky blouse in buttery cream. ‘This isn’t parachute silk, is it?’ he asked.
‘Really! No, it is not.’ Laura knew full well that plenty of women were making clothes from parachute silk, in the absence of anything better, and plenty of those were underwear. ‘I got it when I last went back to see Mummy and Daddy. It’s an old thing, nothing to make a fuss about.’
Peter could tell it must have been expensive once, but he didn’t really care. She could have worn an old sack and he would have still wanted to hold her tight, stroke her precious body through the folds of the material.
‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ she said suddenly. ‘Damn Hitler and the lot of them. Just stay here with me.’
‘You know I can’t do that. And you wouldn’t want me to, not really.’
‘I know. It’s just so lovely here. Being here with you.’
‘It is.’ He nuzzled her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her warm skin. ‘What do you say to putting these drinks aside for the time being and making it an evening to remember?’ He stroked her more passionately. ‘We could just go through there …’ He nodded towards the spare bedroom, which lay through the beautifully carved living-room door. He could just see the soft rose quilt, plumped up and inviting.