Wait for Me. Caroline Leech

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      William Urquhart was standing right there, uncomfortably close. He bowed at the waist—not a brief nod like the German’s, but a full bow—and Lorna had to step back to avoid him touching her.

      “Have a good afternoon, ladies,” he drawled.

      So full of himself!

      He straightened up and brushed past Lorna. When he reached Iris, he lifted her left hand to his thick red lips and kissed the back of it.

      Iris giggled again.

      Lorna shuddered. Who did he think he was, Errol Flynn?

      “Good afternoon to you, William,” Iris purred. “I’ll see you in the morning. I’m looking forward to it already.”

      William oiled his way out of the classroom. As they followed him out, Lorna glared at Iris but said nothing until they were on the street. There she bent double and pretended to retch into the gutter.

      “What are you doing?” asked Iris.

      Lorna stood up.

      “Oh, William, I’m looking forward to it already,” she cooed sarcastically, wiggling her hips in an impression of Iris. “Iris, you can’t be serious.”

      “But he’s so dashing.”

      Lorna scoffed.

      “We’ve always said he looks like a young Tyrone Power, though.”

      “No, Iris, you’ve just started saying that.” She glanced around in case William had reappeared. “I’ve always said that he looks like a snooty, stuck-up slug.”

      Iris pursed her lips in that infuriating motherly way, and Lorna knew what was coming—another lecture about how Lorna didn’t appreciate William’s better traits.

      “No, you’re wrong, he’s not stuck-up. He’s very intelligent and really, very mature.”

      “Did he tell you that?” Lorna didn’t want to sound nasty, but sometimes she despaired of Iris, she really did. William had only asked Iris out for the first time the other day, but she was acting like they’d been an item for years.

      “Actually, it was his mother who told me,” Iris said without irony, ignoring Lorna’s snort of derision. “And he’s already been offered a place at Edinburgh University for September to study law. And then he’ll do his postgraduate doctorate in theology so he can become a minister like his father. Of course, William has ambitions beyond a tiny parish like Aberlady. He’ll have one of the big churches in Edinburgh, even St. Giles Cathedral, perhaps. He’s very driven, you know, and I very much admire that in an honorable man.”

      Lorna had heard enough.

      “An honorable man? Iris! Listen to yourself. Don’t you remember how upset you were just last year when he was so mean and patronizing about your Jane Austen project? And about your singing, and my drawing? Are you telling me he’s really changed that much?”

      “He has, Lorna. You’re just not giving him a chance,” Iris muttered through pursed lips. “He’s changed since then. And you are being quite mean and patronizing yourself right now.”

      “I am not. I’m just trying to get you to see sense,” Lorna retorted. “Anyway, what about John Jo? My brother will be heartbroken when he finds out you’re not pining for him anymore.”

      “That was just a girlish infatuation,” Iris said haughtily. “This is true love. William and I will be together forever.”

      “Forever?” Lorna scoffed. “But won’t Saint William be called up when he turns eighteen in June? Chances are that by September he’ll be off to the army, not to university.”

      Iris looked uncomfortable.

      “Yes, possibly,” she conceded, “but his mother seems sure that with his poor eyesight and foot problems, he won’t have to go. A deep mind like William’s would be much more suited—”

      Lorna snorted.

      “Poor eyesight? He doesn’t even wear glasses. And I don’t think having stinky feet can keep you out of the army. It certainly didn’t work for my brothers.”

      “Stop it, Lorna! His eyes are very sensitive, Mrs. Urquhart says. And apparently, the Urquharts know a colonel up at Edinburgh Castle, and she’ll have a word with him when William’s call-up papers arrive. And for your information, William does not have stinky feet.”

      “Did Mrs. Urquhart tell you that too?” Lorna tried not to snap. “Come on, Iris, can you not see that his mother would do anything to keep her little baby at home instead of letting him out to play with the rough boys?”

      Lorna couldn’t stop the bitterness creeping into her voice. She didn’t mean to pour scorn on a mother’s fears. Lorna knew what it was to lie awake at night imagining every bomb or shell or bullet that might hurt John Jo or Sandy, and she wouldn’t wish that on anyone else. But if her brothers were risking their lives, then why should William-bloody-Urquhart stay safely at home?

      “Lorna, that’s not it at all.”

      Iris sounded hurt. Lorna didn’t care. She was on a roll.

      “No? And what does Sweet William have to say about all this? Is he happy to have his mother weasel him out of doing his duty?”

      “No, actually.” Iris’s voice was suddenly barely a whisper. “William seems to be quite excited about joining up, even though that means he’ll have to leave his mother and father behind … and me.”

      All Iris’s tight-lipped motherly condescension had vanished, and tears sparkled in her eyes.

      “Oh, Iris, don’t.”

      Iris wiped at her face with her sleeve.

      “You just don’t understand,” she sniffed, “what it’s like to be in love.”

      Lorna was stumped. She would have told Iris off, but her friend looked so sorrowful, Lorna just sighed and wrapped Iris into a hug.

      “Oh, come on, silly, don’t cry. The war could be over by then, and we’ll get all our boys back, the sweet ones and the rough ones. Maybe William won’t have to go at all.” Lorna pulled out her handkerchief and handed it to Iris. “Anyway, I have something important to tell you, so please come for tea.”

      Iris managed a wan smile and sniffed.

      As they walked toward Craigielaw, Lorna told Iris about the new arrival that morning, and gradually, Iris seemed to recover her humor. Within minutes, she was firmly agreeing with Lorna and was suitably appalled by the news. Hadn’t they both always detested Germans? How could it be patriotic to let the enemy run amok on British soil, even if they were prisoners?

      “I know that Dad and Nellie could do with more help”—Lorna picked up the rant where Iris left off—“especially since Old Lachie had to retire from the sheep before Christmas. But is there really no other option than dumping bloody Germans on us?”

      “Apparently”—Iris СКАЧАТЬ