The Hidden Years. PENNY JORDAN

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      ‘Abroad… but…’

      Quickly he shook his head. ‘’Fraid I can’t say any more, sweetheart…shouldn’t have told you that much. All very hush-hush at the moment…’

      Lizzie had a small notebook in her handbag and she tore a leaf out of it, her hand trembling as she wrote down her address for him. As he pocketed it, and before he climbed into his car, he told her carelessly, ‘Chin up, old thing, and don’t worry—just as soon as I can get a pass I’ll be back to see you.’

      He was a man who never gave much thought to the consequences of his actions. A conscience wasn’t something that bothered him unduly, but now, looking into her face, seeing the love reflected so innocently there, an odd, unfamiliar sensation flickered inside him.

      It made him feel uncomfortable and irritated at the same time. Stupid girl, didn’t she realise…? He glanced at her and saw the purity of her profile, the soft naturalness of her blonde hair, the clearness of her skin, and something approaching regret stirred inside him.

      She was lovely, her body lissom and tender; his body began to ache and he realised with increasing resentment that he still wanted her. Characteristically he blamed her for it, reminding himself that it was her lack of expertise that had cut short his lovemaking. Even while he was resenting her, wanting to leave her, an impulse he couldn’t control made him lean across to cup her face with his hand so that he could kiss her.

      Lizzie’s heart swelled with frantic joy. Just for a moment she had begun to doubt…to wonder…but no, she had simply been foolish. Of course he loved her just as she loved him.

      ‘I’ll write as soon as I can,’ he told her thickly, knowing that he was lying and that once he was away from her he would soon forget this unfamiliar, unwanted ache she made him feel. Suddenly another thought struck him. ‘Not a word about this…us to cousin Edward,’ he warned her, and then, seeing her face, amended, ‘at least, not yet…’

      He was right, Lizzie recognised. Their feelings for one another were too new, too precious to be shared with a third party…

      As he drove away she watched until the last of the dust raised by his wheels had finally settled.

      Less than a mile down the road Kit suddenly frowned, an unpleasant possibility occurring to him.

      It was all very well for Lizzie to have agreed now not to say a word to Edward about what had happened, but, when a few weeks had gone by without her hearing from him, would she still keep that promise?

      It wasn’t that he cared one way or the other what Edward thought about him, but what if Edward should attempt to get in touch with his CO on the stupid girl’s behalf? It was just the kind of thing he would do, damn him!

      Still frowning, he thought quickly. He had her address—a brief note sent when he got back to camp, telling her that he was being posted abroad and wouldn’t be able either to give her his address or get in touch for some time…yes…yes, that should do it.

      The odd letter, two or even three perhaps. He scowled to himself, cursing under his breath, already regretting his involvement.

      Damn Edward for the interfering old woman he could be, but he dared not take the chance, however slight, of Edward making trouble for him. He had already received a couple of warnings and the threat that if his CO had to discipline him a third time he would be grounded permanently, and he wasn’t having that.

      If Kit loved anything it was flying, flying and the mixture of exhilaration and fear that came with going into action, better by far than any thrill he got from having sex.

      Yes, little as he relished the idea, once he was back at camp he would have to drop the damned girl a line, carefully omitting his address, of course…

      In Lizzie’s heart was a mixture of joy and desolation. Joy in their finding of one another, in their coming together in a physical celebration of their love—trying to forget her own pain and shock, selflessly thinking only of Kit, of his pleasures, his needs, his satisfaction. And desolation because they had had so little time together.

      Her body ached in an unfamiliar way, a faint tenderness between her legs. She placed her hand over her body, wondering uncertainly what it was that drove men so incessantly and violently to perform such an act, and why she had found that all the wonderful, singing pleasure she had been enjoying at the touch of his hands and mouth against her body had disappeared at that moment of physical joining, which should have been so wonderful—the physical completion of their love for one another.

      Was there something wrong with her? She started to walk down the lane and retrieved the shoes she had left there the day before, her pace quickening as anxiety tensed her body.

      Aunt Vi had always refused to discuss sexual matters; the information Lizzie had gleaned from the other girls’ conversation had been varied and sometimes unappealingly frank, but she had naïvely assumed that, when two people loved, their physical union was blessed with a spiritual leavening which lifted it above the mere physical coupling she had heard described graphically and sometimes very coarsely by her companions.

      Now she wondered unhappily why she had not experienced the wonderful magical pleasure of which she had read; why Kit’s possession of her had not transported her to that special plane which belonged only to lovers.

      She ached for Kit to be with her, so that she could talk to him, unburden herself of her doubts.

      All of a sudden she felt very tired, very alone…very unhappy, her feelings in stark contrast to her earlier elation.

      When she returned to the hostel, subdued, with dark shadows under her eyes, she was relieved to discover that she had the place to herself. She was glad to be alone. She didn’t want to discuss Kit with the other girls; their relationship was special, sacred almost.

      She had done something which Aunt Vi had always impressed on her that no decent girl did outside marriage, but she felt no guilt or remorse for having done so. These were different times from those Aunt Vi had known. Sometimes a few fleeting precious hours were all one might have. There was a recklessness in the air, a fierce determination to take everything that life offered while life still existed, because no one knew when that precious gift of life might be snatched away.

      No, she felt no anguish at having loved Kit, only a terrible aching need to have him with her…close to her…holding her. He was a pilot and he hadn’t needed to tell her the dangers he lived with daily.

      She listened to the news bulletins…read the papers…she was an intelligent girl, and, even if she hadn’t already witnessed the devastation and destruction that could be wrought on human flesh by the weapons of destruction created by mankind in her work at the hospital, and experienced in the loss of her parents, she had too vivid an imagination not to be aware that Kit could be killed or maimed every single time he went out on a mission.

      That night when she came off duty, and before she went to bed, she prayed as she had never prayed in her life before, ‘Please God, keep Kit safe.’

      And even as she whispered the words she knew that she was only repeating what millions of other women over the country were also saying, and that for every man whose life was spared there were others whose lives were not…women whose pain she could already imagine, recoiling from it as though it were her own, frantically trying to push her knowledge of it out of her mind. She must be strong…for Kit’s sake and her own. She must be strong and brave and when she saw him СКАЧАТЬ