Not That Sort of Girl by Mary Wesley

waking, Ned had clutched her. ‘Who? That you? Is it Rose?’
    ‘Yes. Yes, it’s me.’
    ‘Where have you been?’
    ‘Just to the window …’
    ‘Rose, don’t leave me.’
    ‘Why should I?’
    ‘Promise never to leave me, promise …’
    ‘Of course not.’
    ‘Swear.’ He was sitting up now. ‘Say it, say: I swear never to leave you.’
    ‘Don’t be silly, Ned, you are half asleep.’ She felt protective, maternal.
    ‘No, I’m not. I am very much awake. Swear, say: I swear never to leave you.’
    ‘I did, at our wedding, in church …’
    ‘You weren’t paying attention, you were distracted, your mind was miles away.’ (How had he known?) ‘Come on, swear it to me now.’ He was insistent, almost bullying.
    ‘All right.’ She felt afraid. ‘I swear never to leave you. What about you? What do you swear to me?’
    ‘No need for me …’ He was content, slipping back into his sleep, leaving her later, much later, to find her separate sleep from which she woke to a sunny morning with Ned up and dressed, confident and cheerful, bringing their breakfast into the room on a tray. ‘Wake up, Mrs Peel, we have this one day to explore …’
    ‘And the other days?’ she asked, pouring coffee, handing him his cup.
    ‘The other days I must spend putting you in the picture for when I shall be away.’
    ‘And I am to stay here alone?’ She knew this, had she not agreed, liked the idea, seeing freedom from her family, insisted that she would manage, would be all right.
    ‘You said you would rather be on your own, but it’s not too late. We can find someone to live with you, a girl friend to share …’
    ‘Who, for instance?’
    ‘Emily.’
    ‘Why do you suggest Emily?’
    ‘Isn’t she a friend?’
    ‘Not particularly. What I’d like is a dog, or two dogs.’ Rose visualised a pair of companionable animals.
    ‘Or a pack!’ Ned laughed. ‘Remember the war, dear. We shall have food rationing soon; one dog should be more than enough.’
    ‘Oh, rationing,’ said Rose, privately deciding to have as many dogs as she wished.
    ‘Yes, rationing,’ said Ned, ‘we shall have to learn to live with it. Which reminds me, I must show you where the petrol is.’
    ‘What petrol?’
    ‘I’ve hidden a lot of jerrycans in a shed in the copse.’
    ‘Isn’t that illegal? You have a hoard?’
    ‘I did it before rationing started.’ Ned sensed disapproval. ‘I foresaw rationing so I laid in a store.’ (This may not be strictly true, he told himself, but she is not to know.) ‘If we are invaded, we might have to make a quick getaway, or you might if I am gone?’
    ‘Are you suggesting the Germans will invade us?’ she said incredulously.
    ‘If things go badly,’ said Ned, who had listened to talk in his club.
    ‘Golly.’
    ‘It will come in useful anyway,’ said Ned. ‘This isn’t going to be a short war, whatever people say, but what I am sure of is that everything will be in short supply; sensible people are stocking their store cupboards.’
    ‘Rich people! Well,’ said Rose, ‘I shall hoard tinned dog food for my dogs.’
    ‘You should have a dog,’ said Ned, as if the idea was his. ‘I would be happier when I’m away if you had a dog. I will buy you one.’
    ‘Let me find my own dog …’ cried Rose before she could stop herself, knowing that Ned’s choice of dog would not be hers.
    ‘All right,’ said Ned, ‘if you insist.’ He felt cheated, rather hurt, feeling that he had planned to buy her a dog, an alsatian or a labrador.
    Feeling the drop in temperature, Rose said, ‘More coffee?’ holding up the pot (George III, recently inherited along with the house). Ned passed his cup. ‘Yes, please.’ Why not let her choose her own dog, he thought indulgently; it was a lovely day, last night had gone off well, he felt contented, uxurious, Rose looked very pretty sitting up in bed with the tray across her lap. He had enjoyed last night rather more than he expected. This marriage,