was.
She turned off the High Street and down the narrow lane where the cottage was situated, alone and relatively isolated in its large untended garden. It was over two hundred years old, the once wooden exterior now pebble-dashed, with a crumbling red-tiled roof and tiny windows.
The key was where she’d left it and her fingers shook as she unlocked the front door.
“Nick!” she called as soon as she was inside.
There was no answer. Where was he, she wondered desperately?
She went into the low-ceilinged living room and nearly jumped out of her skin. Nick was sitting on the sofa, dressed in his blue-grey RAF uniform, his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. There was an expression on his sunburnt mobile face she’d never seen before, a look of icy disdain.
“Nick!” she cried and took a step forward, expecting him to stand up and take her in his arms.
“Eileen!” The tone was half mocking, as if he were making fun of her own cry of relief. He didn’t move.
“Why didn’t you come and meet me?” she asked shakily, aware something was terribly wrong.
He raised his eyebrows. “Under the circumstances, did you honestly expect that I would?”
“Well, yes.” Her blood began to run as cold as the look on his face. This was a Nick she’d never known. He’d had black moods before, when he felt the world was a terrible place, but he’d never taken his bitterness out of her.
Indeed, sometimes they’d seemed closer when she tried to coax him back into a good humour.
He smiled and her blood ran even colder. It was a hard, cynical smile, unpleasant. “On Saturday I was told we could never see each other again. Apparently, your husband was back. Why should you expect to find me waiting two days later as if nothing had happened?”
“I didn’t mean it,” she stammered, realising these were inadequate words to use. “I made a mistake. I wasn’t thinking right at first.”
“A mistake? You ditch someone at a moment’s notice, but it was all a mistake? I’ve spent one hell of a weekend, and curiously enough, it doesn’t make me feel any better knowing it was all a mistake.”
“But, Nick,” she protested, “surely, all that matters is we love each other, and . . . ”
He interrupted harshly. “Love? You don’t know the meaning of the word, my dear. I thought the same, but it seems I was wrong. The minute Francis was back, I was dispensed with pretty damned swiftly.”
“Oh, Nick!” She half ran to the sofa and sat down, but didn’t touch him. Incredibly, she felt too scared. But this was Nick, she told herself, Nick, whose entire body she’d stroked and kissed in the past. “Didn’t Tony tell you?” she said eagerly. “They brought Francis home in an ambulance.
He’d been injured. I couldn’t just walk out and leave him, darling. It just wasn’t right.”
“But it was all right to leave me?” He laughed sarcastically.
“Leave me for a man who nearly murdered you, or so you told me once.”
“But it was my duty, my moral duty, to stay,” she cried.
He shook his head. “No, my dear. It was your moral duty to come to me. You promised me, you promised a hundred times we would always be together.”
She hated the way he kept calling her “my dear” in such a formal way. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.
“And so you should be,” he said harshly.
“We can still be together . . . ’She briefly entertained the idea of seducing him, of turning his cold tragic face towards hers and kissing him, but felt it wouldn’t work.
He’d only spurn her, and that would make things even worse.
“It’s too late, Eileen.” He turned towards her, and their glances met directly for the first time. She would have given everything she possessed to see his lovely dark eyes light up, to see his warm, quirky smile. “Can you imagine,” he said, “is it possible for you to put yourself in my shoes for a moment, and think what it was like when Tony told me you weren’t
She turned off the High Street and down the narrow lane where the cottage was situated, alone and relatively isolated in its large untended garden. It was over two hundred years old, the once wooden exterior now pebble-dashed, with a crumbling red-tiled roof and tiny windows.
The key was where she’d left it and her fingers shook as she unlocked the front door.
“Nick!” she called as soon as she was inside.
There was no answer. Where was he, she wondered desperately?
She went into the low-ceilinged living room and nearly jumped out of her skin. Nick was sitting on the sofa, dressed in his blue-grey RAF uniform, his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. There was an expression on his sunburnt mobile face she’d never seen before, a look of icy disdain.
“Nick!” she cried and took a step forward, expecting him to stand up and take her in his arms.
“Eileen!” The tone was half mocking, as if he were making fun of her own cry of relief. He didn’t move.
“Why didn’t you come and meet me?” she asked shakily, aware something was terribly wrong.
He raised his eyebrows. “Under the circumstances, did you honestly expect that I would?”
“Well, yes.” Her blood began to run as cold as the look on his face. This was a Nick she’d never known. He’d had black moods before, when he felt the world was a terrible place, but he’d never taken his bitterness out of her.
Indeed, sometimes they’d seemed closer when she tried to coax him back into a good humour.
He smiled and her blood ran even colder. It was a hard, cynical smile, unpleasant. “On Saturday I was told we could never see each other again. Apparently, your husband was back. Why should you expect to find me waiting two days later as if nothing had happened?”
“I didn’t mean it,” she stammered, realising these were inadequate words to use. “I made a mistake. I wasn’t thinking right at first.”
“A mistake? You ditch someone at a moment’s notice, but it was all a mistake? I’ve spent one hell of a weekend, and curiously enough, it doesn’t make me feel any better knowing it was all a mistake.”
“But, Nick,” she protested, “surely, all that matters is we love each other, and . . . ”
He interrupted harshly. “Love? You don’t know the meaning of the word, my dear. I thought the same, but it seems I was wrong. The minute Francis was back, I was dispensed with pretty damned swiftly.”
“Oh, Nick!” She half ran to the sofa and sat down, but didn’t touch him. Incredibly, she felt too scared. But this was Nick, she told herself, Nick, whose entire body she’d stroked and kissed in the past. “Didn’t Tony tell you?” she said eagerly. “They brought Francis home in an ambulance.
He’d been injured. I couldn’t just walk out and leave him, darling. It just wasn’t right.”
“But it was all right to leave me?” He laughed sarcastically.
“Leave me for a man who nearly murdered you, or so you told me once.”
“But it was my duty, my moral duty, to stay,” she cried.
He shook his head. “No, my dear. It was your moral duty to come to me. You promised me, you promised a hundred times we would always be together.”
She hated the way he kept calling her “my dear” in such a formal way. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.
“And so you should be,” he said harshly.
“We can still be together . . . ’She briefly entertained the idea of seducing him, of turning his cold tragic face towards hers and kissing him, but felt it wouldn’t work.
He’d only spurn her, and that would make things even worse.
“It’s too late, Eileen.” He turned towards her, and their glances met directly for the first time. She would have given everything she possessed to see his lovely dark eyes light up, to see his warm, quirky smile. “Can you imagine,” he said, “is it possible for you to put yourself in my shoes for a moment, and think what it was like when Tony told me you weren’t
Similar Books
