For All Our Tomorrows (24 page)

‘You mean . . .?’

Iris smiled. ‘That you haven’t simply been working for the British, but for the enemy too? Absolutely. True, we’ve rescued a great many British airmen, and even Americans, despite your objections to them. Why not? That part of the exercise is excellent cover for my more important activities. It means that I can build up trust in the right places. Vital in this game. My husband is German, you see. I met him in Spain during the civil war. We were both fighting for the fascists. Klaus is a typically Ayran male, very self-opinionated. Rather like yourself.’

‘And you’re married?’

‘Yes.’

‘But I thought you were going out with a sailor?’

‘That was just cover. I ditched him anyway, when you and I started – you know. Klaus and I married in Madrid in 1938 when we realised war between Britain and Germany was imminent and unavoidable. He returned home, to fight for his country, and so did I. It was my husband’s idea that I use my English background to infiltrate Secret Operations here, and it seems to have worked out rather well.’

‘But how come the Special Operations Executive haven’t realised? You’re married to a German, for God’s sake!’

‘Because I’ve been careful. Very careful. Anyway, why should they know? I still have my passport in my maiden name. Klaus is still in Germany, naturally, working with the Nazi’s. He finds me the necessary contacts in France but when I expressed a need for more reliable transport from someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions, he agreed that I should involve you, using any methods at my disposal. We have that kind of marriage. And you haven’t found the work or the rewards too objectionable, have you, Hugh?’

‘I absolutely refuse to be involved any further. I’m a loyal British subject and will do no such thing.’

‘Oh, I think you will. Whatever we do, you and I, will have little effect on the long-term outcome of this war. We are very small fry indeed. The war is almost over and, sadly, I’m not entirely sure that my darling Klaus will be on the winning side. However, as a good and loyal wife I will continue to do my best for him and what we both believe in, and, if we’re clever, might even make ourselves a buck or two along the way. Isn’t that what our American friends would call it? So that Klaus and I can disappear some place together, when it’s all over. You aren’t against earning a little extra, are you Hugh? The Germans will pay good money for what we know.’

‘But men could get killed.
Our
men!’

Iris shrugged. ‘Such is war. Everyone must look out for themselves. Surely you, of all people would agree with such a philosophy? Think of it. If what we give them is not entirely accurate, does it matter at this stage in the game? Take the money and run.’

His temper was cooling slightly but still he hesitated. Hugh still didn’t entirely trust her. Knowing how tough she was, what a fighter she’d been, he couldn’t quite get to grips with this sudden turn of events. ‘Everyone but me sees you as an empty-headed young barmaid, but you’re neither as young nor as stupid as people imagine.’

Iris burst out laughing. ‘You’re absolutely right on both counts. I’m twenty-nine. I was just turned twenty-one when I met Klaus in Barcelona in 1936.‘

‘All right, so you’ve been working for the other side all along but why me? Why risk involving me? What makes you trust me?’

‘Because you aren’t in a position to cause me any problems. Why should I go on taking unnecessary risks when I can send you instead? The perfect solution,’ and she tweaked his nose while Hugh’s face flushed a dark, angry red.
 

‘That’s why you didn’t spill the beans about that American bomber crew I left stranded. You saw that you could take advantage of what I’d done.’

‘Got it in one.’

‘Well, you’ve mistaken your man this time. I may rage against my stupid wife, who seems hell-bent on turning into a flighty tart just like her sister. I may hate Americans and be perfectly willing to do whatever I deem necessary to undermine their sanctimonious, self-importance, but I’m no traitor, and never will be. I’ll not do it.’

Iris smiled, and it was not an invitation. It was a smile every bit as cold and calculating as his own. ‘Yes, you will do it, because otherwise you might find yourself looking down the collective barrels of a firing squad. I don’t think you really have much choice, do you?

Hugh was still reeling with shock when he climbed into the marital bed sometime before dawn, turning over in his mind this startling turn of events with Iris, and not a little fearful for the future. What sort of a mess was she getting him into? This wasn’t at all what he’d intended, although he seemed to be stuck with it, could see no way out. The very prospect of a firing squad made him shake, feel sick to his stomach. He fully believed her when she’d threatened to talk if he didn’t do as she said. Iris Logan seemed to be one woman he was quite unable to control.

Sara was asleep, curled up as innocent as a babe. But she wasn’t innocent, was she? Iris had seen her with that Yank, that young Lieutenant. It was bad enough to have Iris ordering him about, proving far more difficult to manage than he’d expected. Having his wife disobey him as well, was too much.

He prodded her awake. ‘Sara, wake up. What have you been up to while I’ve been away?’

‘What . . .? Hugh?’ She was unfurling like a cat, warm and languid, her silver fair hair spread out on the pillow.

‘Who else would it be? Your soldier lover?’

She gave a soft chuckle, as if he were making some sort of joke, but he recognised it’s falseness, the fragility of her nerves in the way her eyes blinked wide open, the tell-tale colour flooding in and then draining from her cheeks.

‘I’ve been worrying about you, Hugh. I’m so glad you’re safe home again.’
 

She reached for him, her arms sliding about his neck, but he pushed her away. ‘Have you resigned from that damned committee yet?’

‘Goodness, no, why should I?’

‘Because you know I don’t want you involved. You’ve more than enough to do caring for me and the children.’

She seemed to sigh with relief, as if this were a far safer topic to argue over. ‘Do stop fretting about me, darling. I don’t have half so much work to do now that I’m no longer needed in the pub, so it’s only right that I do my bit. We’ve had this out a dozen times and I am determined not to give up my war work. It’s important and they badly need my help. Besides, I really quite enjoy it, irritating as Nora Snell is at times. I need to feel useful. Please try to understand.’

She gave him a peck on the cheek as if her words, and this tender action should satisfy him, and then snuggled back down into the pillows. ‘Do go to sleep, darling. You must be worn out. I certainly am.’

If she’d hoped to fob him off with excuses, she’d mistaken her man. Hugh pulled her onto her back, lifted her nightdress and pushed his fingers inside her.

Sara let out a startled cry. ‘Hugh, for heavens sake, what are you doing? Don’t do that!’

‘Why not? You’re my wife.’

‘Yes, but you could at least kiss and cuddle me a little first.’

‘Kiss and cuddle, that’s all you ever ask for. You shouldn’t need all of that nonsense. If you really loved me, you should be ready and waiting for me any time I want you.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She was drawing up her legs, trying to get away from him. He pulled them back down again and she let out a tiny whimper. ‘If this is all because of some stupid jealousy over the GIs again, then you’re being very silly. Now leave me alone and go to sleep, you must be worn out after your trip.’

She tried to push him away as if he were a naughty child but the gesture so infuriated him that he grabbed his pyjama chord, wrapped it swiftly about her wrists and had her tied to the bed-head in seconds, before she’d even realised what he meant to do.

‘Hugh, what on earth are you doing? Stop it! I don’t like this, please stop.’

She was gasping, pleading with him but he ignored her. He didn’t stop. He shoved open her legs and took her quite brutally, making her cry out in pain, although she soon stifled her cries, no doubt fearful that the children might hear. Instead, she bit down so hard on her lower lip that she made it bleed. The trickle of blood somehow excited him to a greater frenzy, that and the vision in his head of three canoes frantically paddling through the mist, the cries of men calling desperately for help.

He thought of railway lines blowing up, of Iris telling him she was going to make him act as some sort of spy. And while he was facing such danger, his wife was cavorting with her American lover.

Rage came hot and tight in his chest, blurring her face to nothing more than an unidentifiable blob on the pillow, her mouth an oval of silent agony. He tried to take her again but she bucked beneath him, desperately struggling to fight him off, to kick at him with her feet. Ferocious as a tiger she spat at him.

‘Stop it, stop it! That’s enough, Hugh. Let me go, for pity’s sake. Untie me at once, please. Please, I beg you!’

He liked it better now that she was sobbing and begging, all her quiet dignity gone, far more satisfying than outright resistance. It always irritated him that even in love making he could never entirely possess her. Sara had rarely responded to his love making as he would have wished, needed her to respond. She was forever fussing about kisses and cuddles, always a part of her that he couldn’t quite reach. So it was good to see her usual calm, self-possession, in ribbons. It felt good.

He tied her feet to the bottom rail, her body spread-eagled on the bed, open and inviting for him to take or use as he wished, her eyes wide and frightened, proving her vulnerability. So enticingly seductive.

‘You know you love this really,’ he told her. ‘Is this what he does to you?’

He saw her pale lips curve around the word
who
, but it remained unspoken, no sound came out.

‘Your lover. The Lieutenant. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on, why you insist on remaining on this damned committee, so that you can work closely with him. It has to stop. Is that clear? I’ve asked you to resign but since you’ve refused, I can only think the worst. But you need to remember, Sara, that you are still my wife, and I would like confirmation of that fact right now.’

‘I – I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve done nothing. Ch-Charlie is just a friend, nothing more. Let me go.’

‘Charlie is it now? Very cosy. Prove to me that you still love me. Do for me what you no doubt do for him. Take me in your mouth. Go on. Do as I say.’

She was frantic to get away from him, wriggling and bucking so hard, the chords and straps making deep indentations into her wrists and ankles. But what did it matter? She was utterly helpless.

The sensation of power soared through his veins like wine, for in that moment she was entirely his to command and do with as he willed, and he made the most of it. Nobody, least of all a Yank, would ever be allowed to take her away from him.

Afterwards, when he’d taken his fill and finally released her, he generously bathed the wheals in warm, soapy water, smoothed Vaseline over the red raw sores. Sara sat unmoving, letting him do it, a shrivelled wreck of her former, sophisticated self.

‘You would do well to remember this night, darling, so that you can make the right decisions in future. All right, my love?’

 
She said nothing, her defiance crushed at last. He could hear her weeping quietly into her pillow, but Hugh paid not the slightest attention. He simply turned over and went to sleep. He felt so much better now.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The moment Sara had taken the children to school she went straight to the salon. She could hardly walk she was so sore, but gave no sign of this as she entered. Bette was washing Ethel Penhale’s hair so could only give half her attention to Sara. She was surprised by her sister’s sudden appearance at such an early hour.

‘Is there something wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘No, no, I was wondering if I could just have a quick word.’

Bette pulled a face, indicating Ethel’s head covered with soap suds which she was holding in the sink. ‘Bit tied up at present. Not too hot, is it Ethel?’ A bad tempered mumble came by way of response. ‘Sorry!’

‘Later then,’ Sara said. ‘Where’s Mam?’

‘Having the morning off, would you believe?’ Then glancing down at her customer, with much rolling of eyes and pulling of her face, indicated that Sara should lean closer while she whispered in her ear. ‘Barney is asking the major’s permission today about – you know. Getting wed. Ooh, I can’t wait to see him tonight.’

‘Do you think he’ll get it?’

‘Course he will. Barney has the sort of charm no one can resist.’

Sara couldn’t help but smile. ‘You certainly couldn’t.’

A screech rose from the sink. ‘Ooh sorry, Ethel, did I get soap in your eyes?’ Bette pulled a face at Sara who shook her head in despair.
 

‘I might pop in and see Mam. Bye, Ethel.’

Sadie had her slippered feet up on a stool and was enjoying a mug of tea and a slice of toast and dripping while listening to Worker’s Playtime on the wireless. ‘Hello, what ill wind blows you in? Short of something to do now you’ve been sacked, are you?’