Kitty Little (39 page)

The sound of his footstep behind her on the wooden stairs brought her swinging about to smile calmly at him. Pleasant. Unemotional. Ready to discuss practicalities.

‘There’s a tiny bedroom,’ he told her. ‘One bed. You can have it. I’ll take the sofa.’

‘Is there a sofa?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

They lay side by side on the bed. Not touching. Not speaking. It seemed the sensible thing to do. They both needed rest. There was a war on. She couldn’t expect him to sleep on the kitchen floor and there was nowhere else, except the truck and that was occupied by poor Tessa. And she certainly couldn’t ask him to sleep with a coffin, out in the cold, dark, rainy night. All she had to do was let her eyes drift closed, and sleep. They remained obstinately wide awake, staring out of the curtainless window into the black night; the sound of the rain hammering on the glass now making her feel cosy and warm, protected.

‘Goodnight Kitty.’

‘Goodnight.’

‘Say my name.’

‘What?’

‘Say - goodnight Owen. Only once, that I can recall, have you said my name. Say it for me now.’

She turned her head on the pillow and looked into his eyes. They gazed solemnly and steadily back at her. ‘Goodnight Owen.’

When he kissed her this time, it seemed the most natural thing in the world, the absolutely right thing to do. He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, kissing each newly revealed inch of flesh with tender care. He kept on kissing her as he slid off her skirt and petticoat. But it was Kitty who, as her desire grew to match his, frantically helped him to untie the pink ribbons on her lacy combinations and rid herself of stockings and garters. Then she watched with undisguised interest as he divested himself of the rest of his uniform.

‘Breaking more rules?’ she softly enquired, and he smiled radiantly at her as he lowered himself beside her onto the bed. His body was lean and strong, lithe and tanned from the hours he spent bare to waist on training exercises, and ready to love her.

Nothing that she’d ever experienced in her life before, had prepared Kitty for how she felt at this moment. There was a burning need, deep in the heart of her which somehow had to be quenched. He made love to her with an infinite tenderness, passion rising between them with equal intensity, so that Kitty forgot all about her vow never to surrender herself to a man again. She had no wish, in those intoxicating moments to even recall her need to be either independent or free. She wished only to be a part of him, to meld her body to his and repay him with the same depth of delight that he was giving her.

Afterwards she lay with her head on his chest, listening to his breathing, feeling the strong beat of his heart. At last he spoke, soft words whispered into her hair, saying what was in both their minds. ‘So what did all of that mean, Kitty Little? That you didn’t love Archie quite so much as you thought?’

She didn’t reply. How could she? Her mind was a turmoil of confused emotion and unanswered questions. Of one thing she was absolutely certain, she had never felt this way before. Never. Love making with Archie had seemed hasty and underhand, leaving her with a slight sense of disappointment. But whether that proved it was Owen she loved, or that she simply desired him physically was, at this precise moment, beyond her. She felt the pressure of his lips warm against her brow.

‘What are your plans now? Have they changed? Will you still settle for being his mistress when you get home? Have him set you up in your own apartment as the prostitutes do in Paris? Or move in with the blessed Archie and Charlotte both, and begin a
menage a trois
. On the other hand, you might just have come to your senses, I suppose.’

Kitty jerked up in bed to glare down at him. ‘Is that why you made love to me, to spoil things for me with Archie? To prove what I feel for him isn’t love. Was that it? A little game to test me. You despicable, unfeeling, callous brute!’ She was slapping at him, hitting his head, punching his nose, pulling his hair, and he was
laughing,
even as he strived to hold her off, which somehow inflamed her rage all the more. ‘Damn you to hell!’ she cried but he just kept on laughing, telling her he was in hell already.

Within moments her anger had subtly changed, the kicking and biting somehow re-igniting their passion and they made love again, this time with ferocious need. The third occasion, just before dawn, he took her more gently, slowly taking his time to love and caress her till Kitty felt she was drowning in sensation. She knew that she never wished to leave this bed; wanted to be held forever in his arms. Sated and exhausted, they slept entwined in peaceful abandonment but, despite her longings, inexorably and predictably, morning came.

When Kitty woke she was alone. Guessing that Owen was mending the puncture she dressed quickly, splashed her face in cold water, ran out to meet him. They stood in the cold light of early day, uncertain of each other, faintly embarrassed.

‘You don’t have to go home. We could make arrangements for the coffin to be collected.’

‘I must. I owe it to Tessa. Besides, it will be good to have some time alone with Dixie.’

‘Of course. I forgot. Your daughter. Yours and Archie’s daughter.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ll see him.’

‘Archie? Yes, I expect I shall.’

They drove the rest of the way to Boulogne in silence, not a word exchanged between them. When they reached the harbour Owen dealt with the administration of the coffin, saw Kitty safely aboard, stowed away her baggage in the cabin allotted to her then, as the ship’s hooters sounded, he turned to go. Kitty stood rooted to the spot as he walked away from her without saying goodbye, without a kiss, without even a backward glance. He was half way down the gang plank when she ran to the railing and called out his name.

‘
Owen
!’ As he half turned to glance up at her, Kitty grasped her skirt with one hand, held on to her hat with the other and ran pell-mell down the gang plank. Then she was in his arms, being held so tight it was as if he never meant to let her go. There were more unspoken feelings, more passion and desire in that single moment than Kitty could ever have dreamed possible. ‘I’ll be back. See that you’re here waiting for me, safe and well.’

‘I’ll make damn sure of it.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Lakes

The Misses Frosts boarding house provided a haven of peace and tranquillity for Kitty after the dangers of France. Whatever fears she’d had when learning of Dixie’s removal from her father’s care, had disappeared the moment she’d met the two sisters.

She’d been shown at once to Dixie’s room where the child lay fast asleep, arms flung back over her head, rosy mouth pursed into a smile as if she were enjoying a happy dream. Choked with emotion, Kitty had laid her face against the warm soft curve of her daughter’s cheek and breathed in that sweet scent which, in all the dreadful months in France, she had never forgotten. After a few emotional tears of relief, Miss Bebe had insisted she take a hot bath, made her a mug of cocoa and practically tucked her up in bed as if she were a child herself.

‘Oh, my word how this little one has changed our lives,’ Miss Bebe had whispered as she’d folded the sheet back over the eiderdown beneath Kitty’s chin. ‘And for the better, oh dear me yes.’

‘She hasn’t been a nuisance then?’

The old woman gave a chirrup of laughter. ‘Of course she’s been a nuisance. Aren’t children meant to disrupt your lives? She is at a very demanding age, we realise that and in the first few weeks after she came, the little madam drove us quite demented. Never stopped screaming for a moment, or stamping her little feet and generally throwing tantrums. Suffering from the “terrible two’s” Nanny said. Of course that was before Nanny left us to train as a nurse. She too is probably in France by now. You might even come across her. Charming girl.’

Kitty was appalled, and felt a sharpening of guilt. ‘So you’ve had to cope all alone?’

‘Oh yes, but Hetty and I manage everything exceedingly well, don’t you know. We like to be busy and are always in perfect accord.’

Even so, Kitty felt she really shouldn’t have left Dixie with strangers. But then she hadn’t, had she? Charlotte had done that. ‘Perhaps she was missing me.’

‘Whatever the reason she is perfectly cured now. We got Lad and she’s been the sunniest natured child ever since.’

‘Lad?’

‘You’ll meet him at breakfast. Now go straight to sleep and not another word.’ And Kitty did just that, sinking blissfully into the duck down pillow.

Tessa’s funeral took place on a bitterly cold April day at St Margaret’s church in Carreckwater, with an even chillier reception from Charlotte and Archie, who barely exchanged more than a few words with Kitty. It was almost as if they blamed her for their friend’s death. Charlotte planted a kiss some inches from her cheek and insisted she should call and take tea with them, just as soon as she was settled in. It was clear there would be no invitation to stay at Repstone and for once, Kitty was glad.

It seemed blissful to have nothing more taxing to consider than Dixie’s well being. She would take her for walks in Fairfield Park, or to feed the ducks on the lake, delighting in the fact that the child positively glowed with health.

Lad turned out to be a black and white border collie who had once belonged to an elderly widow, now deceased. He adored Dixie with complete and utter devotion. The two were inseparable, the child constantly chattering away to him while the dog sat listening, head to one side, tongue lolling. He’d lie at her feet while she ate or played, sleep at the foot of her bed, and trail behind her as she moved about the house. He came on all of their daily walks and demanded several extra on his own account for there was nothing he liked better than running about, chasing sticks, swimming in the lake and generally getting muddy. And when he wasn’t being exercised in that way, he liked to have a ball thrown to him in the long back garden which he always managed to catch, no matter how far Kitty would try to throw it. Sometimes he would disgrace himself by chasing Dixie’s favourite red squirrels up a tree, then sitting and barking at them long after they’d leapt away.

Kitty said this was the true meaning of ‘barking up the wrong tree.’

In the evenings Miss Frost would play the pianoforte so that Miss Bebe could sing
Little Dolly Daydream
or
If You Were The Only Girl In The World
in her thin, quavering voice
.
Miss Bebe was very fond of sentimental ballads, in particular
Keep the Home fires Burning
by Ivor Novello. Miss Frost preferred Chopin or Mozart. Lad would howl in accompaniment with them, though this never seemed to trouble the two sisters. Kitty would join in as best she could, though she was generally too weak with laughter.

On Saturday evenings Dixie would be allowed to stay up for a little longer so she could perform her party piece. The little girl would be stood up on a chair to sing in her high pitched childish voice, which rang out clear as a bell. Then she would hold up her skirts and do a little dance routine for them all. Dixie lit up the gloomy parlour with the shining glow of innocent youth. Sometimes one of their other guests, very often a single gentleman or commercial traveller, would take the floor and do a recitation, or sing
Drink to me Only With Thine Eyes
. Only after all of that, and when they’d played every one of Miss Bebe’s favourites, was it judged time to stop and they’d all troop off to bed, tired but happy.

Kitty hadn’t realised how very tired she was. The long winter of war had been exhausting and emotionally draining, and not without its quota of pain and suffering. She wondered if perhaps she should give up this foolishly dangerous life she was leading and devote herself to Dixie’s care, as a good mother should. But then her dreams would be disturbed by memories of a certain Captain, and she would itch to be back on that boat, heading for France.

Besides, hadn’t she made a vow to do her bit? The boys sent to France couldn’t choose to come home when they’d had enough, and neither should she. The rest of the Players were due home on leave in early May, in just four short weeks, when this current tour of duty was over. The plan was that the company would take a month’s leave to restore their flagging energy, then do some summer touring with the hope of returning to France some time in the early Autumn. Until they arrived, Kitty meant to consider this time with her precious daughter as a bonus, a special gift for them both.

Despite Kitty’s resolve to be happy for Dixie’s sake, she spent a lot of time worrying about her dear friends, wondering if they were safe and well, if they were managing without her. Dear God, she prayed, don’t let anything happen to them. She couldn’t bear it if another of their number suffered the same fate as poor Tessa. They’d always found the little pianist’s obsession with pills and potions faintly amusing; now her excessive caution didn’t seem funny at all. Kitty realised that she’d never fully appreciated just how very brave Tessa had been to come to France with them and face such danger. The thought was humbling, almost shaming, and Kitty meant to honour her death by returning to her own self-appointed duties without complaint, just as soon as she was able.

But these well meaning resolutions didn’t stop her worrying about Owen. She’d felt her antipathy towards him gradually crumble. Following what had taken place during their journey back to the coast, Kitty found herself missing him. She wondered what would happen when the LTP’s left? Would he then be sent back to the Front? A prospect which filled her with dread.