Such Sweet Sorrow (5 page)
‘We shouldn’t be spending what little time we have left quarrelling,’ she declared, finally capitulating and hooking her arm into his.
He knew then that Tony hadn’t said a word to Tina about marrying Diana. If he had, she would have brought it up and used it as yet one more argument in favour of a hastily arranged wedding.
‘Do you want to get a ring in Cardiff? An engagement ring,’ he added so there could be no mistake.
‘If that’s all you’re prepared to give me, I suppose it will have to do,’ she murmured, mischief and love glowing in her eyes.
He would have kissed her if they’d been alone. As it was, he had to content himself with squeezing her hand. Not for the first time that day he wondered what on earth had possessed him to join the Guards. Then he remembered Tony’s assertion that as they’d have to go anyway, it was better to be first in line so they could pick out the cushiest numbers for themselves before the rush.
He hoped Tony was right. Because suddenly nothing seemed worth leaving Pontypridd and Tina for. Especially war.
‘I thought they’d never leave.’ Tony rammed the bolt home below the lock on the café door. He glanced at Diana, who was standing nervously in front of the counter stacking dirty cups on to a tray. He walked across to her and took a cup from her hand. ‘I’ll see to all this after I take you home.’
‘There’s so many …’
‘They can wait.’ He stroked the side of her face gently with his fingertips while staring intently into her eyes. ‘You are sure you want this?’
She swallowed hard, her secret clouding her mind like a toxic mist, poisoning her every thought and move. She would never be able to bring herself to get engaged to, much less marry, Tony without telling him the truth. And she couldn’t think of a better time to begin than now, after she went upstairs with him. ‘I’m sure,’ she murmured.
‘I’ll go up first and pull the blackout curtains. There’s no electric light, so you’ll have to bring the candle from the kitchen.’
Diana walked behind the counter and into the kitchen. She found what she was looking for on the windowsill: a stub of candle glued by a puddle of wax to a cracked saucer. Lifting it down, she took the box of matches from next to the stove and opened it, snapping three in half before she finally succeeded in lighting the wick. Switching off all the downstairs lights she carried the candle to the foot of the stairs. She sat on the bottom step, shivering, trying to keep a grip on herself while waiting for Tony to call her. It was peculiar how even the most commonplace objects could be transformed by candlelight. The wavering flame lengthened shadows, animating them into threatening, malevolent shapes that reminded her of the ghastly ghoul and ghost stories William had spun to frighten her when they’d been children. She was aware of a heightening of sensitivity, as though her body was preparing her for disaster – or an experience she would treasure for the rest of her life. Which would it be?
Willing optimism to win, she looked around, consciously absorbing the scene, storing it for some future date when Tony would be away and this moment would be no more than a bitter-sweet memory. Setting the candle on the stair next to her she hugged her knees and tried to picture the rooms they’d share when he came home on leave. It would have to be rooms. There was no way she’d be able to afford, or justify renting a whole house, not when he’d be away most of the time, but then it would give them an opportunity to save for a home of their own.
‘I’ve blacked out the bedroom, it’s safe to come up.’
She turned her head, Tony was standing at the top of the stairs looking down at her.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I was miles away.’
‘If you want to change your mind, I don’t mind waiting until after we’re married.’ Half of him wanted her to walk up the stairs, the other half – an uncharacteristically doubtful, nervous half – wished she’d insist on leaving for home right now.
She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want to wait.’ Picking up the candle she turned and slowly mounted the stairs.
‘You sure this is the ring you want?’ William patted the box he was carrying in his coat pocket.
‘It’s exactly the ring I want,’ Tina assured him for the twentieth time since they’d bought it. Small, old fashioned, its simple gold band was set with a single green stone that the pawnbroker had assured them was an emerald, but after William had handed over the money he’d drawn out of the bank for the purpose, he’d begun to wonder. He had been prepared to pay double the amount the pawnbroker had asked, for a brand new engagement ring, but the moment Tina had seen that particular ring in the broker’s window she had fallen in love with it, and unable to resist her excitement he had bought it for her.
‘I knew it was the one the minute I saw it. Haven’t you ever looked at something and realised right away that it was meant to be yours?’
‘Yes.’ He took her hand into his, pulled off her glove and kissed her cold fingers.
‘I’d still have preferred a wedding ring.’
‘And I’ll buy you one, the minute the war is over.’
‘You’ll write?’
‘Every chance I get, and I’ll be back on leave.’
‘Promises, promises, but as it looks as though that’s all I’m going to get, I suppose they will have to do.’ She leaned her head on his shoulder. He looked up, just able to make out the blackened outline of the roofs of the end houses in the terrace, and the stripped branches of the wizened bushes at the side of the road that led up to Penycoedcae. They turned the corner and walked to her door, their footsteps dragging as they drew closer to the white cross that glimmered faintly in the blackout.
‘Will,’ she stopped and led him across the road out of hearing distance of the houses. ‘Before you go away, wouldn’t you like to spend more time with me?’
‘All I can.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Although her face was veiled by darkness, she lowered her head.
‘I know what you mean,’ he whispered.
‘There must be somewhere we can go …’
‘We’ll talk about it some other time,’ he broke in quickly.
‘We may not have much time left.’
‘We haven’t. Any minute now your father will open that door and call you in.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘I know.’ He kissed her slowly, and thoroughly, sending scalding shock waves of passion through both their bodies. ‘I’ll come up tomorrow straight from work and talk to your father. Don’t give him any warning. If he’s going to be difficult, I’d rather he was difficult with me than you.’
She turned and walked across the road. She was prepared to give William everything before he left and she couldn’t understand his reluctance to take advantage of her willingness. She’d even devised a plan. All they’d have to do was take a bus into Cardiff, book into a guesthouse early in the evening and leave before the last bus back to Pontypridd. She turned at the door and looked back. She couldn’t see William, but she could hear his steps as he stumbled over the rough sliver of hillside that separated Danycoedcae Road from Illtyd Street. She reached out and felt for the key in the door. There had been times, especially on long walks last summer, when she’d had to fight to stop him taking advantage of her, but then that had been before he’d told her he loved her. Of course! Why hadn’t it occurred to her before? All she had to do was inveigle him into a situation where they wouldn’t be disturbed, and she’d soon change his mind about everything – including marriage.
William didn’t turn right towards his uncle’s house at the bottom of Illtyd Street, but left, towards the Graig Hotel. Officially it was closed; unofficially the back door would be open as it had been every night since war had been declared, so right-minded Welsh patriots and ARPs could drink toasts to the success of Britain and her Allies.
He felt peculiar. Unsettled and restless, unnerved by Tina’s hints about spending time together. He loved her but there were some things he found difficult to talk about, especially to the woman he loved and intended to marry – eventually. How could he begin to explain to Tina about the other women he’d had sex with? How he longed for their lovemaking to be unique and very special. A magical, mystical, beautiful experience, as different from the quick fumblings and gropings he’d shared with Vera Collins, who’d used him as a brief diversion from her husband, as a long soak in a real bath was from a quick wash in a bucket in the back yard. He wanted there to be much, much more between him and Tina than embarrassing, hurried copulation in a shed or grubby borrowed room.
When he imagined their wedding night, it was set against an idyllic background, like the honeymoon suites in Hollywood films, complete with roses, champagne, soft music and the ultimate luxury: all the time in the world.
The problem was how to explain to Tina that their first time should be perfect? Something worth waiting for. Knowing Tina, if he tried she’d laugh at him for being a stupid romantic, which he undoubtedly was. But then how could she know that although he’d managed to hold his own with the Veras of this world, he was absolutely terrified of turning his initial experience with the virgin he loved into a complete and utter disaster.
‘You sure you won’t get into trouble for being late?’ Tony asked nervously, moistening his lips with his tongue as he faced Diana across the single bed in the spartan bedroom above the café.
‘No, I told Uncle Evan that you’d have to lock up the café before you brought me home. He said he didn’t mind as long as I wasn’t out alone late at night in the blackout.’
‘You don’t think he guessed?’
‘Why should he? You’ve brought me home late before.’ She placed the saucer that held the candle on the seat of a rickety wooden chair next to the bed.
‘I suppose I have.’ He looked at the bed, then the rest of the room. For the first time he saw it through a stranger’s eyes. Shabby, grimy and devoid of anything remotely resembling comfort let alone luxury. A depressing place to celebrate love and begin a new life. The inadequate light of the candle could not conceal the condensation stains on the peeling wallpaper. Neither could his hastily applied cologne nor Diana’s scent mask the cold, stale, musty smell of damp. ‘I’m sorry about the surroundings,’ he apologised. ‘None of the girls has ever slept here, and I never realised how dismal it is until now.’
She tried to smile at him but the muscles froze in her face. Lean, thin and very dark, he looked almost satanic in the flickering shadows. ‘Is there another room, or is this where you sleep when you stay overnight?’ she asked nervously, looking from the narrow bed to the bare floorboards, their corners powdered with dust and fluff balls.
‘There’s another room but we use it to store stock. Ronnie was the one who actually put the bed in here.’ He walked to the window to check the blackout curtains; not that they needed it, he’d been meticulous in closing them, but he could no longer look her in the eye. ‘He used to sleep here when he and Papa quarrelled.’
‘Over Maud?’
He turned around. ‘I think there were even more quarrels between Ronnie and Papa before Maud came on the scene than there were afterwards.’
‘It’s funny.’
‘What?’ he asked anxiously, still half dreading – half hoping – that she’d change her mind.
‘My cousin Maud marrying your brother, and now me here. Maud and I were closer than most sisters before she went away.’
‘Which only goes to show that Ronnie and I have the same good taste in Powell women.’ He took a step towards her and she shrank instinctively away from him.
‘You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.’ He reached out and touched her hair. She shuddered as though he’d burnt her. ‘You’re freezing.’ He wrapped his arms around her. ‘You are sure …’
‘I’m sure, Tony,’ she interrupted forcefully.
‘Then perhaps it’s time you got under the bedclothes.’
Turning her back on him, she pulled her jumper over her head. She looked around: the only place to put it was the chair next to the bed, and she’d used that for the candle.
‘Here, I’ll take the candle.’ He held out his hand. She handed him the saucer and he lowered it to the floor on his side of the bed. The light flickered and dimmed as the flame guttered in a draught, casting the room in shadows that hung between them, as thick, heavy and apparently tangible as black lace curtains.
‘I’ll turn my back if you like.’
‘Thank you.’ She slipped her blouse buttons from their loops. Sick with fear and apprehension she undressed quickly, removing her skirt, blouse, stockings and bust shaper, but leaving her long petticoat and bloomers. She pulled back the bedclothes and slid beneath the sheets; they were icy, clammy and cold to the touch. She lay there trembling, facing the door as she listened to Tony moving around the room behind her. She started at the loud thud of his shoes as he threw them on to the bare boards. There was a click as he unbuttoned his braces. A soft hiss of linen whispered in the air as he removed his shirt, escalating the tense atmosphere. The ring of metal hitting metal told her he was unfastening the buckle on his trouser belt. A sudden weight depressed the mattress behind her as he sat on the bed.
‘You really are cold.’ He laid his hand on her back as he crawled in beside her. Gripping her shoulders he pulled her close until the front of his thighs nestled against the back of hers. She steeled herself to accept the touch of his body, long, lean and hard muscled against hers, while fighting a sour tide of nausea that threatened to rise from the pit of her stomach as he stretched his naked legs over hers.
‘You all right, Diana?’
She nodded, unable to answer him.
‘I love you.’ He turned her gently, rolling her over until she faced him. The warmth of his hands flamed through the thin silk of her petticoat, searing, scorching and repugnant. She closed her eyes tightly as he kissed her hair, her cheeks, her lips, gritting her teeth and tensing herself as he embraced her entire body with his own.
She stretched out her hands and gripped the sides of the bed as he slipped the straps of her petticoat from her shoulders. He undressed her slowly, carefully, kissing and fondling each breast in turn as he uncovered them. She concentrated every fibre of her being in an attempt to close out what he was doing to her, but awareness came, harsh and unwelcome as his passion heightened and all pretence of tenderness fled.
Lost in consuming, uncontrollable desire, Diana, the person with her own capacity for pain and pleasure was forgotten, as lust propelled Tony single-mindedly towards his own climax. His indifference was neither deliberate nor calculated, but Diana was conscious of it. It was as though she’d been transformed into a vessel whose sole purpose was the gratification of his pleasure; and when he’d finally done with her, she leaned over, pulled the chamber-pot from beneath the bed and was quietly and thoroughly sick.
Shame- and guilt-ridden, he sat alongside her, cradling her forehead in his hands. ‘Diana, I’m sorry. So terribly, dreadfully sorry. Did I hurt you?’
‘No. It’s not anything you did. It’s me.’ Pulling the topmost blanket from the bed she wrapped it around her shoulders. Sitting hunched, on the edge of the bed, she buried her face in the folds of cloth that covered her knees.