His Diamond Bride (12 page)

‘But I'll be useless, too,' Mark said, holding up his damaged hand.

‘You won't have to fly a plane with that, just rework the
movements so that you can do them differently. Lucky it's your left hand.'

‘Joe, I can't take charity.'

‘It's not charity. You'd be doing me a favour. That house is empty without Sylvia and Helen. It echoes something horrible. But if you're there, it'll be more cheerful.'

Mark was still uncertain, fearful of being pitied but eager for the chance to work. Dee slipped out, leaving them to it. When she met up with Joe later, he was triumphant.

‘I told him you'd be there sometimes to keep an eye on him, so they might let him out of this place sooner. That did it. He's going potty in here.'

‘You're a cunning schemer,' she told him lovingly.

‘That's what your mum used to say, just like you said it. I told you once before—you have to know what you want and go for it.'

‘And you think you know what I want?'

‘Actually, love, I was thinking more of what
I
want. That house really is lonely, so a couple of grandchildren would suit me down to the ground, just as soon as you can get round to it.'

‘Dad! You're shameless.'

‘Got to be. No time to waste. There's a war on. Hadn't you heard?'

Chuckling to himself, he fled her wrath.

M
R
R
OYCE
was understanding. ‘Your father's right. It'll help him to go home and live a more normal life, and you can look after him. I don't suppose you'll be sleeping here any more?'

‘No, I'll be spending my nights at home now,' she said.

He sighed and gave her a wry smile. ‘Just as I thought. Well, good luck.'

For a moment it was all there in his eyes, everything he'd felt but never said over the last few years. Then the shutters came down and he was once more Mr Royce, figure of authority.

Mark came home a week later and was installed in Sylvia's old room. By now he was on his feet and able to take the bus with the assistance of Joe, who closed the garage for the afternoon to help him. They both reached home safely, followed in the evening by Dee.

Joe had even cooked the supper for her and they celebrated together, toasting each other in cups of tea. Then she ordered Mark to bed and he obeyed with comical meekness.

Over the next few weeks, things improved. Mark's burns healed slowly but steadily. He could still manage many tasks in the garage, and having something to occupy his mind did him good.

Life settled into a pattern that was so strangely comfortable it seemed predestined. There was even a kind of happiness in
the situation. Often Dee would awaken in the small hours and lie reflecting comfortably that Mark was there, safe under the same roof. It wasn't the relationship she'd dreamed of, but it brought out the protective side of her nature. Whatever might happen in the future, he was here now, hers, to be looked after and kept from harm.

It was nearly five years since they had met and both of them had changed. The changes in him were clear enough, but she often wondered how she seemed to him. Surveying herself in the mirror, she saw no sign of the naive girl she'd once been. The person who looked back was a woman, settled in her successful career, in her life, and so mature that it was hard to believe she was only twenty-two.

One day, in the late afternoon, when Joe was out at a training session with the Home Guard and Mark was working in the garage, she made a cup of tea and was preparing to take it to him when a shadow appeared in the back door. It was Eileen, a young woman of her own age who lived a couple of streets away.

‘I just thought I'd drop in and see how you were,' she said. ‘Haven't seen you for ages.'

She was one of the crowd of girls who had sighed over Mark in the early days and, although she now devoted a respectable amount of time to chattering about nothing, Dee wasn't surprised when she brought the conversation round to him.

‘I hear you've got Mark living here again. Fancy that.'

‘He's working at the garage with Dad, and he boards here because it's convenient.'

‘Oh, I'm longing to see him!'

‘Come on, then. I'm just taking him a cup of tea.'

From outside the garage, they could hear Mark singing tunelessly. There was no sign of him as they entered, only the noise coming from under a large car. Suddenly the noise stopped and Mark slid out from underneath. Dee heard a sharp
intake of breath beside her and turned to see Eileen, her eyes fixed on Mark in horror.

Because of the warm day, he'd removed his shirt and his bare chest was visible. Eileen's hands were pressed to her mouth and she was slowly shaking her head as though to say it couldn't be true. Then she turned and hurried away.

The sight of Mark's face as he understood that a young woman had fled from him in disgust, repelled by his disfigurement, made Dee want to commit murder. She slammed down the mug of tea and turned to pursue Eileen but Mark stopped her.

‘Let her go,' he said wearily. ‘I must have given her a shock. I'm sorry; I wasn't expecting anyone except you, and you're used to the sight. I forget how dreadful I must look to anyone else.'

‘She had no right—'

‘It wasn't her fault,' Mark said simply.

He pulled on his shirt, buttoning it up to the neck so that none of the scars were visible. Then he sat down and dropped his head into his hands.

‘Just give me a little time to get used to it,' he groaned. ‘It's not the first time. It happened one day at the hospital. You were away for a moment and a nurse looked in with some dressings. I think she was a student, and not used to confronting horrors.'

‘You're not—'

‘I know what I am. Don't give me false hope. I'm like this for life and the sooner I accept it the better. If you could have seen that student's face when she saw me… She went pale.'

‘Why didn't you tell me about it?'

‘Because there would have been no point. This is the reality. This is what I am now, a man who makes women turn from him in horror.'

Dee was still consumed by anger on his behalf, and it
drove her to do something that caution might otherwise have prevented.

‘Not this woman,' she said, taking his face in her hands and laying her lips on his.

She was inexperienced. Beyond a few brief pecks, she'd known no other kisses but his and they seemed long ago. But now everything in her seemed to be alive with the awareness of his need, telling her how to move her lips against his so that he would know she cared for him, wanted him.

She tried to speak of desire so intense that his terrible scars couldn't kill it, and for a few moments she thought she'd succeeded. His hands reached for her, touched her tentatively at first, then firmly, eagerly. She could feel him trembling. But then he stiffened, putting his hands on her arms and pushing her gently away.

‘No,' he said hoarsely. ‘Not this.'

‘I'm sorry,' she stammered, swamped by shame. ‘I only—'

‘You only thought you'd carry your nursing a bit further, didn't you? Pity the poor patient, don't let him suspect how disgusting he is. It's all part of the cure. Well, I don't want your pity, do you hear? I don't want anyone's pity. I don't even want my own, and that's tough because I'm drowning in self-pity and I don't know how to—' He shuddered. ‘Oh, to hell with you! Why did you have to do that?'

Thrusting her aside, he stormed to the door, stopped and looked back. ‘Marry that doctor. He's reliable and respectable. Not like me. And you deserve the best.'

He walked away without giving her a chance to reply and she heard the house door slam as he entered. She didn't follow him at once, knowing that he needed to be alone.

He'd given her a glimpse of the devastation inside his head, even if against his own will. She'd thought she knew the wells of despair and self-disgust that lived there, but now she knew the depths extended further than her worst nightmares. Everything he said was true. If she was wise, she would turn from him to Mr Royce, who could offer her a new life.

But Mark was still the one she wanted; now more than ever. And her resolution was growing. Once before she had lost him by giving in too easily.

She wouldn't let it happen again.

 

On her way to bed that night, Dee stopped outside Mark's room. Hearing only silence, she opened the door a crack and listened to his deep, even breathing. Finally satisfied, she backed away without a sound.

Inside the room, Mark lay tense until he was certain she'd gone. Only then did he relax, thankful that his breathing had been steady enough to be convincing. After the events of the day, he couldn't have endured having to face her.

He fought to attain sleep. Once it had been so easy. In his untroubled youth he had only to lay his head on the pillow to be in happy dreamland. But that had been—barely five years ago? He was still in his twenties, technically a young man, but, as with so many of his comrades, the inner and outer man no longer matched.

The feeling of being at ease with life had slipped away from him so gradually that he'd barely noticed, until he found himself lying awake at night, which now happened unbearably often. In the hospital he'd been grateful for the sedation that silenced the demons. He could have taken a pill tonight, but he stubbornly refused. He knew Dee checked them every morning to see if he'd had any, and he was damned if he was going to let her know how desperately he wanted to. She already knew too much of his weakness.

At last he felt sleep coming on, retreating, drawing closer, teasing and tormenting, finally invading him, but only to torment him further. Now he was back in the damaged plane…heading back to the airfield…wondering if he'd make it…seeing the ground coming closer…almost there…then the explosion
and the flames!

He fought to slide back the roof of the cockpit, but it was
stuck. He couldn't get out. He was trapped there while the fire consumed him—trapped in hell. He screamed and screamed but no sound came out. Nobody could hear him—he was abandoned.

‘Where are you—where are you—?'

‘I'm here, I'm here. Wake up—
wake up!
'

Hands were shaking him, touching his face, offering a way out of the nightmare. He reached for her eagerly, blindly.

‘Help me—help me. Where are you?'

Dee saw his eyes open, but vaguely, as though he couldn't see her. He was shivering.

‘Mark—Mark, talk to me.' She shook him. ‘Are you awake?'

‘I don't know,' he whispered. ‘The fire—the fire—'

‘There's no fire. That was a long time ago.'

‘No, it wasn't. It's here; I can feel it—'

‘No,' she cried. ‘The fire is in the past. It can't hurt you now. I'm going to keep you safe. You're safe
with me.
'

At last, recognition seemed to creep into his eyes. ‘Is it you?'

‘Yes, it's me. I'm here and I'll always be here.'

She felt him sag in her arms as though the life had gone out of him, replaced by black despair. She tightened her embrace, full of fierce protectiveness.

She'd gone to bed, sad at his rejection of the comfort she had to offer, but, just as she was fading into sleep, the air had been rent by terrifying sounds from the next room. She'd dashed next door to find him sitting up in bed, screaming violently into the darkness. She'd sat beside him, taking him in her arms, but that didn't help. He'd seemed unaware of her, screaming on and on, caught in some terrifying other world where there was only fear and darkness.

She had switched on the bedside lamp, hoping that its light might bring him back to reality, but even when he looked at her she could tell he was still reliving his most ghastly
moments, and she was torn by pity and frustration that she couldn't help him except, perhaps, by being there, letting him feel her presence and draw from it what solace he could. If any.

‘I'm all right now,' he said bleakly.

Gently, she laid him back on the bed and came closer, propping herself up on one elbow to look down on him.

‘Did I wake you?' he asked.

‘I heard you being a bit disturbed. It's not the first time but you sounded more troubled tonight than ever before. Were you dreaming about the fire?'

‘Not dreaming. Living. It was there all around me and I couldn't escape. I was so scared, I screamed. Isn't that funny?'

‘I don't think it's funny at all,' she said tenderly.

‘But it is. It's the biggest laugh of all time. I used to think I was so strong. I was a cocky, conceited so-and-so, but I know better now. Just a coward, screaming with fear.'

‘You're not a coward,' she said fiercely. ‘Any man would have nightmares after what you've been through.'

‘I told myself that at first, but they go on and on and I don't know what to do. I'll tell you something that will really make you despise me—' He checked himself.

‘Don't say anything you don't want to,' she told him.

‘No, you're entitled to know the worst of me. When they said I couldn't go back to the Air Force…I was…I was glad. Do you hear that? I was glad. Oh, I said all the right things about being sorry I couldn't serve my country, but part of me was full of relief.'

‘So I should hope,' she said crisply. ‘That merely shows you have common sense.'

He stared. ‘You're not ashamed of me.'

‘No,' she said, almost in tears. ‘There's nothing to be ashamed of. Oh, please, Mark, forget all this. You did your bit. You served your country and it nearly killed you. You
should be proud, not ashamed. You have a life ahead of you and when you're fully recovered you'll find a way to live it.'

He glanced down at his disfigured chest. ‘That will be hard when women can't bear to look at me,' he said.

‘That silly girl this afternoon doesn't count. A woman who cared about you wouldn't be troubled by this.'

Suddenly she became aware of a new tension in his manner, and the way his eyes flickered away from her. Looking down, she saw why. She was wearing pyjamas, and in her agitation she'd forgotten to check that the front was properly buttoned up. It had fallen open, revealing her naked breasts.

He was still averting his gaze. She took a quick decision.

‘Perhaps it's
you
that can't bear to look at
me,
' she said. ‘Am I so ugly?'

‘You know better than that.'

‘But I don't,' she said softly. ‘How could I know?'

Slowly, he turned his gaze back to linger over her breasts, shadowed by the soft lamplight. Then he lay without moving and for a horrible moment she wondered if he was shocked by her forwardness, but at last he reached up to her.

At the soft touch of his fingertips on her breast she felt a blazing excitement go through her, unlike anything she had ever known before. It was the merest whispering caress, but it brought her to life in a way she'd never dreamed of. She heard a long gasp and only dimly realised that it came from herself.

She didn't know how or where the pyjama jacket went, but suddenly he was touching her with both hands, taking her to another world where all the virtuous precepts of her rearing vanished without trace, and there was only this man and her desire for him.