A woman screamed. A voice calmed her. Andrew’s arm tightened around Gloria.
“Sorry I got you into this,” he said,
“Don’t be silly. This could just as easily be happening in Brytewood.” Most likely was happening in Brytewood. “I hope everyone there’s alright.” Gloria shut her eyes. It was impossible not to think back to the awful night the vicarage was hit. Mind you, that had worked out very well for Alice and Peter. Maybe she and Andrew…
No! She was not even entertaining the idea. Alice didn’t turn furry on moonlit nights. Alice’s life was simple and straightforward. She didn’t have a deep earthy secret she hid from the world. She and…
Andrew kissed her!
In front of all these people he kissed her. Not a wild, passionate kiss. Maybe no one else even noticed. It was a “don’t worry, I’m here” sort of kiss. Just a brush of his lips on hers.
Then why did she feel it deep inside? Why was her body softening against his while her nipples went hard? “Andrew,” she said, for want of anything more intelligent or thoughtful.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” he promised. “They can’t keep this up forever.”
Only all night if they felt like it.
“Wish old Jerry would just drop the lot and go home!” a voice called across the cellar.
As if on cue, there was another explosion, two of them, close enough to shake the building. Amid the crashes and noise overhead, Gloria wasn’t sure if she grabbed Andrew or Andrew grabbed her. Hardly mattered as she shut her eyes and clung to him as they both waited for another explosion.
Which never came. Just aircraft noise overhead until that too faded or was drowned out by sirens and shouts outside. Seemed an age before they gave the all clear. Alice waited as the others stood and left. She was safe, alive and had no wish to be carried upstairs, or give everyone one a demonstration of how to haul yourself upstairs using your arms.
By the time Andrew and she emerged, most of the others had dispersed. No one seemed to want to finish dinner. At least no one apart from Gloria. She was suddenly and ravenously hungry but they probably should go out and look at the damage.
The smells of cordite and brick dust filled the air. Glass panes, still with the brown tape attached, lay shattered on the pavement. Strange how bright the night was, almost as if…
“Stone the crows!” a voice said. “Someone won’t be driving home tonight.”
“Stand back, stand back!” another voice called. “Got to get the hose through.”
“Andrew, was something hit?” Gloria asked.
“Let’s have a look-see.” He helped her though the door and to the top of the steps. A few yards down the street, Andrew’s car was burning like a 5th of November bonfire, right next to a vast pile of rubble that, if Gloria remembered rightly, had been an ironmonger.
“Oh, my God!” Andrew said, looking from Gloria to his burning car and back again. He was obviously dying to run to check.
“Go and look, Andrew. See what they can do. I’ll wait here.” Not much point, it was obvious his car was done for.
Fifteen firemen—watching minutes later, he agreed.
“We’re stuck here until the buses start up in the morning,” Andrew said, as he came back and sat beside her. “If only I’d parked it the other side of the street.” He put his arm around her shoulders and held her tight. Was it to give or get comfort? Didn’t matter. She put her head on his shoulder.
“We can ‘if only’ all night.” Gloria replied. “Shouldn’t we see about finding an aid post or somewhere? We can’t stay here.”
“I don’t see why not. It’s a hotel isn’t it? And the only damage is a few broken windows and some cracked plaster. I’m going to see what I can do.” He stood up and she instantly missed his touch.
She sighed and wondered where the nearest wardens’ post or rescue center was. Surely the hotel would close for the night?
Seemed not. In a few minutes, Andrew was back, brandishing a room key. “They gave us a room in the back,” he said. “Should be quieter than out front and…” he broke off. “Christ! Gloria, I never thought, I’d better get another room, I didn’t mean…”
He might not have been thinking, she certainly wasn’t. Just having him back within touching distance was all she wanted right now. She reached for the key, closing her hand over his, “Andrew, one room will do me fine, as long as I have towels and soap to wash with.” After the past few hours, she understood what Alice meant about seizing the moment. If it had been the White Horse and not that ironmonger, they’d be gone. They weren’t and she did not want to sleep alone.
“Sure?”
“Absolutely. There is the little matter of getting up those stairs.” They were wide, yes, but tall and had two bends. Her arms ached just looking at them.
“I’ll take care of that. That’s a doddle,” he replied.
Not quite. He had to pause at each turn and set her on her feet for a few moments to catch his breath, but he got her up there, the waiter pressed into service to carry her crutches and open the door.
It was a beautiful room—or once had been—with a four-poster bed and heavy curtains, vestiges of prewar splendor. The frigid cold and the barren fireplace were harsh reminders of wartime.
“No chance of a fire, I suppose?” Andrew asked. He was being optimistic.
“Sorry, sir. Takes all we’ve got to heat the downstairs. I can bring extra blankets if you want.”
They did want. “What about hot water bottles?” Gloria asked.
“I’ll send one of the girls up with them,” he promised and nipped out the door. Before they could ask for anything else, Gloria guessed.
“While we’re waiting, I’m going to investigate the toilet,” Alice said, “and hope it’s not up or down a flight of stairs.”
“I’ll go downstairs and chivvy everyone along. I don’t want them forgetting we’re here.”
The toilet was just a couple of doors down the hall, right next door to a vast tiled bathroom of glacial splendor. Guessing hot water was in short supply, and the logistics of a bath sheer impossibility with her cast, Gloria settled for a quick (and cold) wash in the basin in the room, sat down in a chintz-covered armchair and asked herself what she really thought she was doing.
Quite simply, she was going to spend the night in the same bed as Andrew Barron and hoped to high heaven they didn’t spend the night sleeping.
She wanted him plain and simple. Wanted more than his arms around her, much more than his kisses. Wanted him in every way a woman needed a man and she didn’t intend to wait.
A cold wash and an unheated room did nothing to cool the heat inside.
She was a floozy.
A loose woman.
She was being bold.
Far too forward.
And didn’t give a damn.
Death and injury had bypassed her, she was going to grasp hold of life.
Before she lost her nerve, she crutched it over to the side of the bed, took off her clothes, folding them as best she could, on one leg. Left on her petticoat so as not to seem too fast, and nipped between the covers, pulling them up to her chin.
She’d done it.
So far.
All she had to do now was wait for Andrew.
Chapter Eight
She was