Chapter Seven
"Your young man seems very nice." Sandra's mother handed her a dripping plate to dry.
She wrapped the dish towel around it and wiped off the suds. "I think so."
"He's kind, too, offering to give Grandma and Granddad a ride home in his car."
Her grandfather was besotted with the silver Bentley. After supper, George had gone out in the dark with a flashlight and let him sit in the driver's seat and start the engine.
Sandra had worried what George would think of her home and family. They were so different from his own, but he fit right in. He seemed genuinely interested in the local area and the history of their cottage. And he'd quickly learned to duck beneath the low doorways, even though he was used to the high ceilings of his parents' grand house.
Sandra slid the last dry plate into the rack on the old wooden dresser in the kitchen and hung the wet dish towel on the rail over the hot Aga. "I'll run upstairs and use the bathroom before the boys get home." Her father had accompanied George to take her grandparents home, and the men should be back at any moment.
"Good idea, love. I'll let Milton out before bed and follow you up."
Hearing his name, the old black Labrador lumbered out of his bed and stared expectantly at the back door.
"Thank you for all your help in the kitchen. It's been a wonderful day." Her mother's arms came around her.
Sandra leaned her head on her mum's shoulder, soaking up the warmth and love. She adored her parents and her home. This was the only place she felt truly relaxed. Her mum and dad were always here for her, loving, supportive, and nonjudgmental, no matter what happened.
Even so, it had taken a long time to admit to them that she was bullied at school. She'd been so ashamed that she'd suffered in silence. Her mother made her promise that in the future she would never suffer alone. If she needed help, she would come to them.
Now she was old enough to imagine having her own children, she hoped to treat them with the same love and understanding.
Sandra picked up George's bag from the corner of the sitting room, ran upstairs, and set it on the end of her bed. The house wasn't big enough to have a spare bedroom, so George was to stay in her room while she used the sofa in the sitting room. Of course, he'd flatly refused to turn her out of her room and said he'd sleep downstairs.
Grabbing her sleeping bag and pillow, she ran down to the sitting room and laid them out on the sofa in front of the glowing embers of the fire. It was cozy sleeping here. "Good night, Mum," she shouted as she slid into the padded bag, drew up her knees, and leaned against the pillow. George could not sleep on the sofa if she was already here!
Her mother popped her head around the door and smiled. "Good night, love. See you in the morning."
As Sandra listened to her mother's soft tread on the stairs, the Bentley engine sounded outside. She braced herself for a disagreement with George over the sleeping arrangements. He had a habit of thinking he was always right.
The sound of male laughter brought a smile to her lips. George and her father had made friends over lunch discussing the universal male-bonding subject of soccer. Then George really won her dad's approval by asking about woodland management and the wildlife of the New Forest. This was not only her father's job, but his lifetime passion. He'd even written books on the subject.
The sitting room door opened and George halted. A smile pulled at his lips. "I knew you'd have laid claim to the sofa, but I refuse to take your bed. Go upstairs, sweetheart."
"You're our guest. It's not right that you have to make do."
He wandered closer and sat down on the end of the sofa, rubbing her feet through the sleeping bag. "I'll be more than happy down here."
"This couch is too short for you. Your feet will stick off the end. It's long enough for me, though." Sandra wiggled down in her warm bag to demonstrate that she could lie flat in comfort.
George chuckled. "I'm about to spend time sleeping in a tent on frozen ground in subzero temperatures. This is luxury compared to that."
Sandra's cheerful mood plummeted. Why had he mentioned his impending departure? She'd managed to put it out of her mind today.
He must have noticed the change in her expression as he grimaced. "Me and my big mouth. Sorry." He moved along the sofa until he was perched on the edge by her ribs. He touched her cheek and stroked aside her hair. "I'm going to miss you more than I ever thought possible."
A terrible sense of loss flooded Sandra, and it took a few moments to swallow back her feelings so she could speak. "I'll miss you, too."
"Where's my bag?" George glanced at the place he'd put it earlier.
"Upstairs in my bedroom."
"I'm going to fetch it. Be back in a moment."
He rose and headed out the door, leaving Sandra a little hurt by the way he'd suddenly changed the subject.
She heard the water run in the bathroom. A few minutes later he returned, now barefoot, clad in pajamas and a thick jersey. He dumped his bag on an armchair, then pulled out a wrapped Christmas gift.
Sandra sat up again, giving him room to perch on the cushions beside her.
"For you." He held out the present.
She took it tentatively. "George, you've already given me this lovely bracelet." She skimmed her fingertips along the string of gold and diamonds around her wrist. "I adore it so much that I'm wearing it to bed."
"I'm pleased." He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. "I like buying you things. I wanted to give you something else as well."
The present was about six inches tall and squashy. Forehead creased in curiosity, she unpeeled the tape and opened the top of the package. Two round pink ears popped out.
She cast George a disbelieving glance and pushed the paper down. The cute face of a pink bear appeared. She pulled the soft toy free from the wrapping to reveal a teddy, a red heart on its belly with the words I Love You emblazoned across it.
"Oh, George, this is so sweet. I love it." Cuddling the teddy between them, she wrapped her arm around George and kissed him. This was not the sort of present she'd expected him to buy. The thought of him shopping for such a thing made her smile.
"The heart is a little pocket. Look inside." George pulled back to give her room.
"What have you put in here? A piece of Christmas candy?" Sandra dug her fingers in the small heart-shaped pocket and felt something hard and circular. She grasped it and pulled out a gold ring. The flashing lights on the Christmas tree filled the large diamond with glowing spots of color.
Sandra's breath stalled and time stood still. Then she gasped in air, her mind racing through a maze of confused thoughts. Was this an engagement ring? It looked like one, but he hadn't asked her to marry him. It couldn't be an engagement ring. They'd only been a couple for six weeks.
George gently extracted the ring from her clumsy fingers, then took her left hand and pushed the gold band onto her ring finger.
"Sandra Fisher, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
She blinked at him, taking in the smooth planes of his cheeks, his straight dark brows, the smile that curved his chiseled lips and lit his brown eyes. It was as if she saw him for the first time, this gorgeous man she had admired from afar all through college, this man she now loved. He really wanted to marry her?
"Yes." The word slipped out between her lips, barely a whisper. She loved George so much that if being his wife meant only seeing him when he was home on leave, she would rather have him part-time than not at all.
"Oh, darling, I'm so pleased." He pulled her close, kissing her face and neck. "I wasn't certain you'd say yes after the other day. I've been worried I might lose you."
"You won't lose me. I love you more than anything else in the world." Sandra pulled him down onto the sofa at her side. The feel of his body against her shot sizzling heat along her nerves to tangle in her belly. She wanted him so desperately before he went away. She wanted to feel his skin against hers and his hands caressing her.
"It looks like you'll be sleeping on the sofa after all," she whispered and he chuckled.
• • •
In the early hours of the morning, George woke when Dave Fisher's old black Labrador barked. He shifted under the unzipped sleeping bag, the warm weight of Sandra cuddled in his arms. In the lights of the Christmas tree, he gazed at her sleeping face, so relaxed and happy, her mouth curved in a smile.
Now he knew what it took to make her happy: love, family, and a cozy home in the country.
He pressed his lips to her forehead, her eyelids, and her lips. She stirred and her eyelashes fluttered.
"George, what's happening?"
"Nothing. Go back to sleep, love."
She snuggled closer, burrowing her face against his chest. He cradled her head and closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her in his arms. She'd dropped all her barriers and trusted him. This was the most precious gift she could have given him for Christmas.
When she accepted his ring, the tight knot of foreboding he'd lived with this past week had loosened. But that discomfort had been replaced by another sharper pain. It was going to hurt like hell to leave her. And when he came back from Norway, after a few weeks' leave, he could easily be sent away again. He might be posted overseas for longer than three months next time.
How were they going to cope with the separations?
"George," she mumbled. Her lips grazed a trail of fire across his naked chest. "Love you."
"I love you, too, darling. So much." He scattered kisses over her hair and face, relishing the feel of her skin against his, storing the sensation away to keep him warm on the lonely nights ahead.
She was so dear to him. He wanted to make her happy, yet his path in life was bound to bring her sadness and make her lonely. Not only would they be apart, but when they had a family, she'd have to manage alone while he was away.
If he couldn't be with her all the time, he'd at least make sure she had the best of life, a lovely home in the country and children to bring her joy. Then maybe she wouldn't miss him so much.
For the briefest moment, he wondered if he should have walked away when she wanted to break up with him. If he really loved her, letting her go would have been the kindest thing to do. But he wouldn't give her up. She was going to be his wife.
• • •
Sandra gripped George's hand as they walked into Paddington railway station. Today was the day he would join the Royal Marines at Plymouth in the South West.
A sense of loss hovered like a cold mist, ready to close in. She glanced up at the station clock. Only twenty minutes until she lost him.
"Just need to buy a ticket." He gripped her fingers tightly as they made their way through the crowd, neither one of them wanting to let go. The last twenty-four hours in her studio apartment, they'd been together constantly—in bed, cuddled on the sofa, always touching, both aware they were running out of time. That twenty-four hours would have to last them for the next three months.
When George released her hand to dig out his wallet at the ticket office, she leaned against his side, her palm on his back, feeling the flex of his lean muscles beneath the army uniform. He was wearing a camouflage jacket and pants today, a different uniform from his usual one. This was the sort of apparel that combat soldiers wore. The thought chilled her.
He might not be going to a war zone, but the icy wilds of Norway held their own dangers.
"Sixteen minutes until the train leaves. There's something I want to do first." George picked up his bag, looped his arm around her waist, and steered her towards a photo booth.
"I'd like a picture of us together."
"Great idea. I want one, too." Anything to keep him with her for a few more minutes.
He sat on the stool inside the booth, and she pulled off her glasses and perched on his lap. The curtain gave them a few moments' privacy in the busy station. She gripped his face between her hands and stole more kisses as he fumbled to push the coins in the slot.
They followed the instructions and smiled, cheeks pressed together as the machine flashed, recording their images.
George glanced at his watch. "Hope the photos don't take long to process or I'm out of time."
A couple of minutes later, the strip of four images dropped into the basket on the outside of the machine. George held them up and grinned. "We'll have two each. Any preference?"
Sandra didn't mind. George looked handsome in all of them. He pulled a Swiss Army penknife from his pocket, folded out a small pair of scissors, and cut the strip neatly across the middle, handing her the top two pictures. She tucked them into her handbag.
He checked his watch again. "Now I need to dash."
Holding hands, they dodged through the crowd of people, heading for his platform. When they reached the train, he opened a door, stowed his bag in the luggage rack, and stepped back out. Sandra took off her glasses and stuffed them in her coat pocket so they didn't get in the way.
George opened his arms and she fell into his embrace, pressing her body to his, trying to memorize the feel of him to keep her warm on the lonely nights ahead.
"I don't want you to go." She'd promised herself she wouldn't say this. When you loved someone, you had to give them freedom to live their own life. This noble theory sounded fine in her head, but her heart didn't agree.
"I don't want to be away from you for three months." Sincerity rang in his tone and the sadness in his eyes confirmed his words. But despite his feelings, he intended to leave. The army was more important to him than she was. The thought burned up her throat and into her mouth but she wouldn't accuse him of that and spoil their last few minutes together. If she wanted to be with George, she must accept that she'd always come in second to the army.
"I love you, Sandra. Remember that when you don't hear from me for weeks."
She nodded and pressed her face against his neck, sure that if she tried to speak she would burst into tears.
"Kiss me," he whispered, his hand cradling the back of her head.
Tears in her eyes, she turned her face up to him and savored the long, luscious kiss that she'd grown so used to in the last few weeks. George was vital to her existence. How would she survive without him?
A guard strode along the platform, closing the open train doors. Then a whistle blew.
"Must go." George pressed one last kiss to her lips, jumped aboard, and slammed the door. He pushed down the window and stretched out his hand. She reached for him. Their fingertips brushed together as the train moved off, carrying him out of reach.
Sandra lifted a hand, lips pressed tight against the trembling in her chest, and watched as the train slid away towards the South West. George leaned out the window, waving back until she lost sight of him.
Long after the train disappeared from view, she stood on the empty platform staring along the deserted rails. Engines ticked, whistles blew, voices shouted, every sound distant and muffled, as if from another life.
Eventually Sandra pulled her gaze away from the last spot she'd seen him. Dazed and numb, she pushed through the crowd to the taxi line, mumbled the hospital address, and climbed in a black cab.
The cold chill of loss swamped her. It took all her energy to breathe and stay upright in her seat when she wanted to collapse in a sobbing heap. She dug a tissue from her pocket and pressed it to her eyes. How would she cope with the clinic she was supposed to run in an hour? She had no idea. And now that George was gone, she didn't really care.