The Swallow and the Hummingbird(11)

‘As ever.’ They both laughed at the thought of Mrs Megalith.

‘Still reading those damned Tarot cards?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘I’ll remember to cover myself with garlic before I see her.’

‘She’s not a vampire!’

‘Well, how do you repel witches then?’

‘I don’t know about witches, but she hates dogs because they chase her cats.’

‘I’ll bring Mildred.’

‘And risk a nasty spell? I don’t want to kiss a frog.’

‘You know what they say about frogs?’

‘That if you kiss one it might turn into a prince?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t want a prince. I just want you.’

He parked the car above the cliffs beneath the darkening sky.

‘I can’t walk in these shoes,’ she said, climbing out. Besides, the stockings were a gift from an American GI she had befriended. A rare luxury she wasn’t prepared to sacrifice to the sea.

George lit a cigarette and watched through the dusk as she bent down to unstrap her shoes. Then she leaned back against the truck and coyly lifted the skirt of her dress in order to release the stockings from her suspender belt. She was aware that his eyes were upon her and her face burned with shyness. He so unsettled her that her fingers fumbled with the catches. She laughed nervously.

‘These damned things!’ she exclaimed. George put his cigarette between his lips and strode over to assist. He knelt down and ran his hands appreciatively up her legs. She laughed again and attempted to push him away. ‘I can do it, really,’ she protested.

But his fingers were already unfastening the first stocking. His hands were warm against her skin and she knew he was taking longer than he needed to. She held her dress up for him and hastily looked around, afraid of being seen in such a compromising position. George didn’t seem to care. He dealt with each catch deftly then slowly slid the silk down her thigh and calf and over her ankle and foot as if he were admiring them at the same time. She took the gossamer silk from him as he began on the other leg. He was aware that his touch was pleasurable for he deliberately stroked the skin above the silk with soft fingers. Then he threw his cigarette to the ground and kissed her there. She flinched and gasped in surprise, pushing her dress down modestly.

‘A bit late for that, isn’t it?’ he teased, slipping the final stocking over her foot. He stood up. Her face was so pink he took it in his hands and pressed his lips to it before pulling away and smiling at her affectionately. ‘Let’s go to our cave.’

They walked hand in hand down the path to the beach. The sun hung low in the western sky, reflecting copper in the rise and fall of the waves. Rita stopped talking as they landed on the sand, aware that she was only minutes from being alone with him once again in the secrecy of the cave. The sand felt wet and cold beneath her feet as the rough grains oozed between her toes with every step. When they reached the rocks, George swung her into his arms, lifting her over the little pools full of sea urchins and crabs where they had played as children and across the narrow strip of sand that was now under four inches of water. His boots weren’t impervious to water but he splashed through regardless and into the cave where the land rose enough to protect the sand at the back from the encroaching sea. There he put her down and, before she could utter a word, he was upon her, his mouth kissing hers deeply and urgently.

She closed her eyes and responded willingly, wrapping herself around him and kissing him back. How different it was from those teenage kisses. That had been the innocent exploration of children. Now George was a man. His face was rough and his touch firm and strong. She could feel the excitement straining his trousers as he pressed himself against her.

‘My God I want you,’ he breathed into her neck. ‘I’ve wanted you for so long.’

She was desperate to please him yet remembered her mother’s words. In spite of the many girls she knew who had eagerly given themselves to their men before they left for war, she had held back, saving herself for her wedding night. George had understood. He had never pressured her. But today she felt a desire far stronger than before and it frightened her.

His hand found her breast and he felt the nipple through the material with his thumb. His mouth was on her neck and the rough sensation of his stubble combined with the warm, wet feeling of his lips and tongue caused her whole body to tremble. She wound a leg around him and pulled him towards her with her knee, but he raised his hips to allow him room to run his hand up her calves and over her thigh. He looked into her eyes and she noticed that his were wild and feverish and unfamiliar. He remembered the French girls he had slept with after the liberation of Paris and yet none was as sweet as Rita or as pure. His lips found hers again and she lost herself momentarily until his fingers traced her inner thigh and then her knickers. She flinched and clamped her legs together.