Free For All Our Tomorrows by Freda Lightfoot

far the information might spread, or who might pick up useful knowledge about the British Fleet.’
    Sara felt herself flushing with embarrassment for his point was a fair one. She’d simply jumped to the conclusion that Hugh was yet again trying to make his war-work sound important, rather as Cory did, and that more than likely he’d been involved in nothing more than a training exercise which had gone on too long, or ended up in the Lugger and stayed on drinking with his cronies. ‘Sorry, but you know that I wouldn’t breathe a word. You don’t imagine I would talk to a German, do you? Or even exchange gossip with Nora Snell?’
    ‘Careless talk costs lives,’ he sanctimoniously reminded her, and, sighing, Sara was forced to agree that, hurtful as his lack of trust in her might appear, in theory at least, he was probably correct.  
    ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Do lie down, darling. You’ll catch cold, if you haven’t already.’
    Reluctantly, he switched off the light again and lay stiffly beside her, saying nothing.
    Sarah tried again, whispering softly in loving tones. ‘My reason for asking was entirely selfish, I will admit. I thought maybe some night when you are not called out, or on some training exercise or other, we could perhaps ask Iris to look after the bar on her own, which would give us some time to go out by ourselves for once.’
    She could sense him looking at her, even in the semi-darkness, just as if she’d suggested they fly to the moon. ‘Take time off? There is a war on, Sara.’
    ‘Other people still manage to have fun, dance, go to the pictures, or simply enjoy a walk together, or have a picnic. It would be so nice.’
    ‘You can walk with your sister, picnic with the children, though it’s November and I never liked picnics at the best of times, let alone in winter. You know that.’
    ‘I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you, my lovely husband, not just with my sister or the children,’ and she kissed him affectionately. ‘You need to relax too, darling. It’s not good for you to be working all the time. Not good for either of us.’ Sara snuggled up to him in the bed, tried kissing the profile of his cheek, since he still hadn’t responded. ‘Will you at least think about it? I do love you, you know.’  
    He turned to her then, moved by her words at last, almost contrite, and agreed that he would think on the matter. When he made love to her this time, it was with a greater tenderness, making a little more effort to please her by not rushing things quite so much. Even so she would have liked more in the way of kisses and caresses, and when he was done and lifted himself off her to fall instantly asleep, Sara was again left with a strange sense of dissatisfaction; the feeling that he hadn’t really been aware who he’d been making love to at all.
     
    Today was one of those mellow autumn days which Cornwall did so well. It felt as warm as summer and the two sisters were walking over the headland from where there was a grand view of the river. Not that the view was quite what it had once been. At one time in Fowey’s past the river would have been filled with tall ships and fishing boats. Before the war, the small harbour had bristled with the masts of pleasure yachts and was a highway for the great ships that sailed upriver to the docks to be loaded with china clay. These last remained, but the pleasure craft were all gone.
    The two sisters tried to look beyond the views of barbed wire and Nissen huts and see the wider vista, although even the shine of blue sea was blotted by minesweepers, gunboats, tugs and ammunition barges. Even the trawlers were armed and the sky sulked with grey cloud, as if to echo the mood.
    But the weather was mild and dry, and Bette had a free afternoon as the salon closed at lunch-time on a Saturday. Sara had rather too much free time on her hands these days and was feeling very much at a loose end, so was grateful for