Free Jasmine Nights by Julia Gregson

was so very excited, and seemed to give off a kind of electricity.
    ‘Honestly, what a day!’ she said to him. ‘What a day,’ she repeated. ‘Such wonderful things!’
    The waiter took their orders: half a bitter for him, a glass of lemonade for her, and whatever sandwiches the kitchen could rustle up. He asked for a seat as far away from the bar as possible so they could talk.
    ‘Are you sure it shouldn’t be champagne?’ he said, making sure he sounded offhand.
    ‘Well maybe,’ she said quietly. ‘I got the job. I’m going to be measured for my uniform tomorrow.’
    She seemed to get an attack of nerves when she said that. She said she was going to be busy the whole of the next day, and that she was not actually normally in the habit of going out with strange men.
    ‘I’m not a strange man. Don’t forget,’ he teased her to hide his dismay, ‘we’ve kissed. Don’t you remember? In hospital.’
    She looked sweet when she went red like that, but he saw her legs move away from him under the table and worried he might have pushed it too far.
    ‘So whereabouts in Wales do you live?’
    The blush had receded and the pale honey of her cheeks returned. ‘In Cardiff,’ she told him. ‘Pomeroy Street. Near the notorious Tiger Bay.’ She was teasing him now.
    ‘And your parents? Are they singers?’
    ‘No.’ She looked unhappy again. He thought that she had the most beautiful eyebrows he’d ever seen – dark wings over dark eyes.
    ‘I’m not surprised you got the job,’ he said, hoping to cheer her up. ‘You were really quite good . . . that’s what I came to tell you.’
    ‘Quite good.’ She shot him a look. ‘You silver-tongued lizard. Anyway, you don’t know that: you didn’t even hear me.’
    ‘I did. I bribed the doorman. I wanted to see you.’ He had nothing to lose now.
    She narrowed her eyes and looked at him, mock-suspicious. ‘Why?’
    ‘Because . . .’ he took a sip of his drink, ‘because . . .’ He closed his eyes, thinking hold it in, hold it in . This was the last thing on earth that he wanted – to feel out of control again. ‘Because you’re OK.’
    ‘Oh, very GI Joe,’ she said.
    ‘Tell me more about the job,’ he asked. He wanted to hold her hand, for her to stay for a week or two so they could get to know each other better. ‘Do you know where you’re going, or when?’
    ‘No.’ She still had that coming-out-of-a-dream look, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. ‘And even if I did, we’re not allowed to say. All I know is I’ve got to have all the injections: you know, cholera, and yellow fever and typhoid.’
    She looked terrified when she said that. She was faking her air of calm. He recognised the signs all too well. His heart sank. So most likely the Middle East, where things were hotting up, or India, or Burma, which was bloody miles away.
    ‘Shame, I was hoping it would be down the end of the pier at Southend so we could do this again.’
    ‘Do what again?’ All her dimples came out when she smiled at him like that.
    ‘Well, talk, have a laugh.’
    ‘Well . . .’ She gave him a quizzical look and took a sip of her lemonade ‘. . . It’s not, so we can’t—’
    He cut her off quickly. ‘First time abroad?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Parents know yet?’
    ‘No.’ She squeezed her eyes shut.
    An uncle-ish part of him rose up when she said this. He wanted to scold her, to warn her of clear and present dangers ahead. Of men in remote places who would want to seduce her, of bad beds and frightening transport and bombs, and stinging insects.
    ‘Will they mind?’ He hoped they would.
    ‘It’s going to break their hearts,’ she said. She grimaced into her lemonade. ‘I thought I’d be able to go back and see them before we left – I promised my mum I would – and now it sounds like I won’t, there’s no time. That’s horrible.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘So let’s talk about something else.’
    The bar was starting to