Free Feelings of Fear by Graham Masterton Page A

handkerchief. “It wasn’t much.”
    â€œWell, let me buy you another one anyhow. Just for the sake of the special relationship.”
    â€œI can’t do that,” she teased him. “We haven’t been introduced.”
    He beckoned to Tom, the landlord, a podgy man with a ponderous way of talking who always reminded him of Oliver Hardy. “Tom, do you know this young lady?”
    â€œThis young lady here? Course I do. Anne Browne. Major Browne’s youngest.”
    He took her hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Browne. My name’s Clifford Eager II, but you can call me Cliff.”
    â€œI think Eager would be more appropriate, don’t you?” she smiled.
    Cliff ordered a pint of Flowers and another half of cider for Anne. He offered her a Lucky and lit it for her. “Major Browne’s youngest, huh?” he asked her. “How many others are there?”
    â€œFour, all told.”
    â€œAll girls? And all as pretty as you?”
    â€œNow then, Eager.”
    But the fact was, she was not only pretty, she was
very
pretty, she was showgirl pretty, and she obviously knew it, too. She had a pale, heart-shaped face, with wide gray-blue eyes the colour of sky when you see it reflected in a puddle. She had a short, pert nose. Her lips were full and painted glossy red, and they had a permanent seductive pout. Her hair was chestnut-brown, shiny and curly, and fastened with two barrettes. She was quite petite, no more than five feet four inches tall. Underneath her severe utility suit she wore a soft white sweater which couldn’t conceal a bosom that was more than a little too large for a girl so slim.
    â€œYou want to sit down?” he asked her. They pushed their way through the jostling, laughing throng of customers until they found a small table in the corner, underneath a hunting print of the
View Hulloa!
In the public bar, a rowdy group of American pilots were singing “Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching” with increasingly ribald words.
    â€œWhat’s a respectable girl like you doing in a den of iniquity like this?” Cliff asked her.
    â€œI’m meeting a friend. I’m going away tomorrow and she was going to lend me one of her dresses.”
    â€œYou’re going away? Anywhere interesting?”
    â€œTorquay, that’s all. I’ve got a job there, in an old people’s home.”
    â€œI shall miss you.”
    â€œGood gracious, you don’t even know me.”
    â€œThat’s why I’m going to miss you. I meet the best-looking girl in the whole of East Anglia and what happens? She leaves me and goes off to Torquay.”
    â€œWell, I expect you’ll be busy again soon.”
    Cliff put his finger to his lips. “Ssh, mustn’t talk about it. But, sure. They’re giving us a break after Blitz Week. Then it’s going to be backto the old routine. Get up, fly to Germany, drop bombs, come back again, wash your teeth, go to bed.”
    She drew sharply at her cigarette, her eyes watching him through the smoke. He was handsome in a big, undisciplined way. He had a broad face and strong cheekbones, and deepset, slightly hooded eyes. He was wearing a leather flying-jacket with a lambswool collar. She couldn’t imagine him in a suit.
    â€œWhere do you come from?” she asked him. “Is it the South? You have a very drawly kind of accent.”
    â€œI come from Memphis. Well, close to Memphis. A little place called Ellendale. It has a store and a church and a movie-theater and that’s just about the sum total.”
    â€œI’ll bet you can’t wait to get back there.”
    â€œSoon as we’ve done what we came here to do.”
    She paused. Then, unexpectedly, she took hold of his hand. “Are you afraid of dying?” she asked him. “I think I am.”
    He grinned at her. “Hey, you don’t have to be afraid of dying. You’re going