Free Guarded Passions by Rosie Harris Page A

and enjoy ourselves. I’m told that they still do a first-class lunch at The Crown, so now’s our chance to find out.’
    The Crown was one of the oldest hotels in Salchester. A three-storeyed grey-stone building facing onto the square, its imposing façade gave it an air of subdued luxury as well as solid respectability.
    It was like entering another world as they walked through the heavy, carved-oak doors. Their feet sank into the deep-pile red Wilton that stretched down the wide, endless corridors, and the general air of opulence made rationing and shortages seem like a grey dream. It was like stepping back a decade, to the days when war had been far from people’s minds and the hotel had been the meeting-place for wealthy landowners and their wives, in town for market day or the races. It was where affluent tourists visiting the famous cathedral stayed.
    The moment they entered the Crown Hotel, Adam felt out of place. Everywhere he turned there were majors, captains, colonels, as well as a general or two, intermingled with high ranking Naval and Air Force officers. Even some of the women present were in uniform, with pips or crowns on their shoulders and gold braid indicating their rank.
    As they were being shown to their table, heads turned in surprise at the sight of an ordinary soldier sitting down to eat in the same dining-room as themselves. Adam’s khaki battledress, even though it bore the shoulder-badges of a Guards regiment, stood out in marked contrast to the well-tailored officers’ uniforms. And, although he had ignored regulations and worn his own black shoes instead of the clumping boots which were standard issue, he still felt clumsy and ill-at-ease.
    Dr Price was not in the least perturbed by the raised eyebrows. Adam’s embarrassment heightened when he saw the speculative gleam in his father-in-law’s eyes as he looked around the room. He knew how sharp and censorious Dr Price could be when he chose. He had experienced a sample of his scathing tongue when he and Helen had told him they wanted to be married.
    â€˜Married! At your age,’ he had rasped. ‘Utter nonsense. I suppose you both think you’re in love? Let me inform you it’s nothing of the sort. Put it down to animal magnetism, chemical attraction, immaturity, childish infatuation, or whatever you wish to call it.’
    Stubbornly, Helen had stuck to her guns, although she had been trembling with fury at her father’s derisory remarks.
    Listening to the two of them, Adam had been filled with rage that there was so little he could say or do. He knew instinctively that Helen was handling the whole thing badly. Quiet reasoning, he was sure, would be much more effective with Dr Price than obstinate defiance.
    Helen had won the day, and forced her father into giving his permission, but Adam was sure he still bore a grudge and it made him nervous and cautious in Dr Price’s company.
    He relaxed slightly when Dr Price turned to his sister-in-law and remarked, ‘You must feel quite at home, Julia, with all these uniforms around. Probably half of the people here can’t even recognise what yours is and are wondering what strange regiment you belong to. Good job we have Adam in a truly British uniform or we might find ourselves being mistaken for enemy spies!’
    For Helen’s sake, Adam tried to enjoy himself, but he felt nervous and on edge. Aunt Julia was doing her best to keep the party lively, but the note of discord raised by Dr Price in the Registrar’s office still hung in the air, a spectre at the feast.
    The meal was superb, with luxury foods which, though unrationed, were generally unobtainable. Canteloupe melon, filled with rum, was followed by grilled river trout. For the main course there was venison, and, for dessert, strawberries topped with fresh cream.
    As they sipped vintage champagne between courses, the atmosphere became more relaxed, but Adam still felt an