Free The Silent War by Victor Pemberton Page B

sign that they had not taken too kindly to the approach of night intruders. As she and Harry made their way towards the tea pavilion, Sunday was acutely aware of the sounds their feet were making on the narrow gravelled paths. Although it was too dark for them to see the vegetable allotments that before the war had been beautiful flower-beds, Sunday could smell the early spring onions planted there amongst the potatoes, cabbages, carrots and all the other necessary vegetables that were so vital in keeping people fed during the ‘Dig for Victory’ campaign.
    As they walked, Harry kept his arm firmly around Sunday’s waist, as if making sure that she wouldn’t change her mind and try to get away. After a while, he ventured to lean across and kiss her on the cheek, but when he kissed her full on the lips, he was only too aware that her response was pretty half-hearted. ‘Sorry it’s not the Army, eh Sun?’ he whispered mockingly.
    Sunday abruptly pulled her mouth away from him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘Come off it, Sun. I wasn’t born yesterday, yer know. If Lennie Jackson was ’ere now, yer’d be feelin’ a bit different, wouldn’t yer?’
    Sunday pulled loose from him brusquely. They had come to a halt in a small clearing just behind the tea pavilion. ‘You know your trouble, don’t you, Harry?’ she snapped, a raw nerve clearly exposed. ‘You’ve got an inferiority complex!’
    Harry wasn’t at all put out by Sunday’s anger. In fact, it amused him. ‘I watched yer down that pub. Couldn’t keep yer eyes off ’im, could yer?’ He moved closer to her. Although it was far too dark for him to see anything more than the outline of her figure, he knew that she was standing with her back to the timber planks lining the pavilion walls. ‘Tell me somefin’, Sun,’ he said in a low, mischievous voice. ‘Wot’s Private Jackson got wot I ’aven’t?’
    To Harry’s astonishment, Sunday suddenly threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him full on the lips. It didn’t matter to him that she was doing it as an act of defiance, for the passion with which her mouth was pressed against his own was overwhelming, far more than he had ever thought her capable of. All he knew was that whatever she was trying to prove to him was exciting.
    When Sunday finally pulled away, they were both breathless.
    ‘Is that ’ow yer’d like ter do it ter Lennie?’ he asked in a low but taunting voice.
    Sunday, immediately enraged, tried to push him away. But Harry, prepared for her reaction, grabbed hold of her wrists and twisted them above her head. Then, in one swift movement, he pinned her back against the timber pavilion wall, leaned his body against her, and fought for her lips. Eventually, her anger gave way to passion, for she was now just as aroused as he was.
    ‘I want you, Sun,’ he whispered in her ear as their lips parted. His voice then became a plea. ‘
Please
.’
    There was a moment’s silence between them, and now that Duck Island had calmed down, the night was curiously still. Without saying a word, Sunday raised her skirt and removed her panties. Instinctively, Harry started to unbutton first his uniform tunic, and then his trousers.
    Sunday was the first to speak. ‘Have you got something? I don’t want babies.’
    Harry’s voice was only just audible. ‘You’re jokin’. Neiver do I!’
    Sunday leaned her back against the pavilion wall, and waited for Harry to come to her. In the dark she could hear him opening a packet of something; she knew only too well that most servicemen carried French letters, because she had often peered through barber shop windows and seen men buying them. It was several moments before she felt him pressing against her. Although she hated the feel of his blue uniform serge, which was prickly and anything but sensuous, she was now too excited to care about anything except the thrill of what was about to happen to her.
    Harry lowered his trousers and