Bomber's Moon Read online

  The contraption had certainly seen better days. Anyone riding it for long would not only get good muscles, but also a terrible, sore bum. It had been bad enough earlier. Now it was hell. All her muscles revolted at the torture. She started to giggle as she remembered one of the men at work, talking about riding the village bike. She hoped he’d got more pleasure than she was having at the moment.

  She peddled along furiously, as much to keep warm—there was a vicious wind—as to shorten her journey time. Chrissie was so tired her eyes began to close and the bike wobbled. She opened them again in a hurry. The last thing was to add more aches to her body by falling off.

  Sadly she didn’t have much say in the matter. In the predawn light, it was still too dark to see the hole in the road. Chrissie rode straight into it, the bike caught a stone, slewed sideways, and with a shout of surprise loud enough to set three crows squawking, she fell off. It was more luck than judgment she missed the large muddy puddle the hole had made and instead landed on the stony verge with a thump that jarred every inch of her and took her breath away. She wheezed, coughed and tried to draw breath into her lungs. Then winced as a throb in her ankle made her realize that she now had another ache. And probably not one Archie could do anything about.

  He couldn’t help her in her current predicament either. Cold, wet, miserable, and stuck by the side of the road Chrissie felt it begin to drizzle. She rolled over onto her knees, managed awkwardly to get to her feet, and discovered she was unable to walk. The bike wasn’t going anywhere either, not with a buckled wheel. What to do next?

  The matter was solved a few minutes later as a rumble from ahead indicated something was coming down the lane. It would be just her luck to be found by the home guard. Dare she hope it was an American pilot with candy and nylons, which would surely help her to feel better? Or the local butcher, with some free sausages? With an inward giggle, she remembered what some of the girls she worked with called a sausage. The only ‘sausage’ in that respect she wanted was Archie’s.

  It was neither. Chrissie realized it was the rattle of a wagon, pulled by a carthorse. Horses were used on the local farms more than ever, now that petrol was tightly rationed. She hurried to make sure she looked decent and her skirt and sweater were in their right places. She wasn’t going to give some young, pimply-faced farm boy his first thrill.

  It wasn’t a pimply-faced farm boy, but an old farmer she recognized from the dance a few nights earlier. Another man, almost as old as him, sat placid and incurious next to him. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see him chewing a blade of grass. It was obvious the local gossip ring was doing its job, as both men seemed to know who she was.

  “What the Hanover?” the first man asked rhetorically as he dropped the reins over the horse’s head and got nimbly down from the cart. “What’ve you bin and done?” The accent was broad Northamptonshire.

  Chrissie explained, and without actually saying so, intimated she’d been there quite a while. The ruse worked, for the man, “Billy Archer, miss, live over at Stansfield,” wrapped her in his coat, lifted her onto the wagon’s seat, and put her bike in the back along with several cabbages, three tethered sheep, a sheep dog and a cage of hens. “Soon get you back to The Grange, and Harry here will go and tell Mr. Archie all’s well,” he reassured her. “Then you can get that ankle looked at. It seems like you’ve given it a nice strain if you ask me. Not that I’m an expert, mind, and then you can get warm,” he said without taking a breath. “It’s a bit nippy this morning. Lucky there was no frost or you’d have frozen your toes. Right let’s get moving?”

  He suited his actions to his words. “On you go, Henry.” He clicked his tongue and Chrissie realized he was talking to the horse, not the other man who gave a brief wave and walked in the direction of Home Farm with the parting words, “don’t you fret, miss. You’ll be fine with Billy here, and I’ll make sure Mr. Archie doesn’t worry.”

  As he didn’t know anything was wrong, he wasn’t likely to be worried, Chrissie mused, but knew there was no point in intervening. This could be the most excitement either of the men had had, since the day a German pilot had bailed out, landed in the vicarage pigsty, and been captured by Lucy the sow and her piglets.

  Chrissie smiled, not getting a word in edgeways, as Billie Archer—obviously glad to have a captive audience—rambled on.

  “Did you hear that Lord Haw-Haw again last night? Germany calling. Hah. As if any of us believes the likes of him. Not even British, he isn’t. A Yank, they say. I bet his mother is turning in her grave at his antics.” He spat successfully into the bushes. “And I tell you, miss, what we don’t need is any more young men sniffing around our girls. There are enough of our Tommies to do that.” He must have realized to whom he was talking to, because he coughed. “No offense meant, miss.”

  Chrissie laughed, the pain in her ankle forgotten at his diatribe. There was no way any man of his age would accept the influx of any foreign servicemen into the country, even though they, as their allies, were essential. “None taken,” she assured him. “And I don’t have any Yanks or Tommies sniffing around me. I’m a one-man girl.”

  “Glad to hear it.” As they came closer to the gates of The Grange, he brought the horse up to a steady trot. Chrissie wished he hadn’t as the jolting was uncomfortable in more places than her ankle.

  “Nearly there now, miss,” he assured her and then pointed in front of them. “Now that’s good. The gates are open.” He negotiated the entrance and set Henry to trot up the drive.

  Well, they would be open in the early morning for anyone to enter unchallenged, not late at night when she and Kaye had wanted to get in. Typical. If they hadn’t been locked, none of this would have happened. But then, Chrissie mused, she might not have met Archie again. So maybe that’s what the vicar meant in his Sunday sermon when he said from bad can rise good. She bit her lip to stop herself chuckling. I bet he meant rise in a different way to me.

  As the elderly farmer brought the horse to a halt with a “whoa there,” the main door was flung open, and Kaye rushed out. She was followed rapidly by Tom, Chalky, and a couple of the older ladies, Doris and Bessie, who were as they themselves put it “your extra mums, ducks!”

  Kaye got to her first.

  “Bloody Chalky decided to do a fire drill,” she said out the side of her mouth. “All hell let loose when you weren’t here.” And then louder, “Oh, Chrissie, are you badly hurt? What happened?”

  The farmer seemed glad to tell how he found her. “Freezing cold she was, bless her. She’ud been there a good while, I can tell you,” he said in a dramatic and inaccurate fashion. “No telling what would have gone on if I’d not happened by. Lucky we was setting off to Kettering market early.” He clambered down from the wagon and clumsily lifted Chrissie, and lowered her to the ground. “When we found her, fair clemmed she was, I tell you, and it’s not even brass monkeys out there yet. Lucky she is.”

  Tom hastened to thank him, while Doris and Bessie helped her move away from the side of the wagon. Chrissie yelped as she tried to put weight on her injured ankle.

  “Sorry,” she apologized. “But it blo...er, flipping well hurts.” She turned to Billy.

  “I can’t thank you enough.”

  He blushed and took his cap off to twist in it between his fingers. “Anything for his lordship, well, and you, miss. Hope it soon clears up.”

  So did she. Chrissie made her shuffling way indoors holding on to the ladies. The doorsteps proved somewhat of a challenge but she gritted her teeth and hopped up them, using Doris and Bessie as crutches. It might not be far, but she was out of breath by the time she made it inside.

  “Well that’s a to-do, lovey,” Doris remarked as she helped Chrissie sit in the large leather chair usually reserved for important visitors. She handed Chrissie a cup of tea and a rare treat—a digestive biscuit. They were for those important people in whose chair she now sat. “I always thought that if either of you two hurt your ankles, it’d be fal
ling off those blasted clogs, not falling off a bike.”

  “No, it’s men that fall off bikes and get hurt,” said Kaye, irrepressible as ever. Doris tutted, Bessie looked shocked, and Chrissie laughed. Trust Kaye to bring the proceedings down a peg.

  There was a loud noise from outside and as one they all looked toward the door.

  “Grief, it sounds like the whole of the Allied Army is outside,” Bessie remarked. “What a racket.” There was the sound of doors slamming and then the noise of several pairs of feet crossing the gravel.

  “Ooh, you don’t think Chalky’s fire drill went live, do you?” asked Kaye, eyes wide with merriment. “Might be the home guard, police, fire brigade, and Uncle Tom Cobley out there, all to help us put the fire out. Oh, I do love a man in uniform. And this circus is all down to Chalky.”

  Chalky, who had just entered the foyer, went as white as his nickname.

  “Looks like his moniker is well placed, then.” Chrissie nodded in his direction. “Wonder what’s going on?”

  She soon found out.

  Archie burst through the door, several of his farm workers behind him, and limped toward her. Bessie and Doris sighed as he almost fell at her feet before taking both her hands in his. They were at the wrong angle to see his face. Chrissie wasn’t, though, and could see the wicked look in his eyes. What was he up to?

  “Darling,” he exclaimed. Bessie and Doris looked at each other and smiled. Chrissie swore they almost drooled and one definitely said ‘aww’ under her breath. “How dreadful. But never mind. I’m here now.” He motioned to two of his men, who moved forward and linked their arms to form a seat. Chrissie stared at him in amazement. Why was he talking like a B movie at The Odeon? She didn’t wait long for an answer.

  “I’ve spoken to Lady Stride’s parents,” he said in affected drawl, at total odds to his normal voice. However, Chrissie could see how the tone and accent impressed Chalky, to say nothing of Doris and Bessie. Kaye, like herself, was trying to keep a straight face, and Tom just stood, arms folded with a knowing look.

  Lady Stride? Heavens, he was pulling out all the stops. Chrissie could see Chalky’s attitude toward her changing by the word. As she thought it seemed a title affected him badly. Or was that goodly? She had no idea and didn’t much care as long as it worked in her favor.

  “And...” Archie continued with a quelling look at Chrissie, who tried—not very successfully—to compose her features into one of pain. “She is coming back with me. My housekeeper is making up her bed as we speak. My doctor is waiting back at Home Farm to check out her injuries. Both I and her parents are rather disappointed. After all, she was expected back here last night. Seems to show a distinct lack of trust in our morals, don’t you agree?”

  Only Chrissie could see the tongue-in-cheek manner with which he spoke, and no one seemed to see the contradiction in his speech.

  Within ten minutes, she was safely sitting on the back seat of Archie’s old but well-cared-for Austin. Her leg was propped up on a cushion to try and save it from the vagaries of the track, and she had a hastily packed bag of clothes on the floor beside her.

  Archie got into the driver’s seat and waved at the two men walking across the fields to the farm. “Probably get there before we do.” He made a very theatrical leer in Chrissie’s direction.

  She burst out laughing. “Don’t get your hopes—or anything else—up, Archie. I’m a bit limited with this ankle.”

  “Well.... Improvisation is a wonderful thing. And if my hopes aren’t up yet...” He paused. “Something else is. It seems to live like that whenever I think of you. With or without drawers.”

  Chrissie laughed out loud. She couldn’t help it. Here she was, battered and bruised, yet getting aroused by Archie talking about his reaction to her. “So what happens now? Did you really speak to my parents?”

  He turned to look at her, the car swerving as it jolted over a rather large stone that had become dislodged and dropped into the hole it had left. “Ugh, sorry, this road is getting worse. Of course I bloody did. Covered all eventualities.”

  “And?” she prompted.

  He didn’t answer straight away, but drew up outside the farmhouse door with a flourish.

  “And, Archie?” She knew well he was prevaricating.

  “And let’s get you settled and checked over by the doctor.” He opened the door and helped her out. Immediately, Mrs. Marlow joined him along with a tall, taciturn man introduced by her as, “Bert, my husband.” A few minutes later Chrissie found herself comfortable and warm, resting on top of a big bed. She had a light cover over her, held off her ankle by an upended fireguard. It was a bed—she thought with a blush—she knew rather well.

  Mrs. Marlow saw the blush, but lucky for Chrissie and her embarrassment, misinterpreted it.

  “Yes, lovey, it’s Mr. Archie’s bed, but it’s the most comfortable in the place. I’ve made him a bed up across the corridor. And I’ll sleep in if we need to preserve the niceties.” By her tone of voice and her wink, Chrissie didn’t think Mrs. Marlow was much of a one for the niceties herself.

  The doctor came in and with gentle determination, put the housekeeper and Archie out of the room, and shut the door behind them before he approached the bed once more.

  “Young Archie says you two were wed in secret,” he said, his manner casual as he looked for her reaction, both to his pronouncement and his touch as he probed the swollen ankle. “Wed long, are you?” Luckily, he touched a tender spot, and her involuntary jump and yelp were taken to be the result of physical probing, not mental, giving Chrissie time to think fast.

  “I want Archie,” she said, doing her best to adopt a tremulous tone. “Please, doctor. After all, as my husband, he’ll be looking after me and will need to be told what to do.” And then I’ll tell him what to do. Idiot man. Married. I’ll give him married. How’s he going to get out of that in a hurry? I’ve told them at work we’ve got an understanding, Mrs. Marlow wants to preserve the niceties, and now the doctor thinks we’re married. Hell.

  A vision of her parents, breach of contract suits, and goodness knew what else were flying around in her head. It wasn’t until Archie spoke her name that she realized he had reentered the room and both men were looking at her.

  “Sorry. I was miles away,” she apologized, hoping the look she gave Archie let him know just where her thoughts had been. “I’m trying to will the pain away and it isn’t working.”

  He smiled lovingly at her and she saw the warning glint in his eyes. It stopped her frown before it started.

  “Darling,” Archie said in such a syrupy voice she wanted to stick her tongue out and do sick impressions. “Dr. Matheson is off now. Do you need to ask him anything?”

  “No, thank you. I’m sure between you, you’ve got it all covered.” Chrissie had no idea what she should ask.

  Dr. Matheson nodded. “Don’t worry, he knows he’s got to be gentle with you.”

  Chrissie went scarlet, and the doctor chuckled indulgently at her discomfort. “Ah, young love. You can’t beat it.”

  He left the room, followed by Archie with a hasty, “let me see you out.” To give him his due, Archie returned a few minutes later with a cup of tea and a slice of toast. He looked at her, seeming wary now.

  “You may well look like that, Archie Duggan.” Chrissie waggled her finger at him. “Married. Hell, I told Tom Hillman we had an understanding, but married? How are we going to explain that one away? And what about Mrs. Marlow wanting to preserve the niceties? What on earth were you thinking? How to get into my pants? For goodness’ sakes, I thought you knew we didn’t need to be married for you to do that.” Did I really say that? Oh, well. It’s the truth, after all.

  He sat on the bed beside her, nibbled the waving digit and sucked hard. Her breath left her in a whoosh as her body went into its aroused by Archie dance.

  He chuckled and began to unbutton her blouse.

  “Oy.” Chrissie brushed his hand away. “What are you doing? W
hat if Mrs. Marlow comes in? What will she think?”

  “That I’m being a good husband and helping you to get undressed and get comfy. And checking just how far that delicious rosy glow goes.”

  Oh lord, how mortifying. Mind you, it doesn’t seem to bother him. She wriggled in what she hoped was an alluring manner, but probably made her look like a constipated snake.

  He smiled and flicked her ear. “I’ll find out soon enough, I’m looking forward to it. Now the thing is, Chrissie I’ve just told Mrs. M about our secret wedding as well,” he said, unperturbed by her gasp of horror. “She’s wondering if there’s enough coupons to get the ingredients for a cake. Now lift that arm...that’s it. Now the next one. See. Much better.” He reached around her to get to her bra hooks. Chrissie moved forward to help him before realizing what she was doing. Oh she wanted it off, no doubt about that but there were things to discuss first. She leaned back, trapping his hands behind her, but not before the hooks had separated and the material loosened.

  “Nice. I can’t move.” He bent his head, nudged the bra upward, and suckled at her breasts, freed from their confines, swayed as she moved.

  Chrissie watched his lips as they evoked powerful feelings in her. If she were honest, she wished Archie were her husband. And would do this and much more every night. “You still haven’t said why you told people we were married,” she said, still breathless as he began to move his lips lower. It was hard to for formulate coherent thoughts when he was so close and well, she decided with the little bit of sense she still had, personal.

  Oh sod it, why not? She wriggled to release his hands, so they could carry on where his lips had left off.

  “Well, now.” His voice was somewhat indistinct as he began to kiss her navel. “There was no way I was leaving you in that mausoleum with a dodgy ankle and Chalky White, for a start. And damn it all, Chrissie, I want you to be my wife.” He looked up to see her reaction. Seeming emboldened by the look she gave him, he continued his discovery of her navel. “I wanted it years ago, but bloody parents put their oars in. Then the war, injuries, Oz dying. Well, I didn’t think it would be fair to ask you. Until I saw you the other day and remembered all’s fair in love and war. And this is both. So, here we are.”