“I doubt that very much,” said Katie.
“Shall we ask them what’s for pudding?” he said, anxious to dispel both the sadness and the embarrassment stealing the shine from the interlude.
She nodded.
He raised his hand to signal for the dessert trolley. After a few moments, a very elegant woman began to make her way to their table, but the cakes and pies were nowhere to be seen.
“Oh my God,” Michael said.
This approaching woman was definitely
not
a member of the hotel staff. She wore a figure-hugging, jet black evening gown that shimmered as she walked. And then Katie realized she, too, recognized the face.
“Michael, darling,” the woman said, as she planted a kiss on Michael’s cheek. “And in uniform too! I
am
surprised.”
“Connie.” His tone was cold.
“You were Michael’s fiancée,” Katie stated, and then she cringed. The champagne must have loosened her foolish, foolish tongue.
“I was.” Connie replied in a cool tone. “Michael, who is this charming young person?”
“This is Katie, she’s my … ” he obviously didn’t want to say housekeeper. Katie wasn’t even sure what her official title was in Michael’s mind.
“Sweetheart,” Katie plunged in rashly.
Michael gave her the warmest look of wonder and admiration she had ever seen. He took Katie’s hand and gave it a grateful squeeze.
He turned back to Connie, and his expression hardened. “Forgive me if I don’t get up, Connie.”
“Of course. Poor darling. It must be so frustrating.”
“I was sorry to hear about Reg,” Michael said.
“Yes, it was very tragic.” Connie said. “I’m a widow at twenty-three.”
“And still in mourning, I see.”
Connie glanced down at the clingy black gown she was wearing. “One has to carry on, Michael.”
“One carries on with most of the squadron, by the look of it.” Michael glanced back at the table that Connie had just left. A long table full of laughing young men, with one or two girlfriends scattered among them like stray petunias in a bed of ageratum. She gave one of the men a flirtatious little wave.
“If I’d known you would be churlish,” she said. “I wouldn’t have bothered to say hello.”
“Perhaps that would have been for the best.”
“I forgot to ask what brings you to London, Michael?”
“I’m here to visit my surgeon. He thinks he can mend my back.”
“Really?” A spark of real interest flickered behind Connie’s pale gray eyes. “How extraordinary. The doctors seemed to think there was so little hope.”
“You thought there was
no
hope, Connie.”
Her face hardened. “I must join my friends before I’m missed. Goodnight, Michael. It’s been such a pleasure!”
“Goodbye, Connie.”
When she was gone, Michael let out a long, bitter sigh. “That’s the trouble with the Savoy,” he said. “You run into people from the past.”
Katie bit her lip. “She was a bit unpleasant.”
“We all make mistakes, Katie.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
• • •
I don’t have to make any mistakes with him tonight, Katie promised herself as she pushed Michael along the corridor.
I’m older and wiser, and he is my employer. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.
She pushed him into the lift and pressed the button. It creaked into life, carrying them slowly to the floor above.
“The Savoy was one of the first hotels with an electric lift,” Michael told her. “Which is lucky, isn’t it?”
She smiled, though she was standing behind him and he didn’t see. “They must have seen you coming, sir.”
“Katie, thank you for today.”
“You don’t need to thank me. It was no hardship and you’ve made the whole trip so nice for me, sir. Taxis and that wonderful meal.”
The doors opened and they rolled along the plushy carpeted corridor to find their rooms.
“I need you to help me undress,” he said.
“I know.”
She checked the number on the key, and found the right door.
“I could do it myself, normally, it’s just that in an unfamiliar place … ”
“It’s perfectly all right, sir.”
“I do wish you’d stop calling me ‘sir.’”
“It’s a habit. It would be difficult to break now. Sir.”
She steered him into the room, hoping to take her mind off how nervous she felt being alone with him. She parked the chair beside the bed and he made an agile maneuver from one to the other. He eased himself back onto the pillows before switching on the bedside lamp and illuminating the room with a warm, golden light.
She bustled about, unpacking his things and laying them in convenient places he could reach. She picked up the book he was reading — yet another book about recovering from a back injury.
“Do you want me to leave this on the right side of the bed or the left?”
“Katie, stop fussing and help me get undressed.”
It was time to stop delaying and get on with it. She eased him out of his RAF jacket, trying to ignore the longing that welled up in her. It seemed that the more clothes he took off, the stronger and more confused her emotions became. She’d never felt such a yearning for a man before — not for Tom, not for anyone. She undid his shirt buttons for him, one by one by one, revealing the glorious contours of his chest.
Suddenly she looked up at him, abashed. “You could have done that yourself.”
He smiled. “Yes,” he said, softly, “but I would much rather you did it for me.”
She slipped the shirt off his shoulders and breathed in deeply. She loved the look of his upper body — all the curved muscles beautifully defined in the golden light from the lamp. Michael’s skin was pale, like a marble statue, and she could hardly take her eyes off him.
He reached out and touched her face, a gentle caress, full of promise and pleasures yet to come. “Would you like me to kiss you some more?”
“No! No, I wouldn’t. Absolutely not.”
• • •
The lady protests too much, Michael thought to himself. He remembered saying those words, to another pretty girl, long ago. He didn’t say them to Katie. With her, he felt like a tongue-tied, nervous schoolboy.
He wasn’t sure what to say, or what to do next. If he hadn’t been injured, he would have seduced her, expertly, and the early stages would have been skillful and swift. He would have struck while she was still dizzy from the champagne. While they were dancing, he would have whispered in her ear about the spectacular view of the Thames from his bedroom window. She would have giggled and protested, but he would have pulled her along by the hand and kissed and cuddled her all the way up in the lift.
It would have been him, not her, who slipped the key into the lock and pulled her into the room. Then, pushing her slim body back against the door to close it, he would have kissed her fiercely — aggressively almost — until she melted against him. He wouldn’t even have bothered to turn on the light, and before long, she’d have been ready to slide down onto the floor with him in a weakened state of passion and longing.
Instead, he would have carried her to the bed, and she wouldn’t have done a damn thing about it. Oh, she would have blushed and murmured when he took off her clothes, but she would have let him undress her all the same. Stepping away from the bed for a moment, his own clothes would have been off in a few effortless moves while she enjoyed the striptease in the half-darkness. After that, he’d slow down the pace, kissing her here, and there, and everywhere until she begged him for it.
Everything was different now.
He was sitting on the bed like a virgin recruit with the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, unable to decide what to do next. If he said or did the wrong thing, she be off like a frightened butterfly.
“Is that everything you need, sir?”
“Katie.”
“I don’t think I should be in here, sir, unless there’s something important I’ve forgotten to do.”
He didn’t want her to go. He knew he had to do something and like a gauche young man on a first date, he clutched her hand.
It worked.
She sat down beside him on the bed. She let him fondle her hand in his, let him raise it to his lips and kiss it. Her soft brown eyes were patient, understanding, and vulnerable. He didn’t quit while he was winning; he leaned in for a proper kiss. He put his mouth on hers and felt her trembling response. He encouraged her to put her arms around his neck and held her close against his bare chest. He was sure he could feel her quickening heartbeat, his own heart pounding madly, too. He tangled his hands in her glorious auburn hair, and kissed her hard. She made those sweet, sexy moans of enjoyment that women make when they are aroused.
“You like to kiss, don’t you?”
“I like kissing you,” she blurted.
“And I love kissing you,” he murmured, with his lips against the warm, sensitive skin in the curve of her neck. He felt triumphant for a moment, and he pulled her down on to the bed beside him to lie in his arms. He experienced just a hint of the old self-confidence he used to feel with a woman. He knew that she wanted him, but his happiness in it was blighted. Blighted by his agonizing, aching fear that he couldn’t give her what she wanted, even now she had admitted that she was enjoying this.
They lay side by side, in each other’s arms, pretending they were just like any other couple, while Michael weighed the options.
There was no way he could make love to her, not like this.
He was half a man, and she was a whole, warm, wonderful woman. He could offer to pleasure her, perhaps, but that would mean admitting that he didn’t think he could love her properly. He could achieve an erection, yes. He was luckier than some. But make love to her? Thrust inside her? Plant his seed deep within her body? Probably not. They could try, but it might be a disaster. He couldn’t risk it. She deserved the finest lovemaking a man could give.
He could feel her breasts warm and heavy against him through the thin fabric of her blouse. That was an awful gray blouse she was wearing — he’d love to take it off, but he contented himself with holding her close. His left hand cupped the curve of her bottom. The texture of her blue serge skirt was all wrong-he wanted to feel her smooth, warm skin. He wanted to explore her, all of her.
You can’t keep leading her on like this, when you have nothing to give.
“This is wrong, sir,” she said, quietly.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Then why are you doing it?” she said. “Why are you tempting me like this?”
He was surprised. “Is that how you think of me? A temptation?”
“Yes.”
He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I’m grateful, even for that. I doubt that many women would give me a second glance, these days.”
“Would you stop being so desperately sorry for yourself?”
“If I’m not allowed to feel sorry for myself, I don’t know who is.”
“But you are so lucky.”
Michael gave an impatient sigh. “Lucky to be alive. It always comes down to that. Alive, yes, but able to have a life worth living? No.”
She sat up, shocked. “You are very lucky in so many ways.”
“It’s torture for me to hold you in my arms and not be able to have you.”
She stiffened. “I have no intention of letting you ‘have me’ as you so crudely put it, Michael. I am not that kind of girl.”
He noticed that she had inadvertently called him Michael.
“Come on, Katie.”
“I am not about to commit a mortal sin just because you bought me a first-class train ticket and a nice meal. I should never have lain down with you like this, but you wanted to kiss goodnight and that seemed harmless enough.”
“If you stayed in my bed the whole bloody night, I doubt we could do anything that would amount to a mortal sin!”
“I must go,” she quickly stood and straightened her skirt. “If I leave now, perhaps I shall save myself from hellfire and you won’t have to face up to your feelings of inadequacy!”
“For heaven’s sake, Katie, I want you to stay!”
“I have no intention of spending the night with you. I made that clear downstairs.”
“I know what you said, Katie, but it wasn’t what you meant. Just now, lying here together, you were ready for it.”
“That is very bigheaded of you. Never presume to know a woman’s thoughts, sir, because you can be gravely mistaken. Unlike every other floozy you may have known, I say what I mean and I mean what I say.”
“And who are you to talk to me about floozies, Katie? You’ve got a history, too, haven’t you!”
“If you are referring to that night in the underground station, you can stop right there. You don’t know anything about me, and at this rate, you never will. I’m a decent girl. A night in the Savoy doesn’t make me anybody’s.”
He was very offended. “I am not anybody.”
“No, you are Lord High and Mighty Farrenden, my employer, which makes it even worse. Roy Luckens, a twelve-year-old boy, tried to warn me. I thought you had more integrity.”
She flounced out of the room, slamming the door. There was a long empty silence, while Michael sat alone in the bed, stunned.
“That went well,” he muttered out loud. He reached out and turned off the bedside lamp. Then he wrapped himself in the eiderdown and lay down, fuming with frustration inside.
• • •
The children seemed surprised Michael wasn’t cured. Four little faces peered through the banisters on the great curved staircase, waiting to catch a first glimpse. Four little faces fell when they saw Katie pushing the wheelchair up the ramp into the house.
“It didn’t work?” George said, in astonishment, as if he had expected to see Michael striding purposefully into the grand entrance hall on a pair of shiny new legs.
Katie explained the appointment was just a discussion about the possibility of an operation in the future, but apparently the nuances had been lost on them. She didn’t dare tell them now that, in her opinion, Michael shouldn’t commit himself to a lot of pain and agony with so little hope of an improvement.
“Aren’t you going to do it, Mister Lord?” asked Alfie, all round-eyed curiosity.
“I don’t want you to get your legs mended, Mister Lord,” Bob announced, jutting his little chin out.