‘But surely, with a grammar-school education, you had no reason to work in the mine at all.’
Geraint laughed bitterly. ‘I had every reason. I am my father’s son. It’s what the men in my family do.
Not
becoming a miner would have been viewed as the ultimate act of disloyalty, because any other white-collar job I could have got above ground would have entailed working with
them
. The bosses, the owners.’
‘Surely you exaggerate.’
‘That is how it would have been seen by my family, our neighbours. A betrayal.’
‘And yet you gave it up all the same,’ Flora said, looking puzzled. ‘Why?’
It was an innocent enough question and a perfectly natural one, but it made Geraint realise how personal a turn the conversation had taken. He never talked about his family, had a policy, forged of bitter experience, of not explaining himself. ‘I had my reasons. So I left.’
I left.
Such a simple phrase to describe one of the most difficult decisions of his life. So many nights spent lying wide awake in bed. The long days when he was due on late shift, walking in the nearby hills, trying to talk himself into staying on for just another year, month, week. Geraint leaned back against the attic wall, turning his face up to the skylight, to the wide, grey-blue sky above, which was the colour of Flora’s eyes. ‘I left,’ he repeated sadly. ‘
To find something better
, is the reason I gave my dad, and he took offence, thinking I was demeaning his life’s work’
‘There is nothing wrong with trying to better yourself,’ Flora said indignantly.
‘Tell that to the toffs at the grammar school.’
The words did not come over as light-heartedly as he’d intended. Flora had her arms clasped around her knees. His own legs were sprawled in front of him, so that they were almost touching hers. ‘It must have been very difficult for you there,’ she said. Her hand touched his knee tentatively.
‘I coped. I fought my corner. Literally. It was a long time ago. I really don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’
‘I am glad that you have.’ Flora twisted the little pearl ring she wore on her pinkie finger round and round. It was a habit she had, he’d noticed, when she was struggling to voice her thoughts. ‘We have more in common than you might think. You’ve made me face the fact that I don’t want what my parents have planned for me, either. I was— I suppose I was simply avoiding facing the issue before. Now you’ve forced me to look, I can’t pretend I haven’t seen. I have no choice but to hurt them.’
She was saying that she understood, and Geraint could tell she did. He covered her hand with his. ‘My dad thought I was ashamed of him, of our family, our village,’ he admitted painfully. ‘I had no choice but to leave, when my presence there was a daily reminder of my betrayal.’
Flora reached up, touched his cheek fleetingly, but to his relief she sensed that her pity would not be welcome. ‘So you joined the army,’ she said. ‘I confess, I’ve wondered why a man so radical as you, who has such contempt for hierarchy and tradition, would enlist in an institution that sets such store by it.’
‘I didn’t, not straight away. I went to London and found a job in the office of a factory that manufactured automobiles. A job with prospects,’ Geraint said mockingly, remembering the interview. ‘Maybe it would have been, if I’d stuck it out. I have a head for figures, and a talent for organising, just like you, but I also have a nose for injustice, thanks to my dad. Those poor lads on the factory floor worked bloody hard—beg pardon—for a pittance in conditions almost as dangerous as those down the pit. I was working for the Labour Party in my spare time. Eventually my employers found out, and that put paid to my prospects. By then it was obvious war was going to be declared, so I enlisted.’
‘I still don’t understand why,’ Flora said.
‘I joined the Royal Welsh Fusiliers,’ Geraint replied.
‘To fight alongside your own people, was that it?’
‘It was. Brothers in arms and all that. But the moment they got wind of my accounting experience, they transferred me to the Army Service Corps and I washed up here, destined once again to play the pantomime villain by desecrating Glen Massan House,’ Geraint said with a twisted smile.
Flora frowned. ‘Do you really believe
we
are on opposing sides?’
‘I’d hardly be confiding in you if I did.’
‘So we are fighting on the same side?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far, Miss Daughter-of-the-Laird-Carmichael,’ Geraint said, grinning and getting to his feet. He held his hand out to help her up. Her fingers were slender, perfectly manicured, her palm smooth against his rough calloused hand.
‘If we are not enemies but we are not on the same side, then where on earth are we?’
‘I’ll tell you where we are, we’re in no man’s land.’
‘No man’s land,’ Flora repeated. ‘Our own private land.’
‘For the time being.’
* * *
No man’s land.
A place where only one man existed, Flora thought. A man whose eyes glittered darkly down at her, mesmerising beneath the thick curtain of his lashes. A man who, by his own admission, confided in no one, yet had confided in her. A dangerous man. A lonely man. A challenging man. And a very enticing one. ‘I think I like no man’s land,’ she said.
‘So do I,’ Geraint said softly, closing the space between them. He slid his arm around her waist. His fingers were delicate on her jaw, her cheek, making her catch her breath in anticipation, making her tremble, scattering her inhibitions to the four winds.
Her body was pliant, melding itself to his hardness as she reached up to put her arms around his neck. As his lips touched hers, her eyelids closed. His tongue ran along the soft skin on the inside of her lower lip, and she shivered at the shocking intimacy of it. It was like the first sip of a fine French cognac. Warmth flooded her.
Her heart pounded. His kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with hers, sending sizzles of heat coursing through her veins. His hand cupped her breast. They staggered back, stumbling over the steamer chest, until her back was pressed against the attic wall, directly under the skylight. He slid his hands down, cupping her bottom, lifting her. The rough stone grated on her back as she arched against him, encountering the hard length of his erection through his uniform. He moaned, a low growl that made her spine tingle. And then he dragged his mouth from hers.
For a long moment they stared at each other, eyes glazed with desire, breathing shallow and fast. Then slowly, reluctantly, he released her. As her feet touched the dusty wooden boards of the attic, Flora caught at his sleeve to steady herself. ‘I think the air in no man’s land has rather gone to my head,’ she said.
Geraint laughed softly. ‘I could tell you what it’s done to me, but I suspect you already know.’ His smile faded as his eyes met hers. ‘I didn’t mean to get so carried away.’
‘I ought not to have let you,’ Flora said, realising this very belatedly. Which made her realise that the thought had not occurred to her, any more than it had occurred to her to be embarrassed. On the contrary, what she felt was a kind of elation. This strange, interesting, dangerous man wanted her, and she wanted him. ‘No man’s land,’ she said softly, looking at him with a deliberately teasing smile, ‘is a dangerous but exciting place to be.’
Chapter Five
‘Y
ou actually kissed him! Oh, my, who would have thought it?’
Sheila and Flora were in what Lady Carmichael termed the garden room, which was in reality an old scullery at the back of the house used mainly for flower arranging. At this time of year it lay empty and quite unoccupied. Outside, a neat row of army tents had been erected amongst which soldiers bustled around, some in full uniform, some minus jackets, in singlets and braces. Unfamiliar accents echoed over the once-peaceful loch. Sporadic bursts of raucous laughter punctuated the Highland air. ‘I don’t know why you look so astonished,’ Flora said. ‘I’ve been kissed before.’
‘Not like that, I’ll bet,’ Sheila replied, grinning. ‘Your Welsh firebrand looks like a man who would know how to kiss. I would kiss him myself if he gave me the chance, but he’s not shown the least bit of interest. To be honest, I find him a bit intimidating. Not exactly stand-offish, but a bit of a loner. I suppose I’m—well, just a wee bit envious.’
‘Are you shocked?’
‘Your ma would be.
The man is not even an officer,
’ Sheila said in an excellent imitation of her employer.
‘I’m not my mother,’ Flora said.
Sheila raised her brow. ‘Do I hear the sound of a worm turning?’
Outside, one of the soldiers, sitting on a box cleaning his boots, was singing, ‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer true.’ Flora turned away from the window. ‘I kissed him because I wanted to. I’ve been wanting to from almost the first moment I set eyes on him,’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘But you’re right, it’s not just that. He’s made me realise that I’ve taken too much for granted.’
‘You just make sure that Corporal Cassell doesn’t take too much for granted,’ Sheila said. ‘You’re from different sides of the fence, you and the corporal. Kiss him, why not, there’s no harm in it, but what I’m trying to say is, be careful, Flora.’
‘You’re making too much of one kiss.’
‘Good. And good for you!’ Sheila rubbed her eyes. ‘I was up till all hours last night sewing my new uniform. I heard in the village that Mrs Oliphant got a telegram yesterday. Her Ronnie is missing.’
‘Oh, no! Oh, the poor woman.’
‘I really hope I’ll get my posting to one of the hospitals soon. News like that, it makes you want to be doing something.’
‘I’ve been thinking again about volunteering myself.’
She expected to receive an approving smile, but Sheila frowned. ‘I’m not so sure. It’s very physical work, Flora, and you’ve no experience.’
‘Nor likely to get any if no one will let me try.’
‘I’m just pointing out the truth. There’s no need to take the huff.’
‘Actually, there is every reason,’ Flora exclaimed. ‘It’s bad enough to know that my parents think I’m useless, but you are supposed to be my friend. Just because I’ve never lit a fire or mopped a floor or ironed a shirt doesn’t mean I can’t learn. You have never washed a wound or applied a splint or given an injection of morphine, but you are pretty certain that you’ll be able to. You haven’t ever seen anything worse than a nosebleed, yet you have every confidence you won’t faint at the sight of blood, and just as much confidence that I will.’
‘Flora! What on earth is the matter with you?’
‘I don’t need to be pampered and cossetted. I’m not a lap dog.’
‘Right now, you’re more like an angry terrier.’
She was forced to laugh. ‘I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed. I thought you would be on my side. I need to be doing something.’
‘You’re managing the requisition.’
‘That will be complete in few weeks.’
‘And then your corporal will probably be sent off to the front, I suppose.’
‘He’s in the service corps.’
‘For now. Didn’t you just tell me that he signed up with the Welsh Fusiliers?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Flora shuddered. ‘I’m terrified that Alex will lie about his age to enlist. His letters from school are full of talk about the boys from the year above him who have joined up already. And Robbie—it’s probably only a matter of time before he leaves his job and joins up. I don’t want to think of Geraint on the front line, even if it is what he wants.’
‘No point in worrying about it until it happens.’ Sheila smoothed down her apron. ‘I must get on, I’ve a hundred things to do. Look, forget what I said. If you think you’re capable of volunteering, then you volunteer. Better to try and fail than not to try at all, as my mum would say.’
Which was hardly likely to fill her with confidence, Flora thought as the door closed behind her friend. Examining her hands, their white, unblemished state the mark, her mother was forever telling her, of a lady, she felt quite dejected. Perhaps Sheila was right.
Or perhaps not. What was it Geraint had said?
You’ve a talent for organising, a talent for creating order.
Picking up her notebook, Flora looked at the neat list of tasks, the ticks that were steadily accumulating, and felt a glow of satisfaction. She was making a good job of this. There must be some way of applying her newfound skills elsewhere.
Her eye fell on the last task.
Sign off paperwork and complete handover.
If they kept to the tight schedule Geraint had set up, that would be in just a few weeks time. Glen Massan House would be a fully operational military training school, and their time in no man’s land would come to an end.
‘Carpe diem,’
Flora muttered to herself. ‘Seize the day. That’s what we’ll all have to do while this dreadful war rages on. And I intend to do just that.’
* * *
The list of tasks was nearing completion by the middle of November, the requisition proceeding exactly to schedule. ‘There, now, what did I tell you, is this not the most spectacular view?’ Flora pointed down at Glen Massan House, several hundred feet below.
They were at the peak of Ben Massan, a short but steep climb. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks flushed, her hair blowing in wild, fiery tendrils around her face. She wore an old mackintosh coat that was far too large for her, the sleeves turned up to form a cuff, the hem flapping around her ankles. On her feet were sturdy brown brogues, much worn and eminently practical.
‘Spectacular, but not as pretty as you,’ Geraint said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her hard.
Laughing, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Her lips were cold, but her tongue was warm. She kissed him back as fiercely as he kissed her. He felt the familiar rush of blood to his groin and reluctantly let her go.
‘Why do you do that?’ Flora was staring up at him, her expression hurt. ‘Stop kissing me, I mean. Don’t you like kissing me?’
It hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t understand. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Geraint said, putting his arm around her, pulling her onto the soft, peaty ground in the lea of the cairn that marked the summit. ‘It’s because I like it too much.’ He cupped her face, smoothing her hair away from her cheeks. ‘Flora, it’s all very well to joke about being in no man’s land, to talk about seizing the day, but we have to be careful. We have to see this for what it is, a bit of fun.’