Lorna Cook - The Forbidden Promise

He dropped his boots to the floor. They clunked heavily but Constance’s eyes weren’t drawn down. Instead she looked at him in horror as he pulled his blazer off and dropped that to the floor before starting on his wet shirt. He had undone at least two buttons, exposing his chest, before Constance pulled her gaze away.

‘Hurry up,’ he commanded. ‘Take your dress off. Do you want to get ill?’

‘You can’t possibly expect me to remove my dress in front of you.’ She couldn’t keep the horror from her voice.

‘I’ll turn my back,’ he offered. ‘I’ve just crashed into a bloody great lake. I’m in absolutely no condition to think about that sort of thing.’

Constance blushed that he should even mention it. After Henry’s nightmarish behaviour in the orangery, she was petrified it might happen again, here, with this pilot. She was buttoned in so tight she was unable to free herself from her dress anyway. She was sure the silk was shrinking tight against her body thanks to the water. The buttons at the back were plentiful and started at the nape of her neck and ran down the dress until they reached the top of her bottom.

He had turned his back and must have been aware she wasn’t moving as he said, ‘Are you watching me undress?’ in an amused voice.

‘No! I need your help.’

He turned, rolled his shirt up and dropped it on the floor. She’d seen her brother Douglas’s friends without their shirts plenty of times as they swam in the loch over the years but here, in this dark room with this man, it felt different. It was too private. He looked different to any of her brother’s friends – stronger, taller … just different.

When she didn’t speak he asked, ‘What do you need help with?’

Constance had momentarily forgotten about the buttons. She turned and he began unbuttoning her wet dress, his hands moving gently down her skin until he finished. The room felt still and Constance was aware only of his hands as they moved.

As her unbuttoned dress gaped at the back he moved gallantly away and she became aware of the room again. The cottage had been left as if the ghillie had simply popped out for a few minutes. Other than the presence of damp and dust, items of furniture, ornaments and books had been left in the places that they had presumably sat for the past few years. From the back of a battered armchair the pilot pulled a tartan blanket and handed it to her.

Constance wriggled out of her dress as she wrapped the blanket around her. Her wet underwear was uncomfortable and she realised she was going to have to shake that off as well if she was going to warm up. Although it was August, the air was cold inside the stone cottage.

‘I’ll light a fire,’ the pilot said. He moved around the room, fixing the stiff fabric wood-framed blackout blinds into place.

‘You’re still wearing your wet trousers,’ Constance said. ‘Look upstairs. The ghillie might have left some clothes behind.’

The pilot nodded and assembled the fire in the grate, forming a tripod out of a few logs of wood and balling up some newspaper from the basket, throwing it into the middle. He found matches in a pot on the mantel above, struck one against the wall and started a small fire in the grate.

‘Warm yourself up while I find us some things,’ he instructed.

Constance sat on the thinning rug by the fire and pulled the blanket tight around herself. The fire worked its magic and she stretched her bare legs out in front of her, wriggling her toes as the heat from the flames licked them gently. She marvelled at how she could be in the middle of her birthday party and then, only an hour later, soaked to the skin and alone in a cottage with an RAF officer whose plane had crashed into her loch. After a few minutes the pilot came downstairs wearing a pair of dry trousers and a thick blue woollen pullover.

‘They smell of mothballs but they’re dry,’ he said as he stood next to her, offering her a pair of men’s trousers and a thick white jumper that he’d found. He held out his hand and she grasped it as she stood. She said her thanks, took the clothes and went upstairs to put the trousers and shirt on. She rolled the waistband of the trousers over a few times but they were far too big and she kept her hand on them as she descended the staircase for fear they might drop to the floor.

Constance sat back down in front of the fire and tucked her wet hair behind her ears. The pilot sat next to her, the firelight casting him in an orange glow.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

She told him. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Matthew.’

‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘I watched you crash; it was awful. It must have been so frightening for you. I thought you must surely be dead.’

When he replied his voice was quiet. ‘I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t see a bloody thing. I kept trying to restart the engine but I knew it was no good. In hindsight I should have thrown open the hatch and bailed out much earlier on but I thought, one more turn of the engine should do it, she’ll start up on one more turn. Goes against everything I was ever taught, given the old thing had been completely shot up. It’s nothing short of a miracle she glided like she did. Full of bullet holes. I had no idea I was landing on water. If the moon had been out I’d have seen. Bit of a shock when I bounced and the cockpit started filling up.’

Constance exhaled. ‘I can imagine.’

‘Can you?’ Matthew enquired, his eyebrows raised. ‘Ever been shot at by the enemy, falling down to the ground with no idea where the ground actually is?’

She felt chastised. ‘No.’ She was quiet.

A log shifted in the grate sending sparks high up the chimney.

‘Sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I should be thanking you. Instead I’m being abominably rude.’

‘It’s all right,’ Constance replied.

‘No. No it’s not. My mother would turn in her grave if she knew how easily my manners had failed me.’

Constance smiled. She wanted to say it was all right again. Why couldn’t she think of anything else to say?

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both focused on the fire that lit the otherwise darkened room. She wondered if anyone would be missing her back at the house and whether the pilot was in any condition to trudge through the forest in the middle of the night. Perhaps, given his ordeal, it would be best to wait until morning before they set off so no one caught her in men’s clothing.

‘What will you do?’ he asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

‘Do? About what?’ Constance turned to look at him.

‘About me?’ Matthew looked at her. In the light of the fire she could see his eyes were a pale green. She’d never seen eyes that shade before. They shone brightly and contrasted curiously against his dark brown hair.

‘Well I rather thought, if you preferred, we should sit it out here and you could rest for a while and then in the morning—’

‘Constance, can I trust you?’ he interrupted her.

She swallowed as he said her name. ‘Yes, I think so.’

Matthew laughed. ‘Well if you don’t know, then how do I?’

‘Yes, yes you can trust me.’

‘I need you to help me,’ he said. ‘I need you to … hide me. Just for a short while, I swear to you. Just long enough for them to think I’m dead. Will you do that?’

Constance’s mouth dropped open. He had been so brave. He had been shot down and now, clearly, he was addled by his trauma.

‘Who do you want to think you’re dead?’ she squeaked in disbelief.

‘All of them. The whole bloody lot of them.’

‘But …’ she started. ‘Your squadron? You don’t want me to telephone someone, have them pick you up, have them look after you?’