The War Bride by Pamela Hart

Author:Pamela Hart [HART, PAMELA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette Australia
Published: 2016-03-21T13:00:00+00:00

26

‘So, you’ve been lying to me, young feller-me-lad?’

It was a harsh question, but Burnsie’s voice was gentle. Tom felt a blush start under his shirt collar and climb up his cheeks.

‘Not lying, Burnsie!’ he protested.

‘Did you or did you not tell me that Margaret Dalton was a widow? I should throw both of you out.’

He heaved the washing basket, full of wet clothes, off the laundry tub and took it out to the line, stalling for time. He’d been glad when Margaret had told him that Burnsie knew the truth, but he hadn’t been looking forward to this conversation.

Burnsie followed him in silence, peg bag in hand.

‘Even her passport’s in his name,’ he said. ‘It would have taken her months to get it all sorted out.’

‘That’s as may be. But she’s in it up to her neck, now, and you with her.’

Mrs Shelley, as with everything in her house, had put in the best washing line. A strong post at each end, a full nine feet high, and each good hardwood cross-beam held in place by a six-inch bolt that went right through so that the cross-beams could be tilted easily, bringing one line and then the other down to the pegger-outer.

He grinned at that. ‘I hope so!’ He took out the wooden props that held the line up so that the nearer side of the two lines canted down while the other side went up.

Burnsie picked up a sheet and flicked it out and over the low-hanging line.

‘Easy to laugh, lad, but you don’t think you’ll just waltz in like nothing’s ever happened, do you, no matter what went on at Clareville? Once bitten, twice shy.’

That sobered him. He’d thought occasionally that Margi was holding back from him, reserving something of herself. She was alive, vivid, sparkling in a way he’d never seen in a girl, with sudden moments of sweetness and passion. But despite their intimacy, and though they’d talked long and easily, and he’d heard all about her parents’ death, her brother’s, her own war work, still there was something held back. She would give him her passion, but not her trust. He couldn’t help remembering that moment of silence after he’d mentioned marriage, her equivocal answer.

‘Can’t blame her,’ he said, frowning. ‘He treated her pretty badly.’

‘Yes.’ Burnsie kept flicking and pegging, and he automatically pushed the line up once she had filled it so she could begin on the other side. It reminded him of helping his aunt do the washing back home in Annandale. Yes, time to take Margi home, prove to her that he had nothing to hide.

‘Thing is,’ Burnsie said, ‘when someone fools you, you don’t only blame them. You blame yourself for being fool enough to be taken in.’ He looked at her, puzzled, and she sighed with exasperation. ‘It’s not only men she doesn’t trust. It’s her own judgement.’

She’d finished pegging out the washing. He put the props back under the line securely, so the white sheets wouldn’t drag across the ground if a wind came up.

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