Forbidden Liaison: They lived and loved for the here and now Read Free Page A

very slack around here. I think it’s about time we had an inspection. Two days’ time: Friday, seven hundred hours. Afterwards, with full combat pack, I want you in your allotted battle area. Amongst my many other duties I have the misfortune of trying to train you lot for battle. It is also my duty to inform you that live ammunition will be used, so it is up to you to strictly observe the rules on safety procedure when handling weapons. I want no accidents caused by indiscriminate discharges from weapons. Anyone who is unfamiliar with the set procedure, see me. Any questions?’
    No one moved, only their eyes searched for contact with the others, but Heinrich could hear their silent groans. He knew they would probably be calling him the meanest bastard that walked the island as soon as his back was turned. It was always a soldier’s first response when confronted with a new commanding officer.
    ‘I came down here in search of an ashtray,’ Heinrich said.
    ‘We are not allowed to smoke in our rooms,’ the boy informed.
    ‘I know you are not, and I, for one, think it’s a very sensible rule, so it will stay.’ Heinrich paused. ‘Who supplies things around here?’
    They all shot glances at the cook.
    ‘Do you think you could supply me with some toothpowder?’ Heinrich asked, looking at him.
    ‘No problem, Sir.’
    Heinrich said nothing more as he turned to walk out, but stopping, he looked back. ‘I’d like some coffee in my room; not that ersatz shit; and an ashtray immediately. Dismissed.’
    Fifteen minutes later a small cut-glass bowl, along with a mug of coffee, appeared in his room whilst he was in the lavatory: it was not only indigestion, but also constipation, that was the bane of his life. When Heinrich saw the small glass bowl he wondered where it had come from, but it did look very much like the one he’d seen sitting on a side-table in Margaret Wilfred’s private quarters.

Chapter Three
     
    Izzy Rouchon awoke startled by the sound of her alarm clock. She groaned as she stretched out her hand to turn off the clang of the deafening bell. It was still dark outside. She hated this time of morning – three thirty – it was too early for her, but she had promised to do the early morning milking. On the count of five she flung herself out of bed and ran to the kitchen. As there was no hot water, soap or tooth cleaning powder, she splashed cold water over her face and brushed her teeth with just the toothbrush, then ran into the bedroom to dress. Her morning ritual, before she left her cottage, was to pick up a silver photo frame which stood on her dressing table, to gently touch the image of the smiling face in the photograph.
    ‘Where are you?’ she sighed. ‘Why don’t you write to me? Why don’t you let me know you’re safe?’ she whispered that morning, and she gave out another sigh as she put down the frame.
    In the kitchen she pulled on her rubber boots and called her dog who was still curled up in front of the range fire which had gone out, then she whistled him to follow. From an empty coal-shed she retrieved her bike and pedalled the mile and a half to the farm where the barn housed her father’s cattle. It was seven-thirty when she entered her parent’s farmhouse after milking the cows. Sydney, her father, was already seated at the table and sat eating his breakfast.
    ‘Cow’s alright?’ he asked as he chewed on a mouthful of food. The cows were always uppermost in his mind.
    ‘I’ve put them in the bottom field to graze, liked you asked me to. Output’s slightly down,’ Izzy informed him.
    Sydney began to look a little worried. If output remained down then the authorities would want to know why. They might begin to think he was selling the milk on the black-market which was an offence, resulting in a prison sentence.
    ‘It’s probably because they’re edgy; nervous,’ Sydney tried to convince himself. ‘It’s no wonder with that lot goose-stepping about,’ Izzy