Georgia's English Rose Read Free Page A

meat
could only be purchased with a ration book. The windows of all the
houses were criss-crossed with tape to alleviate the effects of
bombing, although if the Nazis started bombing this far out we were
all pretty well lost.
    Georgia took everything in and said, “When
we get to your folks place are we going to get anything to
eat?”
    I laughed. “Of course. Daddy runs a farm.
There’s always a little extra no one knows about.”
    “Good. ’Cause I’m starving.” Georgia linked
her arm through mine as we left the village and started into the
countryside. I liked the way Georgia’s arm felt, the way her
shoulder brushed mine as we fell out of step and then came back
together.
    We walked a half mile before turning onto a
smaller road. After a hundred yards we heard an engine, and a
moment later a motorcycle and sidecar came over a rise ahead and
slowed suddenly, skidding to a halt beside us.
    “Nutkin!” a voice called and I screwed my
eyes up to see the tall figure more clearly.
    “Michael?”
    He swung off the motorcycle and closed the
gap, lifted me off my feet and swung me around, gave me a big kiss
and then deposited me back on the ground.
    “Who’s your friend, Nutkin?” he said, openly
taking in Georgia’s pneumatic figure. “Introduce me, quick, before
I die of unrequited love.”
    I laughed. “Georgia, this is my brother
Michael.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” Georgia said, and
offered her hand. Michael shook it, looking disappointed nothing
else was on offer.
    “A Yank!” Michael said, delighted. “Pleased
to meet you back, Georgia. Really pleased.”
    I rolled my eyes. My brother had grown up a
lot since I had last seen him only four months earlier. I guessed
the war did that to people.
    “Dad sent me to pick you up. I’m here on
leave and as the RAF is paying for my fuel I thought I’d lend a
hand. Hop aboard, girls.” He took our suitcases and stacked them in
the space at the back of the open sidecar.
    Georgia and I looked at each other.
    “You take the sidecar,” I said. “I’ll ride
pillion.”
    “Suits me.”
    Michael offered his hand to steady Georgia
as she stepped into the narrow sidecar, openly watching as her
skirt rode up to show a length of creamy thigh. Although Georgia
tried to sit elegantly she ended up with her skirt riding even
higher. Michael made no attempt at gallantry and grinned as he
caught a flash of her white panties.
    “Are you always going to be this much of a
gentleman, Michael?” Georgia said.
    “I expect so,” he said, then, “Climb on,
sis,” as he straddled the seat and fired up the engine.
    There was no easy way so I tugged up my
skirt and climbed onto the seat. Fortunately Michael was looking
forward, but Georgia got a good eyeful. I experienced that tingle
again, wondered what I was going to do about it. I imagined tonight
I would have to give in and use my fingers on myself before I
exploded or melted.
    Michael swung the motorcycle across the
narrow road and I had to grab him tight around the waist as he
roared off. My feet lifted free of the rests and I felt myself
tipping back. Michael laughed at the top of his voice, his hair
flicking back as wind rushed past.
    He rode too fast, of course, the same way he
did everything. Michael was training to be a fighter pilot and I
just hoped the Nazis were ready for him. A wave of deep sadness
rolled through me because despite Michael’s bravado, despite the
spirit the whole country showed, deep inside we all feared the
worst. One small nation perched on the edge of Europe while
Hitler’s army sat encamped across the rest. From the Russian border
to the French coast, from Norway to the tip of Italy, fascism held
sway. So I would let Michael look at Georgia’s panties, let him
play the fool, because we might all be dead before the year
ended.
    I leaned forward and rested my head against
Michael’s broad shoulder, broader and stronger than I remembered,
and smiled into the coarse material of his uniform