Once a Land Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

its banisters of dark oak so thick they would have prevented an army from falling into the hall. Prue felt very much as she had on the night of the dance
when the girls had had to support her to the car: everything swirled.
    They went through a dark and silent door to the bedroom. In her unclear state Prue had a slippery picture of an enormous bed, shining satin eiderdown, dark drawn curtains, acres of carpeted
floor, lampshades the colour of peaches. She crossed the room, knowing she was going to fall and not wanting to drop ignominiously to the floor. She let herself flop onto the end of the bed. Barry
stood looking down at her, very serious.
    ‘What do you want?’ she heard herself say.
    ‘What do you think I want, sweetheart?’ An icicle of sweat ran down one of his cheeks. ‘What do you think I’ve been waiting for?’
    He ripped at his gold tie with one hand, pulled up her pretty skirt with the other. Then he was hammering into her, groaning. It was all over very quickly.
    Later in the night, while Barry Morton snored quietly beside her, Prue reflected it had not been like any other shag she had ever known – and she’d known quite a
few. But, to be realistic, it seemed Barry was no better a lover than he was a dancer. Sex, however, Prue told herself, was not everything, and again she began to try to weigh things up. Here was
the rich man she had always longed for, who could give her everything. There’d be no money worries as there always had been at home. He was solid, safe, agreeable, kind – wasn’t
he? They could make a life. Be married, have children. She’d be better off than millions of girls in search of a husband. The shortage of men, after the war, was a disaster. If she
didn’t say yes to Barry she might never have another chance. Prue turned, studied his thick shoulders in a chink of early light spearing the curtains, and made her decision.
    When she woke Barry had gone. She was wondering what to do, how to make the long journey to work, when he came out of the bathroom. He wore a short towelling dressing-gown so that she was able
to observe the peculiarities of his short legs. The shins were covered with black hair: the calves were hairless round balls that tapered to thin ankles. Prue swallowed.
    Barry sat on the bed, took her hand. ‘Thought I’d let you sleep on a while,’ he said. ‘It’s six thirty.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    He bent down, kissed her cheek. There was a strong smell of toothpaste and potent cologne. Then he crossed the room, calves trembling like jellies, to draw back the curtains. Nebulous light
filled the room. The orange satin eiderdown made a frivolous patch of colour among the dark furniture. Barry returned to the bed. ‘Was it all right, last night?’ he asked.
    Prue paused. She wished she’d had more time, this morning, to think about life with Barry Morton. ‘Course it was,’ she said, reaching for a smile.
    Barry took her wrist. ‘And did you manage to think of an answer to my question?’ There was a pause. ‘Marriage? You and me, man and wife?’
    ‘Yes . . .’ Prue’s answer was so quiet Barry had trouble hearing it. But he gave a broad smile and kissed her cheek again. He made to get up, but was restrained by Prue’s
hand on his arm. It had suddenly occurred to her that there was something she ought to know. ‘Why do you want to marry me?’
    ‘Well, obvious, isn’t it, sweetheart? A man needs a wife.’
    ‘But does love come into it at all? Do you love me?’
    ‘Course I love you.’ He sniffed. Glanced at his watch. ‘Breakfast on the table at seven, then I’ll drive you to work.’
    ‘I can still carry on helping Mum in the salon, can’t I?’
    ‘Don’t be daft, sweetheart. Not once we’ve tied the knot. I’m not going to have my wife working. I’m a very rich man and you can have anything you want. Why would
you want to spend your days in a hairdresser’s? You can tell your mum this morning. Give in your notice.’ He