I still cried, though my tears were of happiness, not fear. A moment later, both our mouths open and tongues dueling, I opened my eyes. Riley was standing there, his back against my bedroom door, staring at me and Sam. The gangling redhead had one of his hands pawing at the obscene bulge in the front of his pants and his buck-toothed mouth was hanging open, his tongue all-but lolling from inside. Though tightly held in Sam’s grip, I tried to pull away from him. I didn’t like the way his friend was ogling us. My big, dark-haired boyfriend looked me deep in the eyes, wondering why I’d pulled away from his kiss. I looked over his shoulder, to where Riley stood gawking at us, then back into Sam’s eyes. I hoped and prayed that he knew what I felt at that moment. He looked over his shoulder at his friend and when he looked back at me, that mischievous grin of his was plastered on his face. “Don’t worry none about Renee,” he said, tenderly caressing my face with the fingertips. The terrain was flat for miles around and on the edge of The Fens, nothing was higher than a low bush to stop the fresh cold wind whistling in from the North Sea, spraying that fine driven rain that seeps through, wetting anything and everything in its path.There was a car waiting for us, driven by a smart WAAF Sergeant, who couldn’t possibly be more than twenty years old. She was only expecting one passenger to take to the AOC, but she cheerfully accepted Mrs Jones as my secretary and told us that was no problem.Neither would it be a problem at the gate, the WAAF Sergeant assured us, as apparently “Brass Hats” and Air Ministry visitors brought miscellaneous secretarial ladies along for the trip all the time.The WAAF Sergeant informed Mary that she could quite safely leave her valise in the car after she had freshened up in the WAAF Mess, as she was scheduled to take us back to the railway halt once our business was concluded.I left Mrs Jones, who sat up front with WAAF Sergeant.
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