Gracie's Sin by Freda Lightfoot

‘No, no, I mean that he’s managed to wangle a spot of leave. We’ll surely be allowed some free time this evening, won’t we, Matron? I can go out with him, can’t I? If there’s another lecture could I miss it for once? We’re only recently wed, d’you see, and we’re so very much in love.’ She put such pleading, such feeling, into her voice, it would have moved a heart of stone. Matron didn’t flinch.
    ‘Your personal affairs are hardly my concern, Mason. I’m afraid you don’t go anywhere without my permission.’
    She made to walk away but Lou took a step towards her in her desperation, for all she itched to run away with Gordon that very minute. It was exciting and brave of him to walk right into the camp like this, bold as brass, but she did wish he’d given notice he was coming. She’d have been more prepared, maybe begged some time off. ‘Aw go on Matron. Be a sport. He is me husband after all. Can’t I go with him to the flicks or something? Who knows when I might see him again, and there is a war on.’ A hard lump of emotion filled her throat and Lou swallowed, aware suddenly that this was true. Her plan to be near Gordon could all come to nothing the moment he got his sailing orders.
    ‘I want you off government property now, sailor. And the rest of you girls, about your business. Supper is in half an hour.’ Unmoved by Lou’s pleas, the woman flounced away, the long green overall beneath the heavy brown coat almost skimming the sea of mud.
    Lou was utterly devastated, the disappointment in her so keen that she felt sick. Tears were pricking the backs of her eyes, and she didn’t dare glance at poor Gordon’s crestfallen face or she might start blubbing in earnest. There was a sympathetic groan of disappointment from the onlookers but it was Gracie who hurried after Matron and caught up with her. Some sort of exchange took place between them; too far away and much too quietly spoken for Lou to hear what was said, but, after a moment, the woman suddenly swung about and glared back at Lou.
    ‘You’d still need to be in by nine-thirty.’
    ‘ Nine-thirty , but...’
    ‘That would be fine,’ Gracie hastily intervened. ‘You understand that too, Gordon, don’t you?’
    ‘Sure thing,’ he agreed, cap in hand and face alight with eagerness. ‘Not a second later sir... Ma’am.’
    ‘If you can’t even work out what sex I am, what hope for your poor wife. Nine-thirty. On the dot. I shall be standing at the door to check. One minute late and you’re on report, Mason.’
    Lou didn’t linger to find out what stratagem Gracie had employed to persuade the old dragon, though it had certainly worked. She was in far too much of a hurry to go before the permission was withdrawn. Within ten minutes, Lou had changed into her glad rags, as she called them, and was sashaying out of camp, her arm tucked into Gordon’s, a chorus of whistles and envious glances following them every step of the way.
     
    They didn’t go far, certainly not to the flicks. For one thing, Lou hadn’t been in the area long enough to have the first idea where to find a picture house, or even how to catch a bus or train to one. For another, all they really needed was each other; to kiss and cuddle, to explore their newly discovered feelings. All of which could as easily be resolved in a corner of some field, beneath a tree, or by wandering arm in arm along the quiet Cornish lanes.
    Meandering through a patch of woodland on the outskirts of the estate, they spotted a tiny summerhouse. It had a curly roof, rather in the style of a pagoda and there were strange paintings of figures and animals on the walls. Although it was dusty and neglected, it possessed four solid walls and a door, thus providing that vital element of privacy. Amazingly, it even had a fireplace.
    In no time at all Gordon had got a small fire going and they were stretched out before its bright warmth on a heap of dusty sacking, remaking their marriage