Page 29 of The Last Kiss

“We?”

“Our generation. The war shook us up, Ashleigh, and we simply can’t land back where we started. I shan’t, at any rate.”

Her defiance made him smile despite the anger knotting his chest. “Then what will you do?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“But you’ll tell me when you have? I’d like to help, if I can.”

“Would you?” She looked at him, her gaze scrutinising as the pause lengthened. Outside, someone crunched along the gravel path and Ash glanced out to see John strolling along with a basket of laundry to be hung out. When Ash turned back to Olive, she was slipping her notebook into her bag. “All done,” she said briskly. “Now I must dash and get these measurements to Major Edwards before he leaves for the evening.”

Ash watched her while he strapped on his prosthetic, noting the determined way she avoided catching his eye. Whatever she might have said, it was clear she’d decided to keep it to herself. He felt rather disappointed not to have earned her trust but understood her circumspection. He’d never dare confess his feelings for Harry to anyone, and her hopes might be equally scandalous in their way — her position, as a woman entirely dependent on her father’s favour, was infinitely more precarious. He pulled his trouser leg back down and used the bedstead to lever himself to his feet. “Thank you for doing this,” he said and moved to open the door for her. “And Olive? If there’s ever any service I can render you in return, as a friend, I hope you’ll ask.”

She picked up her bag and met his gaze squarely. “Perhaps, one day, we’ll be able to help each other, Ashleigh. As friends.” Then she reached out her hand to shake. He took it with a smile, realising that, for all her oddities, he’d come to think rather highly of Olive Allen. “Enjoy your ride tomorrow. Please give West my regards.”

With that, she strode out of his room, her heels clacking against the parquet floor all the way along the hallway.

CHAPTERTEN

For the first time in a long while, Ash woke up with a sense of anticipation the next morning. He even found himself humming while he shaved, imagining the possibilities of the day ahead. The man in the mirror smiled back at him like a fool and Ash turned away with a shake of his head. He had to be careful.

His good humour remained undimmed until he stepped into the dining room where his father was waiting, the newspaper folded beside his plate, moustache twitching. Mother looked up with a bland smile. “Good morning, darling, did you sleep well?”

No. I never do, as you well know.“Very well, thank you.”

“The bacon’s rather overdone this morning. I must speak with Pierson.”

“I rather prefer it crispy,” Ash said, and took an extra helping. “Please pass her my compliments while you’re at it.”

His father made a noise, an impatient harrumph, as he took a mouthful of his own breakfast, from which Ash deduced he was in for one of his father’s talks. He gritted his teeth and carried his plate from the sideboard to the table, nodding his thanks to Culham who poured his tea.

“Out riding today, I hear,” Sir Arthur said.

“That’s right. Thought we might go as far as Rowbarrow Pond.”

“Good to see you getting your nerve back,” his father said, with approval. “Taking West with you, eh?”

“It-It-It — ” Damnation. He wanted to sayIt’s not about ‘nerve’but, of course, his father didn’t understand. And his mention of Harry had thrown him off.

“Spit it out,” his father said, glancing up at him.

Ash closed his eyes, took a breath. “W-West helps me m-mount and dismount, sir. It’s rather d-difficult w-with my leg.”

Another grunt, whether of agreement or not Ash couldn’t tell. “Well, mind what I told you about being over-friendly with the staff, Ashleigh.”

“Did you invite Olive, darling?” His mother’s sharp look belied her artless smile. “I’m sure she likes to ride.”

“Olive is working today,” he said smoothly, pleased that his excuse was at least truthful.

His mother’s lips pursed but his father said, “I’ve made an appointment for you with Pollock next Tuesday, Ashleigh. He won’t hold your position at the bank indefinitely and it’s time you got back intothatsaddle, too.”

Cold, clamping panic gripped him. Pollock and his father were both Clare College men — that’s how Ash had been given his position in the first place — and a meeting meant returning to Pollock’s offices in London. It meant returning to that stifling old world that had hardly fitted before the war and now felt intolerable. It meant taking the train.

“I can’t.” The words slipped out before he could stop them and he cursed himself for speaking them aloud. His face flushed, heart pounding. He reached for his tea to wet his dry mouth, but his hand shook when he tried to pick it up and tea sloshed into the saucer. Damn it to hell. Damn it all to hell.

“Nonsense.” His father’s moustache twitched but he didn’t look up. “You’ve been coddled here long enough, boy. If you can ride a horse, you can sit on a train. Besides, how can you marry if you don’t have an occupation, eh? I didn’t raise you to be idle.”

Appetite gone, Ash gave a curt nod. “Yes, sir.” He could do nothing but agree. His father was right, in a way; he couldn’t be idle for the rest of his life. It was just that the thought of sitting in Pollock’s offices for the next thirty years was crushing. After the vivid horrors and joys of the front, how could he go back to that monochrome life?

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