Page 48 of The Last Kiss

“Huh.” Harry sat up to get a closer look, running his hand down Ash’s leg but not touching the scar. “Looks pretty healthy to me. I mean, the skin’s a good colour and it seems to have healed up well.” He touched one of the red patches where the straps of the prosthetic attached above his knee. “This looks painful, though.”

“Olive said the new prosthetic will fit better. It’s lighter, too, apparently, so I hope to get around a bit better.”

Harry studied him. “You admire your Miss Olive, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.” Ash felt a swell of pride in his friend. “She does wonderful work at Chewton Lodge, Harry. And she wants to be a doctor. She’d make an excellent doctor, I’ve no doubt.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow. “A lady doctor? Itisa new world, after all.”

“There are already female doctors — so Olive tells me. And a medical school to train them, too. But, of course, Olive’s father wouldn’t hear of it and she won’t have her fortune until she marries — and then her husband would have a say.” He sighed, thinking of Olive’s frustrations and thwarted ambitions. “We’re not the only ones trapped by society’s prejudices.”

Harry opened his mouth, as if to say something, but apparently changed his mind. Instead, he reached out and ran a finger down from Ash’s bellybutton through the thatch of dark hair below. One corner of his mouth curled up into a smile. “We made a right mess of each other.”

True enough. Ash had fallen asleep directly, their — uh — emissions now drying on his belly. His cheeks flamed. “There’s a flannel in my bag, I can — ”

“Never mind your flannel. One of the girls told me there’s hot water for a bath.” His eyebrows wiggled. “Shall I see if the tub’s big enough for two?”

“A bath… Heavens, I’d love a bath.”

Harry kissed him on the lips, sweet and swift, leaped out of bed and padded stark naked out of the room. He was back before Ash had swung both legs over the edge of the bed.

“The bathroom’s bloody enormous!” he declared. “Never seen anything like it. Come on. I’ve got the water running.”

Ash laughed at his enthusiasm and reached down to retrieve his prosthetic from where he’d discarded it next to the bed. Normally, when bathing, he used crutches to reach the bathroom, but since he didn’t have them with him —

Harry loomed in front of him and Ash looked up. “Don’t bother with that,” he said. “It’s only around the corner.”

“Well I can hardly hop,” Ash said, indignant at the idea.

“I’ll help you.” Harry held out his hand and, after considering for a moment, Ash took it. If it really wasn’t far, he supposed they could manage. He hated feeling so dependent, though. He was starting to tell Harry to go around to his left side when Harry gave him a wink, ducked, and without warning hoisted Ash over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Ash yelped. There was no other word for it: he yelped. “Put me down!”

“Stop wriggling or I’ll drop you,” Harry warned cheerfully, turning for the door.

“Harry, put me — ” But his outrage couldn’t last and, somehow, he found himself laughing. “Oh my God, Harry, you lunatic. Put me down.”

“Nah,” Harry said. “I’m enjoying the view too much.” And with that, he gave Ash’s backside a playful swat.

Ash gasped but swallowed his objection when he realised his own view wasn’t half bad either. Reaching down, he gave Harry’s fine, firm arse a squeeze. And then it was Harry’s turn to yelp.

“Oi, cut it out!”

“Don’t think I shall,” he said, and found himself laughing — giggling! — as Harry wobbled his way around the corner into the bathroom while Ash helped himself to a nice handful of his backside.

Steam was already filling the room as they entered, and Harry shifted his arms to lower Ash with infinite care to the floor. Harry looked flushed with the exertion, but he was smiling, and Ash couldn’t stop laughing. Really laughing. It was all so ridiculous: the war, the nightmare things they’d seen and done, Ash with half his leg missing, and them here alone in this house together, making love, standing in the steamy bathroom without a stitch on, and Ash feeling like champagne was flowing through his veins.

He was happy, he realised. Deliriously, impossibly happy.

“Lord,” he said, when his giggles subsided, “I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that.”

“I can.” Harry’s grin faded, his expression softening. “That night we spent in Rouen.” And he was right, Ash remembered it well — them walking the town together, laughing and happy, arms around each other’s shoulders like any other Tommies with forty-eight hours leave. “I wanted to kiss you so badly. You looked so bloody lovely.”

“Then kiss me now,” Ash said, and Harry did, taking him in his arms and making Ash’s champagne blood fizz in delight.

Too soon, Harry pulled away. “Park yourself here,” he said, helping Ash to a chair, “while I sort out the bath before it overflows.”

The tub was a grand claw-footed thing with a modern shower contraption over the top. Steam rose from inside, fragranced with floral-scented bath salts. Harry helped Ash over to the bath and he sat on the edge to swing his legs over, lowering himself in with his hands braced on the sides of the tub. God, it felt good, and he sank back with a happy sigh, looking up at Harry watching him.

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