Chapter 36

It was a tabloid that thought the main news should be the size of a girls boobs on the inside pages, but this front page showed Terry in what looked to be a night club kissing a man the man grasping her breast. The head line read, ‘VC Hero’s wife finding solace with American singer whilst he serves in Afghanistan’.

He turned to the next page, Mrs. Teresa Barlow wife of Squadron Leader Robert Barlow, VC was seen about town in the company of Mr. Charles May, American Operatic star, and eligible bachelor. It went on to name some high profile names of women he’d had affairs with. It showed a photograph of him, there’s no doubt a woman would find him handsome he thought perfectly groomed hair, a bronzed tan with dazzling white teeth. Robert felt physically sick.

The next paper was the same tabloid but the next day, this time the photograph was of Terry standing in the doorway of the mews flat in a short robe. ‘Hero’s wife declines to comment’ was the headline. Inside the paper it went on to say that Mrs. Barlow would neither admit nor deny that Charles May was inside. The paper went on to explain that Mr. May and Mrs. Barlow, formerly Teresa Kerr, had been involved in making a new album, which included two duets with each other. When asked by this paper of his relationship with Mrs. Barlow, all Mr. May would say was that they had formed a very close rapport with each other in the short time they had been together.

Robert thought his head would explode with the visions of Terry and May together. His stomach was churning; he had to rush to the door to throw up. He couldn’t get the picture of Terry from his mind, the way she had said she loved him that there could never be another. He had believed her completely. But she had given herself to another man, no wonder he hadn’t heard from her. She had been too busy on her back with her legs opened. He could feel the bitterness building inside him threatening to consume him. He knew he had to pull himself together, he still had the squadron to run. Just hold on for a few more days, he promised himself. Hold on until you are alone.

That night he checked the airlines finding a flight out to Barbados five hours after they landed at Brize Norton, he booked a car to run him to Gatwick from Brize. He knew he couldn’t return to Aventon, the village would be awash with the story. He hardly slept when he was in bed, he couldn’t get her out of his head. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Tim had undertaken the final jobs without him asking; when he boarded the C17 the three pilots ringed him. They did their best to protect him from the stares of the other men. On the flight he just looked out the cabin window, he knew she hadn’t just broken his heart. She’d shattered it.

When the C17 landed Bill and Tom were amongst the first to disembark, he and Tim amongst the last. They were walking across the tarmac when Bill came hurrying back and spoke to Tim. “Robbie there are reporters waiting outside the entrance, if you don’t want to see them we can get you out the side door. Tom’s found the car you ordered and is holding it by the door. If that’s what you want to do.”

He nodded, “Thanks.”

On the way to Gatwick he found the letter he had written prior to the mission in case he didn’t come back. With a bitter smile he tore it into little pieces letting the wind from the window scatter it from his hand.

The taxi dropped him off at the villa. He carried his valise and bag upstairs dropping them by the bed. He undressed hanging his cloths up, trying desperately to hold on to normality. He laid on the bed in his shorts, but sleep wouldn’t come. In the end he went downstairs returning with a bottle of whisky. He picked up the airline plastic bag with the two hundred Dunhill cigarettes he had bought, along with a plastic lighter.

Hanna found him the next morning sitting in the chair by the bedroom’s French windows.

“You and Sam take the day off, but bring me another bottle of whiskey first,” he slurred. Hanna took the empty bottle down, returning with a new one. He closed his eyes seeing her, he knew every inch of her body. He thought he had known her: the way she thought and acted, her funny little ways that he had loved so much. Her concern for him when he was over there, had it all been a sham. She had known he would be returning in just a few days. Why had she gone with May, had she fallen in love with him? Robert groaned, no woman should have this sort of hold on a man he thought his body trembling with frustration. Damn her, damn her to hell, he thought as he tore off the St Christopher and opened the bottle.

She raced upstairs, having found the down stairs rooms empty, coming to an abrupt stop at the opened bedroom door.

He was sitting by the partially opened French windows, in just a pair of shorts, an ashtray over flowing with cigarette butts by the table beside him. She saw that the whisky bottle was nearly empty its cap on the floor surrounded by cigarette ash. A gold medallion with the chain broken lay amongst the ash.

“Bob I’ve only just learned you were back on the Island, Jessie saw Hanna in the market.” She didn’t add that Hanna had told Jessie that he was drinking heavily.

“Yeah I gave them the day off,” meaning Hanna and Sam.

“Is Terry with you,” already knowing the answer.

“Nope,” he slurred as he turned in the seat to face her. She was wearing her working cloths for the studio, old jeans cut off high in the thigh ragged at the bottom and a white halter.

“Have you spoken to Terry since you got back, or heard from her?”

“Nope and Nope. I think she is too occupied with Mr. Charles bloody May,” he slurred bitterly.

“Oh Bob you don’t know that?”

“It seems the whole bloody world knows it,” he slurred as he stubbed out a cigarette.

“Bob you must talk to her and sort it out.”

“Why Pearl, why must I talk to her. She should have talked to me, all I’ve had is silence from her since the papers broke the story,” said in a bitter voice again.

She moved into the room. “Bob you’re angry, hurt and confused, you’ll stay that way until you talk to her.”

“What the hell for Pearl, it’s in the papers what’s she’s been up to. I bet she’s been shagging that bastard ever since he came over from the States.”

Pearl looked at his face, haggard, through lack of sleep; he looked like he hadn’t shaved for days. He was trying to drink himself into oblivion, but his inner torment hadn’t given him that release.

“So forget it Pearl.” He staggered to his feet, moving to the bedside table, “Let’s have a drink,” reaching for a glass on the table.

“No,” she said, “and you don’t need another one either. Oh Bob you poor dear,” she uttered putting her arms round his neck, “you both can work this out,” and she kissed him lightly on the lips.

But then she felt his hand at the back of her head holding her while his lips ground into hers. She could feel his tongue trying to force her lips open. She tried to pull away but he was holding her too tightly. She felt him pulling at the bow of her halter behind her neck; she managed to pull her face free.

“Bob no,” she said breathlessly drawing in air, she felt his hand on her back then the halter fluttered to the ground, her breasts free of it. His head dropped, his mouth enclosing her breast sucking greedily at her nipple. His lips nipped the nipple painfully whilst his tongue flicked the end of it.

“Bob please no, don’t,” she tried to lift his head. Then she felt his hand again, at her waist, she heard the press-stud open and then the zip being drawn down, her shorts fell to the floor, and she was naked.

“Bob stop, please stop,” she begged. She could feel his hand stealing down from her waist, and then his finger forcing a painful entrance into her. She could feel him moving the finger pushing urgently into her and then he found her nub. He had two fingers in her pressing it, tormenting it.

“Oh God, Bob stop, stop,” she sobbed. She heard his shorts fall to the floor; she could feel the stiffness and heat from his erection pressing hard on her belly. His hand moved back to her vulva. He was kissing her neck, the bristles scratching her painfully. Her head moved automatically to one side to give him access. Her arms were still around his neck as if they had a will of their own, she didn’t realise she’d put them there again. He kissed her again hard, bristles scratching her face. She could smell the whisky and nicotine on his breath. Then she could taste it as she opened her mouth to him.

He was hurting her, abusing her body, and yet she had responded to that abuse. He broke away and pushed her onto the bed. He was forcing her legs open, lifting her knees. She lay watching him, knowing he was going to ravish her. She knew that she had ceased to exist in his mind as the friend he had known for so many years. Now she was just a body, a body that was going to receive his hurt and frustration.

He thrust, brutally into her, she winced at the pain. He thrust again, hard, then again, each time going deeper. His eyes where closed tight, and his face was contorted as if in pain. When his climax came, his body shook as convulsion after convulsion engulfed him. She could feel the heat of his spend inside her. He hung above her for a moment and then collapsed at her side.