“Should we be concerned about the SS…?” Maria asked suddenly, another frown creasing her fine features as she considered the ‘others’ Carl might’ve been referring to. “They’re not known to take kindly to being opposed, or at being made fools of…” The reputation of the SS was well known in Germany, and as a long-serving officer’s wife, she was no fool either when it came to understanding the political and personal dangers of making enemies within the Schutzstaffeln.
“I think we’re fairly safe for the time being,” Carl shrugged with a grimace after giving the question some thought. “Never pays to take things for granted of course, but I doubt they’d dare try anything, now that Reuters has become involved…” he paused, then continued quickly as he saw the next question before Maria asked it, “…and no… I’ve no idea why the Reichsmarschall has chosen to personally involve himself in my affairs. I admit the personal interest is a little disconcerting, but it’s also allowed us the luxury of this time together and has cleared the paperwork for us taking custody of the boys, so I suspect we should remain thankful and not ask too many questions for the time being…”
“I shall need to move back with mother in Berlin, I should think,” Maria mused slowly, accepting Carl’s reasoning and already turning to the practicalities of the situation.
“A relatively small sacrifice for all concerned,” Ritter grinned mischievously.
“You be nice!” Maria slapped him lightly on the shoulder in mock admonishment. “She thinks very highly of you!”
“I sincerely doubt that, my darling actress extraordinaire,” he chuckled softly, “but I do appreciate the amount of effort you just put into that lie to protect my feelings.”
He could’ve kissed his wife in that moment, and seeing no reason why he shouldn’t, he in fact did exactly that. Touching his fingers lightly to her chin, he gently lifted her face upward and leaned forward, their lips barely brushing for a moment.
“I take it we feel the same about this then?” She asked softly with a loving expression and a faintly wry smile as both placed their champagne flutes upon the top of the balustrade, the drinks instantly forgotten. Reaching up with her free left hand, she curled her fingers through the hair at the back of Carl’s head and drew his face down to hers once more, the second kiss longer, deeper and far more intense. It had been several months since they’d been together last, and the great love they felt for one another was matched by an equally strong physical attraction that had never lessened or faltered throughout their years of marriage.
“I’ve missed you…” she whispered in his ear, her voice softly hoarse with sudden, building desire. “Missed you holding me… your hands touching me…” They kissed for a third time, and she released a low, muffled moan of pleasure as their lips and tongues met passionately and his arms drew her body tightly to his. She could feel him against her, already hard through the material of his trousers, and the sensation only served to increase her own arousal even further.
Pushing him gently back, she took his hand and led him across to a Louis XV-style chaise longue that stood on the outside wall of the suite beside the double doors, under cover of the short overhang of the eaves above. In one fluid movement, she pushed him down onto the seat, drawing the nightdress up around her thighs as she straddled him and their lips met passionately once more. She began to grind against him as the kiss continued, moaning loudly this time as she felt his hands exploring her body. For the next few hours at least, the rest of the world around them would temporarily cease to exist.
HMS Proserpine, Home Fleet Naval Anchorage
Scapa Flow, Orkney Islands
His breath caught in the chilly air, clouds of condensation swirling about his face as they walked toward their car along the Soho back street. The show had been a good one: ‘Phantom’ had always been one of his favourites, and that particular offbeat production had collected some excellent reviews in its thirteen-month run so far.
Anna had never seen it — something he’d been surprised to learn in their first months of marriage — so they’d gone that wintry Friday night, and as he’d suspected, she had loved it. Just after midnight on a very cold, very early Saturday morning they were now walking arm in arm back to where he’d parked the Monaro, concerns that the big coupe might’ve been stolen or vandalised no more than a vague unease in his subconscious.
They didn’t notice the emptiness of the narrow lane until they drew within a few metres of the waiting Vauxhall, and by that stage it was far too late. Despite more than a decade in London, as a relative newcomer to the city itself, he was unaware that the West End’s reputation as a centre for theatre and entertainment was matched, particularly in Soho, by a reputation as a centre for the sex industry. Anna had no experience of London at all, being originally from Portsmouth and having lived in London for a far shorter period than he.
Neither were fully aware of the fact that some of the more ‘out-of-the-way’ backstreets of the borough could be home to some undesirable types and activity as a result, or of the inherent dangers involved in allowing yourself to be caught alone in some of those areas after dark as a result.
The trio had been following them for some distance and were just a few metres behind them as they realised there was someone else there. For all his training, he and his wife were far too caught up in their own company: after just four months of marriage, the honeymoon feeling and the ‘magic’ of their love for one another still hadn’t worn off.
The late calling of sixth sense finally prompted him to turn around just as the hand of the first youth had been about to descend on his shoulder. Instinctively, he pushed Anna to his rear, away from the group, and his new wife’s face was full of fear and surprise as she clutched her woollen winter coat about her.
They said something to him at that point — one of them did, anyway — as another smiled at his wife and made some kind of low, lewd remark. Skinheads they were — shaved skulls, tattoos and Nazi regalia adorning their skin and wretched clothing. In years to come, as he analysed the event time and time again, and tortured himself over it, he came to believe it was the suggestive remark about Anna that had snapped his temper in that sudden state of high tension.
He pushed the first of them in the chest… hard… and drove him back a few steps before blocking a punch thrown at him in retaliation, returning with his own left cross to the thug’s cheek. He sent the youth reeling with a split lip and several loosened teeth, drawing a gasp as the punch also broke one of his fingers against the man’s face. The fiery pain in his own fist was ignored as he turned to the next attacker, using all of what little combat skills he’d so far been taught with the SIS, and mixing them with half-remembered, rare lessons of self defence training from his days with the air force.
Anna screamed sharply in fear as the second ‘Skin’ charged him, but the thug was all brute force and no finesse and was no real problem. He merely waited for the man to come on and stepped nimbly to one side, presenting the side of the man’s head with his elbow as it passed. The stunned attacker sprawled flat on his face and would play no further part in the action, blood oozing from his right ear. That left just the two of them: the one with the split lip who was now wild with anger, and a third youth who’d as yet neither said nor done anything, instead merely waiting patiently a few metres back from the action.