Rosanna had never been kissed like this, by someone taking so much pleasure in the process that the kisses in themselves were more erotic than anything experienced before. Even in the arms of Dr David Norton.
The thought struck Rosanna like a thunderbolt, and she wrenched herself away, clutching the newel-post. Ewen’s arms dropped and he stood back, his eyes slitted in his taut face, their uneven breathing the only sound to break the silence.
‘Time I went,’ he said gruffly at last.
‘Yes.’ She took in a deep, shaky breath.
But neither made any move. Rosanna knew she should speed Ewen Fraser on his way, in case he took her silence for acquiescence, some kind of tacit invitation to stay and take up where he had just left off. Which, she realised, was exactly what she wanted, deep down. Which was incredible. Even if there were no David she just wasn’t the type to fling herself into the arms of a man she’d known for one solitary day. Especially one who couldn’t separate Rosanna Carey of now from Rose Norman of then. If she were ever mad enough to let Ewen Fraser make love to her she would never be sure if he wanted her for herself or because she was the incarnation of Rose.
Rosanna pulled herself together and released her death grip on the newel-post. ‘Right,’ she said, in a voice intended to be brisk, but which came out so unlike her own she hardly recognised it. She cleared her throat and tried again, wishing Ewen would move, instead of looking at her as though committing her face to memory. ‘Goodnight, then, Ewen. Good luck with the book.’
‘And you,’ he said quietly. He turned to pick up his briefcase. ‘Goodnight, Rosanna. Thank you for the drink. I’ll return everything in due course.’ He reached into a pocket for his wallet and took out a card. ‘Here’s my number should you need to contact me.’
‘Thank you.’ Rosanna took it from him, privately vowing to have nothing at all to do with him again. Ever. ‘Ewen,’ she said impulsively as he went out, and he turned sharply in the porch.
‘Yes?’
‘I had the idea of writing about Rose before I’d even met you, or knew what you wanted. And I’m not using information that belongs to you, except for his photograph, and you can have that back if you want.’
‘I already have one very like it. You keep Harry. I’ll keep my beautiful Rose.’ He smiled crookedly, and she shook her dishevelled head.
‘You’re in love with a ghost, Ewen Fraser.’
His eyes glittered under the porch light. ‘If you mean that what happened between us just now is likely to haunt me, you’re right. But there’s no ghost involved, just the memory of you in my arms. You, Rosanna. Goodnight.’
CHAPTER THREE
ROSANNA rang her parents next morning, gave her mother a brief account of the meeting with Ewen Fraser, and told her Harry’s letters had been duly handed over.
‘He gave me Rose’s letters in return.’
‘How wonderful,’ said Henrietta Carey, the catch in her voice plainly audible down the line. ‘I can’t wait to read them. What did you think of Harry and his letters?’
‘Quite a man. Poor Rose. Poor Harry, too. Apparently he never married.’
‘How sad. Did you like Ewen Fraser, by the way?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosanna with perfect truth. ‘He’s—rather charming.’
‘Are you going to see him again?’
‘No, Mother.’
‘Have you heard from David lately?”
‘Yes, of course. He rang on Sunday, as usual. He’s working very hard.’
‘I’m sure he is, darling. Sam sends his love, by the way.’
‘Is he well?’
‘Fighting fit. He told you to come with us next time.’
After talking to her parents the house seemed empty to Rosanna. She’d slept very badly after Ewen’s departure the night before, burning with guilt over the disloyalty to David. But it was only a kiss, she told herself. David would understand. Not that she was going to tell 34 him, just in case he didn’t. News like that didn’t travel well.
In spite of her restless night she’d been awake at first light, and the day stretched emptily in front of her. Which was what she’d longed for last week when she was working like a dog for Charlie, she reminded herself irritably, so she’d better make the most of it, and start on some serious research for her novel.
A visit to the local library provided her with a stack of helpful literature, fact and fiction, including Siegfried Sassoon’s account of life in the trenches. And on the way home Rosanna called into a bookshop and bought a copy of Savage Dawn. Just out of curiosity.
From now on, thought Rosanna dryly, she could hardly complain about having nothing to do.
She resisted the temptation to read Ewen’s book first. Instead she went out into the garden with a picnic lunch and started on Sassoon’s memoirs to get herself in the mood.
Rosanna read all afternoon and evening, regularly dipping into the factual, pictorial accounts alongside Sassoon’s graphic, understated account of trench warfare. She ate her supper while she read, and made notes and drank endless mugs of tea and coffee. By eight in the evening her eyes were protesting and she was so stiff from sitting in one position she had a long, leisurely soak in the bath, watched television for an hour or so, then locked up and went to bed with Ewen’s book.
His style was spare, but so evocative. The African heat fairly sizzled from the pages as she read. Rosanna was drawn to the soldier hero from the first, and found herself identifying with the woman he loved to such a degree that her heart began hammering during the first love scene between them. Afterwards she lay awake in the dark for hours, shaken by the fact that Ewen’s written word conjured up his own lovemaking all too vividly. She burned with guilt, furious with herself for responding so helplessly. She was going to marry David Norton. She’d known David for ever, and his lovemaking was very… Very what? Rosanna let out a deep, irritated sigh. At the moment she couldn’t remember what it was like. Whereas she could feel Ewen Fraser’s kisses on her mouth even now.
Next morning Rosanna was up early again, in need of exercise before any more reading. To her surprise she found two letters addressed to her amongst her parents’ mail. One, as expected, was from David, but the writing on the other envelope was unfamiliar. She made herself read every word of David’s cheery, affectionate missive before she opened the other letter, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Ewen’s signature. He began rather formally by thanking her for his uncle’s letters, and the evenings Rosanna had given up to help him with his research. Then he went on to say how grateful he was to Harry Manners for leading him to a meeting with Rose Norman’s granddaughter.
In another way I regret it. Deeply. You were right. I am haunted. But not by Rose Norman. I can’t sleep for thoughts of you, Rosanna. I keep seeing your face, feeling your lips parting under mine, the warmth of your delectable body in my arms.
He went on in the same vein for several more lines, then signed himself simply as ‘Ewen’. Rosanna stared blindly at the black, slanted script of what
