excerpt
‘Have you discussed your paternity with Joe?’
‘Of course. There is nothing we don’t or can’t talk about. He is very understanding. We will be getting married when the war is over. If … if all goes well. We hide nothing from each other.’
Nora and Liam lowered their heads in unison, as if on cue, as if in church. The barrier of silence rose between them again but it was thin, transparent, brittle, like ice. Before it cooled the warm comfort of the kitchen, before it chilled the sympathetic relationship they shared, Nora suddenly smashed it. She leapt from her chair on an impulse and rushing to Liam’s side threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the forehead.
‘I’m sorry, Liam. I’m sorry if I distressed you with my talk of who my father might be. I just want you to know that the talk in the village doesn’t worry me and shouldn’t worry you. I don’t want you to feel restrained in our working relationship. Everything out in the open, remember. Like Joe and me.’
Liam clasped his arms around her waist without rising from the chair. He looked up at her. ‘You shouldn’t have to apologise, Nora. You weren’t at fault; I was. I … I’m just not used to talking about such things.’
‘Even if they may be true?’
‘You don’t know that they are true, Nora.’ Liam did not let go of her. He could feel her body pressing against his own. He could feel her breasts. They were firmer than he had imagined. He had thought they would be softer and more yielding. He rested his head against her bosom. He heard her heart beating. It pounded in his ear. His own heart drummed a loud accompaniment to hers.
Nora, embarrassed and confused, stood with arms helplessly by her side and looked down at Liam’s balding head as it rested on her breast. His hands slithered down to her buttocks, and he was pulling her more tightly to him. His head turned. His face burrowed into the hollow between her breasts. He was kissing her and pulling her forward all the time.
‘Liam,’ she said in a quiet but shakily uneasy voice.
Liam’s right hand slid round below her arm. He placed it on her breast and began to squeeze with his long, bony fingers.
‘Liam,’ she said again. She was frightened. Yet titillated. The man’s hand on her breast, rubbing it now, not squeezing it like an old motor car horn, fondling it, caressing it more gently, his palm exciting her nipple. His other hand gliding up her thigh below her skirt. Her young, vibrant libido was aroused, like his. It began to overcome her fear.
Libros Libertad 