Suddenly I felt a deep sense of longing and relief at the same time. I looked at Françoise and saw a far away look in her eyes. She was looking at me, at my sex but not seeming to be aware of what she was doing to me. Her thumb, gently stroking my pelvis was getting nearer to my groin and the loose leg of my knickers. I felt my face flush, not with embarrassment but with excitement and desire. I didn't dare move, didn't want to break the spell as her hand moved a little higher and her thumb moved carefully towards my ever moistening lips.

She seemed engrossed in what she was doing, never looking up but watching, with a feint smile playing on her lips as if far away thoughts were filling her mind.

She was pressing her thumb into my groin, now, softly but firmly whilst it continued to trace little circles upon the soft flesh.

I gasped, sucking the air deeply into my lungs when her thumb finally took that final step onto my petals and began to insinuate its way between them until she was massaging the very entrance to my vagina.

I had never been touched so lovingly before and never at all by another woman. The sensations were exquisite and I couldn't help but let out a little moan of total pleasure.

Françoise stopped without warning and looked up at me.

“I will get the water and cloth now,” she said.

“No, please, don't stop, Françoise. That felt so good,” I almost pleaded with her.

She smiled and nodded and, simultaneously, returned her hand to my overheated mound.

I lay back against the pillows and parted my legs a little further, allowing her complete access.

Her thumb, once again, found its way into my underwear but this time began to carefully massage my clitoris, rotating against it, pressing and circling and then... she leaned forward and kissed me against my soaking petals, prolonged, before allowing her tongue to begin stroking carefully up and down between them.

It felt so good. I lay back and allowed the sensations to wash over me. My whole body was as taut as a bowstring and yet relaxed and there was no pain anymore just this wonderful euphoria building up inside.

Her soft tongue lapped at me, finding its way between my soft folds, her lips gently sucking at them, pulling them and releasing them and then, she was drawing my aching clitoris from its fleshy sheath, making it scream out in delicious ecstasy.

I arched my back as her tongue began to insinuate itself into my soaking wet entrance and she sucked up all the moisture that ran from within me.

Françoise knew exactly what she was doing, touching me so gently, her thumb massaging my groin as her tongue worked its magic inside me.

I could hardly breathe now, and little mews began to escape from my throat.

Slowly I felt my orgasm begin to overtake me, not a thundering one but gentle, like the waves hissing gently up a deserted Pacific beach.

With a final breath, I floated back from heaven and lay still. I felt so happy now, as though all my fears had been washed away. After a minute or two I opened my eyes. Françoise was gone and I was covered once again but I could see a figure standing at the end of my bed. As my eyes focussed I saw that it was Jemima!

I sat up quickly and looked at her. She looked pale and sad.

I wanted to speak but no words would come.

“ I came to say goodbye,” was all she said.

“ You are leaving? But you were sick, you can't leave!” I blurted out, dumbfounded.

“ I have no choice,” she replied, sadly, “I have to go,” and she turned and walked out through the door.

“ Jemima, wait!” I called out, “You cannot leave like this. Jemima, Jemima!”

I threw back the cotton sheet and tried to get out of bed but strong hands held me down.

“ Miss Farmer, Karen. Hey, c'mon now. It's all right.”

I stared wildly about me, blinking in the half light of the dawn.

“ Doctor Harlow! What? I mean, how...?”

“ I was passing when I heard you cry out,” he said. “I guess you were having a nightmare?”

“ Oh, no,” I told him, “Jemima was here, said she was leaving.”

“ I am sorry, Sweetheart.” He looked sad. “I just checked on her for you. She is still in theatre. I am afraid she is very sick. She did a lot of harm coming here to find you and is in a very bad way.”

“ But she can't be. I just spoke to her. Matron Blanchard must have seen her, she was here too.” I was getting very confused.

“ Honey, Matron Blanchard doesn't get here for another two hours yet.” He looked sympathetically at me. “I will let you know if I hear any more about your friend. Now try and rest until the rounds begin. I have no doubt you will have another busy day ahead of you.”

I lay back and closed my eyes but I couldn't sleep. I suppose it must have been a dream. All of it.

Left alone now, I began to wonder about the other passengers, those who had not survived and in particular, the elderly couple in the front seats who had died holding each other hands.

I knew nothing about them but I began to imagine that they had probably been together all their lives and, as they had lived together, they had died together.

Would I ever find a love so strong? I doubted it. I was thirty years old and had never met a man I liked enough to want to be with for more a few hours and now I was having strange dreams involving an older woman. No, I would never find such a love...

My mind began to wander back to the days when I worked in the munitions factory. It was hard work and long days and yet, somehow, I seemed to enjoy it. I was a little wild back then. I would flirt outrageously with the few men who worked there, mainly supervisors who were generally not fit for war service, not fit for factory service either, most of them. They didn't know much about how to make bullets and shells any more than the people they were suppose to train and supervise. Accidents were common place and how we never had a serious one was more luck than anything else.

I looked down at my hands and remembered how they were when I had joined T.E.A. just six years before. The harsh chemicals had all but ruined them and I had worked so hard to get them presentable again. Looking at them now even with scratches and cuts from the crash, it was hard to believe.

My home life had been rough too. My dad was conscripted into the army, and I was glad to see him go. When he was home he would drink too much and my mum would suffer terribly at his hands. He would get home and beat her when she wouldn't give him what he wanted. He never forced her so at least she was spared that but, on the day that she got the telegram telling us that he had been killed on Juno beach during the invasion of France, the sense of relief was so great that we just held each other tightly in the hallway.

I swore at that moment that no man would ever put me through that hell.

Sadly, my mum didn't live long enough to enjoy her new freedom. Just a few months later she was out shopping when a V2 rocket landed on the shop she was in. She would have known nothing about it.

So that left me, alone. Our house was rented so I moved out and left behind all those bitter memories, took a room near the factory and made a new, independent life for myself.

I lost my virginity in that factory and that just confirmed my theory that all men were the same, good for just one thing.

He was much older than me, more than twice my age in fact. I was twenty-one and he was in his early fifties. He had been gassed in the first world war and, as a result had problems breathing. He should not have worked in a factory with such an unhealthy atmosphere but there he was and he made the best of it.

I looked up to him then. He was married and seemed to take me under his wing. He was so different from my dad, always so nice to me and helped me whenever he could. I wished at the time that my dad could be more like him instead of the selfish, drunken bully that he was.

Fred, as I knew him, was always so polite and kind. I never once heard him swear or shout and nothing was too much trouble for him, in complete contrast to my dad who couldn't open his mouth without some vile expletive being released.

Fred always talked about his wife with affection and even brought little cakes from her, when they had enough rations to make them, not just for me but for all of us girls whom he supervised..

On this particular night in Nineteen Forty-One, almost ten years ago, I had been at work about two hours when the air raid siren sounded. I was in the wash-room and had to quickly finish and get to the shelter but I didn't get he chance before the first bombs began to fall. I had experienced air raids before but I had never been out of the shelter during one and certainly never alone.

I was always frightened whenever the attacks came but this time I was petrified. I was unprotected and hand no friendly hand to hold or arm to squeeze.

As the bombs fell, the building shook and dust and plaster rained down on me. I could feel the scream rising. It began in the pit of my stomach and began to rise. I covered my ears as each explosion seemed louder and felt closer than the previous.

I clenched my teeth hard together, trying desperately not to let the scream escape but, suddenly, the biggest explosion ever! The wash-room windows blew in with such a force that I was knocked off my feet by the blast and thrown against the wall, covered in dust and struck by flying shards of glass.

Time seemed to slow and I could see every detail, every shard until I hit the wall and the air was forced from my lungs.

For what seemed an eternity I sat there, not breathing, no air or strength and then, I screamed. It began as a whimper, then a wail and then a full blown scream of sheer terror and I screamed and screamed and screamed... uncontrollably! I couldn't stop myself!

Another bomb exploded nearby and another, drowning out my terrified screams when, out of nowhere, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around me, holding me tightly and the screams turned to sobs, relieved just to have someone near me, to hold me and keep me safe.

“ I've got you, Karen, it'll all right, you're safe now.”

It was Fred who found me and I pressed up against him, holding him, my arms around his waist and pulling tight around him. 

I was shaking violently, unable to prevent it but I could breathe now.

All the sounds of the raid seemed to fade into the distance, moving away to rain death and destruction on other parts of East London.

Gradually, my fear subsided and I stopped shaking. I don't know how long he held me like that but it was quite some time.

Slowly I lifted my head away from his chest and looked up at him through dry, red eyes, long since cried out.

“I thought I was going to die, Fred,” my voice shaky and cracked.

“ You are safe now,” he repeated. “I think the raid is over now... for us, at least.” The muffled sounds of more explosions in the distance prompted the last four words.

“ Come on,” he said, “Let's get you cleaned up.”

“ In a minute,” I stopped him, holding him tightly again. “My legs are still a bit... you know.”

He stroked my head, my hair loose as my headscarf had come off in the blast.

I looked up again and this time he bent forwards and kissed me. I responded with a passion I had never felt before.

As we kissed I felt his hands grabbing at my breasts, squeezing and pawing. I didn't stop him, I wanted it as much as he did and I returned his passion by unbuttoning his trousers and slipping my hand inside. He was as stiff as a ramrod!

I had no idea what I was doing but without even stopping to consider I drew him out and began to rub him back and forth.

His breathing was getting heavy, laboured because of his lungs, and I felt his hand move up under my skirt and he gripped the waistband of my pants and pulled them down.

There was no resistance. I was out of control now, automatic, no thoughts, just raw need.

He pushed me back against the wall and lifted my skirt as I raised my right foot to the wash basin.

He pushed into me. Not gently but hard, urgent, bursting through my virginity with such force that I cried out with the pain.

He didn't stop but just kept pounding and pushing. Grunting and pawing at my breasts.

Suddenly, it was over. He spilled his seed into me and semi-collapsed against me as he came.

I just stood there, numb. This wasn't what I had planned for my first time and suddenly I hated him!

He had taken advantage of me. I knew I was willing but now, with my senses returned, I felt sick.

His penis slipped from me and he stood back and took a deep breath.

He must have noticed the look on my face.

“ Karen?” he said, slowly.

“ Get away from me,” I whispered.

He looked hurt.

“ Karen, I...” he began to speak but I stared at him and repeated myself.

“ Get away from me you bastard!” I screamed at him.

He looked as though I had stabbed him through the heart and I suppose he realised that there was no point in arguing and, as he buttoned his trousers, turned and walked slowly from the room.

I never saw him again. I neither knew, nor cared what had happened to him.

It was six-thirty before anyone came to me. A nurse in a crisp white uniform checked my notes then looked at the dressing on my thigh. It was clean.

“Bon,” she said as she pulled the crumpled sheet back over me.

“Did you 'ave a good night, Mademoiselle?” she asked as she wrapped the wide, black collar around my arm and began to inflate it, her accent as strong as the nurse who was there when I awoke the previous night.

“Not really,” I replied. I didn't really want to elaborate.

“Oh, I am sorry to 'ear zat,” she said. “What was wrong?”

“Oh, just a dream.”

“Cauchemar?” she said, questioning. I frowned uncomprehending.

“Oh, erm, Night, erm, 'orse?” she offered.

That made me chuckle a little

“Yes,” I smiled at her, “Nighthorse.” 

"It is only to be expected,” she replied solemnly. “After all, you 'ave been through a bad time.”

Finally, after she had removed all the paraphernalia and put it back on its stand, she said:

“All is well, Mademoiselle. Breakfast shall be along soon.”

She was right, the trolley appeared a few minutes after she left and this time I asked for 'Thé'.

It was no better, it had been in the pot for quite some time, I judged from its darkness, and the milk did little to help, just accentuated its rusty brown colour and made it even thicker.

I wasn't at all hungry, even though I had eaten very little in the past forty-eight hours. The lady was very nice though and left me a croissant and a little jam and butter, in case I changed my mind.

She spoke only in French and I had no idea what she was saying as she chatted away. I don't think she even noticed my silence.

“Good morning, Karen.” Matron Blanchard appeared at the door. Immediately I felt my face burn.

“Oh, Good morning, Matron,” I replied somewhat sheepishly, not knowing where to look.

“Matron?” she repeated the title as a question, looked sideways at me and raised an eyebrow.

I smiled, flushing even more and replied:

“Françoise,” and felt extremely self concious.

“I spoke to Doctor Harlow before he left. He said you were quite agitated last night.” She paused as if waiting for a reaction. “Are you all right now?”

“Once you had given me a wonderful orgasm, I was.” I thought but what actually came out was, “ I had a bad dream.”

She stepped towards the bedside.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I told her about the crash and being trapped and the fire.

“That is not unusual after such an experience you know.” She sat beside me and took my hand. Her soothing words and kind manner made me feel much better, Just talking to her and knowing she understood was a great help.

“I am afraid that you will have more such dreams but, gradually, they will fade and become just a distant memory.”

“I hope so.” I squeezed her hand.

“During the war I worked in a hospital in London. I saw many dreadful things. That is why I know you will be fine. You are young and strong.”

I realised I was still holding her hand but as long as she didn't pull away I felt secure and maintained the contact.

“I also dreamt of...” You, I wanted to say, “Jemima.”

“A nice dream?” she asked.

“No, she came to say goodbye. Is there any news of her Françoise?” I squeezed her hand again.

“She was still in theatre when I arrived but I will go and find out for you.” She released my hand.

“Rest now and I will be back shortly. Some visitors will be here to see you but I have told them they cannot come before ten.” and, turning away, she left me to my thoughts.

For the next few minutes I had time to think about my dreams. Why did I have such an erotic dream about Françoise? She was pretty, certainly, but she was twice my own age and I had never ever had an erotic dream about a woman before. What on earth had happened to me? It was a though that one kiss with Jemima had awoken a sleeping monster.

And Jemima, why did I dream of her leaving. The thoughts spun round and round in my head and I began to worry more and more. I just didn't understand any of it.

I began to feel afraid, the adrenalin building up once again and I felt hot and uncomfortable, sweating profusely.

“Karen, you are all right?” It was Françoise, back from the theatre. She came quickly to my side and felt my forehead. “You are sweating but you are not feverish.”

“I, I don't know, I suddenly felt confused, afraid. ”I blurted the words out, thankful that I was not alone any more.

She sat in the chair alongside my bed.

“Ah, yes. Again, that is to be expected. It is what the English call a 'panic attack'. It happens after such a traumatic experience. You are safe now. Try to relax, breathe steadily and you will become calmer.”

I took her advice and controlled my breathing and, sure enough, my heart rate slowed and breathing became easier.

“Did you find out anything?” I asked when I had finally settled enough to think rationally again.

Françoise frowned.

“They did not tell you?” she asked, carefully. “You're friend, she...”

“She what?” I said panicking now. “Tell me what?”

To be continued...