by Erica Nyden
Yet forever the gentleman, he went no further. When they parted each night, he was careful not to pull her too close, and he shied away from exploring unfamiliar terrain. Olivia didn’t tempt him, but her willpower was dwindling. The more comfortable they became in each other’s arms, the harder it became to control herself.
Like this morning. After removing William’s blackout curtains, she turned to find his face troubled. She instantly attended to the mismatched buttons on his shirt (she was beginning to think he dressed this way on purpose) and listened as he told of his restless night. Then out of nowhere and rapid as gunfire, he asked if she missed the city. If Dr. Butler said he no longer required a nurse, would she go back to London? Could she picture herself residing in Cornwall?
Despite the speed of their delivery, every word came across loud and clear.
“I love Cornwall! I don’t want to go back to London.” She bulldozed the man backward onto his bed. Her hands lost themselves in his hair, and her hungry lips adhered to his mouth. With her leg wrapping his hip, she rolled them until he lay on top of her.
He allowed his hands to wander under her skirt until, with remarkable restraint, he sat up.
“That’s settled, then.” He tidied his hair with one hand and found her arm with the other. “Exactly the answer I’d hoped for. Shall we go down to breakfast?”
These waves of desire were confounding. Olivia left the window and returned to bed, greeted by the mattress’s squeaks as she collapsed onto the pillows. Dr. Butler’s most recent report was holding off William’s superiors, but how long would William remain blind? Too caught up in seeking his affections, she’d done nothing to fulfill her promise to help him get better.
The wind died. A scuffle, then a thud came from outside her room. She sprang upright. A heavy sigh outside her room told her she wasn’t the only one awake.
She flicked her lamp to life and crept to the doorjamb. William sat against the papered wall, his shoulders hunched within his striped pajama top. His chin rested on drawn-up knees, and his right hand disappeared into his dark mane.
“William?”
His face rose; waves of misery lined the top of it.
“Have you had a nightmare?” she asked, crouching at his side.
“Not a nightmare. It’s you.”
“Me?”
“I’m across the damned corridor, awake and restless because all I want is to be with you. The nightmares are bad enough—but this, night after night, I’m finding quite difficult.”
His words replicated her own thoughts. “I see. If that’s the case, why are you sitting out here in the corridor?”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“So you thought you’d loiter out here like a gloomy teenager?”
Her playfulness finally resurrected his smile.
“Well, tonight’s your lucky night, Major. I was already awake and thinking of you too. Come on.” She stood, still holding his hand. “We’ll stay up and talk. I’ve something to discuss with you anyway.”
He stayed close until she deposited him on her bed, a short distance from the mussed bedclothes from which she’d emerged. After lifting a quilt from the wooden rack in the corner, she returned to find him sitting as stiffly as he had during his crippling paranoia. Feet on the floor, he faced the door she closed and fiddled with the bottom of his nightshirt.
As comfortably as she would sit next to her best girlfriend, she faced him, one leg stretched to the floor, the other kinked at a sharp angle, her knee touching his hip. She draped the quilt over both their laps.
“Are you all right?” she asked, unable to hide her amusement.
“Hmm?” He swiveled his head in her direction. “Yes. But is this appropriate? That I’m here, in your bedroom?”
“Of course,” she whispered, taking his hand.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You’re not. This isn’t the first time we’ve been together in the middle of the night.”
If she kissed him, would he stop worrying? Since she’d become more confident in her abilities, it was an area she was eager to further explore. A war was on, they were in love, and they were alone. Nothing should keep them from advancing their relationship, should it?
Before her giddiness got the best of her, she pushed visions of passion from her mind. “I’m going turn off the light and tell you my plan.”
She took his face in her hands. Afraid his lips would be too much of an enticement, she avoided them altogether and kissed his forehead and nose. Instantly, a drunken smile arose on his face.
She returned bearing pillows and coaxed the newly relaxed major down across the foot of the bed, undoubtedly more suitable than lying beneath the headboard. Eye to eye and nose to nose, they lay in darkness.
“We talked some time ago about you sharing your memories in hopes of ridding them forever. Do you remember?”
“Yes.”
She propped herself up on one elbow. “I think it’s time you start. We’ll find a notebook to serve as your journal. We can sit together if you like, or you can be alone, but I want you to write from the start of your deployment to Africa, or even before. You could read it to Dr. Butler, or not. You could burn it, if you choose. But you’ve got to get the memories out.”
“A journal?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Olivia, I don’t need a journal.” He smoothed his hand over her hair.
It took all her patience not to push it away. She’d been so happy when he told her he loved her. She loved him too, more than she ever loved anyone—but that wasn’t going to repair his eyesight or lessen his night terrors. Hands bunched into fists, she curled her trimmed fingernails into her palms and remained silent, fighting the roar creeping up her throat.
“Olivia.” Panic entered his voice and his body became as rigid as hers. He sat up. “I don’t need a bloody journal.”
“But I don’t see why you won’t try—”
“I don’t need to write it down. Can’t I tell you? A journal would take double the time. I don’t know why—”
“You’d tell me?”
“I’ll write the bloody mess out if you think I should, but I thought you said that I could tell someone. The only person I would tell is you.”
“Oh, darling,” she said, thrilled to use the endearment no longer relegated to her thoughts. She wrapped her arms around him, and her muffled voice spilt into his neck. “I thought we’d taken ten steps backward.”
“Not backward, my love. Only forward from here on, I promise.” He pulled away, tracing her lower lip with his thumb the way he always did before he kissed her. “It won’t be pretty, and it won’t be easy for me. I have many reservations about bringing you into my dark world.”
She wasn’t afraid. “It’s time you were no longer there alone. And no matter how frightening it is, I’ll be here, in the present, ready to bring us back to Keldor.”
Replacing his thumb with his mouth, William kissed her. Locked in his arms, she fell with him back onto the pillows.
William hadn’t planned on remaining in Olivia’s bedroom all night, but when he insisted on leaving, she was adamant he stay, claiming he wouldn’t sleep otherwise. She was right, of course. But had this been years ago and Olivia some woman he’d met at party, sleep would’ve been the furthest thing from his mind. He was in love with her, a feeling as foreign as fear, yet one he was rather enjoying. So after traversing her curves outside the barrier of her modest nightdress (and delighting in the way her body yielded in response), he planted several reserved kisses on her neck and face and allowed himself to succumb to sweet sleep.
He woke well after nine the next morning. Today, without question, was the day he would begin to recount his dark tale.
Olivia showered him with kiss after kiss, her voice jubilant. “You’re sure? Are you sure you’re sure?”
He was sure.
The clouds and rain outside would serve as an appropriate backdrop to the task ahe
ad. He asked Mrs. Pollard to keep the rest of the staff away unless called for. She understood what the day would entail and was happy to help “her William” any way she could.
Just before their self-imposed lockdown, Mrs. Pollard charged Olivia with some mundane task in the kitchen and then asked him for a private word.
“Your friend Jasper has let me in on your secret,” she said.
“Secret?” He accepted the teacup pushed into his hand.
He had expected this conversation. More than once Mrs. Pollard had entered the library, sitting room, foyer, or kitchen to find his hands shackled to Olivia, her mouth glued to his. The interruptions made Olivia uncomfortable, so he tried quelling her fears by delivering more kisses and laughter—but he refused to hide his feelings for her. Since she mentioned Jasper, Polly must have seen them in bed together; that was twice now. She must know he had the utmost respect for Olivia. They shared a sleeping space, yes, but he would do nothing to offend her honor. He wasn’t that man anymore.
Regardless, he was in for an earful. Nanny, stand-in mother, and confidant, Mrs. Pollard was ever full of advice on how he should live his life, especially since his mother had died. She played the role of both parents, and he never doubted her love for him, even when it involved a lecture.
“If this is about Nurse Talbot,” he said, “I say, it’s hardly a secret.”
“William, I’ve known for some time of your feelings for that girl. Ever since you asked me to find your mother’s pendant, I knew something was brewing inside of you other than thanking her for her help.” Her palm, covering his free hand, was warm and smooth, her tone motherly. He’d heard it often growing up and depending on the situation, it either soothed or aggravated him. Now it did neither.
“Go on.”
“I’m concerned. Nurse Talbot is a sweet girl, like. She’s sincere, selfless, and more than competent in her role as your nurse. But, love, she’s no Jenna.”
This wasn’t about impropriety, then? He bit his tongue and let her continue.
“You were in love with Jenna once, and the things you found attractive in her, you won’t find in your nurse.”
“I’m uncertain what attracted me to Jenna besides convenience. But since I’ve found my true love, I can tell you honestly that I was never in love with Jenna.”
“But Nurse Talbot, though a sweet and smart girl, is not of the same breeding as Miss Jenna. The two of you be cut from the same cloth. She too is from an old and prosperous Cornish family. Nurse Talbot’s a city girl, a nurse. I may sound behind the times, but if you haven’t done so already, I believe it’s important for you to decide which type of woman and lifestyle you wish to capture. Jenna is elegant and sophisticated, like, yet Nurse Talbot is—well, she’s common.”
What the devil was she talking about? His mother’s life before coming to Keldor was proof that background and breeding had never been a concern of the family’s.
“Now, William, I have high regard for the nurse, and she’s a pretty girl. She won’t disappoint you there. But I want you to be certain, before any more hearts be broken.”
He was certain—so certain, in fact, that he laughed. He laughed at her concern for him: overprotective at times, but he’d become used to it over the years. He laughed because as much as she thought she knew him, she knew nothing at all.
“This is nothing to laugh at,” she said, her firm tone stilling him. “Whether she’s told you or not, that girl in the kitchen is madly in love with you. I don’t know what you said to her that day at Steren Cove, but she’s not been the same since.”
He came to attention as if his colonel had entered the room. “The day at the cove? What—how do you mean?”
“When the two of you returned, it was all over her face.”
“What was? Tell me.”
“Love. She’s smitten. She’s had an eye for you for some time, but since that day, something’s changed. Her eyes follow wherever you go. For time on end, she gazes upon you with the same adoration a flower has for the sun. When she talks about you, she blushes like a schoolgirl—”
He couldn’t help himself. “She does?”
“Yes, and—”
“Have you ever seen Jenna look like that?”
She exhaled. “Not since she was a girl—a young girl—chasing you around, eavesdropping on you and Peder.”
He crossed his arms, smug.
She patted his knee. “Well, then, as long as you be truly happy, then I approve. Like I said, no more broken hearts.” She stood and kissed the top of his head. “I’ll send the girl in with your breakfast directly. Good luck today, my handsome.”
Chapter 18
“Before the war, I was stationed in Egypt, ordered to safeguard the comings and goings around the Suez.”
William stood before the hearth, shoulders squared and confidence waning. He’d begun his tale and already he wanted to stop. He raised his head toward where the portrait of his father hung. The arched eyebrow and critical gaze felt particularly oppressive this morning.
“I lived there long enough to familiarize myself with the culture and the right people. With war looming, I came home to ready troops for combat. Last April, my company and I fortified mines in Norway and sought to keep the Nazis from gaining access to them. Norway was my first taste of carnage. Planes, bombs, bodies, blood, tears, regret. Regret?” He shook his head. “Never. Courage? Certainly. All those brave men, so ready to fight. Men who joined the army before word of war. Men like myself, hoping to fulfill their life’s purpose: to fight for and protect their country. My God, I watched so many of them die.”
He should’ve died that day as well. The bravery and skill his father had claimed kept him alive had nothing to do with it. Only luck could have delivered him from the attack unscathed.
Luck that, a month later, had run out.
“But it didn’t last. Intelligence wanted me back, wanted the connections I’d made in Cairo restored. I went back not as a major but as a spy. I was to be the eyes and ears of the British, to live the life of a regular English bloke, to blend in—and with any luck, to be in the right place at the right time. I tell you, there was nothing right about it.”
He made his way to the sideboard and poured a tumbler of whiskey. Sure-footed, he strode to the sofa, stopping once his shins flattened against it. Olivia guided him to the spot beside her, where he downed the liquid. It warmed his core and spurred him to continue.
“I reconnected easily with old friends and acquaintances who shared information on the Italians and their plans to declare war with Britain and France. The predicted consequences for the area were dire. Britain compensated my friends well for their troubles. Some, naturally, wondered why I had returned. There was a war on. Why wasn’t I fighting in it?”
He laughed. “You’ll appreciate this little detail. I had a cover: I’d been redeployed due to a battlefield accident affecting my eyesight. Ironic, isn’t it? Rather than sending me back into the fight, they’d sent me to Cairo to improve communication technologies between Egypt and Britain, as a communications specialist. Which of course I wasn’t.”
He deposited his glass on the table by the couch. He should’ve brought the entire bottle.
“The first weeks were quiet. There was little to report, save intelligence regarding Italy’s encroachment on Egypt—inevitable, just a matter of when. Come late May—it seems ages ago—I was to have dinner with my friend Ahmad. Though aware of my pending engagement to Jenna, he badly wanted his sister Alia and me to meet. I trusted him and enjoyed his company, so I went.”
Ahmad. Young but wise, witty yet kind, he’d been his closest mate in Cairo.
“When I arrived at his flat, he—he looked different. I knew something was wrong right away.” Ahmad wore a smile even on bad days. The panic supplanting it that evening would haunt William forever. “He said, ‘Morgan,’ then disappeared. In his place stood two men I’d never seen before. My gut told me to get the hell out, so I did. Ahmad yelled after
me to run. I’d made it less than ten yards before two men at the end of the passage grabbed me. I was unarmed. What a fool.”
The tremors were starting. Even sitting with his arms crossed, he couldn’t make them stop.
“They wrestled a cloth over my head and cuffed my wrists. Before long, I was outside and shoved into a motorcar. The voices around me were all German, and I understood every word. Between their congratulations on my successful capture, I learned I was being taken to a base camp for questioning. Ahmad was being transported in the car behind us.
“For a fleeting moment, I actually thought quite highly of myself. I’d no idea the small role I played had been significant enough for Nazis to abduct me. My incarceration would be brief. People, important army officials, knew where I needed to be and when. But after we’d driven for what seemed hours, I started to panic. If they took me too far away, perhaps I wouldn’t be found after all.”
He could sit no longer. Damp with nervous perspiration, he moved to the hearth and extended his fingers toward its heat.
“When we arrived, the canvas was torn from my head and I was thrown into darkness—my first encounter with blindness. I tried to explore my cell, but my arms were still bound. It was empty anyway: no chair, no table, no toilet. I wasn’t hungry or thirsty, not yet, but my unease was growing by the moment. That was nothing compared to how I would feel in the weeks to come. During the days when I wanted to die.”
He wanted to die now. The account would only grow darker, and its completion was unimaginable. Then he remembered: Olivia. Her presence on the sofa was a magnetic force pulling him to safety. At once he loped to her side and sat, regretting he ever left it.