by Erica Nyden
Olivia sat up, freeing his hold on her.
“I tore the pictures into pieces, shouting every German expletive I knew.” He’d never forget the rage of that day. Or the fear. “Two grinning lieutenants secured my wrists and brought me back to Wirth. I demanded he tell me where my friends were. He assured me they were close. Smug bastard. He admitted they’d been brought solely to get to me. He knew they were innocent.”
Olivia seemed a million miles away, so he sat up as well, determined to keep her close.
“I was frantic. I repeated the same things I’d been saying since my arrival, that he had the wrong man, that I had no information for him. He was pleased by my familiar babble, which set him up for his next move.”
He paused. His memory of what happened next could not be relayed in great detail. He didn’t want Olivia having nightmares too.
“They brought Bahiti in first, Omar right after. They threw him to the floor, and she was—she was raped.” In front of him, in front of her husband, she was flattened against a wall and violated by a handful of men. Wirth had watched, his eyes not on the assault but on William. “She called my name. Over and over, she begged me to help. I fought to free myself until my wrists bled and the brutes knocked me to the floor. I screamed for them both. I pleaded to Wirth to let them go because I had nothing, absolutely nothing to tell him.
“All he did was smile.”
William brought his hand to his face. It was wet when he took it away.
“Her calls will never leave me. In my nightmares, she accuses me of killing her and Omar, and I did. She floats above my bed at night, repeatedly asking why I did nothing to help them. All I can do is say how bloody sorry I am.”
Olivia thrust a handkerchief into his hand. He wiped his face.
“I should’ve given the Nazis what they wanted.” Even if the nightmares ended and his senseless fears ceased to exist, the guilt at causing their deaths would plague him forever. “If I’d told them what they wanted to hear sooner, maybe my friends would still be alive.”
Olivia bent forward. “How could you have given them what they wanted if they had the wrong man?”
He toppled back onto his pillow. “I can’t talk about this any more today. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t understand. She would never understand. He was a fool to think anyone, even his beloved Olivia, ever could.
Chapter 20
“How’s our man, Nurse Talbot?” Dr. Butler asked, seating himself in the stout wooden chair next to William’s desk in the library. It was the two of them—a quick debrief, he explained, before examining the major. The doctor had phoned a full day before his arrival, creating a wakeful night for Olivia. She’d have to answer each of his questions carefully, so as to not let leak that she’d fallen madly in love with their patient.
“Better, sir. As you’re aware, the major’s paranoia has vanished and his depression is far less prevalent.”
She kept herself from tugging at the neck of her stiff uniform. The fire James laid moments earlier was roaring, a normally welcome comfort that felt stifling this morning.
“All good to hear,” he said. “And how are the nightmares?”
“Infrequent, for over a month.” In fact, the last serious nightmare had been about her. She swallowed, realizing that after that horrific night, everything between them had changed. Now they were a couple, an inseparable pair, unofficially engaged and exceedingly in love.
“Interesting. What’s changed?”
“Changed?”
“Yes, what are you giving him before bed that’s helping him sleep? Have you got a hold of more of your grandmother’s tea?” He snickered.
“I—no.” Her mouth went dry. In all her imagined conversations with Dr. Butler, she hadn’t once considered that he might ask how William’s nightmares had subsided or why.
“Then you’re positive they’re ‘infrequent,’ as you say? Has the major told you this? You’ve explained how he made a terrible uproar, enough to wake the house at times. Do you think perhaps he’s become quieter in his restlessness? How do you know for certain he’s not having the nightmares?”
She tried not to smirk as she pictured herself in William’s arms, there to comfort him at the slightest whimper, but she marshaled her composure. “I’ve spoken with him, sir. He’s sleeping more soundly, and I believe it’s because he’s talking about his experiences.”
There. That sounded quite reasonable. She sat taller, relieved.
“I beg your pardon?”
“He’s been telling me about his time as prisoner in North Africa.”
“And why on earth would he do that, Nurse Talbot?”
“Well, because I—I suggested it.” She raised her eyes bravely and kept them there. “I thought if he discussed his ordeals during his waking hours, perhaps his sleeping hours wouldn’t be so full of them. Whenever I was down as a child, my mother always said I’d feel better if I aired out my misery, in writing or by talking. I suggested both methods to the major, and he was willing to try.”
He closed his eyes and sighed as if she were a simpleton. Lines she’d never seen before dug a chasm between his brows.
“My dear Nurse Talbot.” He began gently, but irritation quickly whittled away his decorum. “These aren’t the whimsical and insignificant troubles of a schoolgirl with a broken heart or a lost puppy.” He slapped the top of his clipboard, almost sending it to the floor. “Giving these experiences the light of day could have dangerous consequences. It’s too soon for this, far too soon. He’s still grieving the death of his father.” He folded his hands but appeared too agitated for such a calm gesture, so he jerked at his tie and adjusted himself in his chair instead. “And if discussing these recollections is helping him sleep, which I seriously doubt, he shouldn’t be talking to you about them. He requires a trained physician, an expert in psychoneurosis.”
Olivia bit her lip, her eyes never wavering.
“Well, I suppose this may be a good time for you to take your leave,” he concluded, “before more harm is done. Your father said you wished to leave Keldor by the end of March if possible, and we’re close to meeting that mark, are we not?”
Her rage was replaced by a wave of nausea. “You wish for me to leave Keldor, sir?” She’d forgotten all about the deal she’d made with her father, back when the thought of living at some remote country estate seemed more confining than a nunnery.
“You were interested in a children’s hospital, correct? Perhaps caring for children is more your forte, hmm?” He winked as though he’d never been cross with her.
“Sir, I—”
“Not to worry. I’ll still give you the glowing recommendation I promised. How does Edinburgh sound? You have relations up there somewhere, don’t you? Should be a tad safer than London—in the eyes of your parents, that is. Not that anywhere is safe these days.” He pushed up his glasses and jotted some notes. “And I’m happy to keep this little muck-up between the two of us. We needn’t tell your father unless you wish to. Is that agreeable, Nurse Talbot?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but continued to yammer away, completely unaware of how close she was to falling out of her chair.
“I appreciate your dedication to the major, but you must remember your place. You are a nurse, not a doctor. Your job is to nurture, to offer conversation and keep the patient’s mind off their distress. Your words should be nothing but sunny and supportive.” He leant toward her and patted her knee. “I realize you’ve been without proper guidance over the past few weeks, but decisions as large as this are not for you to make, not ever. As your career moves forward, let this be a lesson to you. Are we clear?”
He peered over the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
“Yes, Doctor,” she said, lowering her woeful head.
“Good girl. Now then, would you collect the major?”
Olivia made haste for the sitting room. Heated strides brought her to William’s side, where her white skirt, stiff as a thi
ck paper napkin, brushed his knees.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She could have wept at how well he knew her. Keeping her voice low, she explained: “Dr. Butler says I’ve done a terrible thing suggesting that you talk about North Africa. I wouldn’t have mentioned it, except he asked why you were sleeping better. I thought it wiser to say you were sharing your trauma with me than your bed—”
A noise somewhere between a whimper and a giggle burst from her mouth. Her head was spinning, and she leant into him. He swiftly wrapped his arm around her waist, giving her the comfort she needed and the impetus to continue.
“He says you’re not ready to talk, and if you were, you certainly shouldn’t speak to me, because I’ve no idea what I’m doing. And because I’m a complete failure and he’s worried I’ll do more damage, he’s sending me to Edinburgh.”
“Edinburgh?” he said with a laugh.
She nodded miserably. “To work at the children’s hospital there, an opportunity I’d have died for when I entered nursing. Dr. Butler promised me a shining reference to work anywhere I liked if I stayed here at least six months, which I haven’t. Not yet.” Another small sob escaped her. “This is a dismissal. I’ve failed. I’ve failed you. I’ve failed Dr. Butler. I’ve failed my parents; they’re going to be crushed.”
She’d ranted enough. What would William think after seeing this side of her, the petulant one her mother despised and whose ugly head still reared up from time to time?
William cradled her face. “No matter what Dr. Butler says, you haven’t failed me. You could never fail me. He’s merely offering you Edinburgh assuming that’s what you want. Dr. Butler may have arranged this job for you, but you don’t work for him. You work for me.” He found the top of her head with his lips and kissed it. “Let’s go meet the doctor. And don’t fret, Nurse Talbot. I’ll sort it out.”
Dr. Butler and William came out of the library shoulder to shoulder like old mates.
“Well, Nurse Talbot, it seems I owe you an apology,” the doctor proclaimed.
He nodded toward William, and they both laughed.
Olivia sprang from her chair in the receiving room, eyeing William, whose lighthearted grin did nothing to cure her puzzlement.
“Your patient appears to be in superb shape, aside from his blindness, of course. I must say I wasn’t expecting such progress in his physical or mental condition. Well done, Nurse Talbot, well done indeed.”
The doctor’s jovial smile faded as he turned toward his patient. “Now, William, you said your depression is still present. Like you, I can’t say if it will ever abate completely, but the next obvious phase would be the return of your vision. Nurse Talbot”—he nodded toward her—“continue as you are with the major, despite my earlier remarks. I’m back in Cornwall for good this time. Therefore, I’m available should you need me for anything—if sleeping habits change, if the depression increases, or heaven forbid, if the paranoia returns.”
Dr. Butler patted William’s shoulder before finding his hand and shaking it. He shook Olivia’s hand as well and then took his leave.
“What just happened?” Olivia asked once they were alone.
She walked into William’s outstretched arm and allowed herself to become enfolded in it. As soon as he had both around her, he pinned her against the closest wall, his breath hot near her ear. “I told the doctor of my plan to ask you to be my wife. He promised to keep it a secret.”
They hadn’t spoken of the proposal for days. “And he took the news well?”
“Very well. A little shocked at first, but he quickly warmed to the idea. Edinburgh’s no longer a concern. I’m afraid the children there will have to contend with some other nurse.” His left hand caressed her face whilst his right arm molded round her waist, smoothing the starched fabric of her nurse’s attire. He frowned. “What have you got on?”
“My uniform,” she grumbled. “I’m going upstairs to take it off.”
“Excellent. I’ll help.”
Chapter 21
“I still wonder if I’d lied from the beginning, would my friends have lived?”
It had been one week since Dr. Butler’s visit. William had continued to share his North Africa memories, although the “sessions,” as Olivia referred to them, were becoming mere snippets of memories, out of order and incomplete. His tale was nearing its end, drawing closer to the elements that filled him with dread.
Tonight, though, he talked nonstop and she let him. Normally, talk of his time as prisoner so close to bedtime was against her rules, for fear the dark memories might prevent him from getting any sleep. Maybe she wanted him to get the inevitable over with. He nestled his head safely in her lap as they sipped brandy in between his accounts. The wireless had been switched off and replaced with the crackle of wood in the hearth.
“I started telling him stories—extensions, really, of the ideas Wirth had planted in my head. It was easy. Most of his questions required yes-or-no answers, and even weak as I was, I knew which would satisfy him. I figured if I stopped being a defiant ass, he’d eventually let me go.
“As the weeks passed, the more elaborate my stories became. I started believing them myself, something I didn’t realize until after I’d returned home. I told him I’d lived in London with my wife and three children. In January, I’d signed on as a spy for General Wavell, feeding him information leaked by the Italians about plans to declare war on Britain and France, including the location of their initial attacks. I named places I was familiar with, claiming they had something to do with the information Britain sought. By then, Italy had declared war. Battles raged in the desert. I heard fighting from my cell—the long-reaching booms, the ones that rattle your gut.”
He closed his eyes. “The tales poured out of me. The flat I grew up in and lads from school materialized like actual memories. I told him how my family went to Brighton for my tenth birthday—a lie. I recalled the first time I kissed a girl, fumbling like an idiot by the playground swings in our neighborhood—another lie. Sometimes I wonder if Wirth poisoned the little food that was given to me or dosed my drinking water.”
Like a writer creates characters, settings, and events, he’d invented a life with recollections he still remembered so clearly: his childhood flat, the neighborhood playground—even the girl. She was tall, blond, and as inexperienced as he was. As a man, he’d served under Wavell, a valuable asset that the enemy would’ve loved to get their hands on. Wirth’s smug smile had confirmed this. Hands behind his back, he paced the room as he listened to William’s stories, eager to finally report that he’d captured the right man.
William sat up. “My God, Olivia. Why didn’t I think of this before?”
“What? What didn’t you think of?”
“I became who he wanted me to be!” he whispered.
“That seems obvious, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps, now that I’m saying all this aloud. But it didn’t occur to me then. Being this made-up person was heaven compared to the nightmare of being William Morgan—and Wirth wanted to believe it as much as I did! It justified the murder of my friends. It kept him from failing his superiors or looking a fool to his minions. And that’s why he was so upset when … when …”
“When what?”
“When he was forced to believe the truth.”
Olivia placed the brandy in his hand.
He drained what was left in the snifter. The end was coming, and there wasn’t enough brandy in all of England to get him through it. Not tonight.
“I can’t. Not tonight.”
“And I don’t want you to.” She kissed his forehead. “So what will it be: the wireless? Or shall we finish Jamaica Inn?”
Olivia groped lazily across the comfortable span of William’s bed for his broad shoulders and warm body. The empty mass of damp linens woke her with a start. Powerful retching echoed from the bathroom, followed by moans of pain. She threw on her dressing gown and dashed toward the noise.
W
ith one flick, light illuminated the kneeling, naked form in front of the toilet.
“William,” she said, landing at his side.
He heaved once more before settling onto his folded legs. She seized the towel draping the tub and patted his damp face.
“What is it? Tell me. Flu? Something you ate?”
“Worse.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You’re shaking. Let me get—”
“No,” William found her arm. “Don’t leave me, please.”
The harsh overhead light bounced off the green and yellow tiles, coating his bare body in peaked hues. Dark hollows beneath his cheekbones had changed her William back into Wirth’s prisoner, his eyes into black wells of terror.
She smoothed the shadows sagging below them before kissing his forehead. “In a few minutes, you’ll be freezing. I won’t leave you for long, I promise.”
In defeat, he leant back on the white wainscoting.
She returned a mere ten seconds later with his dressing gown and a face flannel. She ran the cloth under cool water from the tub and pressed it firmly upon his neck, shoulders, and chest. She lay the dressing gown over his bare legs.
“Tell me what you’ve dreamt.”
He pinched the skin between his closed eyes. “I’m sure you can imagine.”
“All right then, don’t tell me about the dream. Tell me what happened as you lived it.”
The pain on his face tormented her, but she knew what needed to be done.
He knew too. “Very well.” Eyes closed, he rested his head back on the wall. “Some weeks before I finally escaped, two guards blindfolded me and brought me to a room I’d never been to. It was cold and smelled clean, almost clinical. Later, I did see it: a laboratory with white walls and stainless steel counters and tables.”