by Rosie Clarke
Smiling, Sally turned off the taps and put some clean warm towels ready for Ben, but when she returned to the living room, her husband was curled up in an armchair with his daughter asleep on his lap, both of them far away in the land of nod. He’d taken his left arm from the sling to lift Jenny but was holding her securely with his right.
Sally stood looking at them both with love for a moment and then went to put the kettle on. She could run another bath when Ben woke and, in a moment or two, she would take her baby back to her cot and let her husband rest. Like so many others in this terrible time, he had certainly earned it…
‘So, you got Alexander to come down then,’ Ben said as they ate lunch the next day, and she told him about her trip to Newcastle and the result. After Sally had removed Jenny to her cot, Ben had woken for long enough to make his way to bed and promptly fallen asleep again. She’d made him a ham sandwich and a cup of tea when he woke for a short time later, but he’d left most of it uneaten. It was about five in the morning when he’d got up and stumbled groggily to the bathroom. Ben had spent more than an hour soaking in fresh hot water. When he finally emerged, he looked better but was still tired and returned to bed, where he was soon sleeping once more. His exhaustion brought home to her how hard it had been in a way words couldn’t, though he’d told her as much as he could remember when he woke up enough to dress and talk. ‘Did your grumpy surgeon do what you wanted?’
‘Yes, he came down after he took me to see his patients – some children with horrific burns. It’s no wonder he didn’t want to come, Ben. He already has enough to do.’
‘Well, he can’t do it all, no one can,’ Ben told her. ‘So, the offer about bringing an American surgeon over still stands.’
‘For the moment we’re fine,’ Sally said. ‘I’ve since been contacting other doctors who are experts in the field, in England and in Wales. Mr Alexander has been brilliant. And others are going to do what they can. Two of them responded instantly. It was just a matter of organising it. The hospitals don’t have time to make endless phone calls and work it all out, but most of the consultants are only too willing to help if you tell them about a deserving case.’
‘No one is better at organising than you,’ Ben said and demolished the cold boiled ham, egg and chips she’d prepared. He sighed with content. ‘And this is food for the gods, Sally. I haven’t eaten anything decent since I left.’
‘It must have been awful out there…’
‘No, not too bad,’ he disagreed. ‘Most of the time, everything worked well. We used all the little back lanes and avoided the enemy for seventy per cent of the time – and then just in the last couple of days we ran into a patrol near the German lines and our French escorts had to fight our way out of a tight corner. That’s when I got the little nick in my arm.’
‘Does it hurt very much?’
‘It’s sore,’ he said ruefully, ‘but I can still move it, so I was lucky. Three of the French partisans were killed in the skirmish. Fortunately, we saw the enemy patrol first and were ready.’
Sally felt chills down her spine. The thought of Ben being shot at was terrifying and she felt sick. It was worse somehow than if he’d been with the Army. ‘You could have been killed…’
‘Yes, I know…’ he said and looked remorseful. ‘I’ve been told not to do it again. Apparently, I’m too valuable to risk.’
‘You are to me,’ Sally choked, barely holding back the tears.
‘The British Government seem to think the same,’ Ben quipped wryly. ‘My contacts back home mean more than my deeds of daring.’ He made a face at her. ‘I’ve been told that it was a good idea, but next time I have a similar brainwave, a regular Army man who knows how to fight will go in my place.’
Sally’s eyes were wet with tears, but she blinked them back. She looked at him consideringly. ‘Do you mind very much?’
‘Yes – and no,’ Ben admitted. ‘It was something I felt I had to do at the time, but I felt a bit of a fool when, instead of praise, I got a dressing-down from my superior officer. He says he has plenty of men who can shoot better than me and he needs my influence and my expertise.’
‘Will you hate me if I say I’m glad?’ Sally said, smiling through her tears.
‘Never, my love. When I was hit, I realised what might have happened and I promise I won’t go off on any more mad adventures. I’ve been ordered to stick to what they hired me for.’ Ben looked rueful and Sally realised that he’d been made to feel it was a reckless venture rather than a brave act.
Sally felt a surge of relief. ‘I think what you did was rather wonderful and very daring and brave.’ She looked at him with love and approval. ‘I don’t want you to do it again, but what you did was pretty marvellous.’
‘Thank you, darling. You’ve made me feel so much better – as you always do,’ Ben said and laughed, looking at her with mischief in his eyes. ‘My superior officer made me feel like a naughty schoolboy, but it was a bit of a mad idea and I wanted to see if it worked, before I sent others in.’
Sally nodded and understood that he’d wanted to show his courage and do something worthwhile, but he’d been raked over the coals for going on the wild venture himself instead of sending a more experienced man.
‘Well, I’m glad,’ she said. ‘I don’t mind how often you have to work late hours, Ben – but don’t do that to me again unless you’re forced.’
‘I won’t,’ he said, but something in his eyes told her that if the chance arose, he would take it. How could she complain when it was a part of what made him the man she adored? She just had to be thankful he’d come back safe and hope that he wasn’t asked to do something dangerous in the future.
‘I shan’t go in this morning.’ She smiled and bent to kiss his cheek as she removed his plate. ‘I’ll show you Marco’s card after you’ve finished. I don’t think it could have been him you saw, Ben…’
‘I’m pretty sure it was,’ Ben replied, frowning. ‘I’ve thought about it and I’m sure it was him – or his double. What’s more, he didn’t want me to see him – now why was that, do you think?’
‘He couldn’t have been avoiding you, Ben. Marco is your friend…’
‘Yes, I know.’ Ben nodded and looked thoughtful. ‘I’d trust him with my life, so that means…’ He smiled to himself and nodded, as if a light had clicked on in his head and he understood something. ‘Yes, I’m pretty sure I’m right – but perhaps I didn’t see Marco at all, Sally. Just someone who looked like him.’
Sally stared at him. She knew that look – and now he wasn’t telling her what he really thought.
11
The small town, or overlarge village, depending on your point of view, was no more than a few kilometres from the border with Belgium and the boom of the guns could be heard from early in the morning until they ceased at night. Even then, the sharp crack of a rifle could sometimes be heard as one side or the other took a potshot in the dark or put a dying man caught on the barbed wire between the trenches out of his misery. On his arrival, Marco had been surprised that a nightclub should exist in what he would have thought to be a sleepy place. However, the club served the men of the area with rough red wines and plain food, and had thrived in the months since the village had been overrun by the Germans. Before that it had probably been not much more than a large inn that put on a little music now and then – but it now had a stage and was patronised by the enemy, and the owner, Paul Mallon, was not one to ignore a gift horse. He’d brought in girls who sang and danced a bit – and was glad to get Marco, with his mediocre musical talents, to entertain the customers.
When the Germans had been pushed back to the border, Paul Mallon had kept his little club going and he was rewarded by the return of the enemy officers whose base camp was just the other side of the border. They came across whenever they pleased, night or day, because the British and French troops were bogged down in their trenches and couldn’t patrol this far up, though it was strictly no man’s land, controlled b
y neither side.
As Paul had told Marco that first night, ‘If the British or French troops push the enemy back again, I shall serve them.’ He’d shrugged his shoulders. ‘It matters little to me – German money is as good as French.’ A man with such an attitude was hardly to be trusted and Marco was on his guard around his employer. His job had come through Paul’s brother-in-law and, his main contact, Pierre, had warned him to be careful of him.
‘He is married to my sister, Giselle, but I don’t trust him. Be sure not to leave anything lying around, Marco; he may search your room when you’re out…’
As yet, Marco had done and seen nothing of any interest to the British. Pierre had asked him to pass a message on to one of his contacts, but he’d had nothing important to report since then.
The smoke-filled club seemed hot and stuffy that evening as he slipped out of the side door into the small area at the back of the club. The night was pitch black as Marco left the heat and noise of the Fallen Angel, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the yellow light of the street lamp. Fortunately for his purpose, there was only one that worked in this dingy back courtyard, which made it a perfect breeding ground for crime: robberies, sexual assault on any girl unwise enough to venture out of the smoky atmosphere of the club alone and brutal beatings had all happened here. It was a seedy area and one that Marco would normally have avoided like the plague, but for a spy it couldn’t have been better.
He waited in the shadows until he heard the voices and knew that the men he’d seen leaving this way earlier, had finished their clandestine coupling in the dark, indulging their selfish vices against a backdrop of the bloody battles being fought just a short distance away. They were making their way back to the club and the heady atmosphere of decadence, wine and song.
‘You are a sweet boy,’ a deep guttural voice spoke first in German. ‘I like you and so I shall overlook your little slip.’
‘Johannes,’ the second voice was that of a much younger man, a German soldier Marco had seen earlier in the club. ‘I’m sorry I flirted with Hans…’
‘I am not speaking of your foolish indiscretions with others,’ the first voice said, harshly now. ‘You are not my love, only a boy I use – understand that and you know your place. You were telling that waitress where you were going to be sent next week – and that could give valuable information to the enemy, don’t you realise that I could have you shot?’
‘She is only an ignorant peasant girl.’ The young man’s voice was scornful. ‘What harm can she do?’
‘If she knows your company is being moved up to Ypres on Tuesday, it gives the enemy a chance to ambush you and it tells them that we are reinforcing. Are you so stupid that you understand nothing?’
There was the sound of a sharp slap and a cry of pain from the younger man. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘To sharpen your wits, Shultz. I had you promoted to lieutenant. I could have you sent back to the ranks with a click of my fingers – and worse. This is my last warning, for God’s sake.’
The last words were spoken in disgust and then the back door of the club opened, revealing a sliver of red light and the figure of the officer disappeared through it. Marco heard the sound of a sob and then retching, as if the younger man were being sick.
‘Oh, God, oh God.’ The voice was a cry of pain. ‘How I hate him. I wish I could gut him like the pig he is…’
Knowing the officer by sight only, Marco understood the younger man’s revulsion. He was a bully, uncouth in his habits at the table, his uniform stained by wine that he spilled when drunk. Kurt Shultz was young and good-looking and it was clear he was being blackmailed into a liaison he did not care for.
Hidden in the shadows, Marco smiled. He’d picked up quite a few snippets from careless officers in the club as they drank, flirted with half-naked girls before taking them upstairs or disappeared into the darkness of the walled yard at the back with the man of their choice. The German officers who came here were all taking a chance, breaking the rules because they liked the relaxed atmosphere of the Fallen Angel, slipping through the lines in the dark of night. They came looking for a place to hide their depravity and indulge their vices.
Marco had been approached many times by high-ranking officers, any one of whom could have supplied him with the information he needed to pass on to his French and British counterparts. He’d refused them with a shrug or a smile, even though he might have found some attractive in a previous life; he’d refused because none of them were the sort who would let important information slip. Now, he’d found someone who might supply him with the kind of information he needed.
He moved forward, out of the shadows, lighting a cigarette. The young lieutenant turned his head to look at him. Marco took out his silver cigarette case and offered him a cigarette.
Shultz hesitated a moment and then moved towards him, raising his head. ‘Marco, is that you?’
‘Yes,’ Marco answered, moving closer.
‘How long have you been out here?’
‘I just came out an instant ago – from the side entrance,’ Marco said. ‘I wanted to smoke alone for a moment or two. It’s good to be quiet sometimes, to have some peace, isn’t it?’
‘I wish I could be at peace,’ Shultz replied. ‘The bastard won’t leave me alone – I hate him!’ The lieutenant knew he must have overheard and Marco realised it was his opportunity.
‘His kind always is,’ he said and smiled, lighting a cigarette for the younger man. ‘You should keep away from him – or just say no.’
‘I’ve tried. He forces me – blackmails me – you don’t know what kind of a pig he is. If I refused, he’d probably have me knifed in the back or sent on a mission that I would never return from.’
Clearly, Kurt was afraid of the officer.
‘I’ve met men like him,’ Marco said, his gaze steady. ‘Can’t you find friends to protect you?’
Shultz shrugged his shoulders. He was tall and slim, handsome and very young, his face soft and vulnerable in the faint light of the street lamp. Marco felt a pang of regret that he had to use him but knew that he would never get a better chance.
‘I can’t protect you from him – he’s a German officer and I’m just a singer and half French at that – he would still bully you, but I could warn you to leave when I see him come in. I could be your friend…’
Shultz looked at him uncertainly. ‘You are like me, Marco. I knew it, but the others said you weren’t – you’ve refused all offers. Is it because we’re Germans?’
‘No, I didn’t like any of them,’ Marco said. ‘I choose those I wish to love.’ He smiled at the young man. ‘As I said, I could be your friend – show you where to hide when that pig comes in another night. I’d let you use my room…’
‘Does that mean you like me, Marco?’ Shultz’s voice had dropped lower and was husky with passion. He was clearly recovering from his feelings of fear and revulsion at being forced to pander to a man he hated.
‘Yes, I like you,’ Marco said and realised as he spoke that he did. There was something about the young German that reminded him of Julien and the memory caught at his heart.
For a moment, he was tempted to turn away, find another fool to milk for information, but his duty to his country kept him standing there smiling in a way he knew Shultz found attractive. Marco could always find men eager to be his lover, but he seldom took up the offers that came his way. He’d discovered that he preferred a deeper love, rather than mere lust, as a young man and his affairs had been few; he had loved only once. The pain of Julien’s death still struck hard at times. He might have loved this man in other circumstances and so he would give him a chance to walk away.
‘We can be friends or…’
Shultz moved in closer. He smiled and blew a gentle puff of smoke towards Marco. ‘What if I choose to be more?’
‘Then it is your choice,’ Marco said and didn’t move as Kurt’s head bent towards him and his lips caressed his.
�
��Yes, we shall be close friends,’ Shultz said, and then drew back. He was smiling now, as if he’d found an inner strength. ‘But not tonight, not after that pig – when I have washed off his filth, I will return. Perhaps tomorrow…’
‘Good,’ Marco said and smiled. ‘I shall look forward to it.’
As Shultz headed back inside, Marco stood outside in the dark, smoking, feeling the guilt seep into his soul. Shultz didn’t deserve to be used the way Marco was planning to use him, but he’d sworn to get as much information from the enemy as he could and this was the surest way. Shultz was vulnerable, he would respond to love and kindness and Marco would give him that – but he would also betray his secrets to save the lives of others. It was the reason he was here, to do what little he could to aid the Allies and shorten the war. Perhaps it was also to find himself, to find a reason to feel something other than regret again.
12
Maggie came off duty just as it was getting light. She’d been working all night and she was bone-weary; her back and shoulders felt as if she carried a four-stone weight and all she wanted was to collapse onto her bed in a heap and sleep for a week.
She headed towards the line of wooden shacks that served the nurses as home. Inside, they were basic: a narrow camp bed and a metal locker for each girl – four of them in this hut; she’d been told they were extremely lucky to have so much. The first volunteers had slept in tents and straw mattresses on the floor for weeks until someone had managed to ship out the beds and a few soldiers had thrown up the rough wooden huts for the Angels, as they called the nurses that looked after them.