“They love each other very much,” she said.
“So Guy tells me.”
Mark took their bags out of the car and placed them on the cobblestoned path.
“Amy!” Sophie rushed over and gave her a hug. “I’m glad you could come, too.”
“Sweetheart, this is Captain Mark Tremayne. Mark, my wife, Sophie.”
The pride in Guy’s voice sent a little tremor through Amy.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Webster.” Mark bowed formally.
“Please call me Sophie.”
Short chestnut hair fell into waves about Sophie’s heart-shaped face, and her hazel eyes were warm, smiling. No wonder Guy had fallen for such a gentle beauty. I’m a boisterous larrikin in comparison. Amy hated herself for the little twinge of envy.
Mark carried their luggage up onto the verandah.
“I’ve put Mark in the best guest room,” Sophie said. “Is that all right?”
“Of course, sweetheart. Got the kettle on?”
“Yes.”
They entered a long, rather dim hallway with rooms on either side. Each of the six bedrooms had double glass doors leading to the verandah.
Noticing Mark’s keen-eyed scrutiny, Amy wanted to tell him he wouldn’t find fault with anything in this lovely house. The smell of beeswax polish combined with roses proved to be a heady mixture. Sophie, who loved flowers, had put a vase in every room. She was a true homemaker, and Amy was glad Guy had married such a wonderful woman.
Amy showed Mark to his room, “the best guest room” in the house, so Guy must have written about his friend in glowing terms. This room, painted duck-egg blue, had velvet drapes several shades darker. The floors were stained polished boards with colorfully dyed sheepskin mats scattered about.
He placed his bag on the dresser, went to the French doors, and pushed them open.
“It’s a nice homestead. Can’t understand why Guy wants to leave it,” he said over his shoulder.
“He did military training at school and feels duty bound to do his bit for the Empire. Leaving Sophie was the hardest thing he’s done in his whole life.”
“I understand you keep a good stable here.” He stared out across the garden.
“Uncle Frederick has several thoroughbreds. Do you ride?”
“Yes.”
“When we’ve finished afternoon tea, I’ll show you around.” Amy smiled. “It will give Guy and Sophie a chance to be alone.”
“Thank you.”
In her own room she changed out of uniform and slipped into moleskin breeches and a long-sleeved work shirt. She dragged her hair back, leaving it hanging down her back, tied loosely with navy ribbon.
Captain Tremayne—no, she must think of him as Mark for the next few days—when she went to collect him, still wore his uniform, although the top two buttons of his jacket were now undone.
“You could pass for a boy, except for your hair.” His eyes narrowed as they skimmed over her.
“I always get around like this on the farm.” She gave a nervous trill of laughter. “Breeches are easier to work in. I’ll take you to the parlor now. Sophie probably has our tea ready.”
“Servants?”
“Not any more. With Guy’s mother gone, there’s no need. One of the stockmen’s wives comes in a few hours each day to do the heavy chores.”
“Guy’s mother?”
Amy felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. “She, um, doesn’t live here any more.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
His mouth hardened. “Didn’t like the country, city much more to her tastes.”
“How do you know?”
“My mother thought exactly the same way.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t waste any sympathy on her.” The harshness of his voice, rumbling around the room, thundered in her ears.
He clenched his hands, as if in the throes of a great emotion.
“Please,” she entreated softly. “Tell me.”
“After my father died, my mother went her own way. She left me with an uncle who hated me because I was my father’s heir. My birth robbed him of what he considered his rightful inheritance.”
Mark’s face turned into a granite mask, his eyes dark and tortured as he dredged up memories that Amy somehow knew had been buried for years.
“He was a naval captain, away at sea most of the time, thank God. When he came home, the whole household lived in fear of him. I bore the brunt of his rages.”
Words that had obviously been dammed up for far too long overflowed in a torrent, and she listened in horror. How could a little boy endure such terrible treatment? “He used to lock me up in the attic as punishment. Fed me on bread and water, like some sailor undergoing solitary confinement.”
Amy gasped in shock. What a fiend.
“My cousin Edwina would sneak up with food for me. She’d spend half the night with me if she could get away from our nanny.”
“Oh, Mark! How horrible. What about your aunt? Didn’t she try to help you?”
He breathed out a long, shuddering sigh, a release of pent-up pain and anguish. “She couldn’t. She lived in terror of him as well. He belted her up a few times. I was his favorite whipping boy, though. Said he wanted to make a man out of me. I couldn’t have been more than about four years old when it started.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate, so she reached out to stroke his cheek. He accepted her caresses for a few moments before angling his head away.
“Do you understand now? My tormented childhood has damaged me, sweet Amy.”
When they entered the parlor, Guy and Sophie sat on the couch gazing into each other’s eyes.
“Here we are.” Amy forced a note of cheerfulness into her voice.
“Did Smithy fill you in on the place, mate?”
“More or less.”
“Took your time, didn’t you?” Guy favored Amy with a cheeky grin.
“Mark told me about his…” The savage thrust of Mark’s jaw stilled her wayward tongue, and she realized he regretted speaking of his horrific childhood.
“Ah, regaling Smithy with some of the darker secrets in your life.”
“Something like that.” Mark took the cup and saucer Sophie handed him.
“I wish I’d been born a man.” Amy deliberately changed the subject. “I’d have joined the Light Horse to give those Huns something to think about. Did you read in the papers about those barbarians killing Belgian babies?”
“Oh, Guy.” Fear wiped the color from Sophie’s cheeks.
Amy felt like biting her tongue out. “Don’t take any notice of my ravings. You know how I exaggerate things.”
Guy turned on Amy. “You ought to have more sense.” He picked up one of Sophie’s trembling hands and clasped it between his own. “It’s all right. We probably won’t even leave Broadmeadows. Everyone is predicting the war will be over by Christmas.”
Sophie’s eyes swam with tears. “Is that right, Captain Tremayne? I’m frightened for Guy. I know it’s selfish, and I should be brave like the other soldiers’ wives, but I can’t.”
“If you would excuse me.” Mark put his cup down and stood up. “The British Expeditionary Force is made up of the finest regiments in the world. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“I’m going to show Mark around outside.” Amy jumped up and started out of the parlor, ignoring Guy’s frown. Surely he didn’t expect her to be chaperoned? They were only going to the stables.
“Heavens, I can be tactless sometimes,” she berated herself out in the hallway. “I keep forgetting how sensitive Sophie is.”
“You’re too impetuous, Sister Amy.”
“Now look here.” She stopped so suddenly he cannoned into her. “Don’t call me that, not at home, anyway.”
His hands clamped on either shoulder, spinning her around until their bodies touched. His head lowered. Would he kiss her? Excitement skidded along
her nerve endings. She waited for a kiss that never came.
“Let’s go,” he said huskily, putting a couple of paces between them.
The stables, built out of honey-colored stone blocks, had green painted woodwork. She waved to Jacky, one of Uncle Frederick’s grooms, as they entered. There were several stalls and loose-boxes. The smell of fresh hay and horses still had the power to excite her.
Mark strolled over to the second stall and whistled softly to the coal black stallion Uncle Frederick always rode.
“What a splendid fellow you are.”
His voice, a soft caress, created a strange sensation in Amy’s heart. Were these the tones he used when making love to a woman? Heat flooded her cheeks at such shocking, wanton thoughts.
“Uncle Frederick calls him Midnight.”
“Appropriate.”
“Guy would let you take him for a ride if you thought you could handle him.”
“I’ve spent time in the cavalry. I could handle you, couldn’t I, my beauty?”
Midnight, who normally hated everyone except Uncle Frederick and Jacky, meekly accepted Mark’s caresses.
Amy stepped closer, marveling at the gentleness of Mark’s powerful hands as he patted Midnight’s neck in long, slow strokes.
Mesmerized, she didn’t see his hand move but felt a quick tug on the ribbon securing her hair, letting it cascade over her shoulders.
“Gossamer fine.” He dribbled the strands through his fingers. “Smells like roses.” He bunched it together. “I’ve never seen such a color before. Why are you so lovely?”
Giving a strangled groan, he swung her around to face him. His lips fastened on hers, caressing, suckling, drawing her lower lip gently into his mouth to taste her more fully. Desire seared white hot through every fiber of her being. She had never felt such a raw, powerful surge before.
“Enough.” He pushed her to one side. “What the hell are you doing to me? I haven’t lost my head like this in years.” The words came out in short, labored pants.
She put out a hand to touch him, but he stiffened away.
“Please forgive my caddish behavior, and be assured, it won’t happen again.”
“I didn’t think it was caddish,” she whispered shakily.
He swung around and strode off.
Amy forced herself to follow a few paces behind him until they made it to the house.
Back in the parlor, they met up with a grinning Guy. Sophie’s eyes shone, her cheeks tinged with pink, as she sat on the couch with her hand resting on Guy’s knee.
“You’re back.” Sophie smiled.
“Yes. You’ve got a fine stable, Guy. Amy tells me you wouldn’t object if I took Midnight for a ride.”
“Choose any mount you want. I prefer a quieter steed myself.” He grinned good-naturedly. “You need strong arms for Midnight. Father and Jacky are the only ones who can handle him around here. Say, are you all right, Smithy? You look strange.”
“You’re imagining things. I’ve never been better,” Amy answered, giving a high-pitched, brittle laugh. “Will we start dinner, Soph?”
“Yes, but I can do it. You must be tired after your journey.”
“No, just anxious for some home cooking.”
Amy couldn’t wait to leave the parlor. Concentrating on dinner preparations might give her time to recover from the turmoil of Mark’s kiss and his behavior afterwards.
The cheerful kitchen sported red-and-white-checked curtains at the windows. A large bread oven took up almost the whole of one wall. When Uncle Frederick was home they ate in the dining room but in his absence sat around the scrubbed pine table in the kitchen.
“We could go for a picnic tomorrow,” Sophie suggested. “The men could ride, and we could go in the jinker.”
“Sounds lovely.” Amy much preferred riding, but Sophie didn’t like horses. “I’ll make some scones,” she volunteered. “They’re one of the few things I can cook well.”
She rolled up her sleeves and sorted through the ingredients. Envy knifed into her heart when she saw Mark and Guy strolling toward the dairy.
“The men are going to milk for you.” She started sieving the flour.
“Yes, Guy doesn’t want me overdoing things,” Sophie admitted, flushing prettily. “I…we…we’re going to have a baby.”
“I’m so pleased for you!” Amy threw her arms around the other girl. No wonder Guy had been grinning like a Cheshire cat when she and Mark came in.
Amy set to work with a will. A baby in the house at last! She chuckled. Hard to imagine Guy as a father, but Sophie was a born mother.
One day I’d like to have a husband and children. She kneaded the scone dough energetically. Nursing had always been such a driving, all-consuming force within her, and she wanted to do her part for the war effort after committing herself to it. Could Mark be frightened of love? Afraid to trust women because his mother had deserted him and left him to be raised by a monster?
Could she make him need her? The timing was all wrong, because the soldiers needed her more at the moment. If they had met at another time, things might have been different, but each of them owed a duty to the Empire until the war was won.
Mark liked her. Even with her limited experience of men, she sensed this. Perhaps he fought his feelings because of his duty to the war effort. Her reasoning made the pain of his rejection somehow more bearable.
****
Dinner turned into a pleasant, relaxed affair. They didn’t bother lighting the two wall lanterns in the parlor because the light thrown out from the roaring fire gave the room an ambient glow.
“Anyone fancy a game of cards?” Guy asked, after they had made themselves comfortable in the sitting room.
“No, thanks, I’m too lazy to move from here. Let’s sit for a while.” Sophie stifled a yawn. “Why don’t you play us something on the violin, Amy? We could have a sing-song.”
“Smithy can make that fiddle talk,” Guy boasted.
“Is there anything you can’t do, Sister Amy?” Mark’s last two softly spoken words floated over her like an intimate caress.
“Not much.” She laughed, feeling happy. This would be their final leave before they sailed for the war. So little time. Why not enjoy it?
The violin, an old one Uncle Frederick had picked up on his travels, had a sweet sound. She lifted it from its velvet-lined case and caressed the polished wood with her fingertips.
“Ladies’ choice, Sophie. What would you like?”
“A polka. Come on, Guy, let’s dance.”
“Should you, darling?”
“I’m all right. I told Amy about the baby.”
“Oh, good. We’re expecting a baby, Mark.”
Guy appeared young and vulnerable standing there with his arm draped across Sophie’s shoulders. They loved each other so much. Amy feared for them.
“Congratulations. I suppose you want a son?” Mark clapped him on the back.
“Of course. Don’t all men?”
For a fleeting moment, Amy watched desperate despair pass over Mark’s face, and she wanted to weep.
“Marriage and parenthood are a beautiful combination, mate. You should try it.”
“It’s not for everyone.”
The agony in Mark’s voice moved her as nothing ever had before. Her hand trembled as she tucked the violin under her chin. To lighten the atmosphere, she played a polka first, watching with a feeling of genuine pleasure as Guy and Sophie danced. When Sophie got tired, they reclined on the large couch and sang bush ballads. As the fire burned down to a glowing bed of embers, they all moved closer to the warmth.
“I’ll get some more logs.” Guy stood up.
“Don’t worry on my behalf,” Mark told him. “I might turn in soon.”
“Good idea.” Amy stifled a yawn. “If we want an early morning ride, there’s no point in staying up too late. I’m beginning to feel weary.”
“Come and help me with supper, Guy.”
Amy’s eyes widened w
ith surprise when he did as Sophie suggested.
“They’re being discreet and leaving us alone,” Amy muttered. “Sophie is in matchmaking mode. She’s frightened I’ll be left an old maid.”
“Not much chance of that.”
“Isn’t there?”
“You have such a fragile beauty it makes a man want to protect you forever. I only wish things could be different.”
“Don’t you want to get married, Mark? Have a home and children? I mean, when the war is over.”
“No, it could never work for me. It’s too late. I’m a loner now.” The flat, bleak statement filled her with an overwhelming sadness.
“Can you play anything other than Australian ballads?” He asked, in an obvious change of subject.
“A couple of hymns. I’m self-taught and can only play by ear. How about ‘Rock of Ages’? Do you know it?”
“Yes.” He reached across and pushed back a tendril of hair where it fell across her cheek. “I even remember some of the words,” he whispered, and his breath warmed her skin.
As she played she sang the words softly. Surprisingly, he joined in. His deep voice had a husky quality that made it soulful.
With the glowing embers of the fire, the intimate warmth of the room, and Mark squatting beside her chair, the words sounded more poignant than ever before.
The last notes of the violin throbbed mournfully before falling away, leaving only silence. Amy realized she was falling in love with Mark. It defied logic, as they barely knew each other. “When the war is over, do you think we’ll meet again?” She fought to keep the tremor out of her voice.
He picked up her hand and raised it to his lips. “Pretty Amy. My ways are alien to yours, my lovely girl. You need a man who can love and cherish you, give you children and a stable home.”
“After the war you could give me those things.” She stared into his eyes, drawn by their fierce blue, unchartered depths. “I…I love you,” she whispered, knowing full well the words were better left unsaid.
“My lovely Amy. I have nothing to offer. The first time we met, you were like a ray of sunshine brightening up my dull, jaded existence. The more I saw of you, the bigger the danger you posed to my peace of mind—that’s why I treated you harshly. I’ve fought my feelings for you,” he went on passionately. “Kept telling myself it was only lust I felt, but—my God! A man going to war shouldn’t tempt fate by lying to himself.”
A Rose in No-Man's Land Page 3