His eyes lit up, chasing away the shadows of exhaustion.
“I am, now I’ve seen my beautiful Amy.”
His teeth gleamed a vivid white in his deeply tanned face, and his vivid blue eyes burned. Lines of strain gouged deep clefts along the sides of his mouth, and dark stubble covered his jaw and chin.
“Where’s Guy?” she asked, suddenly remembering her cousin.
“He’s fine, resting in his quarters.” Mark ran a trembling hand across his forehead. “A little sunburned, absolutely worn out. He did well. You should be proud of him.”
“I know. I heard what you did, too.” Pride welled up in her heart. She wanted to fling herself into his arms. Kiss all his cares away. Lay her cheek against his chest and feel the rhythm of his heart. Mark was the love of her life, yet she had to treat him like a mere acquaintance. “A sergeant told me you saved dozens of men.”
Mark dared not stand too close to Amy because it was improper for them to be seen together like this. Rubbing his hand across the stubble on his chin, he felt in desperate need of a bath and a shave. He had wanted to see her first, though, to allay the worry he knew would darken her eyes to the gray of a wintry English sky. Proud, beautiful Amy. If only he had met her years ago, before his life became enmeshed in Maryanne’s evil web.
He wanted to drag her into his arms, kiss her tiredness and distress away, but dared not. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he vowed to keep them there. Her skin looked as white as the apron covering her gray dress. Pristine white, the nurse’s veil hid all of her hair except for a few damp, silver tendrils curling onto her forehead.
“You’re tired, my lovely girl.”
“Yes, I am. Oh, Mark, some of those boys are so badly burned, poor things.”
Her lips trembled, because her patients’ pain was Amy’s pain. He would have given a year’s pay to be able to draw her into his arms right now and kiss all the hurt away, but he didn’t have the right. He couldn’t let her risk her good name, let her be tainted by the scandal surrounding his way of life.
“I have to get back. Major Vincent said I could only have five minutes.”
“Of course you do, darling. I wish I was one of your patients.”
“No.” The strangled cry and sudden blanching of her face, made him feel like ripping his tongue out.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He cast a hasty look around to make sure they were unobserved before lifting up her hand and holding it against his lips.
“I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and he watched her valiantly blink them away.
“I only meant a broken toe or something.” He dropped her hand and stepped back a pace when a middle-aged orderly hurried up.
“Sir.” The soldier came to attention. “Sister, Major Vincent is asking for you.”
“All right, thanks, Ted. I’m coming.”
“Good afternoon, Sister.” Mark inclined his head.
“Good afternoon, Captain Tremayne.” She raised her hand in what she hoped Ted would see as a casual gesture.
She waited until a couple of yards separated them from Mark before saying. “More patients?”
“No, only one.”
“Oh!”
“It’s a private from B Company. A leg wound, Sister.”
“Is it serious?” She frowned, wondering why one of the other nurses couldn’t attend to it.
“Self-inflicted wound, at a guess.”
“What!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Are you sure?”
“Seen it happen before. A young soldier wanting to go home will do anything if he gets desperate enough.”
“How awful.”
“Worse than awful. He’s in for a hell of a time if any officer finds out. Meant the firing squad in South Africa.”
Amy stopped dead in the corridor. “It isn’t fair.”
“Bloody army for you. Major Vincent says the bullet lodged near the patella. It’s a clean wound, but it left powder burns, and some of the others, if they saw them, might feel duty bound to report it. The doc knew he could trust you, though.”
“Of course he can.”
When they came to the operating theatre, Major Vincent met them at the door. “Ah, Sister, thank you for coming.”
Her heart went out to the dark-haired young soldier, maybe not even eighteen, who lay on the table moaning.
“It’s all right, son. Sister Amy has come along to lend a hand. Remember, if you’re asked, you were cleaning your gun and it accidentally went off.”
They set to work, Amy handing the major his instruments without speaking. They had to remove the patella because it was shattered.
“Young fool could end up with a stiff knee,” Major Vincent muttered. “Doesn’t look much older than one of my sons. Why on earth does a boy like this rush off to enlist?”
“He wanted to do his bit for the Empire, the same as the rest of us,” Amy told him softly.
“Well, only time will tell whether we’re all bloody fools or not. Right. He’ll do. I’ve written him up as an accidental wound. He’s got his wish. The army will invalid him back home now, and who’s to say whether the price he has to pay is too high.”
He strode off muttering, leaving Amy and Ted to clean up the theatre and transport the patient to the wards.
****
On the last day of 1914, Amy bubbled with excitement as she and Millie dressed for the New Year’s Eve dance. In the early afternoon they had walked the bazaars searching for something special to wear.
Millie, conservative as always, had chosen a fawn-colored, one-piece satin frock with self-trimming and tiny pearl buttons, while Amy decided on something daring and rather wicked. A cobalt blue Arab robe, lavishly embroidered with gold thread, and dainty matching evening slippers. She piled her hair on top of her head, securing it in place with gold combs, leaving only a few wispy strands to float free.
“What do you think, Millie?” She spun around several times.
“Oh, Amy, you’re so beautiful, you shouldn’t be a nurse.”
“Why ever not?”
“Lady of the manor is what you should be.”
“Rubbish. Here.” She dabbed some eau de cologne behind Millie’s ears and on each wrist.
“We’re sirens, luring our men to their doom.” She laughed, happy, because soon she would be meeting up with Mark. “Come along, Mill. Tonight we’re going to enjoy ourselves, because in a few short hours it will be 1915.”
****
Lieutenant Dick Saunders of the Australian Light Horse presented as an ordinary-looking, slim young man with a melancholy droop to his lips. Amy secretly wondered what had attracted Millie to him in the first place.
After an initial greeting on being introduced to Amy, he said nothing else, even to Millie, as they waited for the others to arrive. She heard Guy’s laughter before he came into view around the corner of the hospital.
“Good evening, Smithy, Millie.”
Amy did the introductions. “Guy, Mark, you don’t know Dick Saunders. Dick, Captains Guy Webster and Mark Tremayne,”
“How are you, Dick?” Guy gave a boyish grin as he put out his hand.
“How do you do, Captain Webster?”
“Call me Guy, won’t you? It’s New Year’s Eve, so no point in being formal.”
Mark’s greeting sounded clipped, although he also shook the younger man’s hand.
“Smithy.” Guy whistled out loud. “You look… Well, I can’t believe it. You’re very fetching tonight, too, Millie,” he tacked on as a gallant afterthought.
“How are we getting to the dance?” Amy put on a brave face and hid her hurt as best she could, because Mark had made no comment on her appearance.
“We’ve organized a coach, of course, ladies.” Guy bowed from the waist. “Liveried coachman, all that kind of thing.” His exaggerated upper-class English accent made them laugh.
Millie and Dick strolled arm in arm toward the road, and Amy hated herself for envying
her friend, for being jealous of what Millie had. Mark walked on one side of Guy, she walked on the other.
“Heard from Sophie lately?” Amy asked.
“Yes, the sweet girl writes to me almost every day. I only answer sometimes.”
“Guy!” She couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice. Sophie would be desperate to hear how he fared.
“I hate writing letters. What is there to say, anyway?”
“I’m glad she’s keeping well.” Amy rested her hand on Guy’s arm. “I received a letter yesterday, full of all the latest gossip. Fancy young Emma Johnson eloping.”
“That’s stupid women’s talk,” Guy scoffed.
“Men are worse gossips than women, no matter how much they deny it,” she retorted.
“Rubbish.”
An open carriage awaited them on the road outside the hospital. “Oh, lovely!” Amy clapped her hands. “Thank you, gentlemen.” She included them all in her thanks, although it would have been Guy’s idea.
“Mark’s suggestion.” Guy slapped his friend on the back. “I probably would have thought of it anyway.”
“What a beautiful idea. Thank you, Mark.” So he did have a romantic streak under the austere officer façade he showed to the world. His hand felt warm as he took her arm and helped her into the coach.
“Not as beautiful as you are.” His breathy whisper lifted a few wayward strands of hair and sent an excited thrill coursing all the way through her, dispelling the hurt she’d felt earlier.
She sat between Guy and Mark, with Millie and Dick sitting opposite. It felt wonderful being so close to Mark, feeling the warmth of his body, inhaling his male scent.
“Well, Dick, how’s the Light Horse treating you?” Guy asked.
“It’s all right. The horses are the only things making life bearable out here.”
“What about me?” Millie poked him with her elbow.
“I’d go mad if it wasn’t for you.” He patted her knee. “I wish neither of us had joined up.”
“Cheer up, Dick.” Amy smiled. “At least we’re seeing parts of the world we never would have visited otherwise. The pyramids, the Sphinx, romantic moonlight walks along the Nile…”
“When did you have a romantic midnight stroll along the Nile, Smithy?” Guy teased.
“I haven’t, well, not yet, but I hope to before we leave.” Under cover of darkness she slipped her hand into Mark’s, and he gently squeezed her fingers.
Within a short time they pulled up in the courtyard of an imposing white hotel. A slight gust of wind rustled the wispy silkiness of her robe as Mark helped her alight. She gasped with pleasure. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, and the perfumes of exotic spices permeated the night air. The massive front entrance hall was tiled in blue and white interlocking triangles.
They handed their shawls to a young English soldier, who also took the men’s caps before escorting them into an enormous ballroom.
Amy clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, this is pure magic. Everything and more than I dreamed it would be.”
English and Australian officers and their ladies sat at tables set out at various intervals around an oval dance floor. Nurses, from their own and the English hospitals, made up the majority of female personnel, and she waved to several girls she worked with.
Their table, situated near double glass doors, overlooked the garden. The high domed ceiling was frescoed in several shades of blue, highlighted with gold leaf. Flickering flames in braziers along the walls added a pagan beauty to the whole scene. Amy had a sense of living in a past millennium, as if they had been transported back in time. If Cleopatra suddenly appeared it would not have been surprising.
“Oh, Mark, I can hardly believe it.” Excitement surged through her. “It’s like something out of the Arabian nights.”
“This place used to be a palace many years ago, then a hotel, and now the British have commandeered it to house some of their senior staff officers.”
The orchestra sat on a raised platform at one end of the room, and when they struck up a tune, Mark asked, “Would you care to dance?”
Such pure magic being held in his arms, feeling his warm breath lifting her loosened strands of hair, smelling the fragrant spicy scent of his skin. Unthinkingly, she melted into him, and pain drove lance-like through her heart when he stiffened away.
“Amy, please. Someone might notice.”
“I don’t care if they do, but if you’re frightened of your reputation…” Raw hurt edged her voice.
“Damn it. I’m thinking of your good name.”
“Are you?” She danced liked a wooden doll.
“Somehow word got out about some of my, um, previous activities. I met a couple of English officers I knew from Kent, and one of them obviously couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”
“Oh, I see.” She tried pulling away, but his fingers biting into the flesh of her waist stalled her escape.
“For God’s sake.” The metallic ring to his voice deepened it. He shook her slightly. “Your reputation would be ruined if we were seen to be keeping company.”
“I don’t care.” She tossed her head defiantly. “We could be in battle soon. Please, Mark, there’s so little time for us.”
“My lovely, lovely Amy.” His voice roughened. “Right from the very start we had no future together. I should do the decent thing and stay away from you.”
The music stopped. As he escorted her back to their table, Ella, accompanied by an English colonel, waylaid them.
“Amy, Captain Tremayne, isn’t it a grand evening?” Her greeting sounded formal and correct if taken on face value, but Amy felt the undercurrents rippling near the surface.
As Ella stared into Mark’s face, Amy’s stomach curdled with distaste. Burning hunger and sheer carnal desire darkened her eyes to a deep jade.
“Colonel Justice, let me introduce you to Captain Mark Tremayne and Sister Amy Smithfield.”
“Good evening, sir.” Amy forced the words past a gigantic lump in her throat.
“Good evening, Sister. Are all your nurses as lovely as this, Ella?”
The oily tones and knowing smile of this middle-aged lothario nauseated Amy, but she couldn’t let it show. The four of them exchanged polite chitchat. Wasn’t it hot during the day, but yes, they were compensated by such wonderful evenings. All the while, Ella’s hungry gaze devoured Mark. A black satin gown with low-cut neckline displayed her perfect cleavage. Her full lips, colored in bright red paint, made Amy feel as drab as a little field mouse.
“The music has started again.” Ella gave a tinkling laugh that slithered like icicles against Amy’s heated skin. “Clive, dear, you dance with Amy. I’ve something to discuss with Captain Tremayne.”
“My pleasure, Sister Amy.” The colonel clicked his heels. “Shall we?”
She wanted to snap, “No, we shan’t.” She could do nothing but accept with as much grace as possible and accompany him back to the dance floor. As they joined the waltz, she tried to hold herself away from him. She gasped in shock, then quickly turned it into a cough, on seeing Mark following Ella out onto the terrace.
She forced herself to follow the colonel’s lead and answer the questions he kept firing at her. What slack, over-moist lips he had. Revulsion crawled over her flesh as his hot, sweaty hand touched her bare skin.
When he escorted her back to where Guy sat with another captain whom she didn’t know, Mark had still not returned. The way Ella stared at him… The possessive way she annexed him… Were they lovers?
She loathed herself for thinking such vile thoughts, but jealous suspicion seeped into every core of her being, poisoning her mind. Mark did love her, she dared not doubt it, but Ella was an alluring, experienced woman. How long could a man not used to denying himself female pleasure remain immune? How long could their doomed relationship last? When, not if, would Mark decide he no longer wanted the celibacy Amy’s career imposed upon him? Her dreams of marriage and children had been cast to the four winds
because she chose the wrong man to love.
“Are you all right?” Guy stared at her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m just a little hot. Colonel Justice is an energetic dancer.” She disguised the anguish in her voice.
Ella, with flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes, glided in from the terrace. Passing Amy without acknowledging her existence, she made straight for a table on the far side of the room. Amy waited a few moments, but when Mark did not appear she excused herself to Guy and drifted toward the terrace.
A cool breeze caressed her burning cheeks as she ventured into the darkness.
“What are you doing here?” She jumped when Mark spoke almost at her elbow.
“Searching for you.”
“Did you think I’d deserted you?” His voice held a soft intimacy.
“No, well, yes. You were gone a long time.” It sounded pathetic, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. “When Ella came back without you, I thought…”
“Yes?” He stood so close his warm breath brushed her cheek.
“Oh, I don’t know. That’s a lie. I was jealous. Ella is so beautiful, and she likes you a lot.”
“The only person Ella really likes is Ella. I swear to you, she means nothing to me. My darling, you have to believe me, she only wanted to discuss a patient with me.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“No, but she thinks Major Vincent and one of the nurses covered up a self-inflicted wound. Some young private shot himself through the kneecap. She wanted my advice.”
“What did you say?” Amy grabbed at his arm. “What did you tell her?”
She heard his sudden, sharp intake of breath. “You were the nurse?”
“Yes.”
“Hell, don’t you realize what a risk you took?”
“I don’t care. I’d do it again if Major Vincent asked me.”
“Don’t be foolish. You could be dishonorably discharged from the nursing service.”
“He wanted to go home.” Her voice wavered, and tears burned her eyes. For the teenage soldier and for the hopelessness of her love for Mark.
“You have to be tough to be a nurse out here.”
“You mean hard and unfeeling like Ella?”
“No. You’re gentle, warm.” Feather soft, his fingers caressed her cheek. “You feel things too intensely. What am I going to do with you? I really fear for you sometimes.”
A Rose in No-Man's Land Page 6