“Shh.” She pressed a fingertip against his lips. “I’ll be safe with you here to take care of me.”
“I better get you inside,” he rasped. “I wish we could go away somewhere together, leave the rest of the world with its restrictions and narrow-minded attitudes behind.”
Love welled up in her breast until she felt like drowning in the tumultuous sweetness. Her whole body trembled with an emotion too great for mere words.
Stepping inside, he put out his hand to assist her. The light spilling over his face turned her heart to stone. Ella’s bright red lip paint! Smeared all over his mouth!
“Amy, what is it? Are you unwell? You’ve gone so pale.”
For a moment she stood rigid with shock, struggling to speak, but no sound would pass out of her paralyzed vocal cords. Shaking her head made the blood drum in her ears, and life filtered back into her frozen limbs. From a hundred miles away she heard herself saying. “You’ve got red paint all over your mouth.”
His face blanched. The white sickliness about his mouth caused the ugly red smudge to stand out more vividly than before.
“It is not what you think.” He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand.
“You lied to me.” She walked away with her head held high, her heart shattered into a million fragments.
At their table Millie, Dick, and Guy ate supper, dainty sandwich triangles and fancy pastries. The sickness of betrayal crept up into her throat. With a huge effort, Amy swallowed it down. Her head ached with the effort not to cry. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, unshed, because pride would not allow them to fall.
Their glasses were already filled with champagne, ready for one last toast to 1914, when Mark returned.
“Where have you been?” Guy asked with a grin.
“Here and there.” Mark sat stony-faced as Guy laughed and joked, oblivious to the frigid atmosphere between her and Mark.
Amy answered a question from Millie with forced gaiety, and when an English officer asked her to dance she accepted with indecent haste. He was young, cheerful, and she laughed at his jokes as they waltzed. To any casual observer, no one was having a more enjoyable evening than Sister Amy Smithfield.
Mark’s hard gaze battered the protective wall surrounding her heart, reducing it to rubble. She pretended not to care, in case someone else noticed the shocking hurt he had inflicted.
After dancing several times with an English artillery officer, she wondered in a detached kind of way why he failed to notice how brittle and forced was her laughter. Four glasses of champagne helped dull her pain, though, making the pretence easier to carry off.
They welcomed 1915 with a loud fanfare from the orchestra and rousing cheers from the assembled crowd. Everyone started kissing and hugging each other, yelling out good wishes.
A dozen different young men kissed Amy before her arms were captured in a masterful grip. She was roughly swung around and dragged up against Mark’s rigid body.
“Must be my turn to taste your lips.” His eyes glinted dangerously. “You’ve given them to just about everyone else here tonight.”
His mouth swooped on hers. He kissed her with a savage ruthlessness that brought tears to her eyes.
She kicked him a couple of times before he loosened his grip.
“Will you let me go? People are staring at us.” She hissed like a feral cat as she raised her hand to slap his face.
He grasped her arm in midair, twisting it until she was brought up hard against him once more.
“And I suppose they haven’t been watching your sluttish behavior?”
He almost floored her with the savagery and unfairness of his attack. Only the iron grip of his hands on her shoulders kept her upright.
Life drained out of her body. Through a veil of tears the moving throng became a blurry mass. She closed her eyes so the tears would not fall, but whimpering sobs escaped before she could stop them.
“I don’t feel well. Please ask Guy to take me back to the hospital.”
Without a word he led her to a secluded seat almost hidden behind a huge marble pillar, and she huddled there trying to block out the wrenching pain. She didn’t know how she had expected their relationship to end, but it certainly wasn’t like this, with Mark walking away from her with a rigid back, and her devastated because he had kissed another woman.
She felt her shawl being laid gently across her shoulders but did not look up. “I’m sorry about taking you away from the party, Guy.”
“It isn’t Guy.” She cringed away from Mark’s voice. “I told him I’d see you back to the hospital.”
“There’s no need to bother.”
“Isn’t there?” He dragged the words out from between clenched teeth. “Do you feel like walking, or would you prefer me to get us a carriage?”
“Whatever you like.” She was too distraught to care what happened to her.
“Then we’ll walk.” He made no move to touch her, just kept a respectable distance away as they left the hotel.
The evening breeze cooled her fevered brow and the robe rustled against her legs as she walked. An owl hooting from somewhere close by and the spitting snarls of two fighting alley cats broke the ominous silence that bore her down into the black depths of despair.
They passed a group of boisterous soldiers toasting the New Year with native beer, their high spirits a marked contrast to her utter misery.
“You didn’t need to leave Ella just to escort me back to the hospital,” she muttered.
“I was not with Ella.” He hammered the words out one by one. “Amy, please.” He stopped suddenly. “I wasn’t with Ella.”
“The red paint?”
“I could explain if you give me a chance.”
“More lies?” Away from the main thoroughfare it was quieter.
“Amy, Amy.” His voice roughened. “Why are we tearing each other apart like this? I went outside with Ella because she wanted my advice, and I gave her some. If the major said the soldier shot himself accidentally, then she should forget all about the affair, and that’s what I told her. She kissed me. I didn’t ask her to.”
“But you kissed.”
“No, there’s a difference. I said she kissed me. She means nothing to me, hasn’t since I went home with you and Guy that weekend. Amy, listen! I love you. Only you. Why can’t you trust me?” His words grated along her shredded nerves.
“It’s probably another aspect of my sluttish behavior.”
His body went rigid. She felt it even though a foot or more of empty air separated them. A space that might as well be filled with barbed wire.
“I’m sorry for saying such a filthy thing.” He muttered a swear word. “I was mad with jealousy.”
“Were you?” She edged closer. “Jealous? Really?”
“Yes, yes.” He crushed her to him. “It became unbearable watching those other chaps kissing you when I wanted you so desperately myself.”
“I did it on purpose. I wanted to hurt you.”
“Oh, my lovely girl. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” His tautened agony snapped, his mouth met hers in a passionate explosion, searing their flesh together. Deeper and deeper his tongue probed and explored until the whole world caught fire and desire swirled her up into its flaming vortex.
“I should be flogged for doing this, but I can’t help myself.” He drew them into the secluded shadows of a nearby garden.
In the hollow of her throat, his mouth moved frantically, caressing, suckling her flesh. Amy twisted her fingers through his hair, luxuriating in the muscled firmness of his body as it moved against her own. Slowly, carefully, he slid his fingers one by one under the flowing drapery of her robe so his hand could cup her breast.
“My God, darling, I wish I could see all of your beauty,” he said on an anguished groan. “To have the right to make you completely mine.”
The skilled, coaxing fingers of one of his hands kneaded and caressed her breasts until the nipples blossomed, while he u
sed his other hand to arch her body into the contours of his own.
Suddenly he let her go. He stepped back a pace and she heard his rasping breath as he drew gulps of air into his starving lungs.
Momentarily a kaleidoscope of color flashed before her eyes, as tenuous as a cobweb caught in the sun, immediately followed by an overwhelming darkness and the naked aloneness of a female deprived of her mate.
Chapter 5
On the twenty-fourth of April, 1915, troops assembled in Mudros on the island of Lemnos were paraded before their officers. Rousing cheers greeted the announcement that the Australian Imperial Force (A.I.F.) would be taking part in the largest seaborne landing in British history. They were going to Gallipoli, to wrench the Dardanelles from the Turks and drive them back into Constantinople.
Mark met Amy for one last time before he boarded the troopship in Mudros.
“Good luck, Mark. Take care, won’t you?” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him goodbye.
Mark knew he shouldn’t let Amy take such a risk with so many others watching, but he couldn’t deny himself one last taste of her lips. Her sweetness would sustain him no matter what fate had in store for him. Who knew when or if they would see each other again. Finally he broke the kiss. He stepped away and, without glancing back, strode up the gangway.
Once on board ship, Mark turned for one final look at the dainty little figure in a gray nurse’s dress and red flannel cape, waving bravely up at him. Too far away to see, but he imagined her dove-gray eyes would be drenched with tears.
Pain lanced his heart. He swallowed back on the lump of emotion threatening to choke him. He must leave behind the honest decency and unblemished beauty of this lovely girl who had captured his heart, resurrected it from the dead. His biggest regret was not being able to make her his wife and the mother of the child he’d always wanted. Was that why little Julia, Edwina’s and James’s daughter, touched him so deeply? They lived happily in South Africa now, and he couldn’t destroy that happiness. If he had only himself to think of, he would willingly give up everything he owned to find similar happiness with Amy.
****
The British and French would be landing at Cape Helles while the Anzacs, as the Australian and New Zealanders were now known, would land at Gaba Tepe, farther up the Gallipoli peninsula.
“Well, this is it, Smithy.” Guy jigged around on the wharf like an excited schoolboy setting off on a great adventure.
“Good luck. Take of yourself.”
“I will. I’ll keep an eye on Mark for you.”
He engulfed her in a bear hug, lifted her feet from the ground, and swung her around several times.
“Put me down! What will the other soldiers think?”
“That I’m very fond of my cousin, the beautiful Sister Amy.”
“You are silly. Did you write to Sophie?”
“Yes, and Smithy…” His smile faltered. “I want you to take care of something for me. I nearly sent it to Father, but he hasn’t been too well lately.” He thrust a long, white envelope into her hands. “It’s my will.”
“Guy!” She felt the blood draining from her face, and fear almost overwhelmed her.
“If anything should happen, I’m relying on you to look after Sophie. Father won’t be able to. She isn’t very strong, and with a baby…”
“I’ll look after them,” Amy promised, blinking back tears. “Do you think there will be many casualties?”
“I don’t know. Mark reckons there could be hundreds.”
“Oh, Guy, I’m frightened for you, and for Mark, and all the others.”
“Don’t worry. Only the good die young, which certainly isn’t me.” He flicked her under the chin, and with a laughing farewell strode jauntily up the gangway.
Amy couldn’t bring herself to watch them sail off, so she turned and walked slowly away from the wharf. Despair weighed her down, and it became an effort even to drag one foot after the other.
“Well, really, Amy, your unladylike behavior is quite disgraceful.” Ella minced up beside her. “Have you no shame at all?”
“No,” she snapped. “Not when it comes to Mark.”
“You’re making a fool of yourself,” Ella spat, contempt lacing her tone. “He’s just toying with you.”
“Is he?” Amy tried to hide her anguish.
“Yes.” Ella laughed derisively. “Men like Mark Tremayne don’t marry the likes of you, my dear. You’re just a frivolous diversion for him.”
Amy’s cheeks burned as Ella’s insinuation made everything she and Mark had shared sound somehow sordid, taking away the essence of good.
“Come along, there’s work to be done,” Ella continued, in such brisk tones that Amy wondered if she’d imagined the other woman’s animosity.
****
Over the next few days, Amy saw the real horror of war first hand. The planned assault of the third Australian Brigade at Gaba Tepe on the twenty-fifth of April 1915 proved to be a monumental failure. The troops were mistakenly landed at Ari Burnu, which had quickly become Anzac Cove. Pitted against well-entrenched Turks who rained shrapnel and bullets down on them from the cliff tops, many troops were slaughtered in the landing crafts or on the narrow stretch of beach where they landed.
She worked on board a hospital ship collecting wounded from Gallipoli, transporting them to the hospital at Mudros. Three or four boatloads of stretchers would pull alongside together. As fast as they unloaded one lot, more came. The decks were awash with blood, and the heat so intense she abandoned her collar and cape, but it didn’t do much to cool her down, just allowed her to move a little more freely. Perspiration trickled down her back and made her skin feel sticky and prickly. The moans and screams, the stench of unwashed bodies and blood, added to the living nightmare surrounding her. She had truly stumbled into the jaws of hell.
“You’re safe now.” She patted the hand of a boy whose head was encased in bandages.
“Sheer bloody murder, Sister. They slaughtered us even before we got out of the landing crafts.”
“I know. Try and rest. The doctor will be with you soon.”
One of the sailors remarked, “That’s it, we’ve got a full load. Wonder how many other poor buggers are still waiting on the beaches to be evacuated.”
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Amy raised her voice above a deafening artillery barrage. “I never dreamed anything could be so horrible.” It stopped as suddenly as it began, and for a few moments it became quiet except for the cries and groans of the wounded.
“Water, water.” She stopped beside a severe abdominal case. “Please, Nurse, give me some water.”
Dirt covered the soldier’s face, and his eyes were slightly glazed. There’s no hope for him, she thought sadly, most of these severe abdominals died. She couldn’t give him a drink but did the next best thing, wet a cloth with water from a canteen. Kneeling beside him, she lifted his head. Her hands trembled, and she wanted to scream at the foulness of it all. “Billy Carstairs,” she whispered. “Remember me? Amy Smithfield?” Even as she spoke she gently moistened his lips and dribbled a few drops of water onto his tongue.
“Smithy.” He gave a weak smile. “Will you write to Mother and Fiona?”
“Of course I will, but you’ll be writing to them yourself soon.” Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back as she knelt on the deck cradling his head. She couldn’t even cry for a young school friend only minutes away from death. There simply wasn’t time.
“Tell them I did my bit, won’t you? I didn’t let my mates down.”
“I know you didn’t. I’ll tell them. Have you seen Guy?”
“No.” He muttered something else she couldn’t catch. His body gave a convulsive shudder, then went limp as death claimed him. Just like that, a young life squandered because some general at HQ had made a mistake and underestimated the enemy. She couldn’t stay and mourn Billy’s passing. Too many other casualties needed her help.
Even as she worked below decks in the f
etid tropical heat, Amy agonized over Mark and Guy. She wiped the perspiration out of her eyes with the back of her fingers. With so many casualties, could they escape being killed or wounded? She cut away the trouser leg of a patient to reveal a gaping, putrid wound.
“Gangrene,” Major Vincent said, his face drawn and gray. “Some of these poor devils have been lying out in no-man’s land for days. Hundreds will never be found. The Casualty Clearing Stations are sending them directly to us now.”
The ship bucked and rolled as an artillery shell landed somewhere close by.
“We’ll be blasted out of the water if we aren’t careful.” Millie hurried up to them. “I’m glad Dick’s still in Egypt.”
Millie’s blood-spattered skirt hung limp as a rag; her hair straggled in mousy strands from under her veil. Amy wondered whether she looked equally disheveled. Her back ached from bending down so often, and her feet felt as if they were worn to the bone. Major Vincent set up a makeshift operating theatre below decks for emergency cases that couldn’t wait until they reached Mudros.
****
For weeks they ran a shuttle service from Gallipoli to hospitals in Mudros, Alexandria, and Malta. All the while, Amy fretted and worried about Mark and Guy. No news is good news, everyone said, but it didn’t alleviate her anxiety, just made it a little more bearable.
“It isn’t fair. We’ve been on this run for days without a break,” Millie complained one evening as she wearily rubbed her eyes. “I think Ella has got it in for us. She’s safely cosseted in Lemnos while we’re slaving out here.”
“The boys need us,” Amy answered listlessly, pushing back a strand of hair that kept flopping into her eyes. She felt dizzy and lightheaded. Could she have a touch of enteric fever?
“You all right?” Millie’s face wavered before her eyes.
“I’m just tired, and…” Blackness overwhelmed her.
Amy woke up in bed. How strange, the ship didn’t rock at all. She focused her eyes upward, surprised to find canvas above her head, and crisp white sheets on her bed.
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