Andy succumbed to the entreaties of a pretty young Indian girl. “Curry would be nice. It’s your favorite dish, isn’t it, Bill?”
“Yeah,” Bill backed his brother up. “Sister Smithfield should choose.”
“I like curry as long as it isn’t too hot.”
The interior of the restaurant appeared small, dark, and empty, and the aroma of spices permeated the air. She glanced around dubiously as they followed the waitress to a table.
“Business must be slack,” she lowered her voice so the girl would not hear.
“These places get packed at night time, though,” Andy said.
The mild curried chicken burnt her throat and several gulps of cold water only exacerbated things. I’m probably smoking at the mouth. She pushed the half-full plate away.
“Don’t you like it?” Andy asked, devouring his with relish.
“I don’t feel very hungry.”
“This curry is terrible.” Bill gave his brother a little punch.
“I’ll tell you what, boys, you bought me the first course, so how about us going to an English café for dessert, my treat.”
They browsed around the shops for a time until they found a small café in Piccadilly, where they ordered apple pie covered with blobs of fresh country cream.
“Now this is a meal,” Bill enthused.
“It’s not bad,” Andy agreed, starting on his second helping. “Better than hospital gruel.”
Amy liked the way the brothers chafed each other all the time. It reminded her of Guy and how things used to be. Her heart turned over at the prospect of maybe never seeing him again. They strolled to Trafalgar Square and sat at Nelson’s Column feeding the pigeons and chatting to other soldiers. By the time they parted company, it was late afternoon.
“Thank you for a lovely day. Good luck, boys, and have a safe trip home.”
“If you ever pass through Jerilderie, look us up. Just ask for the Greenwoods from Shimmering Plains station.”
They insisted she take a taxi, because they had to be back at the hospital by five and couldn’t escort her home. Amy waved to them as the taxi pulled away from the kerb.
By the time she got to Mrs. St. John’s, she felt queasy. It was madness eating that curry. Goodness only knew what ingredients went in it or under what conditions it had been cooked.
“Thank you.” She thrust some money into the taxi man’s hand.
Sprinting toward the house, she just made it to the front door before being violently ill into the bushes. By the time she staggered upstairs, she shook with nausea and fear. It took all her strength to struggle out of her clothes and crawl into bed. She might be suffering food poisoning. What if she became really ill? Stranded in a strange country, knowing no one except Mark, what would become of her? Millie was dead, and Jane had been sent to Egypt.
She vomited several more times during the night. Only as dawn chased away the darkness did she sleep.
“Amy, Amy.” Mark stood near the bed, but it couldn’t be him because he was fighting on the Somme.
“Wake up, darling.”
She blinked several times. “Mark, it really is you?” She burst into tears.
He took her in his arms and rocked her gently. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“What are you doing here?” She rubbed her cheek against his uniform jacket. It felt good to smell the musky earthy scent of him, hear his heart pounding in her ear, and feel the heat of his body infusing her cold limbs with warmth.
“I’ve only got a short time, my lovely girl,” he whispered, moving his hand to slip her silky nightgown down over one shoulder. “I’ve been sent to look after an American congressman who visited France to gain a firsthand view of trench warfare.”
His kneading fingers sent a delicious thrill up her spine, and her nipples hardened under his touch.
“The military wanted him to spend a couple of days in England so he could see how everyone coped with the war on the home front. Bloody farce, really, because he only wanted to get back to his family in America. Couldn’t stomach the reality of war. But I certainly wasn’t returning to France without seeing you. Oh, Amy, I don’t want to talk anymore.”
Her hands trembled as she helped him dispose of his uniform, and only when he was naked did he slide into bed beside her. His mouth captured hers in a demanding assault, and the heat of his lovemaking searing through her body drove away the feelings of nausea and lifted the mantle of loneliness that had weighed her down.
Later, as she lay in his arms, contented and satiated, she told him about the Greenwood brothers and the curry.
“You ought to see a doctor if you’re not well. Honestly, Amy, you’re a nurse. You should realize how filthy those little foreign places can be.”
“I’m all right now you’re here.”
“When I leave? What about then?”
****
Seated at the small table in their sitting room, they ate a late breakfast of croissants and tea, stopping between mouthfuls to kiss and touch each other.
“We’ve got a couple of hours left before I have to go back. What would you like to do?”
“Make love again.” She jumped up, and the room tilted and spun.
“Amy!” He dived out of his chair and caught her as she fought the clouds of blackness threatening to engulf her.
He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. “For God’s sake, going to some low-class café with two strangers, you’ve probably got food poisoning.”
“They were boys from home, wounded and lonely.”
“Oh, darling, what’s to become of you? You’re too softhearted and gullible.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m all right now.” She wanted to relieve the sick worry etched on his face.
“Lie still.”
Amy lay there, not because she felt ill—the dizziness passed quickly, it was only a mild tummy upset—but he acted so anxious. Why did loving someone make you so fearful of losing them all the time? Mark had a whipcord hardness about him, a cool, calm tenacity that made him such a good field officer, but underneath the steel lurked vulnerability.
Chapter 12
After Mark returned to France, loneliness set in with a vengeance. Amy recovered from the food poisoning but still felt low and depressed. Other women also lived in the house, but she rarely saw them. They seemed older, quite sophisticated; as for their partners, she once glimpsed Mrs. St. John fawning all over an elderly brigadier.
You have to get over this depression. But it was hard, when all she wanted in the whole world was to be with Mark. Even if the war did not tear them apart, were they destined only to share a few secret, bittersweet days together? She tortured herself over and over. It had to be enough. It was all they had. The weight of despair bore down on her continually, holding her in a merciless, vice-like grip.
I’ll go in to Australian HQ and find out if my papers have arrived. Ella probably kept them back on purpose. Would there be some form of enquiry? A court martial? AWOL was serious on the front line. What if she had been given a dishonorable discharge? Desertion in the face of the enemy, Ella had ranted. How could a woman tell such dreadful lies?
“Stop wallowing in self pity, Amy Smithfield,” she scolded again, out loud. “Count yourself lucky.” With winter coming, the Somme battlefield would turn into a giant churned-up sea of icy mud. I could be helping those boys, but my skills are wasted. Ella spent time with Colonel Justice, who was a married man, yet she castigated me.
She slipped into the fine wool, navy blue coat Mark had bought for her and set off walking. Even though clouds scudded across the sky, a weak sun still tried to shine.
Before the war, it would have been unacceptable for women to walk the streets unaccompanied. Now it seemed commonplace, a case of necessity, with so many girls out working. Women had obtained a greater degree of independence than ever before, but at a terrible cost.
Somehow she found herself at Trafalgar Square, her favorite place in the w
hole of London. Always plenty of Australian soldiers to be found here. Lonely boys, twelve thousand miles from home, congregated at Nelson’s Column to watch the traffic pass by or to feed the numerous pigeons.
“Good day to you,” she smilingly greeted a group of soldiers who wore the color patch of the Eighth Battalion.
“A sheila from home,” one said, and they all crowded around.
How nice to hear Australian accents again. “Having a nice time in London, boys?”
“Not much to do in the daytime,” one complained. “Night time is good, though.”
“Sister Amy,” a familiar voice called out. “What are you doing here?” Jake Peters, the brash young orderly she knew in Paris, pushed his way through the milling soldiers.
“Oh, Jake, how lovely to see you.”
He engulfed her in a bear hug, before placing a quick kiss on her lips. “I always wanted to do that,” he declared cheekily, “but didn’t dare when you wore uniform.”
Taking her arm, he drew her away from the others. “Nick off, you blokes, Sister Amy is with me now.”
“Goodbye, boys.” She smiled around the group. “Enjoy the rest of your leave.”
Jake guided her to where a young blond soldier wearing a blue hospital uniform stood. “This is my brother Harry. Shell shock, Sister,” he hissed in her ear. “Real bad.”
“How are you, Harry? I’m Amy.”
“Good.” His vacant blue eyes had all the life sucked out of them.
“Cracked up after Fromelles,” Jake explained. “Come on, mate, we’ll find a café and shout Sister Amy a cup of tea.”
She slipped an arm through Harry’s. Jake threw her a grateful smile as he took her other arm. Could this be the reason he treated the wounded so gently, because his brother had suffered?
“He should be boarded out and sent home, only those bastards won’t do it,” Jake said angrily. “The big brass thinks he’ll recover enough so they can send him back. Fat chance. He’s got the mind of a six-year-old now.”
Harry did not seem to realize they spoke about him, but he clutched her arm so tightly she knew there would be bruises by tomorrow. They found a café in Piccadilly, where Jake ordered tea and sticky buns.
“Much prefer a beer,” he grouched.
Amy laughed. “Tea is better for you.”
“You still with Captain Tremayne?”
She gasped in shock, and her hands fluttered to her breast. “Yes. How did you know?” Her cheeks grew hot, and her heart beats escalated.
“Heard rumors, put two and two together after I saw you both in Paris. That red-haired bitch dobbed you in.”
“How do you know about Ella?”
“Met up with a friend of yours, and I asked after you.”
Harry’s hands trembled so much he could hardly lift his cup, and she steadied it for him.
“What friend?” She placed Harry’s cup on the saucer.
Jake grimaced as he took a swallow of his tea. “Ted.”
“The orderly?”
“Yeah.”
“How is he, Jake?”
“Good. Been transferred to my unit. That bitch couldn’t wait to get rid of him once Major Vincent left.”
“Major Vincent?” Amy interrupted. “What happened to him?”
“Something wrong with his heart.”
“D.A.H.?”
“Yeah, ‘disorderly action of the heart.’ Anyway, he’s doing all right now. Went to Malta. Ted got a card from him.”
“Major Vincent was a lovely man. Ted too.”
“That bloody bitch got rid of all the old ones. Scattered them all over France.”
“She’s horrible, Jake.”
“Yeah, vicious old cow.”
“Jake!” Amy laughed. “You look quite ferocious.”
“It’s hardened battleaxes like her who want to send Harry back to the front. He’d be all right if they sent him home. My uncle has a place in the Blue Mountains near Katoomba; it’s so peaceful and quiet, he could recover there.”
Just from watching Harry Amy thought he would never fully recover. His mind was too shattered. He had obviously retreated into the safety of childhood. It touched her to see Jake cut up his brother’s bun.
“What are you staring at, you old cow?” Jake glared at an expensively dressed matron whose gaze had been glued on them from the moment their tea arrived.
“Probably expects uncivilized colonials like us to slurp from the saucer.” Amy laughed.
“Yeah. Is he going to marry you, Sister Amy?”
“What?”
“Captain Tremayne.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered sadly.
“Sister Amy!” Jake slapped his forehead with his open hand. “Why? Why did you do it?”
“Because I love him and there isn’t much time for us.” She lowered her voice. “You know what it’s like, how tenuous everything is.”
“Yeah, I suppose. He’s won several bravery awards, or so I hear.”
“That’s just it. Because he’s brave, he takes risks. Don’t you see? His luck can’t hold out indefinitely.”
“What happens to you?” He picked up her hand and held it in a gentle grip.
She stared into his face. She wasn’t ashamed of what she had done with Mark. “I don’t look into the future. I only worry about now. Tell me about Sydney. I’ve never been there but always wanted to go. I did my nursing training in Melbourne.”
“I like it.” He released her hand. “Ten of us lived crammed into an old single-fronted cottage. A bit of a slum, but we had lots of fun. Spent most of our time roaming the streets, didn’t we, Harry?” He gave his brother a nudge. “Our dad was a wharfie, worked hard and drank hard, but we always had full bellies, even if we went barefoot most of the time. What about you?”
“I lived on a cattle station with my cousin Guy’s family. He lost his hand on Gallipoli, but he’s back home now and coping well. It’s so sad, Jake. We went to a farewell dance at the Kilmore hall before we embarked. Four of us made a pact to meet at Big Ben, and only I made it to England.” She lowered her head. “Guy was wounded. The other two boys died on Gallipoli. That’s why I’m snatching what happiness I can with Mark.”
“Live for today because we have no tomorrow, eh?” Jake spoke the words softly.
“Exactly.” She picked up Harry’s trembling hand and held it. “You understand how it is. Most people wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, well, I like you, Sister Amy. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I won’t.”
They strolled through Fortnum and Mason, oohing and aahing over the luxury delicacies from all over the world. “No rationing here,” she observed cynically.
“Nah, all you need is plenty of money,” Jake sneered.
I can’t afford to buy anything here. Mark could and did. He’d mentioned receiving a package from Fortnum and Mason when he was in France, and she knew other wealthy English officers received them also.
“Where are you staying, Sister Amy?” Jake asked.
When she told him, it turned out to be near Harry’s convalescent hospital. “We’ll see you home,” he said, “and then I’ll have to get Harry back. I’m returning to France on the afternoon ferry.”
“I’ll make my own way home. Don’t worry about me.”
“Are you sure? I’ll be cutting things fine as it is. If I miss that bloody ferry, they’ll put me down as being AWOL.”
“I don’t want to go back yet. You said we could go to the cinema.” Harry whined like a petulant child.
“I can’t, mate. Next time.”
Harry’s eyes filled with disappointed tears.
“I’ll take him, Jake. Give me the address of the convalescent home.”
“Would you? It would be easier, and he wouldn’t be any trouble. They lock the gates at four.” Behind Harry’s back, Jake mouthed the words, “He’s like a kid.”
“I know, but he’ll be safe with me. We’ll have a good time, won’t we, Harry?�
��
He nodded his head vigorously. A child’s mind trapped in a young man’s body. What must he have been like before war destroyed him?
As they waved goodbye, sadness made Amy’s heart ache. His brother’s continuing disability had robbed Jake of his previous carefree cheekiness. When would all this suffering end? Maybe those who died were not so unlucky, after all.
Harry spoke very little, and then only with a lot of prompting, but he hung on grimly to her hand. They shared a pot of tea and some cake after the cinema.
“Will we walk or get a taxi?” she asked him.
“Walk. I don’t like the hospital much.”
“They’ll be sending you home soon.”
“I want to go home and see Mother now. She wouldn’t make me eat horrible food like they do.”
“I know,” she soothed. Poor Harry. Poor Jake.
As they started walking, the wind picked up and black clouds scudded across the sky. It seemed dull now, almost dark, and it was not yet four o’clock. She glanced at her watch again as they quickened their pace. No wonder winters here were long and bleak if it got dark so early.
“Here we are, Harry.”
Number thirty-seven turned out to be a rambling, double-storied mansion set behind high stone walls. The huge wrought-iron gates were securely locked. Amy gasped with the effort of trying to force them open. A guard box affair stood out the front. During the day someone obviously sat there monitoring the comings and goings of patients and visitors. She checked her watch again. They weren’t late. Three minutes to four. She rattled the gates. When this failed to produce results, she yelled out at the top of her voice.
Ding, ding—a clock from somewhere close by chimed five times. Heavens, her watch must have stopped. Harry had been locked out. She shook the gates again. “Let us in,” she screamed. Some of her panic must have transmitted itself to him, because he started shaking and sobbing.
Keep calm. So they were locked out until morning. Harry would have to spend the night at her place. At least he wasn’t violent. Jake had assured her of that. But a strange young man spending the night with her? She couldn’t begin to think about the terrible consequences if it ever got out. Had she been able to afford it, he could have stayed in a hotel. If she sneaked him in without anyone seeing them, he could stay the night and return to the convalescent home in the morning. There was no other choice, unless she took him to the police, who would probably throw him in the cells. It would be pure cruelty to risk that happening.
A Rose in No-Man's Land Page 17