“There are plenty of other places. How’s Merv?” the doctor asked.
“All right, last I heard, still stuck in Egypt,” Olive said before waddling off.
“You haven’t answered my question, Amy. What’s an Australian army nurse doing working in a café?”
“How do you know I work here?”
The doctor chuckled. “You’ve served me lunch a couple of times.”
“Sorry, I don’t remember you.”
“Why should you remember an old coot like me? A pretty blonde young woman like yourself, well, a living, breathing man could never forget you.”
“Doctor, please. I think you’re flirting with me.” Amy gave a weary smile.
“If I were twenty years younger, I’d do more than flirt.” He chuckled mischievously. “I’d be courting you in earnest. You’re an excellent nurse, my dear. Why aren’t you in France looking after our boys?”
“They won’t let me.”
“Tell me. Come along, my dear.”
The story spilled out. She told him almost everything, and he listened intently, tutting every so often.
“Bloody idiots,” he snorted. “Your senior sister sounds like a vindictive woman.”
“She made out I went AWOL, which I didn’t. She gave me permission to take leave in Paris but later denied it. I’m sure she’s deliberately withholding my papers.”
“Your friend. Where is he now?”
“France somewhere.”
“No chance of reconciliation?”
“No, he thinks I betrayed him with poor Harry.”
“Harry?”
“He’s a psychiatric patient with severe shell shock, reverted to his childhood. He fought at Fromelles. On the nineteenth of July, 1916. Five and a half thousand Australians were killed or wounded in just one day. No wonder his mind snapped,” she whispered, her voice husky with emotion.
“Your captain was jealous, I suppose.”
“Yes, but he knows what Harry’s like now. He went to the nursing home trying to get information out of him.”
“There you are, my dear. He’s probably anxious to make things up with you.”
“I doubt it. Probably only wanted an excuse to get rid of me.”
“If he didn’t? What then?”
“What do you mean?”
“He might have been suffering from battle fatigue, said things in the heat of the moment which he now bitterly regrets. Did you leave a forwarding address?”
“No, I didn’t have one.”
“There you are. He’s probably worried sick. Write to him, my dear. Tell him where you are, and see what happens. He can’t come after you if he doesn’t know where to find you.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Hope blossomed in her chest. Oh, God, please let that be how it is. “I felt so devastated after the terrible names he called me, I couldn’t think straight.”
“Give him a chance. You still love him, so what have you got to lose? Write to him. That way you’ll find out for sure, once and for all. If there’s no hope, you’ll have to be brave enough to move on, but if he cares for you, what then?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I am. Write to him and see what he does. Doctor’s orders, there’s a good girl. You know, I might be able to wangle you a nursing job.”
“Oh. Could you?” Hope drove away her weariness.
“Not in a major hospital, at this stage, but one of the convalescent homes. There are dozens of them screaming for qualified staff. I’ve got a few contacts. Give me a couple of weeks. I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“Thank you. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
“I know. I wouldn’t recommend you otherwise.” After a second cup of tea, he left.
Amy desperately wanted to lie down, but she wanted to tell Olive the heartening news.
“There you are, one good turn leads to another, eh?” Olive leaned over and squeezed her hand. “You trot off to bed and rest for a while. Come down when you feel like it.”
“Thanks, Olive, you’re an angel.”
“I know, but me halo’s pretty rusty,” she chortled.
Amy slept right through until seven the next morning, but when she tried to rise, the room tilted. Delayed shock, most probably. She raised herself slowly and carefully. After a wash she felt better, but hunger made her feel woozy in the stomach.
Down in the scullery, she found Olive slumped at the table, eyes red rimmed from crying.
“What’s the matter?”
Amy poured out a cup of tea and helped herself to some toast.
“What’s wrong? Not bad news from Egypt?”
“No, it’s the Dawsons. They’re gone, all of them.” Olive sniffed loudly.
“Gone? Where to?”
“Dead.”
“What!” A roaring in Amy’s ears almost ruptured her eardrums. Nausea rose up in her throat, and she dashed outside. She took great gulping gasps of air, but it didn’t help. Olive found her on her hands and knees in the backyard, vomiting copiously.
“No bloody pork pies made you sick. Bloody Captain Whatever-his-name-is has got you in the family way.”
“No! No, I can’t be. Oh, Olive, I can’t be.” Amy rocked backwards and forwards in distress.
“Why can’t you be? He shared your bed last time he had leave, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but…”
“Was he careful, you know, did he…”
“Sort of, but we hadn’t seen each other for so long.” Her eyes filled with tears. “We wanted each other so desperately, and he only had a few hours’ leave. We couldn’t think of anything except how much we loved and missed each other.”
Olive snorted. “I’ve heard that bloody tale before.”
“I’m sorry. If I am, I’ll leave straight away.” Where would she go? How would she survive?
“You don’t have to go.”
“What about the gossip?”
“Bloody gossip never worried me. Out of the question you taking any job Doc Thompson gets for you, unless…”
“Unless what? Olive, if there is a baby, I couldn’t destroy it. It’s all I have left of Mark.”
“You going to tell him?” She lifted Amy to her feet.
“No. How can I?” she wailed.
“Get money out of him. He’s wealthy, and you’re not going to get a wedding ring. Why should the poor bloody woman have to suffer all the time?”
“No.” No matter how desperate she got, she couldn’t stoop to blackmail.
“You’re bloody mad. He’s got money. You could get plenty out of him. He’d pay anything to hush up a scandal like this.”
“I couldn’t do it. I’ll write to my cousin Guy. He’ll send me the money for a ticket home.”
She would shelve her pride to Guy and Sophie, but not to Mark. He would probably accuse her of having an affair with another man, then try to blame him. She had been going to write, as Dr. Thompson suggested, but not now; better for him to think she disappeared off the face of the earth.
“Olive, about the Dawsons? I mean, a funeral?”
“Nothing left of them. The house took a direct hit and disintegrated.”
“How awful.” Amy held her head in her hands. “Has God forsaken everyone?”
“They wouldn’t have known what hit them. For poor little Essie anything would be better than what O’Toole had in store for her. A big ox like him would have torn the poor little bugger apart.”
“I hate all of this!” Amy pummeled the table with her fists. “The war, the poverty, the filth. I want to go home, get away from it all.” She broke down and cried like a baby into Olive’s ample chest.
“You will go home, don’t worry.” Olive rocked her gently.
If I have to contact every captain named Mark in France, I will, Olive vowed fiercely. It shouldn’t be too bloody hard. An English captain in the Australian army who won the Military Cross and the Distinguished Service Order. Young Freddy, being in the army, woul
d know the right people to contact. You won’t be getting away with this, Captain Mark Whatever-your-bloody-name-is. You’ll give her enough money to get home and set herself up, or my name isn’t Olive Emily Docherty.
Olive couldn’t fathom out why she felt so protective toward Amy. Maybe it was because of her frail beauty, but more likely because of her courage. She always admired women with guts.
“Olive, Olive!” A dust-covered, wild-eyed Dorry dashed in, screaming hysterically. “Charlie’s missing! Vera and me went back to the pub. It’s collapsed into the cellar. Hit by a bomb.”
Amy’s tears dried immediately as her nursing training kicked in.
“Charlie went down to the cellar before the bombs fell,” Dorry sobbed.
“That bloody plonk of his. I warned him it would be the death of him one day,” Olive moaned. “I bloody told him.”
“Here’s your coat. We’ll go over. I’m sure he’ll be all right.” It was Amy’s turn to be strong now. “Can you take us through the shortcut, Dorry?” She thrust a glass of orange juice into the girl’s trembling hand. “Is Vera all right?”
“Yes, everyone’s all right except for a few scratches. Charlie’s the only one. He’s dead.”
“Shut up, Dorry,” Amy ordered.
Amy helped Olive on with her coat, and it was terrible to feel Olive’s shoulders shaking with sobs, to see the tears coursing down her ashen cheeks.
“Brought up like brother and sister, Charlie and me. We’ve always looked out for each other,” she sobbed.
“He’ll be all right. You told me yourself he’s a survivor.”
“Not from a bloody bomb.”
They followed Dorry through dingy alleyways damp and fetid with filth. Olive hurried as fast as she could, which was little more than a slow shuffle; even this brought on an attack of wheezing and coughing.
A large crowd had gathered around the pub. The front appeared relatively undamaged, but the back half had collapsed into the cellar. Rescue crews were already going about their work, the police had cordoned off the area, and fire crews waited, ready to swing into action.
“What’s happening?” Amy went to the officer in charge. “We’re relatives of Charlie’s. I’m his sister, and Olive is…”
“I know who she is. If you’re Charlie’s sister, I’m the king. How you doing, Olive?”
“How do you bloomin’ think? Bloody rozzers, you’re idiots, all of you.”
“Now come on, don’t get yourself in a state. He’s alive. We heard him calling out.”
Amy edged Olive away to where several of her cronies stood before darting back to the policeman.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Don’t know, miss. He yelled out a few times. We made a hole in the rubble, thought he might be able to crawl out, but he said he couldn’t move, his leg was trapped.”
“Can’t someone go down and check?”
“It’s too dangerous. The building is unstable. There’s been a couple of falls already. We’ll have to wait for the army to send over some engineers.”
“How long will that take?”
“A while. I’m sorry, miss. I can’t risk sending anyone down to him, even if I could get a volunteer. It’s just too dangerous.”
“You can’t leave him down there on his own. He could be bleeding, unconscious, anything.”
Amy walked over and took a closer look at the piles of rubble. The back section of the pub had collapsed like a pack of cards. The roof had disappeared, and only the lower-storey walls stood, precariously propped up on either side by piles of debris. It would not take much for the whole thing to topple into the cellar, burying Charlie alive. There was a hole between two giant beams, and a policeman leaned down, yelling through the gap.
“Is he answering?”
“No, miss.”
“Does the hole go right down?”
“It’s what’s left of the stairs they used for carrying the barrels down. The entrance is half blocked, but we’re afraid to clear it in case the rest of the building tumbles down.”
“I’m small. I could fit through,” Amy volunteered.
“You’d go down there, the way things are? You must be mad.”
Charlie had been good to her. If it hadn’t been for him… She trembled, just thinking about the consequences. She owed him.
Her stomach, churning over in fear, made her feel sick. She clenched her hands inside her pockets so no one would see how they trembled. Was she carrying Mark’s child? If so, dared she risk it? She argued with herself for a few moments longer, but there was no choice. Charlie’s need could be urgent. Obviously no one else wanted to volunteer, even if they could squeeze through the gap.
She took off her warm coat, and immediately the icy cold air nipped her skin. It looked like a tight squeeze, and once she got down there she mightn’t be able to get back up again. If the engineers couldn’t move the debris without bringing the rest of the walls down, she would be entombed.
What’s wrong with you, Smithfield? You’re a nurse, aren’t you? Do what you’re trained for. “God, please help me.” She prayed for the strength to go down to Charlie. He might be dead already. She could be risking herself for nothing, but if he lay trapped and injured, he could die without help. You’ve got no choice. Think of the sappers digging those tunnels in France, living in them, sometimes goodness knows how far under the ground, as they set up their explosives. It wouldn’t be anywhere near as bad as that.
She glanced up at the cloudy sky, took several deep, ragged breaths, and stood her ground. “I’m going down there with or without your help. Charlie’s down there, and I’m not going to leave him on his own.”
“I don’t know, miss.”
A couple of lousy beams. If only they could be moved, he would be easily freed, but if they shifted them without checking what load they supported, a ton of rubble could crash down on him.
“What’s down there?”
“Steps like a ladder,” one of the barmen said. “You don’t mean to go down, miss?”
“Someone has to. I’m the only one who’ll fit.” A blatant lie, as there were a couple of men thin enough, but they were obviously not prepared to risk their lives for Charlie.
She handed her coat to Olive.
“Don’t go. Charlie wouldn’t expect you to. Please, Amy.”
“I have to.” She kissed Olive’s plump, tearstained cheek. “I owe him, and Olive, if something happens, I mean the worst scenario, I want to thank you for being my friend.”
Olive gave a loud wailing sob and wrung her hands in anguish.
“Would you let my cousin Guy know what happened?” Amy went on. “I’ve got one of his letters in a chocolate box in my room, his address is on it, and, and, Mark, write to him. Tell him I love him. I always loved him, there was never anyone else. Captain Mark Tremayne. You’ll find his details in the box, too.”
Olive gave her a hug, planting a sloppy kiss on either cheek. Amy disentangled herself and walked toward the policeman. She did not look back, didn’t dare, because she would not have had the courage to do what needed to be done.
“I don’t think you should go down there, miss,” the policeman said.
“Charlie is my friend, and he might need help. I’m an army nurse. I could help him. Besides I’m the only adult small enough to fit through the gap. You can pass down a couple of blankets and a water bottle.”
“What’s your name, miss?” The young newspaper reporter from the bakery fire dashed over. “Are you really going down there?”
“Yes, I am, and no, you can’t have my name.”
“You’re so brave. It will make a good story.”
“I’m not brave, and I don’t want you to write anything about this.” She turned her back on him and addressed the policeman. “Are you going to help me down or not?”
“I don’t know.” He gnawed his lip and fiddled with his baton.
“I’m going down with or without your help. Charlie needs me.” A
my tossed her head defiantly.
She leaned over the hole and saw a huge piece of concrete held up by a beam. On peering down, she saw several steps. If the debris around the concrete could be moved and the beams dragged away, anyone could climb down and rescue Charlie. If they shifted the concrete off the beam and it supported a load-bearing wall, the whole place would collapse.
In a couple of hours the sappers would come, but could Charlie wait that long? She had to go down. She couldn’t let him stay there alone, even if it meant being entombed with him. There was simply no other choice.
She stretched out on her stomach and slid her legs through the gap. A loud murmur circulated through the crowd. She had no idea whether it was a sound of approval or disapproval as she wriggled her body while pushing with her hands. Dear God, if her feet missed the steps…I’m not going to think negatively. I mustn’t. She gritted her teeth. She’d ruin her clothes. How idiotic, worrying about trifles at a time like this.
When only her head and shoulders remained above ground, her feet touched the steps. She wriggled and slithered a little more, closing her eyes as her head slid under the beam. Her hands felt the cold hardness of stone immediately. Hunched over, she backed down the steps; bone-chilling dampness assailed her.
A pile of loose stones partially blocked her way. She turned, sat on a step, and dug through the rubble with her bare hands.
“Charlie?”
No answer. “Charlie, it’s Amy. Where are you?”
She dug frantically now, wishing she had a shovel. He had been buried down here for a couple of hours, long enough to have bled to death a dozen times over. Her hands and nails were ripped and torn by the time she cleared a pathway. In her eagerness to get to him, she tumbled down the last couple of steps and banged her knee.
The cellar wasn’t completely dark, as slivers of light filtered through from somewhere higher up. Bricks and pieces of masonry lay strewn everywhere. The place reeked of beer where the contents leaked out of crushed barrels.
She looked around frantically for Charlie.
“Charlie, Charlie?” She paused to listen. Was that a groan? The eerie noises spooked her. Whooshing, whistling sounds caused by wind blowing through the small gaps. Creaking timbers. The pitter-patter of small stones and dirt falling into the cellar from God alone knew where.
A Rose in No-Man's Land Page 22