‘I’d rather be on my own, thank you.’ Bea gathered up her coat and hat. As she reached the door, she turned, her lips pursing. ‘You might think you’re very clever, Kitty Jenkins, but let me tell you this. Men are all the same, wherever they come from. And sooner or later this Stefan of yours is going to break your heart, just like Hank broke mine!’
The more she thought about it, the more Bea was convinced she was right. Kitty might fancy she was in love with this Stefan, but Bea knew better. She could see her friend was riding for a very painful fall.
She pondered the matter as she walked home. Poor Kitty, she had always been so unlucky in love. First her fiancé Alex had jilted her, then Mal had turned out to be a bad lot.
And now Stefan was going to let her down, too.
She crossed Victoria Park, her coat collar turned up against the blustery spring weather. She barely recognised the place where she had played as a child. It was now transformed into a patchwork of allotments, with a battery of anti-aircraft guns where the rose garden had once stood.
In fact she scarcely recognised much of Bethnal Green these days. So many of the streets she had known had been flattened in the Blitz, its residents moved on. An air of sadness and loss hung like a mist over the streets that had once been vibrant with market stalls and costermongers, and bicycle vendors selling their wares.
Bea wouldn’t have been sad to leave it. Of course she wouldn’t have wanted to leave her family, but she had outgrown the East End and she’d been ready to move on to her big adventure in America, as a GI bride.
But that wouldn’t happen now. Despair stabbed her like a knife plunging in to her heart.
It wouldn’t happen to Kitty Jenkins, either. Bea could see it coming a mile off, but Kitty was so naive and so besotted she couldn’t see further than the end of her nose. She was convinced that somehow a miracle was going to happen, and that she and Stefan were going to be together forever, that he was going to whisk her off to his country.
And of course, nothing Bea could say would convince her otherwise.
But what must it be like, she wondered, to have a man so in love with you he would be prepared to be shot for your sake? A man who would injure himself just to be able to spend a few minutes with you?
Bea pushed the thought angrily from her mind. She wasn’t jealous, and she wasn’t trying to hurt her friend, either. She only wanted Kitty to be realistic, to avoid the heartache that she was suffering.
Stefan was going to hurt her, Bea was sure of it. Her friend had already fallen for him, she could see it in the way Kitty’s face lit up whenever she talked about him. And the longer it went on, the deeper she fell, and the more it would hurt when it finally ended.
Devoted or not, Kitty was wasting her time with Stefan, Bea decided. And while she was with him, she would never find anyone more suitable. She needed to be saved from herself.
And as her best friend, Bea had to be the one to help her.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
It was the end of another hard day’s labour. The men had downed tools and were gathering in the warm spring sunshine of the late afternoon, waiting for the lorry to arrive to take them back to camp.
Stefan paused to wipe the perspiration off his brow with his sleeve. He could smell the sour odour of sweat coming off the coarse fabric of his uniform. He would be glad when today was finally over. Every muscle in his body was groaning in protest. His leg, though getting stronger, had nearly failed him a couple of times, buckling under the weight of the heavy bricks he carried.
He was desperate for a cigarette.
He squinted towards the hospital building. He knew Kitty had already gone home for the evening, but habit still made him look for her.
That was when he saw the two men coming towards them. He recognised Mal’s stocky form in his green uniform, but there was someone else with him. A tall, skinny figure in a brown coat—
Arthur Jenkins.
One of the guards stood a few yards away, smoking a cigarette. Stefan felt his hackles rise, every sense on alert, as Mal approached the man and spoke to him.
‘Hey, Oberleutnant! We will play cards tonight, yes?’ one of the other prisoners called over to him, but all Stefan’s attention was fixed on the conversation between Mal and the guard.
Something was happening. He didn’t like it.
He saw the guard glance his way, frowning. Arthur, meanwhile, kept his gaze fixed on the ground, kicking at a loose stone with the toe of his boot, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.
The lorry arrived, rumbling into the yard. The men automatically started to move towards it in a huddle, like sheep, herded by the other guard.
‘Come on, then, let’s get going. You too, Bauer.’
Stefan looked back at Mal. Their eyes met, and he saw the utter loathing written on the other man’s face.
He started to move towards the lorry, but the other guard called him back.
‘Just a minute, Bauer.’
The first guard was beckoning him over.
‘What’s going on?’ The guard near the lorry looked wary. ‘Chalky—’
‘Just got a bit of business needs sorting out.’ The guard beckoned him again. ‘There’s someone here wants a word with you.’
Stefan stood his ground. He knew what was coming, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
‘They can come to me,’ he said. He tried to tense his muscles, to prepare himself.
‘Get over here, Bauer. That’s an order!’ the guard barked.
‘No, it’s all right.’ Mal put his hand up. ‘We can chat to him over there, if that’s what he wants. Eh, Arthur, lad?’
He was smiling as he strolled over, his tone friendly. Disarmed, Stefan lowered his guard, just for a second—
Mal’s fist flashed out without warning and hit him square in the face. Stefan heard the sickening crunch of his nose before he felt it. He staggered backwards, but managed to stay on his feet.
‘That’s for messing about with my girl,’ Mal growled.
Behind him, Stefan could hear shouting behind him from the other men in the lorry, calling out in protest, but he didn’t turn round.
He put his hand up briefly to his face. Sticky blood flowed over his fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur Jenkins turn pale.
‘Your girl?’ he said. ‘That’s not what I heard.’
‘You heard wrong then, didn’t you?’
Stefan took a step towards him. ‘I heard about what happened that night in the alleyway, too’ he grated. ‘You’re lucky I don’t kill you.’
‘Alleyway?’ Arthur echoed nervously. ‘What alleyway?’
‘You mean he hasn’t told you?’ Stefan mocked.
‘It’s nothing,’ Mal dismissed. ‘He’s lying, can’t you tell?’
‘You’re the liar, my friend. And a coward, too. You think you’d have the nerve to face me if it was just the two of us here?’
Mal lashed out and punched him again, a low blow that caught him in the stomach and knocked the breath out of him. Stefan’s treacherous legs buckled and he sank to his knees.
He looked over to where the guard stood with his back to them, staring out across the horizon, a cigarette clamped in his mouth.
Mal turned to Arthur. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘It’s your turn.’
Arthur hung back, chewing his lip. He looked like a lanky, overgrown child.
‘Go on!’ Mal gave him a shove. ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Revenge? This was all your idea, remember?’
Stefan looked up as Arthur’s shadow fell over him.
‘I am sorry,’ he tried to speak through swollen, bloody lips. ‘I know you are angry, and I do not blame you. But I love her. We never meant to hurt anyone, we just want to be together—’
‘Shut up!’ Arthur’s boot lashed out and caught him hard in the side of his head. ‘Shut up, you Nazi scum!’
‘That’s it,’ Mal hissed. ‘This is your chance. Do it for Kitty. Do it for you
r brother—’
Suddenly all hell was unleashed. Stefan curled into a ball and tried to protect himself as Arthur went berserk, kicking him again and again. His head, his back, his arms and legs – the blows came thick and fast.
Somewhere behind him, the other prisoners were roaring, trying to break out of the lorry. Then Stefan heard the guard shouting, ‘That’s enough, you two! We’ll have the bloody MPs after us for this! Get out of here, and take that sodding maniac with you!’
The sound of running footsteps receded into the distance. But still Stefan didn’t move. He was in so much pain, he was afraid to uncurl himself in case his body opened up and his guts spilled out.
‘Well, this is a ruddy mess,’ one of the guards said.
‘I wasn’t to know, was I?’ the other defended himself. ‘He just asked for a favour, that’s all. A couple of minutes with him, for messing with his girl.’
Stefan squinted up through a blur of blood at their worried faces, staring down at him.
‘What shall we do now?’ one of them asked.
‘We’ll say there was a fight—’
‘And they’ll believe that, will they? When no one else has a scratch on them?’
‘Then we’ll just have to think of something else!’ the guard said, exasperated. ‘Come on, let’s get him to the hospital before he croaks on us.’
They hauled him roughly to his feet, supporting him on either side. Stefan tried to stand up but his feet scrabbled uselessly underneath him, trying to find solid ground.
‘I’m sorry, mate,’ the guard whispered to him. ‘It was nothing personal. I was just doing a favour for a friend. You do understand that, don’t you?’ His face swam into view, his expression anxious. ‘You won’t say anything, will you, pal?’
Oberleutnant Bauer was in a terrible state, but no one seemed to be able to explain why.
It was a fight, so the guards said.
‘And where is the other man?’ Major Von Mundel asked, looking around him. ‘Surely you do not expect me to believe that the Oberleutnant did not hit back?’
The guards said nothing. They stood like a pair of schoolboys who’d been caught out in a prank, shuffling their feet and not meeting his eye. It was all Von Mundel could do not to lash out and strike them down himself.
‘It was a fight,’ one of them insisted again.
‘But not a fair one, I think.’ He fought to contain his rage. ‘What happened? Did you tie his hands behind his back and use him as a punchbag? Is that what you call a fight?’
The guards looked at each other, shamefaced.
‘You have not heard the last of this,’ he hissed. ‘I will report both of you for negligence at the very least!’
Not that Stefan Bauer was any more forthcoming. He maintained a stiff silence, his swollen, bloodied lips pressed together despite Von Mundel’s best efforts to get him to speak.
‘Who did this to you? Don’t you want them punished?’ he railed at him in frustration. But Stefan merely stared straight ahead of him, his eyes barely visible amid the puffed, bruised flesh.
‘It is a disgrace,’ Von Mundel muttered to Nurse Riley as she cleaned Stefan up. ‘The man is lucky to be alive, after what they did to him.’
‘The doctor says there are no broken bones,’ Nurse Riley replied briskly. ‘They’re mainly cuts and bruises.’
‘How can you tell? He will need to be kept in for observation, to be sure there are no internal injuries—’
‘No!’ Finally Stefan spoke up, the word torn from deep in his throat.
‘Now, don’t upset yourself,’ Dora hurried to reassure him. ‘Dr Abbott will decide what’s to be done with you when he does his rounds later.’ She sent Von Mundel an unfriendly glance over her shoulder. ‘Perhaps you could leave us alone?’ she said.
Von Mundel stiffened. ‘But I need to be here!’
‘Why? The Oberleutnant speaks perfect English, so we don’t need you to translate. I’m sure you could be more useful elsewhere.’
Major Von Mundel stared at her, stung. Her face was bland and smiling, but he was being dismissed and they both knew it.
‘Very well,’ he said stiffly.
He retreated to the other end of the ward and watched her, dabbing at the man’s wounds with antiseptic swabs. She had been in an odd mood all day. There had been no friendly greeting that morning, and if he didn’t know better he would think she was trying to avoid him.
He saw her talking to Stefan Bauer, their heads close together, and he knew the soldier would be confiding in her. Nurse Riley had a way of getting people to open up and talk to her.
He waited for her by the sluice, pouncing on her as she returned from dressing Stefan’s wounds.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘What did he say to you?’
She frowned up at him. ‘I think that’s between me and my patient, don’t you?’
‘Did he tell you who beat him?’
‘No, he didn’t.’
She was lying, he could tell. He knew her well enough to read her face by now. But there was something about the way she looked at him, the expression in her green eyes, that stopped him asking any more.
There was a reason for her silence, he thought. He was disappointed that she didn’t trust him enough to share it.
‘Very well,’ he said stiffly. ‘Then it will have to remain a mystery.’
‘Yes, it will. Was that all you wanted?’
There it was again, that bland smile. Had he done something to offend her?
He wished he could ask her what it was, but all he did was nod and say, ‘Yes. For now.’ Then, as she walked away, he called after her, ‘Did they like the toys?’
He saw her freeze, her back still turned to him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The WVS? I wondered if they liked the toys? I was speaking to the men at the camp and they were very pleased that their efforts might help British prisoners—’
Dora half turned to face him and he saw the blush burning in her face. ‘I’m afraid they were destroyed,’ she mumbled.
‘Destroyed? How?’
‘One of the porters found them and took them down to the stoke hole by mistake.’
There it was again, that hitch in her voice that told him she was lying.
‘It was no accident, was it, Nurse Riley?’
Dora turned to face him. ‘No,’ she said quietly.
Once again, he read her face. Those downcast eyes, the set of her mouth – she was upset, more than she should be over a few toys.
‘There is something else,’ he said.
She glanced up at him, and he caught the quick flash of dismay. ‘No,’ she muttered.
‘Yes, there is. You are lying, just as you were about not knowing who attacked the Oberleutnant. What is it, Nurse Riley?’
She was silent for a long time. Then she said, ‘There’s been talk . . .’
‘Talk? What kind of talk?’
Dora couldn’t meet his eye. ‘About you and me.’
He almost laughed. ‘But that is absurd!’
‘I know, but someone saw us – at Christmas . . .’
She was blushing furiously, and he could feel his own colour rising. ‘I see,’ he said gravely. ‘And who is this person spreading these rumours?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Is it the Oberschwester? I know she disapproves of me—’
‘No, it isn’t. Please,’ Dora begged him, ‘don’t say any more. It’s over. I spoke to him, and—’
‘Him?’ Von Mundel cut her off. ‘So it is a man? Who is it, Nurse Riley? I want to know. I have a right to know if someone is speaking ill of me.’
Dora lowered her gaze. ‘Arthur Jenkins,’ she mumbled.
‘Who?’ It took Von Mundel a moment to place the name. ‘You mean the porter?’ He frowned. He was aware of the boy skulking sullenly around the ward from time to time, but other than that he had never paid him much notice before.
And then another thought struck him. ‘Was he th
e one who burned the toys?’
Dora nodded. ‘But I’ve dealt with it,’ she said hastily. ‘Honestly, I’ve talked to him and I’ve warned him to stop.’
‘But that is not good enough!’ Von Mundel could feel an angry pulse beating in his temple. ‘He should not be allowed to get away with this. I will deal with him—’
‘And then what will happen?’ Dora said. ‘You’re a prisoner, Major. If you so much as raise your voice to Arthur Jenkins you’re the one who’ll end up getting punished.’
Von Mundel stared at her in frustration. She was right. He was just like poor Stefan Bauer, unable to fight back.
‘Please,’ Dora begged. ‘I just want to forget all about it, let it die down. Will you do that?’
He looked at her imploring face and let out a sigh. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘If that’s what you want, Nurse Riley.’
He only hoped she wasn’t as good at reading his expression as he was at reading hers.
The pain medication Dr Abbott prescribed was enough to knock out an elephant, but not Stefan Bauer. It took all Dora’s efforts to stop him getting out of bed. When she turned her back on him to attend to another patient, he was half-dressed and ready to leave by the time she had finished.
‘Why do I have to stay when I am perfectly well?’ he grumbled as Dora ushered him back into bed.
She looked at him, his teeth gritted, perspiration standing out on his brow. He might be trying to pretend he wasn’t in pain, but the sick, greyish pallor of his skin told her otherwise.
‘You don’t look perfectly well to me,’ she said. ‘Besides, I’ve already told you. The doctor wants to keep an eye on you for the next couple of days, just to make sure there’s no internal damage we don’t know about.’ She pulled the covers up around him. ‘Now, please stay in bed. I have enough to do without chasing you round the ward all evening.’
Stefan folded his arms across his face, his expression mutinous. Dora sighed. ‘This is all because of Nurse Jenkins, isn’t it?’
He looked up at her sharply. ‘She told you?’
‘I guessed a long time ago.’ Dora smiled. ‘I know you don’t want to worry her, but believe me, she’s seen you in a worse state than this.’
A Nightingale Christmas Carol Page 26