Love for a Soldier

by Mary Jane Staples

  Sophia ran, coughing breath torturing her. She ran free of the woods, her flight impelled not by thought, but by blind anger. It sent her haring across the road. Only a moment’s thought might have made her turn in an attempt to catch up with Major Kirsten. As it was, she simply ran in a straight line. Over the verge on the other side of the road and on to open ground she went, her eyes familiar with the darkness now. There seemed to be nothing ahead but the land at night, the grass thick beneath her feet. She heard the small thumping sounds of a man in pursuit, and only then did she wonder why she had not headed into the village to catch up with Major Kirsten. With Captain Marsh in pursuit of her, she was beyond the point of no return now. Before her was a formless void that might offer her a precious avenue of escape.

  Hitching her coat and skirt, she committed herself recklessly. She ran fast, the thick winter grass kind to her feet. But he was closer. She could hear him more clearly. He was pounding the ground. It began a slight descent which helped her increase her pace. It was so dark, the night, but she flew. Panting, she veered to outmanoeuvre him. But seconds later he was still behind her and gaining. The small thumping sounds made by his booted feet seemed to change to rushing thuds. She ran harder and the slight descent suddenly became alarmingly steep. She could not check her impetus. She pitched and tumbled, sprawling sideways, and panic struck her as the ground fell away from her feet and legs. She slithered, her feet hanging below her, her clutching hands raking the grass of a bank as she struggled to hold on. With horror, she saw the dark, dull glimmer of water below her. Clawing frantically at the turf, she strove with her feet to find purchase. But she was sliding, sliding, the grassy bank steep. The waters of the Lutargne canal, which provided power to the little textile factory, were running fast. Cold wetness enveloped her boots and she felt the drag of surging tide. Her hands dug madly in. It was German that rushed from her lips then, not French.

  ‘Herr Hauptmann!’

  The darkness had become terrifying, the nearness of the running water horrifying. Her body was steeply angled against the high bank. Her hands scrambled and clawed, but she was slipping, still slipping.

  ‘Herr Hauptmann!’

  He was there, kneeling at the top of the bank, and he could smell the canal. He turned and quickly lowered his feet.

  ‘Take hold of my legs!’ They were beside her head, his long legs, and she hurled herself at them and wound her arms around them. Captain Marsh, elbows digging in, hung from the bank, steadying himself against the drag of her weight. He began to draw himself up, bringing her with him. Her weight felt dead. ‘Hold very tight, and stay still for a moment.’

  She held on while he drew breath and dug his elbows rigidly in. He used them to lever himself slowly up until the top of the bank was level with his waist, Sophia hanging from his legs. He held his position for a moment, then threw himself forward and down, digging in his hands to anchor himself. His broken finger endured sharp, angry pain. He heard Sophia gasping words.

  ‘I can hold on – it’s not too difficult.’

  ‘Good. Take a breath. Good. Now, climb up over me. Take your time.’

  Strong and active, she hauled herself up over his legs and body while he maintained clamped contact with the cold turf. She scrambled to safety and he heaved himself clear. She stood trembling but thankful. She knew she could not have fought those icy, surging waters for long.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Bareheaded, he stood before her, looking formidable in the darkness.

  ‘You owe me no thanks,’ he said. ‘Everything is my fault. Accept my regrets, but you’re at war and so am I. I don’t intend to give myself up, and I’m afraid all my behaviour has been governed by that. I need your car, Sophia, because I know that any man’s chances on foot in this kind of countryside are frankly dismal. That doesn’t mean I don’t understand your feelings, and I like the way you’ve put up with things. Whether I could drive the car myself now, I don’t know. Shall we go and see? That is, if your fall hasn’t hurt you. Are you all right?’

  ‘My boots are wet, that’s all,’ said Sophia quietly. ‘Yes, we are at war, but I will drive you. I think you wrong in all you’ve done, and I don’t think you’ll escape, but I wish to be submitted to no more violence.’

  He ran an uneasy hand through his hair.

  ‘I’m sorry I was so rough,’ he said, ‘but those people were German.’

  ‘But you did not know that, not at first.’

  He could have told her what Madame Gascoigne had told him.

  ‘I felt you were going to call out to them whoever they were.’

  Sophia, still shaken by her narrow escape from the icy canal, said, ‘I told you I would go to Douai with you, I told you I would do that as long as you promised to release me outside the town. There was never any need to almost suffocate me. You’ve just saved me from the canal, but I shall never forgive you for what you did to me back there.’

  She turned and began to retrace her way back to the road. He followed, caught up with her and walked with her. They were both silent. They reached the road, crossed it and entered the woods. He retrieved the dropped helmet, and they made their way to a little clearing in which the Bugatti had been parked out of sight. They got in. Sophia started the car.

  ‘Which way?’ she asked.

  ‘Through the village, please. Try to do without the headlamps for a moment, and stop a little way past the auberge.’

  ‘Stop?’

  ‘If you would.’ Captain Marsh was very polite. ‘We must immobilize that car we saw.’

  ‘You mean you must.’

  ‘I should like you to help me, Sophia.’

  Chapter Nine

  PIERRE GASCOIGNE, ON the return of his German guests from their walk, showed them up to the rooms which had been made ready for them and wished them a good night. Since this did not necessarily mean to others what it might have meant to a Frenchman, Major Kirsten permitted himself a smile.

  Elissa, who had brought her small case from the car, inspected her room. One could not always say the French gave quite the same attention to domestic details as they did to cooking, but having looked around Elissa could not fault the cleanliness and tidiness of the room. And a little hump in the bed indicated the presence of a stone hot-water bottle. Major Kirsten took it upon himself to also inspect her room, and this solicitous gesture intrigued Elissa. She felt it heralded a paternal phase.

  Seemingly satisfied with the amenities, he quietly closed the door he had left open. At once, Elissa was sensitively aware of being alone with him, and any thought of him being paternal was displaced by something quite different. A nervous pulse beat.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked, and realized immediately the question was embarrassingly incomplete. ‘About this man, I mean, and Sophia von Feldermann. Do you think they really are here in that room?’

  ‘The room which showed a light, the room directly opposite this one?’ Major Kirsten reflected. ‘They have to be somewhere in this village, or they wouldn’t have left the car where they did.’

  ‘That light was out, Major, when we returned,’ said Elissa, opening up her case and closing it again as neatly folded underwear cast a shimmer.

  ‘A sign that they’ve retired to bed for a while?’

  Elissa thought he could sometimes be very disconcerting.

  ‘Major, you can’t believe Sophia von Feldermann would actually consent to that – you can’t.’

  ‘If she is here with him, her silence is incomprehensible to me.’ Major Kirsten drew his hand over his mouth. ‘But certainly, I can’t imagine the daughter of one of our outstanding corps commanders forming a romantic attachment to a mad English airman who has abducted her. But it’s a strange and complex world we live in, and most of us reflect its complexities in the curious way we behave at times.’

  ‘Major, I thought Sophia was romantically attached to a German flying officer.’

  ‘True,’ said Major Kirsten.

&n
bsp; ‘What are you going to do? Telephone Colonel Hoffner or ask questions of the proprietor?’

  ‘First, I’d like to find out for myself if that room is occupied. I might simply knock and walk in—’

  ‘Please don’t do that.’

  ‘I have my own revolver.’

  ‘Major, is there to be a shooting match, with guns going off?’

  ‘You don’t favour that?’ said Major Kirsten, intrigued by her concern.

  ‘I don’t favour anything wildly dangerous. We must be more subtle.’

  ‘I agree. Will you volunteer, Elissa?’

  ‘I’d like to help Miss Von Feldermann in any way I can,’ said Elissa.

  ‘It need not be at all dangerous. Your overnight things – do they include a negligee?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then remove your uniform, don the negligee, go to the bathroom, and on your return make the not unusual mistake of a guest just arrived. Go into the wrong room. Apologize with a blush and some confusion –’

  ‘Major?’ Elissa opened her eyes wide.

  ‘The appearance of a charming young lady in her negligee will arouse anything but suspicion, and the last thing even a certified lunatic would do is shoot you.’

  ‘Major, I’m to casually walk into the wrong bedroom?’

  ‘Not subtle enough?’ said Major Kirsten blandly.

  ‘The door may be locked,’ said Elissa.

  ‘But you’ll try?’ He was sure she would not be at risk. He was sure it was the right way, the most innocent way.

  ‘Yes, I’ll try,’ said Elissa, excitement tingling and butterflies in her stomach. ‘And if the door is locked?’

  ‘It’s then that we’ll begin to ask questions of the proprietor.’

  ‘Major, you had no real intention of risking a shooting match, did you?’ said Elissa with a little smile. ‘You’re thinking of Sophia, aren’t you? You don’t want Colonel Hoffner’s soldiers here. You want to resolve the problem quietly, don’t you?’

  ‘If it’s possible,’ he said.

  ‘I will gladly help,’ said Elissa.

  ‘Permit me to retire while you get ready.’

  Elissa composed herself and undressed. Major Kirsten, standing behind the slightly open door of his own room, heard her go to the bathroom. He waited, listening the while for other sounds. The room opposite hers was quiet, very quiet. It was not difficult to imagine Sophia, tired and weary after a traumatic day, resting on the bed and asleep, perhaps, with the man watching her from a chair and taking his time for the night to advance until it was safe to continue his flight. That was when he would make his dash for a town, in the middle of the night.

  The bathroom door opened. Major Kirsten heard the soft sound of Elissa’s slippered feet advancing along the landing. She passed his door. She stopped. He did not want to show himself and put her at risk, and could only visualize her next move, her turning of the door handle and her entry into the room. He listened with care, poised for instant action, if necessary, acknowledging the while that in Elissa Landsberg he had discovered a gem. He heard nothing, nothing at all, until the faint swish of her negligee reached his ears. Then came a light knock on his door. He pulled it wide open. Elissa stood there, her expression wry.

  ‘The room is empty,’ she said.

  ‘Is it? Quite empty?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and the major was conscious of two completely different and unrelated facts. One was the fact that expectations had come to nothing, and the other was the fact that Lieutenant Landsberg looked entirely delicious. Her negligee was of rose-pink satin that graced her figure with shimmering softness.

  Elissa coloured. Major Kirsten smiled philosophically.

  ‘Let’s take a look,’ he said, and she followed him to the empty room. The bed and furniture conveyed a nothingness. He moved to the mantelpiece and placed his hand on the lamp globe. It was not hot, but nor was it quite cold. There was the faintest suspicion of retained warmth. And the curtains over one little window were drawn too. ‘Our birds have flown, Elissa.’

  ‘You’re sure they were here?’

  ‘Quite sure. The lamp isn’t yet cold, and those curtains are closed. Our good proprietor has tidied up.’

  ‘You think he warned the Englishman we were going to stay overnight?’

  ‘I think the lunatic would have disliked bumping into us.’ Major Kirsten drew Elissa back to her room. Over the bed lay her nightdress of pink silk. He eyed it as if it presented new problems. ‘How is one to get the truth out of an honest-faced proprietor without subjecting him to the thumbscrew? But is that important, when the truth is already obvious? They were here, and for some reason Sophia accepted the situation as it existed at the time. Now they’ve gone. Now they’re running again, the man keeping Sophia with him to use her as a lifeline if he’s cornered. Is that a reasonable assumption?’

  ‘Very reasonable,’ said Elissa.

  ‘They’ll drive through the night, they’ll reach—’

  ‘Major, they may not get very far. Whichever way they go, they’ll find every surfaced road impossible to use. All those roads will be alive tonight, with our divisons moving up.’

  The major’s sound eye gleamed.

  ‘My dear Lieutenant, what a treasure you are,’ he said. ‘I ask you now to dress yourself and to go down and bring the car round to the front, while I study our map, which is in my room. We are going after them, and I’m making a guess they’ll definitely be trying to reach Douai.’

  Elissa said, ‘In the dark, Major? We’re going to try to catch them up in the dark?’

  ‘In the dark, Elissa, the light of headlamps is visible for miles.’

  Elissa dressed quickly, then hurried down to the carriage yard. She returned ten minutes later looking perturbed as she informed Major Kirsten that the car simply would not start. The major went down with her to investigate the cause. Not until the bonnet had been lifted and the torch had illuminated what was exposed, did they find what was wrong. The distributor head was missing.

  ‘Our lunatic is no fool,’ said the major, ‘he’s several steps ahead of us. I must telephone our transport depot.’

  ‘Direct me, please,’ said Sophia, after she had been crazy enough to help Captain Marsh sabotage the German staff car.

  ‘If I remember my map correctly – let’s see – Lutargne – yes, there should be a right-hand turn a little way out of the village. Take it, and then at some point we should reach a junction with a road on the left. I think that will eventually bring us to a main road. We can’t use it – too risky – so go straight over at the crossroads there.’ Captain Marsh paused and reflected. ‘Take your time. We’re starting much earlier than I wanted to.’

  ‘I hope you don’t feel inconvenienced,’ said Sophia with quiet but candid sarcasm.

  ‘I feel the day’s been a trial to both of us,’ said Captain Marsh, ‘but thank you for your help.’

  ‘Don’t say that. Do you think it’s something I want to hear?’

  ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry. Shall we move off?’

  Sophia turned her coat collar up against the cold night air. She started the car and switched on the headlamps. The beams pierced the darkness. She set the Bugatti in motion and left Lutargne behind. The frosty air became a cold breeze. She thought of Douai and the waiting Fritz. It did not linger, that thought, for her mind had been unable to dislodge pictures of the nightmarish incident on the bank of the canal ever since it had happened. If Captain Marsh had not been so close behind her, if he—

  She shivered.

  ‘Are you cold?’ He sounded concerned.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you’ll stop, I’ll put the hood up.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and stopped. He got out. The engine ticked over, a low purr in the silence of the night. She had a chance then to slip back into gear and to leave him floundering in the bleakness of dark and frosty March. Her lack of will confused her. The rising hood creaked and was pulled blackly over her
. It fully enclosed her, separating her from Captain Marsh. And she sat there, the engine running, doing nothing while she waited for the hood to be anchored and for him to rejoin her. Because of his crippled left hand, he made an awkward job of the fixing, and she bit her lip because of her inaction.

  He slid in.

  ‘That should make you less cold,’ he said, and she thought how well he spoke French, how fluently they conversed together in the language that was foreign to both of them. She drove on and the car lights picked out what they were looking for, the right-hand turn about a kilometre beyond Lutargne. She took it and motored without haste through a long, winding lane.

  ‘The road on the left of a junction is next,’ said Captain Marsh.

  ‘Yes, you said so.’

  ‘Tell me about Fritz,’ he said.

  ‘He is nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Only in that I want to help you reach him.’

  ‘Help me? You are insufferable. Help is a word that has nothing to do with anything you have done to—’ She stopped, and her teeth clenched as the nightmare obtruded again, the nightmare of his precariously hanging body and her own hanging even more precariously, her arms wrapped around his legs. ‘It is so stupid,’ she said.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘To suggest that two people who are at war with each other should have a cosy conversation about their private lives.’

  Captain Marsh laughed. He had a warm and quite infectious laugh, but it did nothing to make Sophia feel better.

  ‘You’re really a very engaging young lady,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that. That is a familiarity I won’t endure.’

  ‘So sorry,’ said Captain Marsh.

  The beam of the headlamps reached out to illuminate the winding way, to pierce the darkness of that part of France which lay frostily prostrate under German occupation. Sophia wondered why a little rim of sadness had begun to edge all her other emotions. The night was even quieter than the day. The guns of the Western Front lay silent, although in the far distance the faint light in the sky told her of searchlights playing over the deep trench systems, the Germans watching the Allies and the Allies watching the Germans. How terrible was war, how profligate the slaughter.