A Rose in No-Man's Land (21 page)

“We’ll be going home soon,” said the other soldier, a dark-haired youth with one neatly folded but empty sleeve.

“I’m glad for you. England is nice, but Australia is much better. I’m from Kilmore in Victoria.”

“We’re from Jerilderie, New South Wales. I’m Bill,” the darker one introduced himself.

“I’m Andy, his brother,” said the boy with the patch.

“Well, pleased to meet you, Bill and Andy from Jerilderie.” What a tragedy, two boys from the one family being maimed for life. “I’m Amy Smithfield. Can you imagine how nice it is to meet someone from home? It can get lonely in a strange city.”

“Yeah, lots of blokes go to Trafalgar Square to sit around the fountain and watch the crowds go by because they don’t know what else to do. Different if you’ve got an address to go to, or relations to visit.”

“Doesn’t seem fair,” Andy agreed. “We’ve come thousands of miles to help fight their war, but most of them won’t even invite us into their homes. Different when you’re on leave. I mean, you’ve got your mates and can dash around, do the live shows, all that kind of thing.”

“I’ve only been here a short time,” Amy confided. “Have you been to Madame Tussaud’s wax works yet?”

“Yes, we’ve done nearly all the sights. You working in England?” Bill asked.

“No.” She decided to tell them the truth, for reasons she could not even fathom. “I was an Army nurse in France, and after a dispute with my senior sister, they sent me here. I’ve been to A.I.F. headquarters, but my papers haven’t come through yet, so I don’t know what to do with myself to fill in the time.”

“There are a few Australian hospitals around Salisbury Plain. They might let you work there. Say, how about we buy you lunch at one of those foreign restaurants in Soho?” Bill suggested.

“I don’t know,” she demurred, knowing it was most improper accepting luncheon invitations from strangers, even fellow Australians.

“Suppose it wasn’t such a good idea, after all.”

She glanced first at Bill’s disappointed face, then his empty sleeve. How could she refuse him?

“I’d love to come.”

It wasn’t far to walk, not with two cheerful companions eager to act as tour guides.

A jostling cosmopolitan crowd filled the narrow, dingy Soho streets, dusky Indian girls in colorful saris a stark contrast against heavily robed Arabs.
What an ideal place for spies to operate from.
She gave a frightened shiver. The smells were rather overpowering, yet not unpleasant.

“Missee likie eat Chinese?”

“No, thank you.” Visions of eating dog or some other strange, oriental delicacy made her refuse the pigtailed Chinaman who accosted them outside his restaurant.

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 whole 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.”