A Rose in No-Man's Land (30 page)

“It’s no use,” she whispered sadly. “There’s no future for us now. I want to stay here with Olive until Guy sends me the money for my fare home.”

“I’ll give you the fare money, if that’s what you want, but wait until the war is over and I’ll come with you.”

“She hasn’t got that much time,” Olive snapped.

“What the hell’s going on here?” He was tired, his nerves stretched to breaking point. They all seemed to be talking at cross purposes. “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out instead of beating about the bush.”

“All right, you bloody toff. You’ve put a baby in her belly.”

“What did you say?”

Amy suddenly found her tongue. “I’m having a baby.”

“Jesus.” He slumped on a chair, holding his head in his hands. “Are, are you sure?”

“Whether it’s yours?” she said bitterly, hurt beyond belief that he could think she would sleep with another man.

“Of course it’s mine.”

“I’m an immoral slut, remember? Your exact words.”

“I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t.” His face turned ashen, and a pulse convulsed in his jaw. He looked haggard, and if she hadn’t been so hurt, Amy would have felt sorry for him.

“How could I have done this to you? One bloody, careless mistake.”

“Mistake!” Amy screamed. “You call our baby a mistake? You bastard!” She flew at him, pummeling his chest in a frenzy. “I suppose you want me to get rid of it.”

“I ought to flatten you,” he snarled. His hands clamped on her shoulders and he shook her like a dog with a rat. “Accuse me of such a foul thing again, and so help me…” He had no mercy and went straight for the jugular. “If we don’t get married, our
child
will be a bastard.”

Amy almost collapsed under the ferocity of his attack. “What a horrible thing to say!”

“It’s the word everyone else will use. My God! Why didn’t I leave you alone after Gallipoli, like I planned? Let you make a life for yourself with someone else?”

Mark knew he had put her at risk when they last made love, only because he wanted a few extra seconds of pleasure. His bloody selfishness had left her in this catastrophic position. Never in his whole life had he felt so desperate or despicable. His insides knotted up. A burning pain seared his rib cage—he felt as if someone speared him through the chest with a red-hot poker.

Olive struggled to her feet. “I’ll be out in the scullery. Sort this out between you once and for all.” She stomped off.

Amy read the agony in Mark’s eyes, saw him clamping his jaw tight as he fought to hold himself together, and she knew that he did care for her. He wasn’t perfect, nor was she. True love should be unselfish, unconditional, built on forgiveness and trust. She moved toward him.

He took a step forward, and his arms engulfed her, but he made no move to kiss her. They stood together without speaking for a time. Finally he raised his head. “I’ll have to drive out and see my lawyer, to fix things up for you.”

“Let me come with you. Olive won’t mind. It’s quiet here at the moment.”

“No. Please, Amy, I’ve hurt you enough already. I need to make amends. I have to safeguard your welfare and that of our child.”

“We could leave England and start up afresh in Australia,” she suggested, desperate for them to remain together. “No one need ever know we aren’t married.”

He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. Dare he secretly marry Amy? What if Louise ever found out? Was there a statute of limitations on murder? What of Edwina? He fought to still his trembling hands. To swallow back the nauseous fear. He needed to see his lawyer before confronting Louise.

“It won’t matter, if we love each other.” Amy’s voice cut in on his frantic thoughts. “If we can’t live in Australia, we could go to South Africa.”

“We’d be living a lie,” he croaked. It was the best excuse he could come up with at the moment. God, he had to get legal advice and then tell her the whole sordid story. After all these years maybe he could buy Louise off. If not… Icy cold fingers of dread played a discordant symphony up and down his spine. He had only one other option to protect Edwina and Amy and their unborn child.

“I’m prepared to take the chance,” she assured, slipping her arms around his neck.

He took her hands away and stepped back a pace. “No matter what it costs, I’ll make everything right for you and our child.” He would even risk the gallows. His chest constricted until it became hard to breathe, but he couldn’t let it show. “I have to see my lawyer first, so he can draw up some papers.”

“What for?”

“To ensure you and our child will be financially taken care of if something happens to me.”

The ominous clouds of war gathered over them once more. She shivered with dread.

Mark had borrowed a shiny black Ford, and as she snuggled into the soft leather seat, some of Amy’s optimism returned. She waved to Olive, who stood grim-faced in the doorway of the café.

Mark’s lawyer kept private rooms in Belgravia, and Amy waited outside while he went into the imposing brick mansion. After an hour or so, he returned, tight-lipped, but the worry previously etched on his face had resolved.

“Is everything arranged?” she asked.

“Yes.” It wasn’t the complete truth. He could hardly tell his lawyer what he planned to do if all else failed. He would marry Amy. Would write a letter to the police confessing to killing Maryanne. Take the blame for a crime that was never committed. He would return to France. Death on the battlefield was an honorable way to escape the hangman’s noose. “I thought we could stop at an inn on the way down, so you can taste some old-fashioned country cooking.”

“Sounds nice, but being with you is enough.”

She wound the window down to let in some fresh air, and the wind dancing through her loosely pinned hair sent it tumbling about her shoulders.

“No.” He put his hand out to stop her from pinning the silver tresses back into place again. “Let it float free. You have the most wonderful hair, so soft and shimmering. I want to bury my face in it all the time.”

“My, we are becoming poetic, Major Tremayne. When did you get promoted?”

“It came through a few days ago.”

“Well, congratulations. I’m pleased for you. You certainly earned it.”

As they drove along, the strained atmosphere eased between them. They spoke very little, Mark just pointing out various places of interest as they passed by. Many of the fields were surrounded by hedgerows, mostly hawthorn, although some were a tangled mass of wild roses or honeysuckle.

“The countryside is so soft and pretty,” Amy said, “much nicer than the East End.”

“That’s a slum. I’ll be moving you out of there before I return to France.”

“Olive’s been good to me.”

“It’s a bloody slum, and I won’t stay there.”

“But, Mark…”

“When I come back on leave I want a little comfort. More importantly, I want you to myself. I don’t want to share you with a gaggle of people.”

“Don’t let’s fight. We could compromise.”

“How?”

“When you’re on leave, we’ll stay at a nice hotel, your choice. Please, these people have been good to me. I know it’s a bit rough, but they’re my friends now. They look out for me. They’ll stop me from being lonely when you’re away.”

“All right. I’m a selfish swine, but I only want the best for you.”

“Yes, and Olive’s is the best place for me, except…”

Briefly he took his eyes from the road ahead. “You miss the wide-open spaces and the rugged grandeur of the Australian bush.”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“The yearning for home brings shadows to your eyes, my lovely one. Not all the time, granted, but every so often there’s a faraway sadness.”

“I won’t mind too much where we live, as long as we can be together.”

“I know, but you’ll never be truly happy until you go home.” His hand covered hers, and his fingers caressed her knuckles.

“If something happens to me, Amy, don’t stay in England out of some misguided loyalty. Take our child to Australia and start a new life. Guy will always take care of you. In fact, I got a letter from him a while ago, and he’s found the perfect property for us.”

“Sophie didn’t mention anything when she last wrote.”

“Guy probably hadn’t told her about it, but if he did, she wouldn’t have told you because I swore him to secrecy. He’s been looking around since he got back; he knows what I’m after. It was to be a surprise. I wouldn’t have said anything myself until we got everything finalized, but us having a child changes things.”

“Where is the property? It mightn’t be suitable.”

“It will be. It’s close enough for Guy to keep an eye on it for us. There’s a good homestead, and the owners would be willing to stay on until Guy finds someone decent to manage it.”

“Who would be selling up near home? Most of the stations have been in the same family for years.”

“It’s the Carstairs place.”

“Oh, Mark!” She closed her eyes for a moment. “How can they bear to part with it?

“With young Billy gone, Mrs. Carstairs and the daughter don’t want to run it anymore. Apparently they only hung on so he could take over. They want to move into town, so selling to us will be suitable all round. I’ve told Guy to give them, within reason, whatever they want for it.”

“It will be wonderful. I just wish they weren’t selling it under such sad circumstances.”

Amy started singing Australian bush ballads, and as the car filled with the soft, pure tones of her voice, Mark fought the temptation to pull off the road and take her in his arms. He wanted to taste her lips again, feel the sweet surrender of her body to the rampaging demands of his own.

That Olive woman’s announcement had come like a kick in the guts. Dear God, if they couldn’t marry quickly… The churning, sick feeling of fear for both Amy and their child corroded his insides, but, oh, God, what about Edwina? If only Louise would die of natural causes, it would solve everything. If he couldn’t buy her silence, he was left with only one terrible option. What would be worse for their child? To be illegitimate, or to bear the name of a man who was a murderer?

“What is it? You’ve gone all white.”

“I don’t know.” He hated all the lies and deceit, but there was little choice until he could explain everything to her. Now was not the time or the place. Amy had an almost childlike quality about her sometimes. She trusted him, and he had let her down.

“There’s a nice little village we’ll be coming to soon. They do excellent roast beef, or at least they did last time I drove through.” The way he felt at this very moment, he wouldn’t care if he never ate again.

They passed by a triangular green, lined with ancient cottages, and she gasped with pleasure. Some of the front parlors had been turned into interesting small shops. They pulled up beside a walled garden. The cottage walls were mellow and ivy-covered, but inside, she loved the age-blackened oak beams and clean, whitewashed walls. A fire burned cheerfully in one corner, and a spicy fragrance wafted around the room. Were they burning pine cones?

The room could seat twelve people, at most. As a cheerful, rosy-cheeked girl showed them to the one spare table, Amy smiled as her optimism returned. Mark loved her and wanted to make a home for her and their child.

“This is wonderful, Mark. Everything is going to turn out well for us. I feel it.”

Amy nearly drooled over the roast beef. “This is the nicest meal I’ve eaten since leaving Australia, better even than Olive’s pies.”

“I’m glad you like it. Doesn’t take much to make you happy.”

“It’s because you’re here with me.” Reaching out, she stroked his cheek. “You worry too much. You’ve only got a short leave, so we should enjoy it. I want us to laugh and be happy, and when you go back to the trenches, you can remember how good things were.”

“Thinking of you is the only thing keeping me sane amongst all the blood and carnage. Now that winter has set in, my God, I don’t know how any of us will survive.”

“We’re going to be happy, remember? Orders of Sister Smithfield.”

He took in several steadying breaths. “Did…did you suspect your condition?”

“No, I think Olive did. I suppose I should have recognized the signs, but so much has happened lately.”

“Oh, my darling.” He sighed deeply. “If we were married, the news would have pleased me.”

“You want children?”

“I haven’t thought about it for years, but I guess there aren’t many men who wouldn’t want a son.”

“You want our baby to be a boy?”

“Yes, but I want us to be married first. Oh, God, what a mess everything is.” He picked up her hand and gripped it like a lifeline. “I need to tell you something so awful, I can’t even find the right words.” He closed his eyes so he didn’t need to look into her face, to see the hurt, the condemnation. “I’ve been lying to you.”

“No!” Like icy waves from the Arctic, sick dread washed over her. All-consuming, it froze the blood in her veins and caused icicles to form on her heart.

“Don’t interrupt me, please. I don’t think I’d be able to get these words out a second time.” A malevolent silence hung between them.

His grip on her hand tightened until she feared he would crush her fingers, but she almost welcomed the pain. Olive had been right all along. A rich man gets a working girl pregnant and doesn’t want to take the responsibility. He must have been stewing over it as he drove along and, now the shock of her announcement had worn off, decided he didn’t want to be burdened with her or their child. He would throw some money her way to ease his conscience and disappear out of her life.

The word “murder” brought her out of her trance, and her eyes flew open in shock.

“It would have been an accident,” he went on in a low staccato voice. “Edwina wouldn’t do such a terrible thing.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m sure Maryanne fell over the banisters, or even jumped. She was drunk, raving, completely off her head. After Edwina returned to South Africa, Louise, Maryanne’s sister, told me she saw Edwina deliberately push her. She blackmailed me. Said that if I ever got married again she would go to the police, tell them she saw the whole thing.”