A Rose in No-Man's Land (12 page)

The Senior Sister, a friendly, middle-aged English lady, greeted Amy and the other nurses. “You must be exhausted after your trip, ladies. I’ll get someone to take you to your quarters immediately, and I’ve been instructed to arrange leave passes for you.”

“Amy!” She swung around and saw Kathleen, a New Zealand nurse she had known in Egypt.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding yourself,” Amy said, feeling suddenly cheered. With any kind of luck, they might have some free time together before she had to leave.

“Like to go out to dinner and a live show?”

“I don’t know, Kathleen.” She grimaced at her crumpled uniform.

“It won’t take long for you to freshen up. There’s this English lieutenant I met in Egypt. He’s here now, and we’re sort of keeping company.”

“All right, if you don’t mind my tagging along.”

“No, Cliff can bring a friend. What luck, us meeting up like this again.”

Amy borrowed a box iron from an English nurse she was sharing with and pressed her spare uniform before having a quick sponge wash.

“Ready?” Kathleen, whose room was next door, called out from the passageway.

“Yes, just a moment.” Amy adjusted her hat in the mirror. “See you when I get back, Beth.”

“I think you might be late.” The English nurse glanced up from writing in her diary. “Kathleen loves the Paris night life.”

Their party numbered six in all. Three young lieutenants and three nurses. Cliff’s friends were James and Ian, both English artillery officers like him. Mary was a New Zealand nurse like Kathleen.

“Looks like I’m the only Aussie.” Amy smiled at James as they all crammed into the staff car Cliff had borrowed.

They drove along at a goodly speed and within a short time passed down the Rue de Rivoli. How many times had she dreamed of visiting Paris at night, but unfortunately the cheerful young lieutenant wasn’t Mark.

Don’t be such an idiot.
She scolded herself for thinking about him after the callous few lines he had written. Even though it was foolish, she’d written him several times but received nothing back. Mark had deliberately, cold-bloodedly, severed all contact between them.

Cliff pulled up in front of a plain-looking estaminet. A dinner-suited waiter came to escort them inside. No ordinary café this, with its oval tables set with snowy cloths and gleaming silverware. The chairs were of some dark, extensively carved wood, the seats padded with crimson velvet.

Cliff ordered French Champagne. As Amy sipped hers, she discreetly observed the other patrons. The men, mainly officers, were in uniform and accompanied by well-dressed ladies.

Loud female laughter came from a table set against the back wall. She glanced over at the two garishly dressed women. One wore peacock blue silk, the other buttercup yellow.

“Such bright colors look cheap, don’t you think, Amy?” Kathleen said.

“Yes, they do.”

“Nothing cheap about those ladies. You need plenty of money to afford them.” Ian snickered.

“You mean they’re prostitutes?” Kathleen voiced the question Amy could not bring herself to ask.

“You could call them that, I suppose, but high class.”

“Oh, shut up about it, Ian,” James chipped in, sounding embarrassed.

“Yes, let’s order,” Cliff suggested.

During their meal, Amy found herself watching the two attractive young women. She could not clearly see the two officers who were with them because of the shadows cast by the gas wall lamps.

A piece of roast duckling nearly choked her when one of the officers stood to help his companion rise. No mistaking the arrogant carriage of his head, the sheer male perfection of his tall frame.

“Mark!” She watched with a feeling of sick betrayal as he spoke to his companions before striding toward their table.

****

“Amy!” God, she was beautiful, exactly the way he remembered her. His gut clenched with the pain of seeing her again, even as his heart leapt. He had prayed never to see her again because he wouldn’t be strong enough to let her go a second time.

“What are you doing here?” His eyes devoured her. “I thought you were working in one of the field hospitals.”

“I came up with a trainload of wounded, and my friends invited me out for the evening. Everyone, this is Captain Mark Tremayne, an, um, an acquaintance of mine from Australia.”

“Good evening.” Mark forced himself to greet them civilly when all he really wanted to do was punch them on the nose because they were with Amy and he wasn’t.

“I thought you were still in England,” she said.

“I arrived here last week. I’m having a few days leave before rejoining my unit.”

“Have an enjoyable time.”

“How long are you staying in Paris?” he asked stiltedly.

“Just tonight. Goodbye, Mark,” she whispered in a sad little voice, trying not to cry. Better they had never met again than finish up like this.

“Which hospital are you at?”

“What’s the use?” She hunched her shoulders. “Your, your friend is waiting.”

He nodded to the others and swung away without speaking again. “Mark, chérie.” Halfway across the floor the girl in peacock blue glided up to him, gabbling something else in French. Like a saber thrust, pain pierced Amy’s heart as the woman slipped her arm through his and they walked away.

She tried not to vomit as she forced the food down so the others wouldn’t see her turmoil. What weakness in his make-up made him forget her so easily? Ella’s taunting words on Lemnos came back to haunt her. He had obviously grown tired of her innocence and the celibacy it forced upon him and found a woman who would pleasure him without wanting a permanent commitment.
Oh, God, please don’t let it hurt so badly.

“Are you all right?” Kathleen touched her hand, and Amy came back to life again.

“Yes, I seem to have developed a headache.” The excuse sounded pathetic even to her ears.

“When that captain came over, you looked like you’d seen a ghost,” James remarked tactlessly.

“I suppose I did, in a way.”

“Dessert, anyone?” Cliff asked.

Amy could not bring herself to order anything but coffee. As she sipped it, she stared at the now empty table by the wall.

“There’s a rather naughty show we thought you ladies might enjoy,” Cliff told them with a laugh.

“Not the Can-Can dance?” Kathleen rolled her eyes. “You’d be shocked, Amy. You too, Mary.”

“I’ve seen it before. I went with my brother a couple of weeks ago,” Mary confessed with a guilty flush.

“I have to get back to camp, unfortunately,” James said as he stood up. “Nice meeting you, Amy. If I don’t get to see you before you leave, good luck.”

“Thanks, the best of luck to you also. I really enjoyed myself.”

“Until Tremayne turned up. Maybe we could go out again.”

“You never know, James. Strange things happen in wartime.” She forced herself to be civil to this nice young man. It wasn’t his fault she had fallen in love with an unprincipled cad like Mark.

He reached across the table and squeezed her fingers, bid the others farewell, and left.

Amy caught the interested stares from the other patrons as they stood up to leave. Against the colorful silks of the ladies, her nurse’s gray seemed drab.

Out in the street the fresh cool air washed over her, and she realized just how stuffy and smoke-filled the estaminet had been. The number of women openly smoking had shocked her.
This is Paris, old girl, and wartime, so anything is permissible.

A tall figure detached itself from the shadows near the outside door. “Amy!”

She jumped with fright. “Mark.” Her heart slammed against her ribcage. “What are you doing here?” She looked around for his companions, wondering what she would do if she saw them. Scratch the woman’s eyes out, for starters.

“I’m alone. We need to talk.”

“Do we?” Her voice sounded so cold she wondered why it didn’t freeze her mouth.

“Yes. I’ll see Sister Smithfield back to the hospital,” he told the others.

“Now look here, sir.” Cliff stepped forward. “We’re responsible for Amy.”

“She’ll be quite safe with me. We go back a long way.”

“Amy wanted to see the Can-Can with us, didn’t you, darlin’?” Kathleen put on an Irish brogue.

“Amy, please,” Mark pleaded.

Hearing the anguish in his voice, seeing the tenseness in his body, she hesitated. Even if she regretted it later, she had to give him a chance to explain himself. She loved him too much to turn aside.

“If you don’t think me rude and ungrateful, I’d like to go with Mark.”

“Take care of our Sister Amy, won’t you?” Kathleen reverted back to her own voice. “Don’t complain about missing out on seeing the Can-Can, because you had your chance.”

Mark did not speak until the others drove away. “How’s my lovely girl been?”

“As if you cared.” She stiffened away from his outstretched hand.

“I cared. I did what was best for you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” She spat the sentence out. “A curt little note saying you didn’t want to see me again. I wrote several times, but you never replied.”

“I wanted to get out of your life before I ruined it,” he snapped back. “To forget that we ever met.”

“With someone like that French whore you were with tonight?” she accused, her voice rising until it was shrill enough to echo in the darkness.

“Yes, damn it. Women and drink. It didn’t work, though. I kidded myself it did, thought I’d gotten you out of my system. I threw your letters away without answering them and convinced myself it was finished between us.”

“So?”

“When I saw you tonight I knew I’d been living a lie for months. Oh, God, Amy.” He leaned closer to her. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” She should make him suffer a bit, like he had done to her, but somehow she couldn’t, not with the black clouds of war hovering overhead. She slipped her hand into his, and his fingers caressed hers, warm and strong against her skin.

“Have you heard from Guy lately?” he asked, as they strolled along the street.

“Only one letter, but Sophie writes regularly. He’s coping quite well now, but there were difficulties at first. Poor Uncle Frederick died a few weeks after he got home. And Sophie is expecting another baby.”

“I’m sorry about your uncle. I’m glad things are working out well for Sophie and Guy. They deserve it. I received a letter from him just before I left Gallipoli, and he sounded quite cheerful.”

The main streets were crowded with soldiers on leave, mostly in groups of four or five, but a few had women with them.

“
Bonsoir, belle mademoiselle
.” Jake, with a young girl hanging on his arm, greeted Amy in an atrocious French accent. “
Capitaine
.” He gave Mark a halfhearted salute. “Enjoying the sights of Paris, Sister?” he asked cheekily, ignoring Mark’s scowl.

“Yes I am, thank you, Jake.”

“Insolent young pup,” Mark snapped, as the young soldier and his companion sashayed down the street.

“He’s all right. It’s quite shocking the way he swears all the time, but he’s gentle with the wounded.”

“Some of those young privates need a lesson in military etiquette. You should see the way the Australian troops behave in London, demanding entry to the best clubs, causing fights wherever they go. There’s a reckless bravado about them. They’ll be annihilated when they’re up against the Kaiser’s crack troops if they don’t change their attitude.”

“Would you prefer us to be subservient all the time?” She threw her head back proudly. “It isn’t in the nature of Australians to let themselves be bullied.”

“What’s the use?” He stopped so suddenly she cannoned into him, and his arms clamped around her waist. “You’re as wild as your countrymen, and there’s only one way I can tame you.”

His mouth swooped to take hers in an explosive kiss that left her trembling. He maneuvered them into the shadows. She forgot all about his snub and ignored the fact he was still tied to his dead wife. Her mouth opened eagerly under his onslaught. Smooth as velvet, his tongue explored and probed her mouth. He seared a trail of smoldering kisses along her jawline until his mouth became lost in the soft, warm hollow of her throat.

It came slowly, seeping through the euphoric mist enveloping her. An insidious, cloying perfume clung to the cloth of his uniform jacket. Her blood, only a second ago boiling like a cauldron, froze. Icicles formed around her heart because the presence of Mark’s fancy woman lingered on his jacket.

“What’s wrong, my darling?”

Anger and hurt caused her to lash out at his face, her stinging slap forcing his head back. She heard the sharp, shocked intake of his breath.

He dropped his hands and stepped away. “What’s that in aid of?”

“P…P…Perfume.”

“What!”

“How could you do such a filthy thing to me,” she whispered brokenly. “Kissing me while the smell of some French whore is still on your clothes.”

He didn’t speak, and in the darkness an insurmountable wall built between them. On leaden feet she moved away, the weight of her pain almost doubling her over.

“Wait. I’ll see you back to the hospital,” he said in a flat, toneless voice.

“Don’t bother.” He didn’t even care enough to defend himself. Did he plan to take all she offered before rounding the night off in the French woman’s bed? Bile rose up in her throat, and she swallowed down on its bitterness so it wouldn’t overflow and cascade onto the street.

A fever-hot bolt shot through her body, but it couldn’t warm her icy limbs.
You’ve
hurt me for the last time. I won’t let you do it again
. She wouldn’t be able to survive another act of treachery.

“You’ve always been prepared to think the worst of me,” he accused bitterly.

“And don’t I have the right?” she screamed.

He waved down a motorized taxicab for her, and when she refused his offer to escort her back to the hospital, thrust a handful of money at her. As the taxi drove away, she glanced back to see Mark standing motionless, staring after her.