Daughters of War (21 page)

His mind began to drift pleasantly. If there was no further need to look for Leo, he was free to do as he liked. He would go to Athens, as Vincent suggested, and draw some of the wonderful buildings and statues from life, instead of copying them from books. What a fool he had been not to travel before! When he was well enough, he would head for home by any route that took his fancy. He might go to Delphi, or to Mycenae where Leo’s father had excavated. Then, when he had seen enough of Greece, he would take a boat to Italy and visit Venice and Florence and Rome; and after that he would make his way back through France and see some of the scenes that had inspired painters like Cezanne and Van Gogh. He saw himself wandering in sunlit pastures, among vines and cypress trees.

His pleasant reverie was disturbed, at that point, by the recollection that Leo was supposed to be going home, to face her brother’s lectures – and her grandmother’s wrath, no doubt. Should he try to get back as soon as possible, to shield her from the worst of it? Would she be ready now to accept his proposal of marriage? He contemplated the prospect with no great enthusiasm. But if he did not marry her, what were her prospects? She had no other beaux, to his knowledge, and there was no doubt that her reputation would have been injured by her escapade. Would she find someone else? And what would Ralph think of him if he let her down? Perhaps his duty lay in that direction.

The problem was too intractable and he soon shelved it by falling asleep.

Over the next week Tom made slow progress, gaining a little more strength each day. Vincent called in from time to time and took away the letters which Tom had made the effort to write, to Ralph and to his mother and father. One morning he arrived bearing a bottle of wine and a jar of cherry jam.

‘Thought I should bring you a little something, seeing as it’s Christmas.’

‘Christmas!’ Tom sat up in bed. ‘It can’t be!’

‘I promise you it is. Of course, this lot –’ indicating the other inmates of the hospital – ‘don’t celebrate it for another couple of weeks, but today is the 25th. So, Happy Christmas!’

‘Thank you very much.’ Tom rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘I had no idea I’d been here that long.’

‘You’ve been pretty ill. It’s not surprising you’ve lost count of time. Anyway, I brought you these. I’m sorry I couldn’t manage a roast fowl or something, but food really is very hard to come by. Most of the shops are still shut and the villages in the interior, that used to supply the city with meat and milk and vegetables, have been devastated and the peasants have fled to the mountains. So this is the best I can do, I’m afraid. But at least the jam will help that ghastly brown bread to go down.’

‘It certainly will,’ Tom agreed. ‘I’m longing for something sweet. Open that bottle, why don’t you, and we’ll have a Christmas drink.’

So they had a glass of wine each and wished each other Happy Christmas and drank to absent friends.

Four days later, on the day that Tom was due to leave hospital, Vincent arrived with the look of one who bears good news.

‘The armistice has been signed and there is going to be a big conference in London – not just the combatants but all the interested Great Powers: Russia, Germany, Austria-Hungary, and ourselves. I’m glad I’m not one of them. They are going to have to redraw the map of Eastern Europe.’

‘The Ottomans are finished, then?’ Tom queried.

‘Undoubtedly. The Turkish Empire is a thing of the past. They will be lucky to retain even a foothold in Europe.’

‘And do you think the armistice will hold? Will there be peace now?’

‘I wouldn’t bank on it, personally. For a start, they will have to get the Bulgarians and the Serbs to agree about the division of Macedonia. The Bulgars feel, with some reason, that ethnically it’s part of Bulgaria. But the Serbs regard it as the spoils of war and a step towards a Greater Serbia. Already they are pursuing a policy of enforced Serbianization – sacking Bulgarian officials, closing Bulgarian schools. It will take all Sir Edward Grey’s diplomatic skills to keep those two from each other’s throats. But still, at least the fighting is over for the present, so we can all go home.’

Tom nodded slowly and gathered up his few personal possessions. Leo would be going home and as for him . . . he would go to Athens and when he felt strong enough he would consider his next move.

Fifteen

It was a week before the last casualties could be moved from Chataldzha to Lozengrad. When they had been dispatched Leo said goodbye to the men she had worked with and was gratified by the warmth of their good wishes. Dragonoff, particularly, seemed really sorry to see her go and thanked her warmly for all her hard work. She took a last look round, threw her bag into the boot of Victoria’s car and climbed into the back seat. For the last time they set off on the long road back.

When they arrived at the hospital Mabel Stobart looked Leo up and down and said dryly, ‘Very practical, no doubt, but I think you had better go and change into your dress before we have dinner.’

Leo slipped back into the routine of the hospital, but her fellow nurses commented on her lacklustre manner. ‘You’ve been overdoing it, all on your own down there at the front line,’ she was told and she often saw Victoria watching her with a worried frown. She could not tell her that her lack of sparkle was not due to overwork or too little food. It was the memory of one terrifying and exhilarating night and the fact that the man she had shared it with had gone away without a backwards glance.

It was another two weeks before the last patients were ready either to be discharged or transferred to the Red Cross hospital, which now had room for them. There was a sentimental leave-taking as the last ox-carts set off with the men who were still not able to walk. The British and Bulgarian national anthems were sung, hands were kissed and handkerchiefs waved and then it was time to prepare for their own departure. Some of the railway lines had been reconnected, so the plan was for the women of the convoy to travel by a roundabout route to Sophia, so that they did not have to make the gruelling seven-day trek by ox-cart through the mountains, which they had had to endure on the way out. From there, they would take the Orient Express back to Paris. It was suggested that Leo and Victoria should accompany them, but Victoria pointed out that they could not take Sparky on the Orient Express. She was very keen that they should drive back the way they had come, to Salonika, and Leo was not surprised when Luke said that he needed to get to Salonika too, to pick up a ship that would take him on his way to New Zealand. Mrs Stobart was not happy about the idea and tried hard to change their minds but Victoria was adamant. She refused to leave her beloved car behind.

As they packed Victoria remarked, ‘You had better find your skirt, Leo. You can’t go back to Salonika dressed like that.’

Leo sighed. She had accepted the necessity of changing into a dress while on duty in the wards but she had grown used to the freedom of her breeches and boots and was reluctant to encumber herself with a heavy skirt again. ‘I suppose I must.’

When she unearthed the skirt from where it lay rolled up at the bottom of her bag, however, it gave off a strong smell of mould. It was still damp and caked with mud, with patches of fungus growing on it, and in spite of all her attempts to brush and sponge it, it became clear that, as a respectable garment, it was beyond redemption. So Leo took it out into the street and gave it to an old beggar woman whom she had seen shivering at the corner. The old lady seized upon it with glee and, instead of putting it round her waist, hung it from her shoulders like a cloak. Leo returned smiling at the thought that at least it would keep someone warm until the spring came, but Victoria was aghast.

‘What are you going to wear now? You really can’t go around in breeches and that linen dress isn’t practical for outdoors in this weather.’

‘I’ve got an ordinary skirt in the trunk in the boot of the car,’ Leo pointed out. They had both packed some non-uniform clothes before leaving London but there had been no occasion to wear them and they had never been unpacked. ‘I can put that on when we get near civilization, but I think I’ll stick to my breeches and boots until then. It will only get covered in mud and ruined if I wear it to travel in.’

With time on her hands at last Leo begged the use of a mirror from one of the other women and inspected her impromptu haircut. The hair had started to grow again and the result was an untidy bird’s nest that first horrified her and then sent her into a paroxysm of laughter. She collected a bucket of warm water from the kitchen and washed it as thoroughly as she could. Then she sought out the barber who often came in to shave the patients and cut their hair. He was scandalized at the prospect of cutting a lady’s hair, but Leo told him to cut it just as he would a young man’s. She left his little shop with a sleek crop that fitted her head like a bronze helmet.

Mabel Stobart shook their hands when they were ready to leave. ‘You have both done sterling service and I thank you for it. I am sure that if it had not been for your efforts at Chataldzha, Leonora, and your indefatigable journeying to and fro, Victoria, many more men would have died. You have both shown great courage and determination. If there ever should be a national emergency requiring our services, such as a war, I feel sure that we have proved ourselves more than capable of playing a useful part and I should be very glad to have you two as part of my team. Do come and see me when you get back to London.’

They promised that they would and climbed aboard Sparky, with Luke sitting beside Victoria, and set off for the last time down the road to the south. It had snowed heavily since they travelled in the opposite direction and then frozen hard, so that the ruts made by the ox-carts had filled up and the surface of the road was like an ice-rink. It took all Victoria’s skill to prevent the car from skidding into the ditch, but at least the snow had covered the worst horrors of battle. It also meant that they did not have to stop to push the car out of the mud, and they reached Adrianople in one day.

In spite of the armistice, the siege had not been lifted. The guns were silent but the armed camp was still there and the trenches made dark gashes in the covering of snow, which gleamed red around them. Leo thought at first that it was the reflection of the setting sun; but drawing closer she saw that the snow was stained with blood.

They left the car on the road and climbed up to the general’s tent on the hill. General Dimitriev broke off a conversation with a junior officer to greet them.

‘My dear young ladies! What a pleasure to see you both safe and well! But I thought you were in Lozengrad.’

‘The hospital has closed,’ Victoria explained. ‘We are on our way home. When do you expect the next train from Salonika?’

Dimitriev spread his hands. ‘I am sorry. There is no knowing when a train will come. We have been waiting now for days for new supplies, but it seems that now the armistice has been signed the authorities have other priorities. But it must come soon, and until then you will be very welcome to stay here.’

He did not offer them his own tent this time. Instead, they were given the use of one which had been occupied until recently by two junior officers, who had both been wounded. Luke had to share with two of the others.

As they left the general Leo said, ‘We’d better get our bags from the car.’

Victoria groaned. ‘Oh no! It means slipping and sliding down the hill and then struggling up again, and I’m absolutely whacked!’

‘It’s all right,’ Leo said. ‘I’ll get them. You’ve done all the driving. You go and have a lie down.’

She had almost reached the bottom of the hill when a voice hailed her. ‘You, boy! Come here!’

Leo stood transfixed, her heart beginning to pound. So he was here! But now, surely, he would see through her deception and be furious with her. She turned, glad that the low winter sun was behind her and saw Sasha Malkovic sitting on his grey horse some twenty yards away. She stood still and after a moment he walked the horse forwards and drew rein beside her.

‘So, what are you doing here?’ Something in his eyes told her that he was surprised but not displeased to see her.

‘I’m on my way home,’ she responded, as coolly as she could manage.

‘I see.’ She saw the familiar ironic curl of his lips. ‘You have decided that you have discharged your duty to your grandparents’ heritage, then?’

‘The fighting is finished. There is nothing more for me to do.’

He jerked his head towards the hospital tent. ‘I should have thought there was plenty of work there for you.’

‘Perhaps. But it will get less now there are no more casualties.’

‘You think so? What makes you think the fighting is over?’

‘There is an armistice, and a peace conference, I have been told.’

‘A conference that will go on for months without finding an agreement. This is a truce, no more. And meanwhile, the Turks are reinforcing their positions and men will continue to die here, on both sides of the line.’

‘But surely the siege will be lifted now?’

He shook his head with a grim smile at her naiveté. ‘Adrianople is too precious a bargaining counter to be yielded up until agreement is reached. The siege will last a long time yet.’ He gathered up his reins. ‘But if you feel you have done your duty then by all means go home. I am sure your grandparents are eager to welcome you back. I wish you a safe journey.’

He touched the horse with his heels and would have ridden away but Leo suddenly remembered something that had occurred to her on their first encounter at Chataldzha. With a rush of reckless daring she called after him.

‘Colonel Malkovic!’ He stopped and looked back and she caught up with him. ‘May I give you a small piece of advice?’

His eyebrows shot up at her temerity. ‘Advice?’

‘Find yourself a different horse, one that is less noticeable. Greys always stand out from the rest and only an officer would ride such a magnificent animal. It makes you a target for snipers.’