A Rose in No-Man's Land (13 page)

Chapter 7

July twenty-seventh, 1916. The remnants of the first Australian Division were finally relieved at Pozieres, but not before they had lost over five thousand men.

Amy worked at the Casualty Clearing Station without a break for thirty-six hours. Then, at last, fresh staff arrived, so she was off duty until morning.

Even though she felt weak with exhaustion, sleep would be an impossibility right now. Too much pain and suffering. Too many ghosts peppering her dreams. She shouldn’t worry about Mark, not after the way he had behaved, but she couldn’t get him out of her mind. There had been some terrible battles over the last few days. How long could his luck hold out? For how long could he beat the odds and escape the relentless march of death?

On the main Amiens-Bapaume road, shock drove away her tiredness as she watched the surviving soldiers stumbling along in dazed silence. Their faces looked gray with fatigue, their eyes lifeless.

The town of Pozieres had been reduced to a heap of rubble by the sustained bombardment. The wounded streaming into the hospital told harrowing tales of being buried, dug out, then reburied. They claimed the bombardment was the heaviest Australian troops had ever endured, worse even than Verdun and the first Somme battle. Mangled limbs and gaping wounds were horrific, but this? Tears blurred her vision as she watched the zombie-like columns straggle by.

“Mark!” She picked him out from yards away. As he passed, she saw beneath the dark stubble on his jaw and chin the same awful grayness of the others. He stared straight through her with unseeing eyes. Wrapped around his head was a blood-caked bandage, and he looked so tired and defeated shock momentarily robbed her of words.

“Mark, Mark!” Only when she grabbed his arm and shook it did recognition flare in his eyes.

“Amy?” He blinked several times.

“You’re hurt.” She scrutinized the oozing wound on his forehead

“A mere scratch.” He rubbed a trembling hand across his jaw.

“It should be cleaned and dressed.”

“Your hospital can’t do anything for me,” he said roughly. “No one can heal the wounds we’ve suffered over the last few days. Look at us. Look at us and remember. These men are the living dead, Amy. They’ve all been to hell and back.” He shook her hand off and limped away.

“Let me come with you,” she pleaded, catching up to him.

“No. I’m going to my billet. I’m going to have a bath and a shave, and then I’m going out to get drunk. Blind, stinking, rotten drunk.”

The brutality, the bluntness of his words squeezed the breath from her lungs. Yet shocked as she was, she could not really blame him, not after what he must have been through.

“Do you know Madame Burgoyne’s estaminet?” he asked wearily.

“Um.” She hesitated. “I could find it.”

“I’ll be there around six.”

She touched his arm. “I’m sorry for what I said in Paris.”

“Why? You spoke the truth.”

She stood staring after him as he rejoined his comrades, then slowly walked back to the hospital.
I do love
you
. Sheer foolishness, running the risk of being hurt again. Every instinct for self-preservation warned her not to meet him tonight, but deep down she knew nothing on earth would stop her from going. The tormented bleakness on his face, the shattered hopelessness of him and all the men who passed by—she couldn’t refuse such an unspoken plea.

****

Madame Burgoyne’s catered to officers, and Amy had never been brave enough to venture there before. Millie and Jane were still on duty and wouldn’t finish until midnight. She nibbled her lip anxiously. How could she get into town? Dare she walk half a mile or more on her own in the dark?

“You look worried, Sister Amy.” Ted, the middle-aged orderly who had been with her since they left Australia, stopped his ambulance.

“I’m wondering how to get into town. I promised to meet a friend from Australia.”

“Captain Tremayne?” he queried with a grin. “Heard he’s been recommended for the Victoria Cross.”

“What! Oh, Ted, really? He won the Military Cross at Gallipoli.”

“Some of the wounded can talk of nothing else. Repulsed a German attack almost singlehanded after his platoon got cut off behind the lines. Fritz threw everything at them—there were only a handful of men left alive afterwards. Took them two days to fight their way back. If it hadn’t been for Captain Tremayne, a large section of the line would have been overrun.”

“No wonder he looked so awful. He has a nasty head wound, but he wouldn’t go to the dressing station.”

“Don’t say any more, Sister. I’m off into town for supplies, so jump in.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll have to make your own way back, though.”

“I’ll manage, thanks.” She couldn’t imagine how, but she would get back somehow.

Ella stopped Amy as she climbed into the ambulance. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“She’s coming with me, Sister.” Ted’s voice sounded firm. “We have to pick up some wounded from town.”

Ella raised her eyebrow in disbelief. “Oh?”

“Yes, Dr. Vincent told us to go,” Ted lied. Revving the engine, he drove away, leaving Ella shaking her fist at them. “Can’t stand that bitch of a woman.”

Amy laughed. “If you could have seen your face! You looked quite ferocious.”

“She’s got you in the gun, Sister Amy.”

“I know.”

“Be careful, especially tonight. She’d love to get something on you. She’s coveted Captain Tremayne for months.”

Amy shrugged. Not knowing how, or if, to answer, she deemed it better to remain silent.

Ted dropped her off outside Madame Burgoyne’s. Feeling more than a little conspicuous on her own, she hesitated in the doorway.

Tables set about at intervals were crowded with officers, while several pretty young waitresses hovered around taking orders. The aroma of food made her realize she hadn’t eaten for hours.

“You did come.” She jumped when Mark spoke at her side.

“I promised, didn’t I?”

With a hand at her elbow, he guided her toward a corner table where cutlery for two had been laid out. A bottle of wine, already half-empty, rested in a cane basket.

Indicating the bottle, he said, “I had a couple of drinks while I waited for you.”

Though freshly shaved and bathed, he still appeared drawn and white, causing the ugly graze to stand out starkly above his left eyebrow.

“You should have that wound dressed.”

“It’s only a scratch.” He gave an indifferent shrug.

“It could become septic.”

“Rubbish.” He pulled out a chair. “Sit down so we can order.”

Once seated and facing each other, she brushed her fingertips across his cheek. “It must have been terrible for you.”

“Yes. Care for a drink?”

“Thank you.”

He poured a small measure of wine into a goblet for her, filled his own glass almost to the brim, and tossed it down his throat in a savage gesture.

She stilled his hand with her own when he went to replenish his glass again. “No more until you’ve eaten.”

“Maybe you’re right. I planned to drink myself senseless, so I could sleep without having nightmares.”

“Oh, Mark.” She gently squeezed his fingers, letting him know she understood his pain.

“I’ve hardly slept in seventy-two hours. I’m tired, but I’m afraid to sleep. My lovely girl,” his voice rasped with emotion, “you’re looking at a man who’s been burned by the fires of hell.”

“I don’t know what to say.” She picked up his hand and brought it to her cheek. “I wish there were some way I could help.”

“You’re here with me. For now, that’s enough.”

A pretty young waitress came over to them. “
Je voudrais voir la carte
,” he said with a tired smile, and the girl handed over a menu.

They ordered quail in some kind of rich sauce. Although it was delicious, Amy felt a little twinge of guilt for eating such a tiny bird. “It seems almost criminal, eating these poor little things.”

“They taste good. That’s all I care about.” Mark’s teeth flashed splendidly white as he tore at a piece of the bird’s breast.

Coffee and pastries finished off their meal, and she was relieved he didn’t order a second bottle of wine. Throughout the meal she kept up a cheerful patter of conversation, with Mark only contributing now and again. Once the food was taken away, she found herself with nothing left to say. It was completely dark now, and she began worrying about how she would get back to the hospital.

“You’ve stopped laughing, my lovely girl.”

“Have I?”

“Mm.”

Her hand went up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. He winced when she accidentally touched his wound. “That laceration needs attention,” she scolded. “Why didn’t you report to an orderly?”

“I couldn’t be bothered with all the fuss.”

“You haven’t even washed it properly. I could dress it for you, though.” She frowned. “Not here.”

“I took a room at Madame Roaux’s for tonight. It’s only a couple of streets away, but…”

“We’ll have to go there.” She would leave herself open to vicious gossip, or worse, if they got caught together, but the wound might become infected without proper attention. She couldn’t let him run the risk of septicemia.

His eyes narrowed. “Amy, you do realize what you’re suggesting?”

“Yes, but who’s to know?”

“If you got caught leaving—hell, you’d be ruined.”

“I’d rather risk it than let your wound remain undressed. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“You’re too good for me, darling. I’m an unmitigated cad for letting you take such risks. I’ll walk you back to the hospital, but I don’t want to let you go just yet. You’re my lifeline to sanity.” He dragged trembling fingers through his hair.

“
Bonne nuit, Capitaine, Mademoiselle
,” Madame farewelled them at the door. Mark gabbled something back to her in French while Amy smiled.

Outside in the street, cold pebbled her arms with goosebumps as they strolled along keeping an arm’s length between them. Dozens of soldiers and civilians wandered around, even a few nurses from one of the British hospitals, so she began to feel safer.

The house occupied by Madame Roaux was narrow, double-storied, built out of dark stone, less than five minutes’ walk from the café. It stood in blackness, and as Amy followed Mark up a carpeted stairway, fear shivered along her spine.

What had possessed her to contemplate this madness? Why did Mark agree? Normally he would not have entertained such an idea, but after what he’d been through in the last few days, no wonder he didn’t want to be alone.

“Here we are.” He opened the door and propelled her forward with one hand in the small of her back. “Isn’t much, but it’s clean, and I wanted to get away from the army for a while.”

He struck a match and a lamp flared into light, throwing shadows against the walls. She glanced around the austere room. It contained only a wardrobe, dresser, and double bed. Whitewashed walls and dark matting did nothing to enhance the place.

“There’s a jug of water on the dresser,” he said, shrugging out of his uniform jacket.

No disinfectant. She poured water into a bowl so she could wet a flannel and bathe his wound. As she swung around, his arms snaked out and pulled her close.

“A few kisses first, my darling.”

“But, Mark—”

His lips silenced her protest, and as he arched her body into his she forgot about propriety because, dear God, it had been so long since she’d tasted his mouth. His tongue flicked and probed, deeper and deeper, until the fires of passion scorched along her veins.

“Amy, Amy…” He groaned the words against her throat. “My lovely girl, make me forget the horrors of Pozieres. Stay here with me, so I can sleep for an hour or so before I take you back to the hospital.”

“Mark, I…”

“Please, a few cuddles, that’s all. Slip your dress off so it won’t get creased, and I’ll keep my clothes on. Let me hold you, Amy. Your beauty can drive the bloody carnage of Pozieres out of my mind.”

She slipped out of her dress and lay on the bed beside him. He rested his head against her breast. “Let me sleep for an hour, and then I’ll take you back to the hospital. You’re so beautif…” He fell into an exhausted sleep and she lay there quietly, listening to his breathing, feeling the warmth of his body, inhaling his male scent. Love welled up in her heart. He wasn’t a coward, so why did he let some deeply buried secret from the past stop him from offering marriage? Other lives in jeopardy? Who did he mean? Could it possibly be Edwina?

“Ella, Ella.” Mixed up with the other unintelligible ravings, the Senior Sister’s name rang out, loud as a steeple bell.

Dear God, how could he? Minutes after asking her to stay with him, another woman’s name fell from his lips. Feeling defiled, she slipped out of bed. Fumbling around in the darkness, she somehow managed to slip on her dress. Giving small animal-like whimpers of distress, she felt her way down the darkened stairs.

A cold breeze slapped her heated skin as she struggled out into the night. How she made it back to the hospital, Amy would never know. Once in bed, she lay awake shedding bitter tears. She wasn’t a weak woman, so how could she let Mark repeatedly hurt her in the most shocking way, yet still come back for more? Burying her face in the pillow, she tried to block out the noise of her sobs. Slowly the hours ticked by, and she was glad when it was time to get up.

“You look terrible, Amy. Didn’t you sleep well?” If she heard the words once, she heard them a dozen times as she toyed with her breakfast. Three cups of tea made her feel slightly more human and able to commence work. Thank goodness for her patients and their needs. It was the only thing keeping her sane.

“There’s someone to see you.” Jane came up to Amy as she changed a dressing. “I’ll finish this off for you. Quickly. He’s waiting out in the back garden.”

“Mark?”

“Yes. Hurry before Ella catches him. You know what she’s like.”

Amy hesitated. The gall of him coming here, after what had happened in his billet last night. She never wanted to see him again.