A Rose in No-Man's Land (16 page)

She squeezed his hand. “This is where I want to stay. See if they’ve got a room for us. It oozes romance, don’t you think?”

“Well, it does have a cozy feel,” he agreed.

They were able to get a suite, comprising a bedroom with adjoining tiny bathroom.

“Ooh, I love it.” She bounced up and down on the huge bed while he scrutinized everything.

“There’s a balcony out here.” He pushed open a pair of glass doors. “We overlook the gardens, and I think there’s a path leading down to the river.”

“Let me see.” She followed him to the balcony, where a table and two chairs had been set up next to a wooden flowerbox full of geraniums. “This is truly a romantic place.” She floated into his arms. “I adore it.”

“And I worship you,” he said, bending his head to capture her lips.

Her mouth opened eagerly for him. Straining herself against his body, she felt his heart thumping. His hands moved in a slow, circular caress against the silken material of her dress, and she swayed in his arms in a slow, hypnotic dance of love.

The cool breeze from the river could not quell the heat searing their bodies together. Only total surrender to each other could do that, and now was not the time.

When he finally dragged his mouth away, she gave a little whimper of deprivation.

“Shh, my darling. Later we’ll take each other to paradise. I have to collect our things from the Ritz. You stay here, and I’ll get Madame to send up some tea for you.” He released her and stepped back a pace.

“No, thanks, I just want you,” she whispered.

“I know. I want you so badly it’s nearly killing me, but once we get into bed, a team of wild horses wouldn’t be able to drag me away from you.”

After he left, Amy slipped off her clothes and lay naked, flat on her back, on cool, crisp, lavender-scented sheets. The only light in the room came from the soft, subtle glow of a bedside lamp. From an enormous ceiling rose, a pink lamp suspended on a black chain hung above her head.

How snug and cozy it would be in winter. This would be their own special place whenever they got leave in Paris. The room felt warm but not excessively so, because a breeze, carrying the faint sounds of Paris at night, drifted in through the open balcony door.

****

Silence greeted Mark when he entered the bedroom, except for a slight rustling of the curtains. The bedside lamp bathed Amy in a soft, intimate glow as she slept. Her lips were curved into a tender smile, so her dreams must be pleasant ones, hopefully of him. She lay flat on her back, absolutely naked. He had never seen anything so beautiful. Her hair spilled out over the pillow like shimmering moonbeams. The mounds of her breasts, tipped with pink, and the tangle of golden fluff between her thighs, were the only vestige of color on her shimmering, milky white skin.

He stood staring down at her. He could not move, didn’t want to move, just let his gaze wander up and down her exquisite body. He had escorted some of the great beauties of Europe over the years. They could not hold a candle to this lovely girl because of her inward beauty, a virtue they did not possess.

He crept into the bathroom to undress so as not to waken her, then tiptoed over to the bed. Carefully he slid in beside her, rolling onto his side so he could watch her. Soon this wasn’t enough. He wanted to touch her, needed to do much more, but knew he would not waken her to do so.

With feather-light touches of his fingertips, he explored at will. Her skin had the smoothness of porcelain, but it was soft, warm and alive. Laying his face up close to her, he inhaled her rose fragrance. Never again would he smell the perfume of roses without being reminded of Amy.

He closed his eyes and lay quietly, resting his hand on her waist. He thought he heard the sounds of distant artillery, or perhaps it was the pounding of his own heart.

When Amy woke, darkness filled the room. Mark’s hand rested on her waist, and they lay facing each other. She lifted a finger and caressed his lips. When he drew it into his mouth, she realized he no longer slept.

“I didn’t hear you come in last night.”

“You slept so peacefully, I didn’t have the heart to wake you, but now,” he promised huskily, drawing her into his arms, “we’re going to make up for lost time.”

****

By midmorning they were dressed and sitting on their balcony, partaking of steaming coffee and warm baguettes filled with ham and camembert. They fed each other, touching and kissing between mouthfuls. When their passion became aroused to such an extent it became unbearable to deny themselves any longer, they returned to bed and made love until lunch time.

In the afternoon they wandered down to the river, where Mark hired a boat for them. He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to the elbow. She watched the muscles flexing in his arms as he rowed strongly.

“I used to be a champion rower at school,” he boasted.

“I’m not surprised.” She reached out a hand to touch his recently shaven cheek. “I think you excel at everything you do.”

“I don’t like half measures,” he admitted. “If you can’t do things well, why bother doing them at all?”

Some of the trees lining the riverbanks grew right up to the water’s edge. Scarlet poppies swayed in the breeze. Such pretty flowers, and when they managed to survive on the Somme battlefields they grew well, anointed by the blood from thousands of soldiers. A shadow passed over her as she thought about all the laughing young men who were no more.

Mark, seeing her pain, would have given up everything he owned to take away her grief.

“What’s wrong, my darling?” he asked, wondering why he did. He knew what she would say, but her soft words wounded him even more than he thought possible.

“I’m thinking how well the poppies grow on the Somme. It’s all the blood they’ve been fed, I suppose. Wouldn’t it be a fitting tribute if the scarlet poppy one day became the symbol of our sacrifice?”

“Amy, please. This is our time, remember? Our two special days when we forget everything, except ourselves.”

“I know.” She put her hand over his where it rested on the oar. “Do you think they would mind?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The boys, the ones who died. Do you think they would mind us enjoying ourselves?”

“No, they wouldn’t mind,” he reassured softly. “They were young.” He felt old and sad. “Young soldiers want to have as much fun as they can, and they would want you to do the same.”

“Live for today because we have no tomorrow?”

“Maybe. We’ve got now,” he said fiercely. “Remember, this time is ours. It’s precious. We dare not waste even a second of it.”

They had been drifting on the current for a while. He took up the oars and rowed a short distance into the overhang of a weeping willow. Hidden from the occupants of other boats, he pulled Amy into his arms in an endeavor to kiss away her grief. He didn’t like seeing her upset, yet her tears proved what a caring, compassionate person she was, and he loved her even more for it.

“All better now, my darling?” he soothed, easing himself away from her.

“I’m all right when you hold me. When I’m not in your arms, that’s the problem. I need cheering up. Take me to the Moulin Rouge tonight. I want to see the Can-Can.”

Le Moulin Rouge was not the type of place for Amy, but he would take her anywhere, do anything, to bring the stars back to her eyes.

They went shopping. She refused point blank to go to the luxury stores where rich women shopped, so they compromised and settled for small shops, which still sold every conceivable item of clothing.

At one shop window she gasped in shock on seeing brassieres and short, lacy knickers on display.

“I want to see you wearing those,” Mark whispered in her ear.

“I couldn’t.” Embarrassed heat swamped her face.

“If you won’t go in and buy them, I will,” he mock-threatened, “and that.” He pointed to a cream colored dress made from some wispy material, the top heavily trimmed with lace, the belt embroidered with tiny flowers. The skirt fell in soft folds to the fashionable mid-calf length. It was the most beautiful, daring creation she had ever thought about wearing.

“I couldn’t. It’s so expensive.” She did not understand the French monetary system very well, but she knew this was way out of her normal price range. Mark would not be denied, however, and she let him have his way. For the first time in her whole life, price would not be a consideration.

They found a small, family-run restaurant to have their evening meal. The tables, spread with red and white cloths, gave the place a homely atmosphere that appealed to her.

“
Les cuisses de grenouille
,” she tried to pronounce the words. “I might try that.”

Mark grinned. “Didn’t know you liked frog’s thighs.”

“No! No!” She screwed her face up in disgust. “Something else, please.”

“Well, what about
le steak-frites
? It’s steak and chips.”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll have steak, too, but it could be tough. It is wartime, after all,” he warned.

“I’ll take the risk.”

“Croissants and pastries for dessert?”

“Ooh, yes, please.”

They went back to their hotel to freshen up for the trip to Le Moulin Rouge. In the privacy of their room, they could no more deny their desire for each other than they could pluck the stars out of the sky.

Amy initiated their lovemaking this time, but Mark soon took charge, and she reveled in his mastery. He taught her how to love in ways she never dreamed possible. While she completely lost control, becoming absolutely wanton, soaring like an eagle to the highest peaks of ecstasy, he always held himself back from complete abandonment.

It pleased him that Amy could enjoy his lovemaking. She was generous, anxious to make him happy, so he tried to hide his frustration. Only fear of getting her pregnant stopped him from losing control of his emotions, but it proved agonizing sometimes. A split second of carelessness and she could be ruined for life. He felt ill just thinking about it.

The first chance he got he would try to exert real pressure on Louise to hand over the incriminating letter that could send Edwina to the gallows. It would cost a fortune, everything he owned, most probably, but it would be cheap at the price. He would happily become a pauper if it left him free to marry Amy.

****

They strolled along in a leisurely fashion toward the Boulevarde de Clichy. The streets of Montmartre teemed with soldiers on leave, most of them heading in the direction of Le Moulin Rouge.

In her new outfit, Amy looked so beautiful he swallowed down a lump in his throat. The skirt of her dress swirled about, showing off her slim legs and ankles. Thank God for the darkness, because he hated the thought of another man’s gaze lingering on her bare flesh. He should have bought her a floor-length skirt. Her soft white flesh belonged to him, and he wasn’t prepared to share any part of it.

Le Moulin Rouge was crowded, mainly with soldiers, but a few women, including nurses in uniform, sat in the audience.

They took their seats, and he watched her mounting excitement. A line of pretty chorus girls spread out across the stage as the music started. It was lively and rather naughty as the girls danced around, lifting up their skirts to reveal colorful, frilly knickers. They kicked up their legs and gyrated and twisted to yells and whistles from the soldiers.

“Mark!” She gasped with shock as some of the girls did the splits. “How do they do it?”

He laughed. Almost childlike one minute, oohing with shock the next minute, then clapping in time to the music. He had attended shows like this before, not only at Le Moulin Rouge but Folies Bergères and various other music halls around Paris, before the war. His interest, like those of every other red-blooded male, had been purely of the carnal type. Tonight his enjoyment came from watching Amy’s reactions. What a delightful experience. Not that he was averse to looking at pretty girls showing off their underwear. Once he’d even been to a show where the dancers wore nothing whatsoever under their skirts.

Several young soldiers tried to clamber up onto the stage but were smartly headed off by attendants. Their mates booed and whistled good-naturedly.

After the show finished, Mark guided Amy to a small sidewalk café, where they sat sipping icy cold cider.

“What did you think?” he asked.

“Naughty.” She laughed. “But I enjoyed it.”

“Are you having a good time, my darling?”

“Yes, it’s been wonderful.” She fiddled with her glass and sighed. “I wish we had a few more days, though.”

“Would you believe me if I said these couple of days have been the happiest of my whole life?”

“Yes. I’m glad I could share this time with you, Mark.” She wanted to spend the rest of her days with him but knew it was impossible. Her heart felt weighted down with lead. They had only now, unless he could resolve the turmoil of his past.

****

Jane rushed up to Amy the moment Mark and his friend dropped her back at the hospital. “Am I glad to see you. Millie didn’t sleep in her bed last night. No one knows where she is.”

“Oh, Jane, no! Where do you think she could have gone?”

“I don’t know.”

“Excuse me, Sister Smithfield,” an orderly interrupted them. “The Senior Sister wants to see you, and is she in a rage.”

“I’ll see what dear Ella wants before I search for Millie. I’ve just remembered somewhere she might have gone.”

The Senior Sister’s haughty expression hardened, her eyes turned ice cold as Amy entered the room.

“Immoral slut,” Ella went straight for the jugular. “Absenting yourself without leave so you could share Mark Tremayne’s bed. If I had my way, I’d have you court-martialed. I promise you this. Your nursing career is finished.”

She spoke with a controlled, but deadly violence, and Amy staggered under the shock of such a vicious attack. “I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. You agreed to my having leave,” she fought back.

“Show me your leave pass.”

“You know I haven’t got one. You weren’t in your office when I came to collect it.”