A Rose in No-Man's Land (29 page)

“Rubbish. Go back up. Get me a drink first, though.”

“I’ll yell out to the police, let them know you’re alive.”

There had been a recent fall near the steps.
You could go
back
, a little voice whispered in her ear.
No one would think any the worse of you.
It was the coward’s way out. She couldn’t leave Charlie lying down here alone just to save her own neck. He’d rescued her from a fate worse than death itself, and she owed him. If she’d got really desperate, starving and destitute, would she have allowed herself to fall into the clutches of a dreadful creature like O’Toole?

She shuddered, knowing she would never have done it voluntarily, but she could have been taken against her will. Hungry, homeless, and weak, it seemed a reasonable scenario. Dorry and Vera weren’t bad girls, and look how they ended up. They, at least, were lucky because Charlie kept an eye on them to ensure they weren’t treated too badly. She owed Olive and Charlie so much. This was one way of repaying them.

“Are you there, Officer?” she yelled, as a shower of dirt and small pieces of concrete rained on her head and shoulders. “Charlie’s all right, but his legs are trapped under a huge slab.”

“Please, miss,” the policeman called back, “you should get out of there while you can. There’s been another couple of falls.”

“I know. Listen, Charlie’s on the outside wall, right at the back. We’ve got plenty to drink, it isn’t cold, and we’re sheltered from the wind. Apart from being trapped, he isn’t badly injured.”

“I don’t like the idea of you being down there, miss. The whole place could collapse at any time.”

“I’m staying until the engineers come to get him out. Give Olive our love, and tell her to go home and wait for us there.” Amy didn’t know how she stopped herself from crawling up the stairs to safety. If she died down here, no one except Olive would know about Mark’s baby. Her secret would die with her…
But I want to live.
I want to return home to Australia with Mark’s child.

“Could I have a quote for the paper, miss?” The young reporter’s question interrupted her somber thoughts.

“No.”

“I warned you,” she heard the policeman say. “Get behind those barriers before I arrest you.”

“But I just want a few pictures for the paper.”

Another shower of rubble rained down on her.

“You could bring the whole building down, you idiot. Get out of here,” the policeman ordered.

“I’m going back to Charlie.” Amy had made her decision and would not change it. Either the two of them got out, or they both perished.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“Nothing much. There’s some newspaper reporter tramping around up there. Wanted a quote from me, can you believe it?”

“Bloody scum.”

“Charlie?”

“Well, they are. Bloody vultures circling around, hoping some poor wretch will die so they can get a scoop.”

“Don’t get yourself so worked up.” She sat down and covered them both with the blanket. “He didn’t get any quotes from me. We’ve got a long wait. If the wind picks up, it could get cold. It’s freezing on the stairs.”

“Yeah. You still like it at Olive’s?”

“Yes, but I might be getting a nursing job soon.” She told him about Dr. Thompson.

“Good. You could still stay with Olive. She likes having you there. Maybe you might get your army job back eventually.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s too late.” She probably shouldn’t tell Charlie, wouldn’t in normal circumstances, but for some reason, trapped down here with him, she wanted to.

“I think I’m having a baby.”

“What!”

“I think I’m having Mark’s baby. Olive says I am.”

“Oh, Amy, lass.”

“You don’t think badly of me, do you, Charlie?”

“No, but some of those bloody old strumpets around the neighborhood will. If I could get my hands on that captain, I’d punch his face in. Jesus, I could do with a drink.”

“It wasn’t Mark’s fault, not really. We only wanted some happiness before the war swallowed everything up. He just didn’t love me as much as I loved him…” She trailed off as sadness engulfed her.

“What will you do?”

“I’m going to write to Guy, my cousin. I want to go home; he’ll send me the fare money.”

“Olive and I will always look out for you, especially now.”

“I know, but I’m not family. Why should you? Things are tough enough for you all as it is. I couldn’t burden you with my welfare, as well. Besides, having a woman with a child and no husband living on the premises could affect the café. People can be so narrow-minded.”

Amy closed her eyes and thought of Gum Haven, of Sophie and Guy. They wouldn’t condemn her. She would buy a wedding ring, pretend to have been married and widowed over here. Deceit was not in her nature, but she would do it to protect them and her unborn child.

“I can almost smell the perfume of the gum leaves, Charlie. I just want to forget all about the war and go home.” She couldn’t control the tremor in her voice.

If the building collapsed, she would be entombed. She would never make it home, just like Jules, Billy, Jake, and all the others who had died on foreign soil. For a split second the thought flashed through her brain again.
You only have to
climb up those steps to safety.
She almost stood up. Charlie wouldn’t condemn her for it. No one would.

She didn’t move. How would she live with such a cowardly deed on her conscience, scuttling off like some frightened rabbit just to save her own skin?

She started singing Australian bush ballads to comfort them.

“You have a lovely voice. Forget all about swagmen and colonial boys. How about some Irish songs, eh?”

She laughed. “Only if you join in.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “Thought you’d never ask.”

They sang together. Charlie’s voice sounded rough as gravel, but he sang with gusto. When their throats became dry and scratchy they stopped.

“I’ll see if I can find you that drink you’ve been nagging me about.” She inched her way over to where a tin mug dangled on a nail.

“I always keep something down here to drink from in case I get thirsty while I’m working,” he confessed with a chuckle.

“I bet it’s your secret stash,” she teased.

She found a wooden cask with a tap and filled the mug. It turned out to be wine, a little on the bitter side, to her untutored palate. A couple of mouthfuls to quench her thirst were enough, but Charlie guzzled down every drop.

“Try and find some of those beer barrels. Quenches your thirst better. They’re stacked by the wall over there. Make you bloody weep. I just got a delivery a few days ago, and this happens.”

Nearly three hours passed before they heard the army engineers start their work.

There was a slight fall of rubble in the corner nearest the barrels, followed by a cheerful, “Are you all right down there?”

Oh, thank God. She sent up a silent prayer. They were saved. Well, nearly.

Amy heard the engineers shoring up the timber. Banging and hammering, a few curses. Never had swear words sounded so good. It felt like hours before the soldiers finally entered the cellar. It took three of them to lift the slab of concrete off Charlie.

Even though Charlie could not put any weight on his foot, Amy didn’t think it was broken; he could still wriggle his toes. With a soldier supporting him on either side, they carried him up the steps, and she scrambled up behind them.

The hole had been widened, and as she inhaled the cold, smoggy East End air, no French perfume could have smelt sweeter. A small crowd clapped and cheered as they clambered out of the hole that could have been their tomb.

Now their ordeal was over, she started trembling. Her eyes filled with tears, and she tried to blink them back. How idiotic, crying now they were safe. Her torn hands throbbed, but otherwise she had escaped virtually unscathed. They bundled a protesting Charlie into an ambulance and took him to hospital for a checkup.

Once again, Amy fought off the overzealous young reporter who kept calling her a heroine.

“I’m an army nurse recently returned from France, all right? I’m tired, I’m dirty, and I want to go home to bed.”

Dorry rushed up to Amy and threw her arms around her neck.

“You saved Charlie, you saved Charlie,” she blubbered.

“Where’s Olive?”

“The police took her home a couple of hours ago. She nearly collapsed.”

“Come on, Dorry, let’s get out of here. A cup of tea, bath, and bed, in that order,” Amy declared. Olive must have taken her coat home, so she kept the blanket draped around her shoulders for warmth.

As Dorry took her through dingy alleyways, she wanted to scream at the obscenity of several rats chewing on a dog’s carcass. She had never liked rats much, but since seeing them scurrying around the trenches, bloated from gorging themselves on dead soldiers, she now loathed them.

Chapter 16

On their arrival at the café, Olive nearly cracked Amy’s ribs she hugged her so hard, and both of them started laughing and crying. Dorry darted off to meet Vera, who had found them accommodation with one of Charlie’s barmen.

Olive prepared a bath for Amy and washed and dressed her hands. Rugged up in one of Olive’s voluptuous flannel nightgowns and with thick socks on, she toasted her feet by the fire. After several pieces of toast and two cups of tea, she started feeling human again. She felt so tired now she did not know whether she could muster the energy to climb upstairs to bed.

“I’ll never forget what you did for Charlie today, luv. It took real guts. We owe you.”

“Don’t be silly. Anyone would have done it.”

“Then why didn’t they?” Olive shot back.

“Let’s forget about it. I wonder if my hands will ever look decent again?” She wriggled her fingers tentatively. “I don’t think I’ve got one nail that isn’t broken.”

Olive snorted. “You could have been killed.”

Amy shrugged. “I calculated the risks and took my chances. It’s as simple as that. I feel as if I could sleep for a week.”

“Off you go to bed. You look exhausted,” Olive said, wagging her finger. “The government should give you a medal.”

Amy laughed. “Don’t be silly. Medals are for heroes.”

****

Major Mark Tremayne parked the car he had borrowed opposite “Olive’s Café.” So Amy had taken refuge here. He glanced around and grimaced with distaste. The whole area looked seedy and rundown. Only a couple of streets away stood grimy slum tenements. Guilt almost overwhelmed him for having driven Amy to a place like this.

Blackened skeletons of burned out buildings and piles of rubble bore testament to the recent bombing the East End had endured. He ran his hand over the bristly stubble on his chin. He had wangled an emergency forty-eight-hour leave from France, dashing over to England on the first available ferry after receiving a cable from his lawyer. Amy was the only Australian army nurse who would volunteer to crawl into the cellar of a bombed-out building to comfort an injured man.

He grimaced at his attire—crumpled uniform, boots and leggings still covered in Somme mud. He had been so desperate to find Amy he hadn’t even bothered stopping at his club to clean up.

At midmorning, only a couple of customers sat in the café, and they stared with undisguised curiosity as an enormous woman waddled up to him.

“Good morning, sir.” Her smile appeared as generous as her proportions.

“Good morning. I’d like a word with Amy.”

“Who are you?”

“Mark Tremayne.”

The smile instantly vanished. “You’re the one who broke her heart,” she accused.

He felt his face flush. This woman looked at him as if he were something unsavory that had just crawled out from under a rock.

“She’s not here.”

“But I understood she worked here. I’ve just arrived from France. I must see her. It’s urgent.”

“Too bad. She’s gone.”

“Olive, your tea is getting cold.”

Amy’s voice! He could have wept with relief on hearing her call out.

“Excuse me.” He pushed past the woman called Olive and entered a parlor adjoining the café. Amy had her back to him, but he would know the neat, trim figure anywhere, even without her startling silver-blonde hair.

“Amy.” It came out huskily, but she swung around. He watched the warmth ebb from her face, leaving it cold and pinched. Her eyes darkened to the color of a wintry English sky.

“What are you doing here?” She stared at him as if he were an apparition from the grave.

“I came to find you. I’ve just about been out of my mind over these last few weeks. Why didn’t you let me know where you were?”

Olive, obviously wanting to hear their conversation, plonked herself down on a chair. “Tea?”

“What? Oh, no, thank you. Is there somewhere private where Amy and I can talk?”

Amy shook her head. “No, there’s nothing to say. You told me to get out of your life, so I did.”

“I didn’t mean it, for God’s sake. I was out of my mind with jealousy. I’ve been searching for you ever since. Please, give me another chance. I’ll make it up to you. I swear it.”

Olive gave him a ferocious glare. “You don’t have much to offer.”

He gritted his teeth to stop himself from telling this old strumpet who made him feel like a naughty schoolboy to shut up and mind her own damn business. Amy must have told her everything she knew about him.

“I don’t want to be hurt again,” Amy whispered. “I wouldn’t be able to survive it another time, Mark.”

She looked so little and sad it nearly broke his heart. “Amy, I love you. I’ll never hurt you again. You have my word on it.”

“Tell him. Go on.” Olive shook her fist at him. “Tell him exactly how he’s ruined your life.”

“No, Olive. You’re trying to help, but it’s better if he just leaves.”

“I’ve apologized. I’m truly sorry. What else can I do?”

“Sorry!” Olive exploded. “You’d be a lot more than bloody sorry if Amy was my daughter.”

“She isn’t your daughter, so I’ll thank you to mind your own damn business.” Who the hell did this old battleaxe think she was, anyway? “Please, Amy, let me take you away from this, this…” He nearly said rat hole. “Place.”