A Rose in No-Man's Land (3 page)

Chapter 2

For the next few days Mark Tremayne ignored Amy’s existence, flirting in the most outrageous manner with Ella. Several times when he wasn’t with the redhead he stared at Amy with a brooding, troubled expression. Fortunately, they were busy at the camp hospital getting their equipment set up, so she didn’t have time to ponder on his strange behavior.

Guy, still away on the recruiting drive, left a message saying he would meet her near the main gate on Friday afternoon. They would be traveling home with one of his army friends who had a car and was driving up to spend the weekend with them.

Drill and more drill. Each day she watched with pride as raw recruits were molded into a mighty army. The newspapers kept predicting the war would be over by Christmas, so the recruits were worried the fighting would be finished before they even left Australia. Like everyone else, she hoped they would be sent to France. She couldn’t wait to visit Paris and purchase some famous lace and perfumes.

Amy gave a little skip of delight when she saw the motorcar, having never driven in one before. The only one she’d ever seen prior to living in Melbourne belonged to Sir Wilfred Mathews, a retired judge and wealthy farmer whose son had gone to school with her.

A thin ray of sunshine struggling from behind the clouds did little to warm her in the wind blowing in arctic gusts between the buildings as she went to meet Guy.

“Smithy.” Engulfed in a bear hug, she was swung off her feet.

“Guy.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I nearly gave up waiting for you. Where’s your friend?” Her voice faded away as she spotted Captain Tremayne.

“Is she your cousin?” Incredulity raised the captain’s voice several octaves.

“Yes, mate. You said she could travel home with us.”

“I assumed Smithy was a man.” He gave a tight-lipped smile.

“I can always get the train.” She flung her head back. “If my presence is so offensive.”

Guy released her. “I take it you two know each other?” He grinned. “Mark, you should have seen your face.”

“Let’s get started.” Captain Tremayne strode off.

Guy picked up her case and they followed the captain to a shiny Ford.

“I’ll sit in the back,” she volunteered.

“As you wish.” Not a muscle moved in Captain Tremayne’s face. He could have been a statue carved from stone. He held the car door open for her because Guy couldn’t drag his attention away from the vehicle.

“You’re a lucky dog, mate. Wish I owned a car. Still, a man can’t afford both a wife and a car.”

“I’d prefer a car anytime.”

“Ah, but you’re a confirmed bachelor. Smithy couldn’t have me, so she’s resigned to being an old maid.”

“You idiot.” Reaching over to the front seat, she flicked Guy’s cap off. “You go on with such rot. How does Sophie put up with it?”

“She loves me.”

“I don’t know why.”

“Ouch, Smithy, you know how to deflate a man’s ego.” He burst out laughing. “Is Smithy the empty-headed little nurse you’ve been complaining about, Mark?”

Silence. Amy wondered why the comment hurt so much.

“She is! No wonder you didn’t want her along. Should have heard him, Smithy. He thinks you’re…”

“I know what he thinks of me,” she interrupted coldly, “and the feeling is mutual.”

Once they got out on the open road, she opened the window to breathe in fresh country air permeated with the scent of wildflowers. Giant eucalypts soared skyward. Distant mountains brooded in a purple haze. Blue and crimson parrots squabbled and fought in every tree, and the early wattle bloomed golden in the gullies.

“Do you smell it, Guy?”

“Mm.”

****

Mark watched as Amy removed her hat, her hair tumbling free of its restraint to splay out across her shoulders. Guy started singing bush ballads, and she joined in. Her voice rose sweetly above the deeper male tones, and Mark clenched his hands on the steering wheel, wanting to block out the sight and sound of this beautiful young woman.

He had tried to avoid her since that day in his office after he had broken the tinker’s whip.
So little and frail!
He had felt like drowning in her tear-drenched gray eyes. A feeble ray of sunlight shafting through the window had turned her hair to silver. Except for the nurse’s uniform, she could have been an angel in a religious painting. He couldn’t get the picture out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He had deliberately flirted with Ella, convincing himself it didn’t matter when Amy’s eyes darkened with hurt bewilderment. It was only lust. Why didn’t he simply seduce her and get her out of his system, as he had done with others, countless times before? What flaw in his nature made him hesitate to use her so, when he never had such qualms with other women?

Maybe he respected her fighting spirit, sticking up for the underdog. She reminded him of Edwina. His brave, resourceful cousin had made his miserable childhood bearable, but inadvertently she had also consigned him to a living hell.

“We’ll be there soon, Captain Tremayne.” Amy tapping him on the shoulder brought him out of his bitter review. “I love coming home.”

“I can’t understand why you ever left the farm in the first place, Smithy,” Guy said.

“I wanted to go nursing.”

“I blame father for filling your head with all those stories.” He turned to Mark. “Used to sit her on his knee and go on about when he and Smithy’s father were in Bloemfontein.”

“Fountain of flowers, Uncle Frederick called it, and the nurses from the New South Wales Medical Corps saved his life there.”

“That dirty, filthy hole,” Mark ground out. “Men lay on the ground in sick tents with just a blanket covering them.”

“How do you know?” Guy asked.

“I passed through there with Lord Roberts. I was a young subaltern at the time. The place smelt of death and filth. I’ll never forget it.”

“You can’t blame the nurses.” Amy jumped to the defense of her profession.

“I don’t. God knows how they put up with it when they first arrived. They did their best, saved hundreds of lives. The army hierarchy messed things up.”

“That’s what Uncle Frederick said. Angels of mercy, he called the nurses. We can do so much more for our patients now.”

“Smithy sees herself in the role of Florence Nightingale.” Guy gave a soft chuckle.

“Will Uncle Frederick be home?” she asked.

“No, he’s in Queensland buying cattle, Sophie said in her last letter. You know what father’s like—he never writes.”

“You would have liked Guy’s father, Captain Tremayne.”

“Away from camp, call me Mark.”

Amy caught her breath in surprise. Thank goodness he was starting to unbend a little.

“Do you have any other family, Guy?”

“No, except for Smithy, who has lived with us for years. Her mother died when she was young, and her father got killed in the Transvaal.”

“I’m sorry about your parents, Amy.”

“Thanks, it’s all right. Do you have any family, Mark?”

He hesitated so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“My parents are dead.” His voice sounded flat and emotionless. “I didn’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“It’s sad being an only child and an orphan.”

“Is it?” He gave a nonchalant shrug.

“Turn here, mate,” Guy instructed, and they left the main road to traverse a rutted track. Three miles farther on, Mark stopped the car at a huge iron gate set in a high brick wall, and Amy jumped out to open the gate. She stood on the lowest rung and swung it shut after the car passed through. Home. The grass seemed somehow greener than before.

A flock of parrots flew noisily overhead, their bright plumage giving a colorful lift to the murky sky. Cattle and sheep grazed on well-tended pastures. Majestic conifers and cypress pines guarded either side of the long winding drive, and at the end of it stood a single-storey house built from red brick. It had a slate roof and a verandah all around. She had always admired it. Mellow, serene, yet welcoming.

Sophie ran toward the car even before it pulled up in the front yard, and Guy clambered out and dashed forward with a whoop. Amy watched the young couple embrace under a trellis covered with pink and white climbing roses. Her gaze tangled with Mark’s, and she watched in surprise as his eyes narrowed. Did such an impromptu display of affection embarrass him?

“They love each other very much,” she said.

“So Guy tells me.”

Mark took their bags out of the car and placed them on the cobblestoned path.

“Amy!” Sophie rushed over and gave her a hug. “I’m glad you could come, too.”

“Sweetheart, this is Captain Mark Tremayne. Mark, my wife, Sophie.”

The pride in Guy’s voice sent a little tremor through Amy.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Webster.” Mark bowed formally.

“Please call me Sophie.”

Short chestnut hair fell into waves about Sophie’s heart-shaped face, and her hazel eyes were warm, smiling. No wonder Guy had fallen for such a gentle beauty.
I’m a boisterous larrikin in comparison.
Amy hated herself for the little twinge of envy.

Mark carried their luggage up onto the verandah.

“I’ve put Mark in the best guest room,” Sophie said. “Is that all right?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Got the kettle on?”

“Yes.”

They entered a long, rather dim hallway with rooms on either side. Each of the six bedrooms had double glass doors leading to the verandah.

Noticing Mark’s keen-eyed scrutiny, Amy wanted to tell him he wouldn’t find fault with anything in this lovely house. The smell of beeswax polish combined with roses proved to be a heady mixture. Sophie, who loved flowers, had put a vase in every room. She was a true homemaker, and Amy was glad Guy had married such a wonderful woman.

Amy showed Mark to his room, “the best guest room” in the house, so Guy must have written about his friend in glowing terms. This room, painted duck-egg blue, had velvet drapes several shades darker. The floors were stained polished boards with colorfully dyed sheepskin mats scattered about.

He placed his bag on the dresser, went to the French doors, and pushed them open.

“It’s a nice homestead. Can’t understand why Guy wants to leave it,” he said over his shoulder.

“He did military training at school and feels duty bound to do his bit for the Empire. Leaving Sophie was the hardest thing he’s done in his whole life.”

“I understand you keep a good stable here.” He stared out across the garden.

“Uncle Frederick has several thoroughbreds. Do you ride?”

“Yes.”

“When we’ve finished afternoon tea, I’ll show you around.” Amy smiled. “It will give Guy and Sophie a chance to be alone.”

“Thank you.”

In her own room she changed out of uniform and slipped into moleskin breeches and a long-sleeved work shirt. She dragged her hair back, leaving it hanging down her back, tied loosely with navy ribbon.

Captain Tremayne—no, she must think of him as Mark for the next few days—when she went to collect him, still wore his uniform, although the top two buttons of his jacket were now undone.

“You could pass for a boy, except for your hair.” His eyes narrowed as they skimmed over her.

“I always get around like this on the farm.” She gave a nervous trill of laughter. “Breeches are easier to work in. I’ll take you to the parlor now. Sophie probably has our tea ready.”

“Servants?”

“Not any more. With Guy’s mother gone, there’s no need. One of the stockmen’s wives comes in a few hours each day to do the heavy chores.”

“Guy’s mother?”

Amy felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. “She, um, doesn’t live here any more.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

His mouth hardened. “Didn’t like the country, city much more to her tastes.”

“How do you know?”

“My mother thought exactly the same way.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t waste any sympathy on her.” The harshness of his voice, rumbling around the room, thundered in her ears.

He clenched his hands, as if in the throes of a great emotion.

“Please,” she entreated softly. “Tell me.”

“After my father died, my mother went her own way. She left me with an uncle who hated me because I was my father’s heir. My birth robbed him of what he considered his rightful inheritance.”

Mark’s face turned into a granite mask, his eyes dark and tortured as he dredged up memories that Amy somehow knew had been buried for years.

“He was a naval captain, away at sea most of the time, thank God. When he came home, the whole household lived in fear of him. I bore the brunt of his rages.”

Words that had obviously been dammed up for far too long overflowed in a torrent, and she listened in horror. How could a little boy endure such terrible treatment? “He used to lock me up in the attic as punishment. Fed me on bread and water, like some sailor undergoing solitary confinement.”

Amy gasped in shock. What a fiend.

“My cousin Edwina would sneak up with food for me. She’d spend half the night with me if she could get away from our nanny.”

“Oh, Mark! How horrible. What about your aunt? Didn’t she try to help you?”

He breathed out a long, shuddering sigh, a release of pent-up pain and anguish. “She couldn’t. She lived in terror of him as well. He belted her up a few times. I was his favorite whipping boy, though. Said he wanted to make a man out of me. I couldn’t have been more than about four years old when it started.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate, so she reached out to stroke his cheek. He accepted her caresses for a few moments before angling his head away.

“Do you understand now? My tormented childhood has damaged me, sweet Amy.”

When they entered the parlor, Guy and Sophie sat on the couch gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Here we are.” Amy forced a note of cheerfulness into her voice.

“Did Smithy fill you in on the place, mate?”

“More or less.”

“Took your time, didn’t you?” Guy favored Amy with a cheeky grin.

“Mark told me about his…” The savage thrust of Mark’s jaw stilled her wayward tongue, and she realized he regretted speaking of his horrific childhood.