‘Then tell me you have never met Sam!’ Nicholas’s bewildered expression turned to understanding. The subtle change, hidden in the half-light, was like a stab to her heart. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?’
She held her breath, waiting for his reply. None came. He could no longer match her accusing stare and looked down at the ground. His hat hid his guilt-laden eyes. She would not help him with his reply. Let him find the right words to say. He lifted his gaze to hers and she saw the apology in his eyes. It was not enough, nor was his reply that followed.
‘I intended to . . . at some point.’
‘Instead you turned my life into a game, acting out a poem that was never intended for you.’
‘I didn’t do it to hurt you.’
Tears blurred his tall frame. So she was right, everything he had said and done was contrived. ‘Then why?’
‘Because Sam wanted you to have the Christmas he could no longer give you.’
Dark furrows etched Nicholas’s brows as he looked up at her. He was shivering, despite his army-issue greatcoat, as the temperature had sharply dropped turning every word he said into a breath of white steam.
‘You played the role well. Did you consult the poem at the start of each day?’
‘I didn’t need to. I have read it a hundred times.’
‘To rehearse your lines.’
‘No! Because when I read it I felt closer to you.’
His admission caught her off-guard. She hesitated, then anger came to her rescue. ‘You lie!’
‘I know . . . I know . . . it makes no sense. Why would I feel so close to a stranger? But war is a cold, crowded, but lonely existence and a soldier craves normality. He craves warmth. Your words provided that. They were a lifeline for me.’
Tears welled in Rose’s eyes. She dashed them away before they had a chance to fall. ‘I don’t believe you.’ She shut the window and drew the curtains. It was just all too hard and too painful to be a part of.
‘Give me your hand across a decorative table,
Let me share your contentment with a companionable sigh.
The touch of your lips from a mistletoe kiss,
The rise and fall of your chest as the evening draws nigh.’
The memory of writing it came flooding back as Nicholas recited the verse down below. She had been curled up in her bed, writing it in the glow of her old oil lamp that had seen better days.
‘I know your poem as well as if I penned it myself,’ Nicholas called out again. ‘I may have come here with the intention of carrying out Sam’s wish, but I think I may have fallen in love with you long before I arrived here.’
‘No!’ The denial escaped her as an anguished cry. Who was he trying to fool? She was no mythical siren with the power to reach across a continent and enchant a man to fall in love with her. She was ordinary, plain and boring. Hadn’t her parents ingrained that fact into her often enough? ‘No!’ she screamed again.
‘Yes! Sam gave me your photograph and poem at the same time. I have carried them ever since. The photograph is falling apart, but I still have it. They got me through the rest of the war, but I could not forget that I had a promise to fulfil. I knew as soon as you came to the table carrying two slices of cake that I could easily fall in love with you. I now know that I already had.’
Rose opened the curtains and window again and leaned out. It had started to snow and Nicholas’s hat and shoulders were now dusted with flakes.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Then why am I here standing under your window, when my head is telling me that you have every right to be angry and Ishould leave? After all, I have done what Sam asked of me. But I don’t want to leave, Rose. I want to be with you.’
Rose could not find the words to reply, for the simple reason she did not know what she thought to voice it. He was confusing her. What was she angry about? That he had carried out her fiancé’s wish and not told her? That he had not told her he knew him?
‘I don’t want to replace him . . . or be a substitute for a man you can never have. I want you to see me . . .’
‘I have always seen you.’
‘No!’ shouted Nicholas. ‘You see the uniform I wear and you think of Sam.’
