‘I’m sure I will,’ Nicholas replied in a measured tone.
They sat in silence, no one with the courage to voice what was on their minds.
It was Sam who eventually spoke first. ‘You must enjoy her company very much to have fallen for her so quickly.’
Nicholas nodded.
‘She must enjoy yours too.’
Nicholas did not reply. What could he say? He remembered the soft blush forming on her cheeks when she realised he was looking at her, and her wide, soulful eyes shining with excitement as they shared a festive moment. She had enjoyed his company once — before her discovery.
‘What would a sergeant do if he felt overwhelmed on the battlefield?’ asked Sam.
His question caught Nicholas off-guard. ‘Ask for reinforcements.’
Sam flicked the ash of his cigarette and raised an eyebrow. ‘Which is why you’re here.’
The old Sam was back — astute and pragmatic. Perhaps his visit was not so foolish after all.
Nicholas smiled and nodded. ‘It is.’
Sam offered him his tobacco and papers and, this time, Nicholas took them.
‘You want her to know I am alive and have moved on. Can she be trusted? You won’t be the only one she will be angry at when she realises she has been grieving for a man who did not die. I will be in the firing line too . . . metaphorically speaking as well as in reality.’
Both men smiled at his last remark. Dark humour had been a great comforter during the war and it had returned easily to be with them now. It felt good. Nicholas rolled the finished cigarette in his hand. It was so perfect, it seemed a shame to set light to it.
‘I think we can trust her.’ He glanced up at Sam, ‘Do you think you can?’
‘If you do, I do,’ replied Sam.
‘You’re going to help me?’
Sam struck a match, lit Nicholas’s cigarette and shook it out. ‘Well . . . it will be Christmas soon. A time of goodwill and all that. Tell me what you want from me and I will do it. I think you will make a fine couple and I couldn’t be happier for you.’ He smiled. ‘I know she will find no finer man than you.’
Chapter Eleven
Wednesday, 17th December, 1919
Rose turned the closed sign on her door. It was half-day closing and just over a week until Christmas Day. Mr Hicks, the butcher, had begun to hang out his first display of geese and turkeys, their pale, plucked bodies suspended by their feet outside his shop window. As Christmas Day drew closer, the numbers would grow until he had four long rows of the festive fare. It was a sign that Christmas was imminent and knocking on their door.
The recent snowfall had turned to a patchy sludge, churned up by the wheels, footsteps and hooves of the varied travellers. Rose picked her way through the slush and soon left the shops behind her. As she stepped onto the bridge, her breath caught in her throat. Nicholas was waiting for her at its centre and she couldn’t avoid him if she wanted to get to the other side. He faced her, his feet slightly apart and his shoulders braced. The confident stance was familiar to her, but there was something different about him. He no longer wore his sergeant’s uniform and she understood the message he was sending her.This is me. This is who I really am.
‘Hello, Rose.’
His soft, gentle tone was almost the undoing of her. She wanted to hate him, but it was so difficult at times like this, when his dark eyes bore into her very soul and offered her the world. She should sidestep him, but found she did not have the will to try.
‘What do you want? We have nothing to say to each other.’
‘There is someone I want you to meet.’
Rose frowned. What game was he playing now?
‘Who?’
A couple passed them, forcing them to step to the side. ‘I’m not going to tell you here. I’ll tell you on the way. It is just a short drive away. Will you come?’
She should say no and tell him that she never wanted to see him again, but something in his tone would not let her voice it. If she did not go with him, she would always be wondering who it was he wanted her to meet. Why not? Only a crowded, cluttered house waited for her at home. She accepted with a jerk of her head and walked with him to his waiting car beyond the bridge.
