For the next few minutes, she busied herself washing her hair and her limbs. Her skin at first protested at the water, which was growing colder by the minute, goosebumps casting dimpled shadows over droplet-covered limbs. She scrubbed quickly, eager to finish her bath before Sam returned and saw her shivering. He remained outside. Gradually her movements slowed as she grew accustomed to the temperature. Sam was in no hurry to return, and she felt disappointed that he did not.
She remained in the water, knowing she should get out, but lacking the desire to. Her head tilted back against the tin rim. Her aching muscles had warmed and loosened, filling her withhappy thoughts that brought a smile to her lips. She stared at the ceiling, feeling more feminine than she had done in days as the silence and warmth of the little half-demolished cottage enveloped her with safety and a faint memory of normality. Eventually she dragged herself from the bath and dressed again, but this time in clean clothes. She called out to Sam that the bath was now ready for him. She tipped a last saucepan of warm water into the bath and shyly left as he entered, retreating to the room next door as he self-consciously peeled off his coat.
She righted an upturned chair, sat upon it and attempted to dry her damp hair with a towel as she listened to Sam bathing on the other side of the door. She felt oddly disappointed he had not watched her bathe. But if he had, he would have disappointed her. Sam was a kind and gentle man, not a perverse one, she told herself, yet there was a voice of self-doubt: had war and the journey taken a toll on her looks? Was his earlier flirting just a bit of fun? Perhaps he did not find her attractive enough to bother with her.
She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror. Her cheeks were flushed from being outdoors so much, and her complexion looked fresh and alive. She was prettier than she had just imagined herself to be. Did Sam see her this way? He had found her attractive enough to try to kiss her. She paused and listened to the splashing of water from the neighbouring room. He was naked only a few feet away. She began to absently dab at her hair again as she imagined his firm, muscular body confined to the tin tub, his long limbs hanging over the side dripping water on the small dusty rug.I should have let him kiss me,she scolded herself.It was just a kiss. What harm could it do?
Finally, the splashing water changed to soft, padding footfalls across the wooden floor and the muted movement of clothes sliding onto his body. Despite this, she still dared notemerge from the room until the aroma of cooked eggs beckoned her to do so.
‘Where is Klara?’
‘Asleep. She is exhausted.’
‘Has she eaten?’
‘Yes. Two eggs.’
‘Good.’ He showed her the saucepan. ‘These look ready.’
They ate a feast of scrambled eggs, which Sam assured her was an English delicacy in his charming, teasing way. She smiled and didn’t tell him scrambled eggs was a ‘delicacy’ in Germany too. She studied him from across the table. The candle he’d lit softened his features into a romantic haze.
‘Why didn’t you watch me bathe?’ she found herself asking.
He sat back in his chair and tilted his head to one side, the light illuminating his damp hair. His eyes darkened.
She felt silly for asking. ‘I only meant—’ she fiddled with the fork on her plate — ‘you’ve been a prisoner for so long, I thought—’
‘How do you know that I didn’t?’ His voice was soft and thick, like sweet honey slipping from a spoon.
She looked up. ‘Because I did not sense you watching me.’
He considered her words as she placed the fork back on her plate. He nodded in acceptance.
‘You are right.’
Her eyes widened.
‘I was tempted.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘But I didn’t.’
She smiled too, inwardly relieved. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s not a gentlemanly thing to do.’
He watched her steadily, as if he was trying to work out her intentions. He wouldn’t be able to guess, she thought, as she didn’t really know herself.
‘Are you surprised a British man can be trusted?’ he asked. ‘Is that what the Nazi regime taught you?’
‘I was thinking more of what my mother once told me.’ She attempted to impersonate her mother’s voice. ‘“Elsa, my dear, a man hasneeds. His needs are like a raging bull. Don’t open the gate until you have a ring for his nose.”’
She watched Sam laughing. His unhindered delight filled her with liquid joy. If she could always feel this moment of natural, innocent happiness, she would die giddy with contentment.
‘She sounds a formidable woman,’ said Sam eventually. ‘I should like to meet her one day. You don’t think she would want to meet me?’ he asked, seeing surprise on her face.
She shook her head a little too vigorously. ‘It’s not that. It’s difficult to think about the future at all.’
‘Particularly a future where we can still be friends?’
Is that what they were? Friends, nothing more? Friendship was built on trust, care and sharing of confidences, so he must be right. Hewasher friend and she washis.
