mind? It was a bit sudden. It was very sudden, but did I mind? I—we—now had Lottie’s blessing.
“I don’t know if I mind, Sam. You and I have spent exactly ten nights together so far. I’m not sure it’s completely fair for you to spring this on me, but”—I raised my voice as she attempted to interrupt—“but… when I was at the Front, we had a show that had been sent out from London, and I can’t tell you how much everyone loved it.” I smiled at both of them. “So I’m not going to be hard-hearted about this. I’m sure Lottie will find another job soon. Of course she can stay here for a while.”
At which Lottie jumped up, rushed across the room, and gave me a big kiss.
That night, our first night in Penrith Mansions, was different from all the other nights that had gone before, and we both knew it. The hotel in Bayswater had been a temporary stopgap but now, in the Chelsea flat, the flat where we would be living for the foreseeable future, as man and wife, we were sharing a bed and there was no hiding the fact.
I was sitting against the pillows in my pajamas, reading, when Sam came through into the bedroom from the bathroom. She smelled of toothpaste, and soap, and Will (she always smelled a bit of Will) and, as she took off her dressing gown, her nightdress underneath could not conceal the fact that she had taken off her camisole. I hope I may be forgiven for saying this, but although they were concealed by the pink cotton of her nightdress, her breasts moved in a way that I had never seen before. I thought I had been aroused enough for ten men on that hill overlooking Quinton Villa. How much more was I aroused now?
She went to the window and looked out at the river. “Will’s asleep. Out cold. I think he likes it that there’s more than just me around.”
She pulled the curtains closed and slipped into bed. Her smell grew stronger.
I felt out of breath.
She leaned over and kissed my shoulder. “Not yet, Hal. Not long, I hope, but not yet. Sorry.”
Dear Hal,
You were right, and I was wrong. War is every bit as bloody—bloody horrible, bloody tragic, bloody stupid, and just plain bloody—as you said it was. How I miss our cozy evening in that pub in Stratford, and how long ago that seems now. I especially miss the taste of a G&T.
I’m sorry I haven’t written before. To be frank, this unit took a bit of getting used to, and to be even franker (is there such a word, bookworm?), we get a lot nearer the Front, the actual action, than I anticipated, and that has taken some getting used to as well. It’s some comfort that I’m a nurse—not actually firing any weapons in anger. Our unit is saving lives, here and there, where we can.
Anger. I’m getting to know a little bit about anger. I’ve noticed that as soon as men who have been wounded learn that they are not going to die, their fear changes to anger. Not at the Germans—you will understand this—but at their superior officers. With the Stalemate so Stale at the moment, there doesn’t seem to be any point to anything that happens out here. If their wound is bad enough to mean they’re being shipped home, then fear quickly turns to relief. In a way, they are the lucky ones.
Our unit—you will remember my little lecture on blood transfusion, that night at Stratford—has had a mixed reception. To begin with, we were everybody’s favorite. Blood transfusions save lives—and who can argue with that? But they also mean that some wounds, which beforehand would have meant the Tommy being shipped back to Britain, now mean that he can be kept in France and, after a break of only a few weeks, brought back into the lines. That is not what everyone wants.
Of course, we cannot save everyone and it is this that I have found most challenging. Dealing with the dead is wearing, harrowing—sad, sad, sad. But, in a sense, it is the dying who need us—need me—most. I say “me” not out of any sense of pride or in any egotistical (egoistical?) way. I am the only woman. Or, at least, I am usually. For these men who are dying—eighteen-year-olds, twenty-five-year-olds, forty-year-olds—I am their mother, their wife, their sister, their girlfriend, their daughter. You should