Go away and leave me in peace. I do not want or need your company. There was nothing else at hand to throw except the towel and she was loath to let go of that, and he showed no sign of doing as she asked. With nothing in her hand to defend herself, she was obliged to change her belligerent attitude to one of reasonableness; and the idea of meat made the saliva run in her mouth. Cant you see I am in no position to do anything about the soup or the meat with you hovering over me? And this water is becoming cold and I want to dress.
He grinned. I could do with a bath too. How about sharing it with me?
If you go and leave me to dress, I will cook the hare and heat up some more water for you.
That sounds like a fair bargain to me. He paused and pointed to the door into the rest of the house. Have you been through there?
Yes. It is empty, nothing to steal, I am afraid.
What a disappointment for you.
She was about to say she was referring to him and that she was not a thief when she remembered the clothes she had found and intended to keep. Instead she said, Go and wait in the hall if you want any dinner.
He made an ostentatious leg and left the room. As soon as she was sure he had really gone, she scrambled out and dried herself quickly, then dressed in her own underclothes and topped them with the dressing-gown she had found. She went to the door and called to him. If you want a bath, you had better empty this one and draw more water.
She went to stir the pot and skin the hare and did not know he had come back into the room until he spoke. Where is the owner of this?
She turned towards him. He was standing just inside the door holding Philippes coat at arms length. Dead, she said flatly, returning to her task.
Who was he?
My husband.
Your husband?
Yes. Lieutenant Philippe Santerre.
A Frenchman?
Yes. She looked at him boldly. Does that change your mind?
About what?
About sharing a meal.
No, why should it? He began dragging the bath towards the door. She watched as he opened the door, tipped it up and emptied its contents into the yard where the soapy bubbles dispersed in the puddles already there. He brought it back and stood it on end against the wall. Is there anyone in the house at all?
No. Unless they are hiding in a cupboard. There is a cellar, but the door is locked, I couldnt open it.
Best be sure. He picked up his rifle and left her. She could hear him moving about the house, doing as she had done earlier and searching every cranny. She was stirring the pot and humming quietly to herself when she was startled by a shot. She ran into the hall, half expecting to see him lying dead at the feet of the rightful owner of the house, but there was no one about and all was quiet. A moment later he appeared clutching two bottles of wine. Had to shoot the lock off, he said. But there was no one there. They probably evacuated when they heard your people were advancing.
My people?
Johnny Bluecoats.
They are not my people.
One of them was. You said so.
I am English, just as you are.
Ah. He smiled wryly, taking the bottles into the kitchen and setting them on the table. How can you be sure that I am?
You are dressed in a British uniform and you speak English as well as I do.
Neither of which is proof positive. No, if I were you, I would want to know a great deal more than that.
Why? It is of little consequence; our paths are unlikely to cross again.
Now that would be a pity, he said. I thought my luck had changed at last.
You are impertinent, sir.
He stood squarely and gave her a cool look of appraisal from her bare feet army boots were hardly a suitable accessory for a blue silk dressing-gown up over her five feet seven she had the figure of an angel, he decided to an oval face in which the green eyes flashed at him with a confusing mixture of humour and anger. He laughed. Pretending to be affronted by what was, after all, meant as a compliment, doesnt fool me, Madame Santerre. You are no drawing-room miss and, Ill wager, never have been. A camp follower, thats what you are, and, it seems, not particular as to the camp. Tell me, is it true that Frenchman are more romantically inclined than Englishmen?
She picked up the kitchen knife she had used to cut up the hare and raised it as if she meant to throw it but, deciding that it would be very unwise and probably dangerous, she turned back to her cooking. Are you going to bath before we eat or afterwards? The water is hardly hot yet.
It will do me. Ill take it upstairs. He picked up the cauldron of hot water with little effort, though it was extremely heavy, grabbed the handle of the bath and disappeared with them into the hall, carrying the one and dragging the other.
She went to the door and shouted after him, Not the room with the four-poster. I saw it first.
Half an hour later he returned, looking much more presentable, though he had been obliged to put the buttonless uniform on again. There are no mens clothes at all, he said. Perhaps the owner was a lady who lived alone. It would account for her leaving in the face of an army, dont you think?
Perhaps. She filled two bowls to the brim with the hot stew and set them on the table, together with cutlery and glasses which she had found in the back of a kitchen cupboard. They were obviously not the family silver; that had gone, either with its owner or, after her departure, to marauding soldiers. Would you like me to sew your buttons back on?
No. He spoked sharply. I like things as they are.
Do you? How whimsical. She sat down opposite him and picked up her spoon. I should have thought you would be glad to be able to close your coat again. The wind and rain in the mountains are cold, even in summer.
I do not feel the cold.
No? Not outside perhaps, but inside? She did not know why she said that, except that he looked like a man who kept his inner self very much to himself.
What do you mean?
She answered his question with another. Why are you alone, so far from the British lines?
Why should the British lines be of interest to me? I told you, you should not make assumptions from appearances.
Are you saying you are not an English soldier?
I am not.
But you were?
That is neither here nor there.
She guessed that he had been cashiered and it made her curious. In times of war when every available soldier was needed they would not discharge a man unless there was a very compelling reason. What crime had he committed? Ought she to be afraid of him? She supposed if she persisted in asking questions he might become dangerous, but at the moment he seemed more concerned with tucking into his dinner; he was obviously not going to be drawn on the subject. No, she agreed. It is no concern of mine. I only asked because I want to go back to the British lines myself and I thought you might take me with you.
No! It was almost a shout. My business is not in that direction at all. Now, if you dont mind, we will change the subject. He lowered his voice and smiled. Now, tell me how you came to be out on the mountain alone. It was you I saw earlier on the road, was it not?
No! It was almost a shout. My business is not in that direction at all. Now, if you dont mind, we will change the subject. He lowered his voice and smiled. Now, tell me how you came to be out on the mountain alone. It was you I saw earlier on the road, was it not?
Yes, but I did not think you had noticed me, you seemed so preoccupied.
I have been trained to notice things, but I must admit the filthy peasant I saw on the road bears very little resemblance to the beautiful young lady I found naked in a bath. If it had not been for the uniform coat, I might not have been so quick to realise they were one and the same.
Careless of me, she said. I suppose if I want to get back to the British lines I had better dispose of it.
Why were you wearing it?
It is warmer than nothing and nights on the mountains can be cold. She paused to sip her wine; it was a full-bodied red and made her feel sensuous and relaxed. She ought to beware of it. Why are you still wearing yours?
He gave a cracked laugh. As you say, it is warmer than nothing.
We could exchange them. Ill have yours and you have mine.
His head snapped up and he looked at her angrily. Now why should you imagine that I would lower myself to wear a French uniform? I He stopped suddenly as an idea came to him. Tell me about yourself. Where did you meet your husband?
Philippe, you mean? At Oporto, or more accurately a little to the north; I am not sure exactly where.
Is Oporto your home?
Of course not. I told you, I am English.
There is no of course about it. There is quite a colony of English in Oporto, wine merchants most of them. Why do you think the government at home was so anxious to free it? Port is one of their favourite drinks.
How cynical you are.
Perhaps I have reason to be. He paused. Tell me about Philippe.
Why should I?
I am interested and it will while away the evening. He leaned forward. Unless you can think of something more exciting to do?
The implication was clear and it infuriated her. You do not have to spend the evening with me at all. You will find what you want in the village, I have no doubt.
What I want? How can you know what I want? You do not know me.
No. You have not even troubled to introduce yourself. Perhaps you are ashamed to do so.
You want my name? Of what importance is that? It might just as well be Philippe Santerre.
Philippe was an honourable man.
You think I am not? He picked up his glass and drained it quickly, then refilled it. You may well be right, Madame Santerre, for who decides such things a mans friends or his enemies?
You are talking in riddles.
My apologies, maam. He inclined his head and then lapsed into silence.
She watched him for a moment or two then stood up to clear the table. What are you going to do now? Get drunk?
He laughed. It would take more than a couple of bottles of red wine to do that. Besides, I need a clear head. He caught her hand as she passed him. Sit down and tell me about yourself.
It is a very long story.
But a fascinating one, I am sure. You speak like a lady, look like a tramp and behave like a hoyden, so how can I be other than intrigued?
She laughed and sat down again. My aunt always said Papa had brought me up like a boy.
Impossible! he said, laughing. You do not look in the least like a boy. In fact he smiled I could envy Philippe his good fortune.
I shouldnt do that, she said quietly. He was hanged by the guerrilleros.
When?
Yesterday. We were out shooting hares and they captured us.
I am sorry.
I told them I was the wife of an English soldier and Philippe had taken me against my will
Was that true?
Not exactly.
Tell me exactly.
I was married to an English soldier, but he was killed in the chase after the battle for Oporto. She did not know why she answered, but it was a relief to have someone to talk to in English, and if he could be made to appreciate her plight he might be prepared to help her.
Another husband! How many have you had?
Two.
And still onlyhow old?
It is no business of yours.
Twenty-two, twenty-three? he queried. And already widowed twice?
You are a cynic, arent you? Havent you ever been in love?
Oh, yes, he said, his face twisting in a wry smile. And little good it did me. But go on with your story, we can come to mine later. Presumably you were at the tail of the British advance with the baggage?
I was, until a courier who had come back with dispatches told me Tom had been wounded. Then I left it and went forward to look for him.
As any good wife would do.
As any good wife would do, she repeated.
You crossed the river?
Yes.
How?
If you are English, you know the whole army crossed in small boats. She paused and looked up at him. Or are you testing me?
He laughed, poured more wine and settled back in his chair. Tell me, did you find him?
Yes, but he died very quickly. I tried to get back but I lost my way and ran into a company of French infantrymen.
And in the blink of an eye you had changed sides and become a French soldiers wife
It wasnt like that at all, she protested. You dont understand. And if that is all you have to say, then I shall leave you and go to bed.
Bed. Now, theres a thought! There was amusement in his voice. Have you a mind to change sides again? I might be able to accommodate you.
She picked up her glass and threw it at him. It caught his chin and shattered, scattering shards all over his coat, the table and the floor. He calmly stood up and brushed himself down, ignoring the tiny trickle of blood on his chin. I shall take that as a negative answer, which means you are still French, still the enemy
And who are you to talk? she demanded. You are not so lily-white yourself, are you? Unless I miss my guess, you are in disgrace, so what right have you to censure me? I am going to bed. And I mean to barricade the door. And I shall be obliged if you have taken yourself off before I come down in the morning.
He reached out to catch her wrist. She tried to pull herself out of his grasp, but the more she struggled, the tighter he gripped her. She circled round, pulling him round with her, so that she could reach the rifle he had left leaning against the wall. With all the strength she could muster, she twisted herself free and grabbed the weapon. Now! she said, pointing it at him. Do not think I dont know how to use this because I promise you I do.
He laughed and put up both hands in surrender. Lord preserve me from a gun in the hands of a woman! You may rest easy, madame, I was only going to suggest a truce. We could help each other.
How? she asked warily, still aiming the gun.
You want to go back to the British lines, do you not?
Yes. Will you take me?
Perhaps. If you do something for me first.