“I have no idea who they are or what they want with you,” Henry cried, the moment he reached Sandrine’s house, “but there’s a Priest and a Sister looking for you!”
As he’d wound his way through the dusty, blasted streets of the village back to Sandrine’s house, he’d caught sight of the Priest and the Sister, emerging from a building, immediately turning and passing into another. They were searching from house to house. It was then that he’d started to run.
“Who? What?” Sandrine gasped, leaving the table at which she was reading and hurrying over to him.
“There’s a Priest and a Sister, here, in the village,” Henry faltered, trying to catch his breath. “At least that’s what they said they were, but they look like no clergy I’ve ever seen.”
“What did they want?” asked Sandrine, immediately drawn to think of the two figures outside of Alessandro’s house and knowing in her heart that they were the same.
“You. They want to find you.”
“How do you know?”
“I was there, when they asked Pewter.”
“Did he tell them where I was?”
“No,” said Henry, turning away.
When Henry turned back to face her, Sandrine could see the pain and guilt in his eyes.
“Don’t worry for me, Henry,” she soothed. “All my life I have lived as one hunted, always on the run. They will not find me.”
But Henry twisted his head to the side as if the words somehow pained him. “What is it, Henry?” Sandrine asked. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Sandrine’s tone suggested he would be wise not to.
“It’s not just you that I fear. This war. This wanton merciless war!” He sank his head into his hands, his fingers white against his eye sockets. “My men. Whilst I was sleeping my men, they were instructed to attack the Germans. They were all but wiped out.”
“Oh Henry, I am so sorry. Who gave the order?”
Henry didn’t say. He couldn’t. He looked to the window and stared.
But Sandrine knew. “It was him, wasn’t it?” she spat, walking around him so she could look into his face. “The Major?”
Henry moved away, trying to avoid her gaze. He raised a hand to the wall to steady himself and hung his head.
“Henry! What is it?” Sandrine called.
“The Major. He said that you were …” He twisted his head, as if ashamed, ashamed to question the woman he loved, ashamed to say such things about her. “He said that you might have been lovers.”
Sandrine laughed cruelly.
“Lovers?! What’s this?”
“Exactly that!” he retorted, allowing the anger out of him.
“Lovers?” she spat back. “Maybe he wished for such a thing, but I did not! I would never let him touch me!” She threw her hands into the air. “Pah!” she exclaimed.
“You weren’t lovers?”
“Of course we were never lovers, no!” she replied, crossing her arms and staring down him. “Ah! Henry! What is this? You tell me one moment that you are sad that you lost your men, then you tell me next that you are sad because of idle rumour about the Major and me?”
Henry hung his head, ashamed. “I am sorry, Sandrine,” he muttered, fighting against his confusion and pain. “I am sorry.”
She could feel his torment. Sandrine reached forward and drew herself around him. “My dear Henry,” she soothed gently into his ear, her arms sweeping the full length of his broad back. They held onto each other in silence, closing their eyes, shutting out the numbing horror all about them.
Eventually Henry looked up at her. “You must hide,” he urged.
“And you must go to your war,” she said, easing herself out from the embrace.
“Sandrine,” he said urgently, grappling her into his arms. “I love you, damn it! I love you!” And then he kissed her, quite unexpectedly and passionately, holding her to him with no resistance, until she pulled away from him, a look of shock on her face. She stared at him aghast, and instantly he wilted under her fierce glare. Then, without warning she threw herself forward and her mouth was on his, their hands in each other’s hair, across their backs, fingers clawing at their clothes. Their mouths locked together in an embrace not even the strongest of forces could tear apart. They devoured each other and, when they finally separated, both were exhausted and all was forgiven.
“Go!” wept Sandrine, pushing Henry gently towards the door.
“Please, Sandrine!” Henry begged, “whatever you do, don’t let them find you.”
She kissed him again, this time sensually, enjoying every moment of his lips on hers. “I will not let them find me, Henry,” she said, kissing him one final time. “I will come back to you, now go.”