Amy set off alone from the hospital, for there was no sign of another nurse coming off duty. For early evening it was darker than she expected. It was still sultry, as though a storm might be brewing. She took off her cloak and crammed it into her bag. Along the dim street there were shattered houses between the surviving stone ones, and rubble overflowing on to the narrow pavement. On the other side of the road there was a side street from which came sounds of merriment, probably from a bar.
She walked along, deep in thought. Seeing Edmond had been a relief at first, but the extent of his wounds had horrified her. He might not even survive – the thought was unbearable. If he did, he faced an arduous path to recovery. Enfeebled casualties were also prone to all the infections around.
Loud voices came from the right and two officers, the worse for drink, lurched out of the side street.
‘Hello, there, Nurse!’ cried one of them. Where had she seen that lofty figure before? Now she was nearer the side street there was light from the nearby bar and she recognised Wilfrid Fairlawn. She hurried on but he crossed the road and continued towards her. His friend sniggered and went off in the opposite direction.
‘Amy Fletcher!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is it you?’ He caught hold of her arm.
‘Amy Derwent,’ she snapped. ‘Leave me alone – I just want to get to the hostel – my husband’s been wounded…’
Nothing else figured in her mind but that.
He caught hold of her other arm. ‘Come and spend the evening with me,’ he said, leering at her. ‘We can have a lot of fun!’
How could this be happening? ‘Please take your hands off me!’ she cried.
She tried unsuccessfully to struggle free, horrified at his strength as his hands pressed into her flesh. ‘Just let me go!’ she cried. Surely he would not force himself on her?
His hot beery lips found hers. Incredulous, she tried to wriggle free. Distracted with worry about Edmond, her mind could not seem to grasp what was going on.
Her effort to escape was ineffectual. He held on to one of her arms while his free hand began to range over her breasts and hips as she recoiled with dismay. He was handling her like some kind of trophy he could use as he chose.
Fighting off exhaustion, she dropped her bag and wrenched herself free of his grip. She ran ahead towards the turning on the left where she should find the nurses’ hostel, her heart thumping.
The road was darker here and the paving uneven, impeding her progress. The turning for the hostel could not be much further now. It was growing darker and the street was deserted, apart from her and her pursuer.
She thought she could hear Wilfrid’s heavy footsteps coming after her. Prickles of alarm ran up her arms at the thought of him catching her again. She turned her head for a moment and saw him close behind her. He’s drunk, she thought, for even in the dim light she noticed his erratic steps. She turned back, almost stumbling, and ran desperately on towards her destination. Panting with exhaustion, she heard his footsteps closing on her, and screamed as he seized her once more. No-one seemed to be within earshot. She trembled as his hands began to grope her again.
‘I’ve got you, you little tease!’ he sneered. ‘I’ll have you, whether you like it or not.’
I won’t let it happen, she thought, taking a deep breath and then using all her remaining strength to try to pull away. His hands were busy, trying to cover her mouth as she screamed again, and still hold on to her. Almost free, she struggled to escape his long arms. With a sudden twist she wriggled out of his grasp, striving to keep her balance. As she ran towards the hostel, trying to get up speed on the uneven paving, she suddenly lost her footing. Instinctively, she held out her hands to try to control her fall, but she slipped and slid on the loose rubble in the street and landed heavily on her left ankle. The sudden pain made her cry out, then almost lose consciousness for a moment.
Alarm forced her to rouse herself and look in Wilfrid’s direction again. He was approaching rapidly. In a minute he would seize her again – she was at his mercy now.
‘Go away!’ she screamed. ‘Go and find a brothel. There’s bound to be one.’ She tried to pull herself to her feet but her left foot would not take her weight and another wave of pain engulfed her.
There were headlights suddenly as an army vehicle of some kind approached along the road. She waved her arm. ‘Help me!’ she cried, but the vehicle drove on. Tears were flooding into her eyes.
Wilfrid took another step towards her, then she saw him falter and stop in his tracks. Perhaps he was wondering if he had been seen. He hesitated for a moment, then began lurching towards her again.
‘No!’ she screamed, desperate for someone to hear her. He stopped again uncertainly, looking around. From somewhere in the distance came the sound of another vehicle. He paused, as though becoming aware suddenly that here was an injured nurse who might hold him responsible for her accident. He turned round and hurried away.
Relief mingled with pain and fright. She lay panting in the ravaged street, then made another futile attempt to get up. If only some kindly passer-by would come to her aid. She began to drift in and out of consciousness as minutes passed.
As if it’s not enough that Edmond’s gravely wounded, she reflected in one of her more lucid moments, now I’m injured too. And what about the baby? A fall could jolt the unborn child and cause a miscarriage. She could not feel any disturbing symptom but the idea of losing their child was unbearable. Why wasn’t I more careful? she asked herself. Why didn’t I wait for another nurse to accompany me? There’s been no sign of anyone coming off duty: I should have checked what time the shifts end.
It can’t be too much further to the hostel, she thought. Can I crawl nearer? I might be more likely to attract attention. She tried to shuffle along the street, but the pain was excruciating and she was afraid she might pass out.
There was a rumble that did not sound like artillery, followed by a flash of lightning. Now there was going to be a storm and her cloak was back along the street inside her bag where she had dropped it.
Then she heard the murmur of voices, soft, female voices. Two figures had come round the corner and were approaching.
‘Help!’ she cried, ‘Oh, please help me!’
Two nuns were leaning over her. What was that language they were speaking? Flemish, she supposed. She pointed to her ankle. One of them bent down to examine it as best she could in the dim light, and Amy cried out. She suspected it was broken, not just sprained.
They made reassuring noises, then one of them ran in the direction of the hospital. The other one sat beside her on the rubble, holding her hand. Amy could not see her clearly but she had a vague impression of a broad face with a serene expression. Her words were incomprehensible but soothing.
There was more thunder and another flash of lightning. The nun’s clothes looked rather like her own nursing uniform, but with solid wooden sabots on her feet. Raindrops began to fall; they were refreshing, but soon they might come down harder.
Then there were the lights of another vehicle. An ambulance was approaching from the direction of the hospital. It stopped beside them and at last, kindly orderlies were lifting her onto a stretcher. She murmured her thanks to the nun as they closed the door. She was shivering, and wished she could wash out her mouth to be rid of the taste of Wilfrid’s kiss.
If only the baby is safe, she thought as she found herself back in the hospital. Soon a nurse was helping her remove her stocking and examining her ankle.
‘Send for a doctor,’ the nurse told a junior. ‘Mr Westholme might still be here.’ Meanwhile, she tucked a damp bandage loosely round Amy’s ankle to numb the pain and reduce the swelling.
‘Now, let’s take a look at your hand,’ she said.
Amy had scarcely noticed the cuts and grazes on her hand where she had thrust it out to break her fall. The nurse wiped it gently with antiseptic.
‘There’s blood on your other stocking,’ the nurse said, removing it to reveal more superficial damage. She sponged the cuts and applied a bandage. ‘You’ve got a tear in your skirt as well,’ she said.
Amy was scarcely bothered by these problems. ‘What about my baby?’ she asked. ‘Will it be all right?’
‘What, you’re expecting a child? Why are you still working?’
Amy could form no coherent sentence. As if the Germans had not done their best to kill the man she loved, Wilfrid Fairlawn had attacked her, and her baby could be threatened from her resultant fall.
‘Try not to worry, dear. We’ll get you a doctor as soon as we can.’ At last they brought her a glass of water.
They took her to a small ward for nurses and found her a nightdress as her belongings still lay somewhere in the dark street. She lay back on the bed in the dimly lit room, pain plaguing her even as she was distracted with dismay at what had happened and frightened about the threats to those she loved.
She could not tell how long it was before Mr Westholme arrived. He looked even more tired than she felt as he examined her foot. She gathered he had spent the early part of the evening operating.
‘I’m afraid it’s definitely broken,’ he told her. ‘I’ll schedule you for surgery tomorrow as we need to set the bones carefully before we plaster your ankle.’ The sister accompanying him took notes. ‘Of course, if there are a lot of new casualties you’ll have to wait for a gap in the urgent operations.’
‘Yes, I understand.’ Everything was horribly amiss: she felt as though she was unravelling. ‘Mr Westholme, I’m worried about the baby, because of the fall.’
His forehead wrinkled. ‘Have you had any abdominal pains, or bleeding?’
‘No.’
‘Probably everything’s all right, but it’s high time you were checked over. Sister, please act as chaperone while I examine this patient closely.’
He felt around gently. ‘You’re about four months pregnant, as you thought. Everything seems fine. You should have your baby around new year.’ He beamed at her.
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m afraid I won’t be doing your operation tomorrow. They’ve sent for me at another hospital to help an airman who’s crash landed.’
After they left, fatigue allowed her to sleep for a while, until the pain of her ankle woke her. Her mind was engulfed once more in anxiety about Edmond.
‘Your operation has been put back to later this morning,’ Sister told her next day.
‘They know I’m pregnant, don’t they? I mustn’t have any kind of treatment that would harm the baby.’
‘Yes, Nurse.’ Her look seemed reproachful, as though it was completely unacceptable for a VAD to expect a child or to need a bed and treatment for herself when they were so overstretched dealing with wounded soldiers.
‘Please, can you find out for me how Lieutenant Derwent is this morning?’
‘I’ll enquire for you.’
In due course, the sister she had seen the day before looked in to say Edmond was holding his own. ‘It did him no end of good seeing you yesterday,’ she said.
‘I can’t see him this morning. I’m waiting to be taken to theatre. Don’t tell him I’m injured: I don’t want him upset… Do you happen to know if James Fletcher ever comes here as an orderly? He’s my cousin.’
‘Why, yes, he’s based here now. I’ve seen him this morning. I’ll tell him you’re here.’
Soon they came to take her to the operating theatre. Going along the corridor on a stretcher, she saw new casualties arriving and supposed she was lucky they had managed to fit in her operation.
Edmond probably thinks I’ve left by now, she thought. I told him I only had twenty-four hours’ leave.
She lay uncomfortably in bed, her lower leg and ankle now in plaster but still aching. Another nurse occupied a bed in her ward, recovering from one of the infections that went round. The afternoon dragged on, though it was fresher now after the storm. I need to see Edmond again, she thought, but I can’t just get up and walk to his ward. Can I persuade a nurse to wheel me there in an invalid chair? But they all look so busy.
The sister in charge of her case looked in. ‘So long as your recovery continues well, we’ll send you back to your own hospital tomorrow,’ she said. ‘We have to move out a lot of patients but we’ll fit you in an ambulance with some others.’
‘Can’t I stay here a little longer?’ She was anxious to see Edmond somehow.
‘Nurse, this is a major army hospital and you’re not a serious case.’
Shortly afterwards the door opened and there stood James, smiling encouragingly. ‘Whatever happened, Amy?’ He handed her a sweet-smelling bunch of pink carnations.
‘Thank you – they’re lovely.’ She reached the short distance to lay them on her bedside table. ‘I’ll ask a nurse to put them in water… I fell over, that’s all. I wish I wasn’t causing all this trouble. I’m so glad you’ve come to see me.’ She was unwilling to tell anyone the circumstances of her accident. Relating what had happened would make her relive her ordeal, bringing back the feeling of his hands roving over her, and his hot breath on her face.
‘It’s my meal break. Is it true you’re having a baby?’
‘Yes. I must write to tell my parents now it’s official.’
‘That’s wonderful news!’
‘I should be going home soon. Did you know Edmond’s in here? He’s got shocking injuries.’
The news had not reached him. She told James about his wounds and saw dismay on his face. ‘…Listen, I need to see him again,’ she said. It was tantalising to think of him lying in a ward nearby with her unable to reach him. ‘Can you get an invalid chair and take me there?’
‘I’ll have to ask Sister if you’re fit to be moved.’
Presently Sister came to help her dress, though her bare toes still poked out of the plaster cast. Then James was back with an invalid chair and helped her gently into it.
‘Edmond might ask you about the fighting,’ she told James. ‘Please try not to say anything alarming.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
He wheeled her along the corridors and through the large ward, where some of the patients stared at them. Then they went into Edmond’s room.
He looked up and smiled to see them. ‘You’re still here, darling! But what’s happened to your leg?’
‘I slipped over on some rubble in the street,’ she said. She had explained to James that she was going to make light of her injury to Edmond, for he had enough to concern him with his own wounds. ‘My ankle’s sprained, but there’s a slight crack so they’ve plastered it.’ When she was better, she might confess that the injury had been worse than a sprain but she shrank from ever telling him exactly what had happened on that street.
James wheeled her close beside Edmond and she felt his pulse and checked that his forehead was still cool. His breathing seemed slightly more regular now.
‘You’re getting better! I can tell.’ The improvement was barely perceptible, just enough to raise her spirits a little. But he must still be in dreadful pain. ‘They’ve checked on the baby and everything is fine.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘That’s wonderful. But you need to take care of yourself, darling. No more accidents!’ Up to now he had barely acknowledged her cousin. ‘Hello, James, how are you getting on?’
Edmond asked for news from the salient and James gave him an optimistic account of progress along the Front. Edmond’s probably aware of the casualties pouring in, though, she thought. He’ll hear all the noise from the ward.
She leant back and tried to relax as they talked. Her ankle still throbbed with pain and she could not take morphia because of her child. She wriggled the toes of her left foot. She had a slight sensation of bones grinding together and wondered if they had made a good job of setting it.
Next morning, Mr Westholme looked in briefly. ‘You can have your plaster off in a few weeks,’ he told her. ‘You’ll be back in England by then.’
‘Have you seen my husband this morning?’
‘Yes. I’m sure your visit has helped him. I scarcely dared hope he would make such good progress. As soon as he’s stabilised, I’ll operate again. I’ll spend longer and get his lung into as good shape as possible.’
‘Thank you so much.’ How fortunate they were that Edmond had him as a surgeon.
James managed to take her on another swift visit to Edmond’s ward. The black circles remained beneath his eyes and she suspected the pain still interfered with his sleep.
‘I have to go back to my hospital now,’ she told him. ‘I promise I’ll write every day. You write back, if it’s not too uncomfortable. Just a line will do.’
‘I managed to write when my wrist was injured on the Somme, didn’t I? James, will you be able to get down to Amy’s hospital to see how she’s recovering?’
‘I’ll see if I can.’
She embraced Edmond and kissed his brave face.
James came to the ambulance with her. Two injured soldiers were already there, waiting to travel. They were fairly quiet, probably dosed with medication to relieve pain.
‘I’m relying on you,’ she told James. ‘Write to me regularly and tell me how Edmond’s progressing.’
‘I promise I’ll be in touch.’
Then they closed the door and drove off.