Whisper on the Wind (37 page)

Kath took her sandwiches to Two-acre field. The grass on which she sat was warm from the sun and kicking off her shoes, she wiggled her toes gratefully. Heavy shoes, shirts and dungarees were not the coolest of dress for a blazing June day, but she admitted they were the most sensible.

She wondered if Marco would find her here. Most days he took his midday rations to the Dutch barn at the far end of the yard and it wouldn’t be right, she had decided truculently, to go there to him. Let him find her here, she thought in a last, defiant effort at conscience-easing. Why was she so bothered? They had only agreed to eat their sandwiches together and exchange news. This meeting wasn’t a date or anything vaguely resembling it so why she should feel so uneasy about it she didn’t know.

He came striding through the poultry arks toward her, smiling, tunic over his arm. He disliked that tunic and the big, square, yellow patch on the back of it. Marco liked to work stripped to the waist, the sun on his body, and if he knew how good he looked, then for sure he wouldn’t do it.

‘
Ciao
, Kat.’ He sat down beside her, still smiling. ‘I think you will be here. You want one of my sandwiches?’

‘No, thanks. I’ve got plenty. Have one of mine. Spam, I think they are.’

‘You’re sure?’ Marco had never tasted Spam, though he’d heard about it. Grew on trees in America, they said in the camp; had so much of it they sent it in ship-loads to the British. ‘Ah, this is a good day. You are back, Kat, and this morning I have two letters from home. Good letters. Good news.
Zia Rosa
– my aunt Rosa – writes that my cousin is no more missing. Toni is a prisoner of war now, like me.’

‘Marco – that’s great! Where is he?’

‘Toni was a soldier in the desert; now he is wounded and in a prison hospital. I think near Cairo, but he couldn’t say. Maybe some day they’ll send him to England – I don’t know. But he’s okay. That’s good, eh? Maybe now
Zia Rosa
can stop her weeping …’

Aunt Rosa. Cousin Toni. Marco had a family. Almost everyone but Kath Allen had a family.

‘And Kat, I have something for you.’ Reaching for his jacket, he dipped into a pocket, triumphantly holding up a twist of paper. ‘Today we smoke
my
cigarettes. Yesterday, I have my special issue and now I can give one to you.’

‘But you can’t. You worked hard for those.’ For every hour of overtime a prisoner of war worked, the payment was two cigarettes, he’d told her. Two
large
cigarettes.

‘No? But I want to. Last month I earn twelve and this morning they gave them to me.’ Carefully he unfolded the paper; proudly he offered a cigarette. ‘Please, Kat? Being a prisoner is not good. We have nothing; we
are
nothing. But I would like it if I give a lady a cigarette that is mine, and not every day smoke hers.’

His eyes asked that she take one, and she knew that on that taking depended his pride.

‘Then I’d like one. Thank you very much.’

Gravely she took it, offering her matches, and when he struck one and held it for her she took his hand to steady it as she bent her head to the flame. Then smiling up at him she said, ‘And you are right. This is a good day. Roz is happy, too. Paul comes back today.’

‘And you, Kat? You have something to be happy about? You get a letter?’

‘No letters. But can’t I just be glad I’m back again, with my friends?’

‘And with Marco? Am I your friend?’

‘Of course you are, though you shouldn’t do stupid things like breaking out of camp. Don’t do it again, Marco?’

‘Okay. It’s good, though, getting past the guards. The guards are
stupidi.
It’s easy to get out.’

‘And big trouble if you’d been caught or there’d been a roll-call. And it can’t be so bad. They don’t ill-treat you? You get good food?’

‘Not good food; not Italian food, but we don’t starve. And Mrs Ramsden helps. Her soup is good. But being a prisoner is bad for a man.’ He pulled hard on his cigarette, then drew the smoke deep into his lungs. ‘Not good at all.’

‘Tell me what it’s like in the camp. Is it cold there in winter? Do they let you have a fire?’

‘
Si.
In winter. We have a fuel ration and we find wood to burn, too. We save our coal for the cold weather. There is a stove in each hut, for twenty of us.’

‘And the camp?’ She was trying hard to envisage what it was like. Suddenly, it seemed important that she should know.

‘There is a high fence – I don’t like that fence – and guard-towers all round it and the guards have guns. Always, they are watching us, but I know how to get out. There are ten huts – old huts, but the rain does not come in. And there are places to wash and somewhere we can wash our clothes …’ His voice trailed to a whisper. ‘Look at it. Such a little creature; such noise.’

His eyes narrowed, following the lark that rose singing into a blaze of blue; higher and higher until it was lost to their eyes and became no more than a disembodied song above them. A small, soaring bird that was free.

‘And your beds?’ To know where and how he slept was all at once important, too.

’There are no beds. We sleep in bunks. They are hard, just pieces of wood. Our mattresses are filled with straw and our blankets are grey, very rough.

‘But it’s okay. Toni’s mamma is glad he’s a prisoner. Being a prisoner is better than being missing – or dead.’

‘Marco – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you.’ Impulsively she laid a hand on his arm. ‘And I’m sorry that you miss your family, because I know you do.’

‘
Si.
In my country families are big – and noisy, too. I have four brothers and many cousins.’

‘No sisters?’

‘No sisters, but who needs sisters? Only mamma cares that she doesn’t have a daughter. A woman should have a daughter, I think. You have sisters, Kat?’

‘No. I – I don’t know.’
A woman should have a daughter.
Her eyes filled with sudden tears. ‘I don’t honestly know …’

‘Kat. You weep. What is it? What did I say? You once had a sister and you lose her? I’m sorry.’ Gently he gathered her to him, holding her close, stroking her hair; just as he’d done the day she had fallen from the stack. Held her safely as if his arms could keep away all harm. ‘Not to cry? Please not to cry?’

‘I’m not.’ She pulled a hand across her eyes. ‘I’m all right.’ She relaxed against him; against his warm, bare chest, feeling the beating of his heart against her cheek. ‘I never had sisters or brothers. I’m an orphan, Marco. Or maybe that’s not strictly true. Maybe I’m not an orphan. My parents didn’t want me, you see.’

‘Kat, I am sad for you. In Italy every woman wants children.’ He laid a cheek on her hair. ‘My mamma would not have given you away.’

‘Mine didn’t, either – give me away, I mean. She just dumped me. All I really know about myself is when I was born – the first of July. So now you know.’

‘What do I know, Katarina?’ His voice was gentle. ‘And what do
you
know? That some woman – some young girl, perhaps, had you and couldn’t keep you?’

‘Maybe. Do you think I haven’t wondered about it? One thing I’m certain of is that I was a war baby; conceived in the last war. Perhaps I’m the child of a soldier going to the trenches. And maybe he was killed and couldn’t come back to marry my mother. Or perhaps my mother just got into trouble. It happened, and it was a terrible thing – it still is, even now.’ She stirred irritably in his arms and made to push him away but he held her, making little hushing sounds against her ear. ‘And why I’m telling you all this, I just don’t know, Marco. Maybe it’s good to get it off my chest. I suppose I still feel that I’ve got to tell people about it before they find out for themselves. But I’ve never gone on about it like this before – not the wondering who I am bit …’

‘Not even to your husband?’

‘Not even to him. When he met me he thought I was an orphan, so I let him go on thinking it, though his aunt is always probing. She’s got it into her head that I’m Irish.’

‘And I think – shall I tell you what I think, Kat?’ He pulled her closer and rested his cheek on her hair again. She relaxed against him, closing her eyes. It was what she wanted, to be held; to be close to someone and, for just a little while, not to feel alone. ‘I think you are a very dear person, and I don’t care who you are or what you are because you are my friend. There now – does that make you feel happier?’

‘Mmm.’

‘And shall I tell you something else?’ He pushed her a little way from him, tilting her chin with his forefinger, just as he’d done that first time they kissed, and she closed her eyes because she was unable to look into his face. ‘You are a very beautiful woman; do you know how that makes me feel – me, who should not tell you so; me, a prisoner who should not like you nor speak to you? Do you know, Kat?’

‘No,’ she whispered. It was the only word her lips could say. She knew how it was for him, how it was for herself, and if she didn’t escape from his overwhelming nearness she knew with absolute certainty she might be sorry about it for the rest of her life.

‘I think you do, but you will not say it. And you are right not to say it, but oh, Kat,
ti amo. Ti amo
, Katarina-mia.’

‘What is that?’ She smiled, opening her eyes, looking into his. ‘My lesson for today? What does it mean?’

‘It means that – that we are friends.’

‘Then
io ti amo
, Marco. We are friends …’

‘I am glad. And I am glad you say it to me. But, Kat – only say it when we are alone?’

‘All right. If that’s what you want – but why?’

‘Because we should not be friends. No fraternization. It is not allowed we be friends.’

‘I know, and I’ll be careful. But because we
are
friends, will you –’ She cupped his face with her hands and her eyes looked into his and what she saw there helped her to say, ‘Will you kiss me?’

Her words hung on the air above them, lingering, waiting querulously to be called back but she could not, would not deny them.

‘Please, Marco?’

His kiss was gentle and a little unbelieving, but warm like that first time; the kiss of a friend.

Her fingertips trailed his cheek softly, then timidly, almost, her arms moved to his shoulders, then circled his neck. She closed her eyes and pulled him to her, lips parted, searching for his.

His mouth was hard on hers then, fierce with wanting, and her heart pounded in her ears as she clung to him. Suddenly she was floating on a breathless, beautiful cloud and she didn’t care. Tonight she would care. Tonight in her small, half-dark attic she would lie sleepless and ashamed, but now, wonderful, warm, sunkissed now, she was loving desperately and dangerously, wanting him and –

‘
No
!’ Her cry was harsh as she flung herself away, falling backward, rolling over, scrambling and stumbling to her feet. ‘No, Marco! Oh God,
no …
’

She was shaking and afraid. She was a fool for wanting him, a fool for denying him, but for one mad, unguarded moment she had needed him; every small, sinful pulse in her body had beat for him and every woman’s instinct in her cried out desperately for love.

She had wanted him to make love to her; make love as she knew loving could be, should be. She had almost begged it of him and then the voice came, filling her head. Aunt Min’s voice, telling her she was married. To Barney.

‘Marco, I’m sorry.’ Her lips were dry and it was hard to speak. ‘I shouldn’t have done that; shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t fair of me and I won’t do it again to you – I promise I won’t.’

On the grass at her feet lay the cigarette that had slipped, unnoticed from her fingers. Slowly it had smouldered to ash. Now it was dead.

‘No, Kat, you will not do it again. If you do, there’ll be no going back,’ he said slowly, quietly. ‘Like you want me to, next time I’ll take you.’

Distantly, from the far field, came the sound of a tractor being started.

‘I’d better go. They’ll wonder where I am.’ Go, fool. Just go!

‘
Si.
And it would not do for them to think the worst, would it?’ His mouth was set traplike, his eyes narrow and bright with anger. He opened the field gate and she walked through it, head down.

He was right; it wouldn’t do. And, oh, get out of my thoughts, Aunt Min, out of my head. Leave my conscience alone, won’t you? Just leave it alone? Aunt Min, who knew things without being told, whose small, unblinking eyes could read thoughts still unspoken. What would she have made of this, Kath demanded silently, breaking into a run, leaving Marco to shut and latch the gate. Would it have pleased her that her nephew’s faithless, wanton wife –

Wanton
? Was that what she had become or had it always been there, bred into her along with her bad blood? Had her mother been a wanton? Was that, she wondered, how that unknown woman had made her? Had she been carelessly conceived, and just as easily abandoned?

Ti amo.
You are my friend.

Oh, Marco, we aren’t friends, now. This wanting will scream out between us whenever we touch or speak or smile. Next time, if they were not careful to watch every word, every smile and gesture, that smouldering want would leap into sudden fire, and then what?

Why
had she asked for his kiss and why, after, had she said no whilst her heart cried out
yes
! Barney thought the worst of her already; she might just as well have been hanged for a sheep as a lamb, so why hadn’t she?