‘It’s okay,’ Stratton said, clearing his throat. ‘Go ahead.’
Louisa picked gently at the corner of the bandage and started to pull it away from his skin. The wound began to throb but he welcomed the pain as an aid to neutralising the other feelings.
Her hands began to tremble and she paused. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t do blood very well.’
‘You’re not hurting me,’ he lied.
As she peeled the rest of the dressing away a trickle of blood rolled down Stratton’s back. She deftly stopped its progress with a piece of lint and cleaned the rest from his back. ‘Our medic stitched it very well,’ she said. ‘You’ll have a scar to match the others. I thought you would have more.’
‘And you were being so nice.’
‘I can’t seem to help it with you, can I?’
He could sense she was smiling.
‘I don’t mean it any more, though,’ Louisa continued, her voice soft and sincere. ‘You risked your life to save people you didn’t even know, people I thought you couldn’t care less about. I knew Miguel. His wife just had a child. A little boy. I helped deliver him . . . I went to see her last night. He’s the first person I’ve ever known who’s died. I mean, someone who I’ve talked to and laughed with. I keep seeing his face. I haven’t been here long enough to have experienced that before. I thought I would be tougher. Will I get tougher, do you think?’
‘No. You’ll build walls around yourself. You’ll make yourself harder to get to, but you won’t get any tougher.’
Louisa felt unable to respond in case she began to cry, which she did not want to do. But she lost control and a tear escaped to roll down her cheek and drop onto his back. ‘I’m crying on you.’
‘Don’t wipe it off,’ Stratton said in a low voice. He immediately regretted how the comment had laid him open.
She looked at the back of his head through tear-filled eyes. ‘I don’t know you at all.’
‘Yes, you do. Take away all those things you thought about me and have a look at what’s left.’
Louisa smiled at the thought. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for,’ she replied. Without being conscious of the effect she was having she gently pushed her fingers into his hair to remove a piece of ash.
Stratton closed his eyes as he felt her fingers on his scalp.
She suddenly realised what she was doing and took her hand away in order to finish tending the wound, placing a fresh piece of lint over it and taping it securely.
‘There,’ she said. She picked up his shirt and held it up behind him. ‘Your shirt.’
He snapped out of his reverie and pushed his arms into the sleeves. She moved closer to wrap the garment around his chest for him to button it up, keeping her arms there for a second too long. He touched her hand as if by accident while he buttoned his shirt.
Then, as if realising that she had gone too far, Louisa pulled back and climbed off the bed. A confused stream of emotions ran through her.
Stratton could sense her retreat and he did not look at her.
‘I’ll leave you those,’ she said, putting down the remaining lint and tape.
He got to his feet to tuck in his shirt as she headed for the stairs.
‘Are you hungry?’ Louisa asked, pausing at the rail.
‘I am, actually.’
‘My father asked if you would like to come to supper, if you were feeling well enough.’
Despite his hunger her presence was the only reason he would go and Stratton thought that perhaps it was not such a good idea. ‘Thanks, but I’ll find something here. Maybe you could tell him I’m still resting.’
Louisa seemed to accept his answer and was about to walk down the steps when she paused, wrestling with a thought. ‘I’d like it very much if you did come. I’d like you to leave with a better impression, of all of us. Victor will be there.’
Her words were enough to persuade him. ‘How can I say no?’
‘See you in a while, then.’ She continued down the stairs and Stratton sat back on the bed as the door of the cabin closed. He wondered what had just happened. It was as if they had skipped an entire chapter in their lives. But wars had that effect on people. It made them less diffident. There wasn’t the time to be otherwise.
Weariness took hold of him and he lay down on his side and brought his feet up onto the bed. This time he did not try to stop the wave of sleep from enveloping him.
It was dark by the time Stratton walked along the path towards Sebastian’s cabin. The stars were unable to penetrate the heavy clouds that hung low in the sky, threatening rain. A group of rebels on guard duty clustered around the defensive position on the other side of the courtyard, sharing cigarettes and conversation.
Stratton stopped at the door of Sebastian’s cabin. The anticipation of seeing Louisa grew and he shook his head at the strangeness of the situation. He had never experienced feelings quite like this. How ridiculous, he thought. There he was on the other side of the world, in a country that he would be leaving in a few hours, never to return - and he goes and meets Louisa.
He knocked on the door. A moment later it opened and she stood in front of him, looking as if she knew now that there was a secret between them.
‘I thought you were standing us up,’ she said.
Stratton walked in, feeling self-conscious.Victor and Sebastian sat at the table. They had already eaten. ‘I’m sorry. I fell asleep and . . . I don’t have a watch,’ he explained.
‘The transformation is complete,’ Victor announced. ‘He wakes up a new man, with a new wardrobe and a new reputation.’
‘Please. Come in,’ Sebastian said, gesturing for Stratton to take a seat.
Victor reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. ‘Before I forget, this is for you.’
Stratton opened it to reveal a wristwatch.
‘It’s my spare,’ Victor said. ‘The one I’m wearing will go on for ever, anyway.’
Stratton accepted it. ‘Thank you,’ he said, removing it from the box and putting it on.
‘How are you feeling?’ Sebastian asked.
‘Better than I should,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about the others.’
The old man nodded and they all observed a solemn and quiet moment. Victor broke the silence by reaching for a jug of wine and filling the glass in front of Stratton. ‘There. That’s the best medicine you can have now. It must be good for you. It tastes so goddamned awful.’
Louisa brought a plate of food to Stratton who felt suddenly famished and dug into it.
‘Tell me. Are you from generations of British folk?’ Sebastian asked.
‘I’ve never traced my family tree. But I remember my father seemed to think that we had ancestors who fought at Waterloo.’
‘Which side?’ Victor asked.
‘The winning one . . . sorry, Victor.’
‘No need to apologise. I wasn’t there.’
‘I don’t suppose you know if any of them fought in the Spanish Civil War?’ Sebastian asked.
Stratton gave Louisa a surreptitious look and caught a hint of a smile on her lips. ‘Not that I know of, sir,’ he replied.
‘The British were a great help to my grandfather during the Spanish Civil War. Do you know much of the fight against the fascist, Franco?’
‘Not much,’ Stratton said, wanting to carry on eating but feeling that he should be polite.
‘You should read about that war. You would find it interesting. Almost two and a half thousand of your countrymen volunteered to fight in it. Men and women. All ordinary working-class people. Almost five hundred of them were Jewish.That was before the Second World War had even begun, remember.’
Victor could not ignore the way Louisa was looking at Stratton. He detected a new connection between them. There was certainly none of the conflict that had existed before.