An Orphan’s War. Molly Green

flavour of peach, as it slid luxuriously down her throat.

      ‘Do you read poetry?’

      His sudden question made her start. ‘I did … at school.’

      ‘It’s good for the soul.’ Edwin’s eyes met hers. ‘Have you a favourite poet?’

      ‘N-no.’ Desperately she searched her mind for a familiar name. ‘Well, I did like Byron.’

      ‘Ah, Lord Byron.’ He kept his gaze on her. ‘He was a rum cove. I’m surprised he’s your favourite. Goes a bit close to the mark sometimes, in my opinion.’

      ‘I’m not sure what you mean?’ Oh, God, what had she started?

      ‘Very risqué. Not sure young ladies should be reading such stuff.’

      ‘I was far away from being a “young lady” at fifteen when I first read Byron,’ she said, her tone a little more clipped than she meant. ‘I don’t suppose I understood half of it, but I remember we used to giggle over some of the passages.’

      He raised an eyebrow and she was thankful when the waiter brought their soup. It was time for her to change the subject, even if only to comment on the food.

      ‘It’s delicious,’ she said truthfully.

      ‘One wouldn’t expect it to be any different at the Ritz.’ He smiled, dipping his spoon in.

      ‘What made you come to St Thomas’?’ she asked him, feeling on more familiar ground.

      ‘It’s a good teaching hospital – or was, what’s left of it. That’s really my forte – teaching. But they’re talking of opening a place in Guildford – a medical school – so I’ll likely be transferred.’

      She felt a tiny quiver of disappointment. ‘I imagine all the hospitals are finding it difficult. There’s—’

      ‘Let’s not talk about work,’ he cut in. ‘I want to get to know you, Maxine. And for heaven’s sake call me Edwin – when we’re off duty, of course.’

       So he’s expecting to see me again.

      ‘Is there a young man in tow?’ Edwin broke into her thoughts.

      ‘I haven’t a boyfriend, if that’s what you mean,’ Maxine answered quickly, her face feeling warm all of a sudden.’

      ‘A pretty girl like you without a boyfriend?’

      ‘Not exactly. I was married.’

      ‘Was?’ His eyes widened.

      ‘He died,’ Maxine said quietly, putting down her soup spoon.

      ‘Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.’ Edwin seized her left hand before she could retrieve it. ‘I didn’t notice your wedding ring. Clumsy of me. How did it happen?’

      ‘He was one of the ones who had to stay behind at Dunkirk. A medic. They needed them to go off with those rescued, but they also needed medics to stay behind and look after the wounded. I understand he volunteered.’ She wasn’t prepared to go into any further details.

      ‘How old are you, Maxine?’

      ‘Twenty-one.’

      ‘Too young to be a widow.’ He gently squeezed her hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeated.

      ‘He wasn’t only my husband for a very short time but he was my best friend … from childhood. That’s what is so painful. I’ve lost my best friend.’ Her eyes filled with tears.

      ‘Then let me try to make it up to you,’ Edwin said.

      ‘No one can make up for anything like that,’ she said briskly, to hide the familiar ache in her heart.

      ‘I’ll damned well give it a good try.’

      Maxine was keen to get off the subject and was grateful when the main course arrived. To her surprise she found the duck delicious. She also found she was beginning to enjoy Edwin’s conversation about the places he’d travelled to before the war, though she couldn’t add anything much except to nod and smile.

      ‘What other books have you read besides Out of Africa?’ he asked.

      ‘Rebecca.’ She thought a moment. ‘I like Agatha Christie.’ Her mind went blank and quickly she said, ‘What about you?’

      ‘Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, Evelyn Waugh – I’ve just finished A Handful of Dust – anything by Jean-Paul Sartre …’

      He mentioned two or three more names but she’d never heard of any of them. She sipped her wine, hoping she looked interested, not knowing if she’d like the plays he now mentioned because she’d only heard of Noel Coward’s Private Lives. But Edwin was nice. Attentive. Polite. Absolutely charming. Altogether different from when she’d first come across him in the ward.

      ‘We must do this again … soon,’ he said as he helped her on with her jacket an hour and a half later. ‘I’m not going to keep you out late. None of us are getting a lot of sleep lately, and I need steady hands when I hold the knife.’ He grinned at her.

      ‘Put like that, I think you’re very wise.’ Maxine smiled back.

      The taxi pulled up, as Edwin directed, in Royal Street, close to the hospital building. Edwin paid the fare and the cab disappeared into the dusk. He looked down at Maxine, a strange expression she couldn’t fathom on his face.

      ‘You’re very lovely,’ he said. ‘Would you allow me to kiss you?’

      She didn’t know if she wanted him to or not. Before she could answer, he drew her into his arms and she felt his lips on hers. It buzzed through her mind how different he felt from Johnny, whose kisses were cheerful … friendly … Edwin’s was more like a lover’s kiss. For a few seconds she tried to wriggle free. It was too smothering. But then, against her will, she felt herself responding, felt her own lips start to kiss him back. How she’d missed this. But it was too dangerous. She didn’t want to like him in that way. Dazed, she pulled away.

      ‘I’ve had one of the best evenings in a long time,’ Edwin said.

      ‘Me, too,’ she whispered.

      ‘Then go, before you turn into a pumpkin.’

      ‘Isn’t that what the carriage is supposed to do?’

      His teeth gleamed in the fading light. ‘Yes, something like that.’ He gave her a swift kiss on her lips. ‘You’d better go in, Cinders. It’s going to bucket down.’

      Reluctantly she turned away, aware that he was watching her. Inside the hospital she removed her high heels, not wanting to wake anyone as she crept down the steps. It was only when she was safely in the bedroom, hearing Gillian’s gentle snores from the other bed, that she realised she wasn’t sure if she felt relief or disappointment at the sudden end to the evening.

       Chapter Nine

      ‘Come on, lazybones, wake up.’ It was Walker, one of the three other nurses Maxine shared the room with, shaking her shoulders gently. She’d been dreaming about Edwin.

      Her eyes opened wide as she jerked up.

      ‘You were sleeping the sleep of an angel – even on your bed of straw,’ Walker chuckled. ‘He must be gorgeous.’

      To her annoyance, Maxine felt her face redden.

      ‘Oooh, look who’s blushing. I’m pretty close to the nail, aren’t I?’

      ‘I’m not answering.’ Maxine swung her long, slender legs off the mattress, laughing and shooing Walker away.

      Somehow