Christmas stories; Love stories; Soldiers -- Fiction; Widows -- Fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
Her heart was beating wildly; but nothing of what she felt expressed
itself in what she said. “I'm by myself. I've let the maids go out. I'm
terribly apologetic for having treated you so suspiciously.”
He laughed and stepped into the hall. “I seem fated to find you by
yourself; you were alone last time. I'm in hospital and have to be back
by ten. Won't you let me sit with you for half an hour?”
He had begun to remove his top-coat awkwardly. His awkwardness attracted
her attention.
“Please let me do that for you.”
“Oh, I'm learning to manage. It's all right.... Well, if you must.
Thanks.” She didn't dare trust herself. There was a pricking sensation
behind her eyes. She motioned to him to go first. As she followed him
up the stairs, she gazed fixedly at his flattened left side, where the
sleeve was tucked limply into the tunic-pocket. She knew that when she
was again face to face with him she must pretend not to have noticed.
He entered the room and stood staring round. “The same old room! But it
didn't belong to you then. How did you manage it?”
“Easily, but not on purpose.”
“Truly, not on purpose?” His tone was disappointed.
“No, not on purpose. I didn't know the name of the square or the number
of the house that night. I stumbled on it months later by accident. It
was still to let.”
“So you took it? Why did you take it?”
“Because I'd liked it from the first and it suited me,” she smiled. “Why
else?”
“I thought perhaps...”
“Well, say it. You're just like Robbie. When Robbie wants to tell me
something that's difficult, he has a special place against which he
hides his face; it's easier to tell me there. You men are all such
little boys. If it's difficult to tell, you do the same and say it
without looking at me.”
She reseated herself beneath the lamp and took up her sewing. “Now tell
me, why did you want me to say that I took it on purpose?”
“I don't quite know. Perhaps it was because, had I been you, I should
have taken it on purpose. One likes to live in places where he has been
happy, even though the happiness lasted only for an hour.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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