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Now she could not distract herself with dressing any longer, Hebe took a deep breath and went back to Alex. He lay still, a lock of hair falling across his forehead making him look absurdly young. ‘Oh, darling,’ she whispered, reaching for the water and beginning to wash his face.
She managed to eat a little and drank thirstily, then sat by the bed, holding Alex’s hand and trying to make sense of what had happened to her. She had lost her virginity, so she supposed that even if she found someone else she wanted to marry, she could not do so. She could hardly imagine the man who would accept or tolerate a tale of unconscious seduction in a French mountain hut.
And Alex was already betrothed. In fact, she realised with a cold shiver, she had to make very, very certain he never suspected, or he would be in an impossible position and would probably have to end up marrying her, simply because it was the lesser of the two evils. Hebe let herself imagine being married to Alex, then firmly put it out of her mind. What would it be like to be married to a man who had been forced into it, when all the time he loved another woman? No, it did not bear thinking about.
Despite her efforts to be brave, a large tear welled up in the corner of her eye and spilled over to trickle down her cheek. She put up her free hand to wipe it away and a hoarse voice whispered, ‘Don’t cry, Circe.’
‘Alex! Oh, Alex!’ She burst into tears, throwing herself on his chest and holding him with all her strength. Then she realised that his skin was damp and that the fever had broken. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said shakily at last, pushing away and standing up to reach for the water. ‘It must be the relief. Here, please try and drink.’
He managed to push himself up on one elbow and Hebe thrust a rolled-up blanket behind him so he could sit up and drink deeply. She found she was avoiding meeting his eyes, frightened by what he would read in hers. She forced herself to do it and managed a tremulous smile, despite her shock at the sight of his deep hollowed eyes.
‘Poor little love,’ he said huskily. ‘What a nightmare for you. Have you managed to get any sleep at all? How long have we been here?’
‘Two nights, and yes, I managed to doze.’ She added with more confidence, ‘You have been a dreadful patient, calling for wine, refusing to drink water, throwing off your blankets.’
He smiled at her and as he did so she saw his face change. His eyes darkened as he stared and the colour began to stain his cheekbones as a look of appalled recollection came over his face.
‘Hebe…I…we…Hebe, no, I could not have done such a—’ He broke off and leaned back on the makeshift pillow, his eyes still fixed with painful intensity on her face.
Hebe made an instant decision. ‘What is the matter, Alex? Are you remembering one of those nightmares you had?’ She made herself laugh. ‘I am not sure I should be telling you this, but at one point I think you imagined you were…er…kissing a woman. I could not possibly repeat what you said! Why, I had to put my hands over my ears and run outside.’
‘A dream?’ He swallowed painfully.
‘A delirium, I should have said,’ Hebe corrected. ‘It is all right, I am only teasing, I was not so very shocked, you know.’
Alex looked deeply relieved, and she could only be thankful that he was still so weak and was n
ot seeing her with the same sharp intelligence he normally brought to anything he observed. But he seemed uncomfortable meeting her eyes still, and his gaze strayed over her shoulder and into the room beyond.
‘My God, Hebe, I know you have had things to think about other than housework, but what have you been doing?’
Hebe followed his eyes. ‘Oh, that. That was the French soldiers.’ After the shattering thing that had happened to her last night, the soldiers were fading into something akin to a bad dream; easily forgotten once daylight comes.
‘French soldiers!’ Alex struggled up against the pillow, all thoughts of embarrassing dreams and fantasies banished utterly. ‘Hebe, if you are teasing me about this, I’ll put you over my knee the moment I’ve the strength to do it.’
‘No, truly,’ she assured him, getting up and beginning to look through the rubbish the troop had left. ‘They came late afternoon yesterday, about fifteen of them, and spent the night.’
‘And you cooked a nice dinner, I suppose,’ he said, with the air of a man who has reached the limit of what will surprise him.
‘Certainly not, I did exactly what you told me to do. I made sure everything had been put away and that we had some water, then climbed into the cupboard and closed the planks. They were very noisy, so I didn’t get much sleep.’ She poked in the still-warm ashes and emerged triumphant with a battered coffee pot. ‘Look, they’ve left some coffee.’ She began to rake together the embers and pushed the pot deep into them. ‘Now, what else have they left, I wonder.’
‘Hebe, stop that and come here.’ Reluctantly she came over and stood by the bed. ‘Are you telling me that you had to sit in here all night with me delirious and who knows how many French soldiers feet away?’
‘Yes.’ He looked so appalled that her frayed nerves broke and she snapped, ‘Well, what else could I do? I wasn’t feeling very enchanting. I doubt if emerging and seeing if I could turn them into swine would have worked.’
‘How did you keep me quiet?’
‘You were only muttering by then, and they were very noisy,’ she said, with perfect truth. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Damn the coffee. Look at me, Hebe.’ She met his eyes and almost cried at the deep, warm, admiration in them. ‘I can’t think of any man I know who would have gone through what you have had to endure these past few days and managed as well, or have stayed as calm. Or have had the humour to tease me at the end of it,’ he added ruefully.
It was suddenly very difficult to breathe, let alone speak. Hebe stammered, ‘I owe you my life, I was not going to throw it away by doing something stupid.’ She went and picked up the coffee pot. ‘If you do not want this, I am most certainly going to drink it.’
She turned back to find Alex had swung his legs out of the bed and was sitting on the edge, regarding his bare limbs as they emerged from under the blanket. ‘And I suppose you asked a Frenchman politely to help me out of my clothes and into a nightshirt?’
Hebe reached past him for a battered tin mug and poured the coffee. ‘No, I did it, of course. It was hard enough trying to keep you comfortable like that, let alone if I had left you dressed in those awful clothes.’ He took the mug, but his eyebrows were raised incredulously. ‘Oh, for goodness sake! I have seen nude statues, do not flatter yourself that you are any different.’
‘No fig leaf,’ he commented wickedly, taking a deep swallow of coffee. ‘That is quite the worst coffee I have ever had, but I can’t think when I have been more grateful for it.’
