‘Yes,’ Spencer said, looking weary as he rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin and then pressed the back of his knuckles into his eyes. ‘Once the area has been secured, we’ll head straight in and make our assessments.’
Scarlet nodded, her mouth feeling like even more cotton wool had been stuffed in than it had when she’d woken up moments earlier, her head still throbbing. This was it. This was the moment when she actually might find Thomas – the man she was engaged to, the man she’d been waiting almost two years now to even lay eyes upon again. The man whom she almost hoped she wasn’t about to find.
‘Is our plan still to evaluate the patients based on their injuries first, identify whether any need immediate evacuation, and then to look at those that are less injured?’ she asked.
Spencer managed a smile and for some reason it helped to relax her, settled the caged butterflies beating their wings in her belly.
‘Yes, pretty much. If you recognise him, if one of these men is your Thomas’ – he nodded at her, as if wanting her to do the same to acknowledge what he was saying – ‘you don’t freeze, you keep going, you do your job, then you can fall apart after our work is done.’
The soldiers had started talking, doors were opened, commands were issued and Scarlet sat and waited, completely immobile as the soldiers who’d been in the same vehicle as her for hours disappeared into the inky blackness outside. She focused on her breath, the silent inhale and exhale as her lungs worked.
‘I’m thinking about Ellie,’ Spencer said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘I know what it feels like to have that kind of pain in your chest.’
Scarlet didn’t care how well she did or didn’t know Spencer now, or the fact that he was her superior; she slid her hand across the seat and touched her fingers to his, clutching them as they sat side by side, both staring straight ahead. His fingers locked around hers, too, until there was a sudden bang on the window that made her jump.
‘It’s time,’ he said, releasing his grasp and pushing open his door. ‘Oh, and Scarlet, I took a good look at your head while you were sleeping. There’s a bump, but I’m sure it’ll simply be a headache and nothing more.’
Scarlet touched the side of her head and waited, watched as he moved, and then followed him out, a soldier reaching for her in the dark and taking her hand, helping her jump down and catching her before she hit the dirt.
‘Is it grim in there?’ she asked, terrified of what they might find.
‘No,’ the soldier said, letting her take his arm so she didn’t stumble in the dark. She felt fortunate they were all such gentlemen. ‘There’s only two of the men in there.’
Scarlet’s heart sank, a roaring sound in her ears that made it impossible to hear anything else. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but any words there died in her throat.
Only two of them in there. There was no chance Thomas could be one of those two, not with odds that bad.
There were lights on in the convent, the small stone building untouched by war. Any soldiers who’d been kept there were lucky to have been so far from the fighting, so far from everything that was terrifying.
Spencer walked up the steps ahead of her with the soldier who’d been driving, the others posted outside, guns slung across their chests, held loosely in their arms. It settled Scarlet, their relaxed stance, the cigarette hanging from one of their mouths as if there were nothing in the world to worry about here.
Her feet were like lead, her movements slow as she followed behind the others, finally walking through a door held open by an elderly woman in a habit. Her smile was kind, her hand reaching for her. Scarlet took it immediately, holding on tight, needing to draw strength from someone.
‘We didn’t think we would have soldiers here looking for these men until the war ended,’ the nun said, her expression kind as she led them through the entrance. The flickering of candles catching Scarlet’s eye. It was as cold in the hall as it was outside, her breath billowing like frost before her, but the room they walked into had a fireplace going, with at least five candles burning for light. ‘We’ll miss the company once they’ve gone.’
She could imagine Ellie laughing and teasing that nuns shouldn’t be enjoying the company of strange men so much, but her gaze was locked on the two chairs in the room. Needing to see. Wanting to see if one of them was Thomas.
Spencer was striding ahead, his black bag in hand, full of whatever he might need to help these soldiers.
‘How long have they been here?’ Scarlet asked, her footsteps slow, knowing she wasn’t supposed to freeze.
‘Months, my dear. Months and months,’ the kindly nun said. ‘There were five of them here, but the first three passed away even after everything we tried to do for them. They were so badly injured, but . . .’
‘Where are they?’ a deep voice asked, one of the soldiers’.
‘Buried,’ the nun said, her voice matter-of-fact. ‘We prayed for them and buried them, as we would have anyone’s loved ones. They were given all the love and care we could, and then when it was time to let them go, we were there to hold them.’
Scarlet was still listening, the soothing voice of the older woman like a lullaby that kept her moving. Spencer’s eyes met hers; she knew she was supposed to be at his side, doing her job, but she was holding her breath, unable to focus.
The first soldier had light, sandy-coloured hair, and the side of his face was covered in old burns, healed, but still bad enough to make her gasp. His arm was in a sling, but he didn’t look too bad, the worst of his injuries obviously healed, or at least from what she could see. But he was asleep, his mouth slightly parted, his body slumped.
‘This man is doing well?’ Spencer asked.
‘Very,’ the nurse said. ‘It’s the other man we’ve had more trouble with.’
Scarlet turned, slowly, her feet swivelling on the spot as she turned to the other chair positioned slightly further from the fire. She hadn’t been able to see him in the shadows and she moved closer. The thick dark hair caught her eye instantly, the dark brown, almost black eyes that met hers – haunted, troubled, almost dead.
The room spun, her face was on fire, she opened her mouth but nothing came out . . .
Scarlet looked back at Spencer, which only made the spinning worse, the dizziness making her stumble as she tried to turn again to the soldier, trying so hard not to fall, not to faint right there on the mat in front of the burning embers of the fire.
‘Scarlet?’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lucy