Free Dead Man's Land by Robert Ryan Page B

that, it was the logical solution to the problem of the unexpected VADs.
    ‘This is me,’ she explained, after she had lit the lamp. ‘So if you want to choose one of those two . . . Sheets might be a little damp, I am afraid. If I’d known you were coming . . .’
    Miss Pippery hesitated, waiting for Mrs Gregson to make her selection, but she simply placed her valise on the nearest of the cots. ‘This will be fine.’
    ‘We aren’t staying more than a week,’ said Miss Pippery. ‘We’ll be out of your hair then.’
    ‘So you’ll be here for the top brass?’
    ‘What top brass?’
    ‘Field Marshal Haig and entourage. A surprise visit next Friday. Except they told us about it a week ago. They want it to be a nice surprise. With no surprises.’
    ‘Lots of extra scrubbing?’
    Jennings sighed. ‘And painting. Lord, it’s getting cold. Look, there are two hot-water bottles over there. And hot water at the wash station. It might help take the chill off the beds.’
    ‘I’ll do it,’ said Miss Pippery brightly, picking up the ceramic cylinders. ‘And shall I get you one?’
    Jennings shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’ve got the energy to undress fully.’
    Miss Pippery left and Jennings took off her cape and began to unbutton her dress. ‘She’s nice.’
    Mrs Gregson nodded.
    ‘And your Dr Watson.’
    ‘Yes, he’s sweet,’ Mrs Gregson agreed.
    Jennings frowned. ‘He’s a little more than that. I mean, he’s a very good doctor, too. Worked like a man half his age tonight.’
    ‘Hh-mm.’ Mrs Gregson was only half listening. She was busy admiring the slight body that had emerged from under the rough dress and petticoats. ‘How on earth do you stay so slim?’ she asked.
    Jennings looked down at her embarrassing layers of grey, overwashed underwear. ‘By never stopping moving? Skipping every other meal? Being too exhausted to eat? And thank you for being tactful. Skinny is what you meant.’
    ‘You think so?’ Mrs Gregson had pulled down the top of her own dress and she flexed her right arm and squeezed the muscle with her left hand. ‘No, this is what I am talking about. Nothing but beds to make and bodies to shift. I’ve developed arms like Bombardier Billy Wells. The boxer,’ she added, when Jennings looked blank. ‘Look at yours.’
    The nurse pinched the flesh of her own arm, which was as thin as a child’s in comparison. ‘Under-nourished, my mother would say.’
    ‘Svelte is the word you are looking for.’ She yawned. ‘Excuse me.’
    Jennings did the same and put a hand over her mouth. Her expression took on a serious cast. She glanced at the entrance, to ensure they were quite alone. Even so, she lowered her voice. Canvas was precious little barrier to careless talk. ‘I was brought up in Didcot, you know.’
    ‘Really?’ Mrs Gregson asked, puzzled at the sudden swerve in subject matter.
    ‘It’s near Sutton Courtenay.’
    Mrs Gregson’s skin grew even paler in the lamplight. ‘Oh.’
    ‘You were big news around there.’
    ‘I should imagine I was.’
    ‘Local papers were full of it. Very rare for them to send a reporter up the Old Bailey.’
    Mrs Gregson yawned once more, as if the subject was boring her.
    ‘The Red Devil Case we called it—’
    Mrs Gregson spun round and grabbed Jennings’ upper arm, squeezing so that her fingers met. It felt like a chicken leg to her, a limb that could be snapped just as easily.
    Jennings winced. ‘Sorry, that was insensitive.’
    ‘It was.’
    ‘I’m tired,’ Jennings said, truthfully. What had possessed her to be so crass and forward? ‘Not thinking straight.’
    ‘The thing is, Staff Nurse Jennings, Alice knows nothing of all that. Nothing about Red Devils and Sutton Courtenay. Nothing.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘I would very much like to keep it that way.’
    ‘Of course. But could you return my arm, please?’
    They heard Miss Pippery approaching with the hot-water bottles. Mrs Gregson let her grip slacken. ‘Do you