Free Clash by Night by Doreen Owens Malek Page B

obviously drawn to the woman and Hesse couldn’t understand why. She was a plain little thing, hardly the sort that attracted a man’s instant attention. But then Becker was an odd one himself, always thinking, reading, staring out of windows at nothing. When not engaged in the business of running his post he preferred to be left alone, and that suited his aide just fine.  
    Hesse straightened the stack of correspondence on the large pine table desk and filled the inkwell, lining up the fountain pens in the holder next to it. Despite Becker’s peculiarities Hesse liked the commandant; he treated his inferiors well and, unlike some others of his rank, didn’t expect his aide to be a mind reader. But the corporal often found himself wondering what went on behind his commander’s opaque brown eyes. Becker shared very little of himself with anyone, which made his interest in the Frenchwoman even more difficult to fathom. Hesse couldn’t believe that Becker, who seemed so self sufficient, was lonely, especially married to the patrician beauty whose photograph Hesse had seen. But then, it was a long time between conjugal visits during a war. And maybe Becker just wanted to discuss literature with the book lady after all. He had little enough outlet for his lively intellect in the Meuse; Hesse knew that he was well educated and must miss the cultural pursuits of his usual circle.  
    The corporal mentally shook his head, recapping the ink bottle and storing it in a closet. The commandant’s chosen companions were none of his business, and poking into the private affairs of officers was one sure way to get into trouble. He left the office and scanned the lobby, looking around for the courier from the Chancellery in Berlin, due to arrive that day with Becker’s mail. Like the good soldier he was, he squelched his curiosity and tended to his assigned task, putting the matter of Becker’s penchant for Lysette Remy out of his mind.
    Hesse turned and looked up the side corridors, still searching for the overdue mailman. He was hoping for a letter from his mother back in the Ruhr Valley. He missed his home and large family and spent most of his off duty time writing to them. He’d had a girl back in Vitten, but she hadn’t answered his mail recently. His brother had written that she’d been seeing someone else, a wealthy widower with children who had avoided military service.  
    That’s what happened sometimes when you left, Hesse thought philosophically and without much regret, they turned to someone who was there.  
      There was no sign of his quarry, but as he swung around to scan the entrance once again he caught sight of something else that gave him pause. Near the front door a student nurse was loading a supply cart with bandages from one of the linen rooms. A white-coated orderly hovered at her side, obviously pressing his attentions on the girl, who continued to work while trying, politely but firmly, to get rid of him.
    Hesse observed the scene in pantomime for a few moments until he could stand it no longer. Approaching the pair, he called out in his pidgin French, “You, there, you have work to do?”
    The man jumped and turned, alarmed by the German voice.
    “Yes, sir,” he stammered, almost afraid to look at the corporal addressing him.
    “Then go do it. Now ,” Hesse said harshly, and the man hurried away, shooting one backward glance at his former prey.
    Brigitte Duclos stood uncertainly next to the loaded cart, relieved and at the same time annoyed that she was now in debt to this foreigner, this intruder. Hesse faced her, his light eyes searching her face.  
    “Are you all right, mademoiselle ?” he asked.
    “Certainly,” she replied coldly. “He was only talking.” She was a sweet faced, delicate blonde, her soft pastel coloring enhanced by the striped pinafore she wore. Her gaze was level, with no hint of servility, and he observed that her answer conveyed the impression that he had