paperwork.â
âThey make civilians do that too?â His tone was dry, but there was a spark of humour in his eyes that she hadnât noticed when theyâd spoken earlier.
She held up her cup. âWould you like some cocoa?â
He pulled a tin from his pocket. âIâve brought my own coffee.â
âThe waterâs hot but not boiling.â Returning to the stove, she set the kettle back on the hob.
âI donât want to keep you up.â
âYouâre not.â She pushed Andrewâs letter into her pocket, but not before he saw it.
âFrom your husband?â
âYes.â
He handed her his tin as she took another cup from the shelf. âHeâs a lucky man.â
âTo be in a German prison camp?â
âTo be alive and have you and your children to come home to.â
âIt would be nice to know when thatâs likely to be.â
âAs long as it takes us to get organised, over there and destroy the German army.â
âMy father thinks that they are going to take some beating, even with Russian and American help.â
âYour father is right.â
âIâm sorry, Iâm forgetting my manners. Please, sit down.â
Leaving her the rocking chair, he sat on the end of one of the benches placed either side of the scrub-down table.
âI donât want to get your hopes up, Mrs John, but have you considered that your husband could be home before the end of the war? There are prisoner exchanges and thereâs always the chance of escape.â
âNot for Andrew. Heâs a doctor, and from what little in the way of details the censor allows through in his letters, I think the only one in his camp.â
âAnd he wouldnât leave the men unattended?â
âHe has a strong sense of duty.â She tried to make it sound like a compliment. âWhen he drew the short straw at Dunkirk a medical officer who wasnât married offered to take his place. Andrew wouldnât hear of it. He stayed with the wounded in a field hospital. I didnât know for three months whether heâd been captured, wounded or killed.â
âThen it must be a relief to know heâs safe now.â
âSafe? With the RAF dropping bombs all over Germany? Surrounded by armed guards who might shoot him at any moment ⦠Iâm sorry.â She picked up the kettle and poured water on to the coffee essence. âIâm not usually like this. Itâs been a long day. Would you like milk and sugar?â
âMilk please, if you can spare it.â
Taking the jug from the pantry she ventured a personal question. âAre you married, Colonel Ford?â
âI was.â
âIâm sorry.â
âI didnât lose my wife in the funeral sense. She divorced me.â
Bethan stared at the cup not quite knowing what to say.
âBy the time the papers came through it was no longer a catastrophe for either of us. I hope I havenât shocked you. Iâve heard that divorce is more common in the States than here.â
âNot many women in Pontypridd can afford to leave their husbands.â
âMy wife had independent means.â
âDo you have any children?â
âA son. Heâs sixteen now. You want the war to end so your husband can come home; I want it to end so Elliot wonât have to fight.â
âSurely it canât last another two years?â
âLetâs hope not, Nurse John.â He lifted his cup. âTo victory.â
âA quick victory,â she echoed, her imagination painting a future as bleak and lonely as the years that lay behind her.
âI could come in with you.â
âCivilians arenât allowed into military billets.â
âBut â¦â
âI canât allow you, Miss Llewellyn-Jones.â Kurtâs voice was firm. âAnd what goes for civilians goes double for pretty girls,â he
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley