The Diplomat's Wife(15)
I blush. How long has he been watching me? “Very well.” It is the truth. Despite sitting upright on a hard floor in soaking clothes, it was some of the most restful sleep I have had since the start of the war. I reach for my glasses. “How long was I out?”
“A couple of hours.”
“Hours?” I leap up and push open the door of the shed. Outside the rain has stopped and the sky just above the mountains is edged with pink. “It’s starting to get light.”
“Almost dawn,” he agrees, and I detect a note of reluctance in his voice. “We should get back.” He stands and rolls the blanket up. I try to smooth my hair with my hands. As I start through the door of the shed, Paul follows too closely behind me, brushing against my side.
“Excuse me,” he says, stepping back awkwardly. I turn toward him. He is staring at me, the longing in his eyes unmistakable. My breath catches. I look away quickly, hurrying through the door.
Outside, the night air is cool and still. We walk to the bank and Paul helps me into the boat. Neither of us speaks as he rows quickly across the lake. The air is silent except for some geese calling to one another in the distance. Watching Paul guide the boat toward the opposite bank, I am overwhelmed with sadness. In just a few minutes, he will be gone. We reach the spot on the bank where the fisherman had been the previous night. He hops onto the shore, holds his hand out to me. As I step from the boat, my foot slides on the slippery mud and I stumble. Paul catches me by the shoulders. “Careful,” he says, still holding me. His breath is warm on my forehead.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Marta, I…” he begins softly, then falters. “I want, that is to say, I don’t want…” I lift my eyes to his face, which is strained with sadness and longing. He does not want to say goodbye, either, I realize. I cannot breathe. In that moment, I know that it is not his ex-fiancée he desires. I reach for him, standing on my tiptoes and placing my hand on the back of his neck. Instinctively, I pull him toward me, pressing my lips against his, taking what I’d been too afraid to accept just a few hours earlier. He hesitates for a second, surprised. Then he responds, his mouth warm and strong. Our lips open, drawing us farther into each other urgently.
A horn blares out suddenly and we break apart. Paul straightens, turning toward the noise. “They’re getting ready to go,” he says breathlessly. “We’d better hurry.” He helps me up the bank to the path and we walk quickly toward the palace in silence. Sadness rises in me. Don’t leave, I want to say. But I know that it is impossible.
In front of the palace, the trucks are assembled in a line, waiting to go. Paul turns to me once more. “Marta, I don’t know what is going to happen. I just wish that there was some way…”
“I know,” I reply quickly, forcing my voice not to crack. Everything is happening too fast. My eyes lock with his and I fight the urge to reach out and touch him again. “Be safe.”
“Come on, Paul!” a voice behind him calls impatiently. The first trucks are beginning to pull from the driveway.
“Bye,” he whispers, taking several steps backward, his eyes not leaving mine. Then he turns and runs toward the last of the trucks. I watch as one of the other men reaches down and helps him onto the back. The engine rumbles and the truck begins to move. As it pulls from the driveway, Paul turns back toward me. Our eyes meet again and he smiles, raising one hand. Then, as the truck turns the corner, he disappears.
CHAPTER 5
I stand motionless on the lawn as the sound of the engines fades, staring numbly through the clouds of dust kicked up by the truck wheels. I walk to the porch step and sink down, trying to breathe over the lump in my throat. My eyes begin to burn. I raise my sleeve to my face, inhaling Paul’s lingering, musky scent. I can still feel his lips pressing down on mine. I desperately want to be back in the gardener’s shed, to crawl under the blanket and be close to his warmth again.
Doubt rises in me: Why didn’t I ask him for his address in America? Why hadn’t he offered it to me? Could I really have felt so much for someone I barely knew? Could he? Perhaps I was just another girl in another town. I dismiss this last thought quickly. I know from the way he looked at me that his feelings were real. But now he’s gone. After all I have been through, I suppose I should be grateful for even small moments like last night. Still, I cannot help wanting more.
Enough. I stand up. I should go check on Rose. She will be eager to hear about my night. I head inside and cross the foyer. As I reach the door to the ward, Dava appears in front of me. She blocks my way, arms crossed. “I’m so sorry I didn’t make it back last night,” I begin quickly. “We were halfway around the lake when the storm started.” I skip mention of the rowboat, knowing it will not help my cause. “We had to find shelter so we waited in a gardener’s hut until it stopped.” I study Dava’s face, but there is no sign of anger, only dark circles ringing her bloodshot eyes. I wonder if she was up most of the night caring for Rose, or sitting with her because I was not there. “And then…”
Dava holds up her hand, then places it on my upper arm. “I need you to come with me.” Her grip is gentle but firm as she guides me away from the ward.
“Wait, I was going to tell…” I look back over my shoulder through the doorway, but I do not see Rose. Panic rises in me. Had she been taken for some sort of medical treatment? I turn to Dava. “Where’s Rose?” She does not answer, but looks away. “What is it? What’s wrong?”