The Forgotten Room(65)

I stacked another folder on the edge of the desk and had just decided to take a break and find aspirin when Nurse Hathaway knocked on the door. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but Captain Ravenel is having another one of his nightmares.”

“Yes, of course,” I said, smoothing my skirt as I stood. After that horrible conversation with Caroline Middleton, I’d sworn to myself that I wouldn’t see Captain Ravenel again, to prove to her that I could stay away. And, if I were to be honest, to prove to myself that I could. But I was the doctor on duty, and he was a patient. I couldn’t very well say no.

“I won’t be too long,” I said, walking past her. “If anybody needs me and it’s not an emergency, tell them I’ll be back shortly.”

I could hear Cooper’s shouts as I reached the top landing and hurried toward his room. The sickly scent of fear assailed my nostrils as soon as I entered, emanating from the thrashing form on the bed. The bedside light was on, its bulb flickering like a movie projector. Most of the bedclothes had slid to the floor, revealing a bare-chested captain clad only in what appeared to be light blue pajama bottoms. A gift from his fiancée, no doubt.

He was glowing with sweat, his head moving back and forth on the pillow, his arms lashing out at an unseen enemy. “Get down, goddammit, get down!” His voice was raw, as if he’d been in the thick of battle for hours.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Captain Ravenel?”

He continued to thrash, making me stand again to avoid his flailing limbs. “No, no, no, no.” His voice weakened as his shoulders hunched forward, and for a moment I was with him on the beachhead, half-immersed in salt-flavored water, the waves tinted red with the blood of my fellow soldiers.

“Cooper?” I said softly, desperate to bring him back from the dark places his nightmares brought him.

“Victorine?”

I took one of his hands in mine. “Yes. It’s me. Victorine. You’re safe now. You can stop fighting.”

His eyes were open, but I knew he wasn’t seeing me as he lifted his other hand and brushed my face with the tips of his fingers, as gentle as a butterfly. “Victorine,” he said, his hand falling and capturing my free hand, his voice lighter.

“Yes. Go to sleep now. Nobody is going to hurt you.”

“Stay,” he whispered, his eyes closing.

The words fell from my lips before I could recall them. “I’ll stay. For as long as you need me, I’ll stay.”

His breath slowed to an easy rhythm, his hands tightly clasping mine. Just a few minutes. I’d wait for just for a little bit, until he was in a deep sleep, and then I’d leave. With my hands still held tightly to his, I found a comfortable spot on the headboard to lean against and lifted my legs on the bed. I left the light on and began counting ceiling tiles again, trying to ignore the heaviness of my eyelids. Just for a minute, I told myself as I finally allowed them to close.

When I opened them again, the room seemed dipped in black ink. A warm body pressed against my back, a heavy arm pinning me to the bed. Disoriented, I rolled to my back as the body behind me shifted. I blinked, waiting for my eyes to grow accustomed to the dark. Looming over me, I saw the outline of Cooper’s head.

I was about to close my eyes and go back to sleep when the realization of where I was and with whom struck me. I tried to rise but found myself restrained by a firm hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry. You haven’t been asleep very long.” I heard the smile in his voice.

I tried again to rise, but he continued to hold me down. “It’s not yet dawn. You don’t have to go.”

“Of course I do. I shouldn’t be here.”

“This is your room. I feel guilty for kicking you out.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I shouldn’t be here. With you. And you don’t have a shirt on.”

“You noticed?”

I could feel the warmth of his skin, his chest close enough that if I leaned forward just slightly I could press my lips against the soft skin under his neck. No. I jerked back, his hand holding me tightly.

“I just wanted to thank you. I know tonight isn’t the only time you’ve come to me during one of my nightmares. Nurse Hathaway told me that you’re the only one who can calm me down.”

I relaxed into the pillow, the Southern slurring of consonants somehow reassuring in the blackened room. “I didn’t think you knew it was me. You always call for Victorine.”

“My muse,” he said.

“You mean Manet’s muse.”

His face hovered over mine. “No, mine. Ever since I saw that miniature, she became my muse. I named her Victorine. The dark-haired beauty with green eyes.” Gentle fingers brushed my throat, lifting the heavy ruby stone. “Where did you get this, Kate?”

I should go. But there was something otherworldly about this room in the summer night, my bones suddenly limp in the languid heat. His voice soothed me like a hypnotist’s, and I found myself suspended in the darkness, where morning and war and fiancées didn’t exist. Where my career aspirations seemed very far away. I placed my fingers over his and it was as if he knew my touch, and I knew his.

No! The word was so loud in my head that I imagined I’d shouted the word. I struggled to rise but he held me back. “Don’t go. Please. I know you’ve felt it, this connection between us. I can’t explain it. You look just like the woman in the miniature, the woman I’ve always called my Victorine. And you wear her ruby necklace.”