Not Just a Soldier’s War

by Betty Burton

  ‘Hampshire, in the south.’

  ‘You are Party member? Communist?’

  Ah. Was that what she was now? Her papers said that she was. ‘I joined the Party to get here. The British Communist Party have been sending volunteers to Spain for months.’

  ‘You have been here long time?’

  ‘No. This year.’

  ‘You drive well.’

  ‘Thank you, but I did not come here to drive a limousine.’

  ‘Limousine? I think is Mercedes automobile, no? Yes?’

  ‘Limousine means a very luxurious automobile. Kings and queens have limousines, people have cars. A car like that we call a limousine.’

  ‘Not all people.’

  ‘Oh no! Not many people do.’

  ‘People in Ham-shire.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Why come to España?’

  ‘Why?

  ‘You are ver’ beautiful woman. Why you come here?’

  ‘Why not? Weren’t there pretty girls in the Russian Revolution?’

  He laughed and, in a seemingly natural way, took her hand. ‘Russian women beautiful, yes… I am curious to know beautiful English woman, why she come to the war.’

  She did not remove her hand from his. The pleasure of his attention and warm touch were at that moment too seductive. She knew herself well enough to know how strong and impatient her libido might be in such a situation, yet still she did not move when he lightly kissed her fingers. She did not move because it was getting on for a year since she and Duke Barney had made love, and she wanted it again, not in erotic dreams but for real.

  He removed his cap, loosened the knot of his tie a fraction and undid the buttons of his uniform jacket before turning towards her and taking her into his arms. With her own arms about his neck, she opened her mouth to receive his kiss passionately. When his hand ruffled up her skirt to caress her bare thigh, she tensed. A few inches higher and she would find it hard to stop him. ‘No.’

  ‘Please.’ Renewing his kissing he kneaded her flesh urgently. ‘Just to hold, please, to feel soft skin.’

  Her mind said, No, but her body said, Yes, yes and yes. She held on tightly to his fingers. ‘Not here. This is a public place.’

  He released his hold on her thigh. ‘Please. I think you are wonderful woman.’

  Even though he released her, fastened his jacket and replaced his cap, even though they walked quite properly out of the overgrown gardens and into the thronging wartime night-life of Barcelona, the air around them crackled with their aroused sexuality. If they walked in silence it was because their senses spoke clearly to one another in the only language that mattered.

  Without discussion he led her into the hotel through a discreet side entrance used by the staff, and up the back stairs. The only question was brief and unspoken. Eve chose her room because of the Dutch cap. Once lucky with Duke, she would never risk her future like that again.

  For a minute or two, they smiled nervously at one another. She lit a lamp and he looked for somewhere to put his hat. He decided on the screen where she had hung the evening gown. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, and without explanation she grabbed her sponge-bag and went along the corridor to the bathroom. There she filled the springy rubber device with cream and, with one foot on the bathroom stool, slipped it into place. It seemed such a quick and simple thing for a woman to do to protect herself. The wheel wasn’t the best invention – this was.

  * * *

  Dimitri had made himself quite at home in her room. He had put out the main light, removed his jacket, tie and shoes, and was standing by the window looking out at the dark night sky. ‘Is beautiful… many stars.’ She agreed that it was. ‘This is beautiful also. Why you not wear?’ He indicated the gown.

  ‘It is too splendid. Do you understand “splendid”?’

  ‘Understand, yes. Wear it, please.’

  ‘It is too grand for a time like this. The war…’

  ‘Wear it here, please. For Dimitri you wear this.’ He laughed as he picked it up and allowed it to hang from one finger. ‘For international friendship, OK?’ He made a kissing motion. ‘For Soviet and English peoples.’

  Of course, why else were they in her room? Why else had she protected herself with rubber and cream? Taking the gown from him, she went behind the screen. He came to watch, silently admiring. She had never undressed in front of a man before, but in this situation of her own making, she felt powerful. She shivered as the gown slithered into place. It had not lost its magic to make her feel wonderful, exotic and beautiful. David Hatton had been the last man to see her dressed like this.

  David Hatton was in the past.

  Duke Barney was far away, making his fortune.

  Dimitri Vladim was here, a Soviet officer, a lover of her choice. She was aware that inviting this almost complete stranger to make love to her was of more significance than her experience with Duke Barney. When he had suddenly appeared after years of absence, he had been confident that she would still be a virgin – and she had been.

  This time, she would make the rules. She handed Dimitri her hairbrush. As he stood behind her, making strong strokes down the length of her hair, they gazed at each other reflected in the mirror. Sparks crackled and her curls and waves bounced back into the only position they knew. She expected that he would kiss her neck, and he did. The sensation travelled like lightning down a conductor, except that the energy was not earthed.

  She did not know what Dimitri’s explosive exclamation was in his own language, but its meaning was universal. He knelt down and buried his face in the silk, and the dark green, minute pleating rippled against her warm skin with every move of his caressing hands.

  He was not a gentleman like David, nor a pagan like Duke. Dimitri Vladim was like herself, a stranger in a strange land, hungry for sex, but wanting something more than immediate gratification. She sensed from the way he did not rush her that their encounter was going to be a more luscious experience than her first time with Duke. It excited her that he had the same ideals, that he was a communist. To be a red was to want to break with the old ways, with conventions. She would find it impossible to allow a Falangist or a fascist to bury his face in her soft flesh as Dimitri now did.

  She unbuttoned his shirt and trousers.

  He probably thought that she had done this many times. It didn’t matter, she felt strong.

  She slipped the khaki webbing braces from his shoulders.

  While she was removing his clothes with one hand, she let the fingers of her other move over his face and ears and into his mouth. She was still wearing her treasured gown, but Dimitri was naked.

  She had disarmed an officer of the Soviet army.

  She had been born and brought up in a naval and garrison town, where uniforms signified male authority and strength. She had never expected to find that a man without his armour of stiff serge cloth, tabs, buttons and braid would look this vulnerable, and to have power over a man in uniform was exciting. Dimitri Vladim was a man with enough strength to take what he wanted, yet she knew that she could have made him beg had she had a mind to.

  Now, she thrust her fingers into his thick, straight brown hair and, holding on tightly, pushed his head back so that she could take the initiative. He was kneeling, she was standing. Bending over him she kissed him for an unrelenting minute. Then, as he stood up and kissed her she saw, for the first time, a fully aroused man. She had once, momentarily, seen Duke Barney naked when they were young, but on that night when she and Duke had made love, they had done so under a dark November sky, so that she had never even glimpsed the erection that had taken her virginity and produced such immoderate passion in her.

  When Dimitri tried to remove the gown, she said, ‘No.’ In Russian and English they said the same phrases to one another: Come to bed with me. Lay close upon me. Make love to me. Give me. Feel me. Have me. Take me. Enter me. Satisfy me. Stay with me. It was she who lay on him, it was she who made the sensuous, voluptuous pace, it was
she who stiffened first and exclaimed at the first pulse of their first climax. Their second and third were not so hectic, but exhaustingly satisfying.

  Dressed, he was once again an officer of the Soviet army. He left her room not long before dawn, whispering with a wry smile as he kissed her, ‘¡Salud! Comrade Anders. Soviet relations good with English – is very good surprise.’ Wondering vaguely whether his English was good enough for him to have been using the word ‘relations’ wittily, Eve Anders turned over and slept like a log until the sun was up.

  When, later, they met briefly in the foyer, they were correct and formal. In answer to Captain Mintov, they said that they had enjoyed the walk, but were sad to have seen so much damage to Barcelona’s fine old buildings. Only briefly did their eyes lock then slide away, an exchange that neither of them had the words for. It had been good relations.

  * * *

  She had decided to try to find Sophie Wineapple, but when she telephoned the hospital, she was told in French-accented English that Sister Wineapple’s name was not on the duty roster. Sorry, she was not available just now. Yes, she was still at the hospital. No, she was not on duty at this moment.

  ‘She was ill the last time I saw her. Is she back on duty?’

  ‘Not on duty at this moment. Perhaps you could call again?’

  ‘When? I’m not here for long, and I should like to see her.’

  ‘A minute please.’ Eve could hear a series of exchanges muffled by the telephonist’s hand, then, ‘Who’s calling, please?’

  Eve told her and she was asked to hold again.

  ‘Hello? I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t say when Sister Wineapple will be back on duty. You could try again tomorrow.’

  ‘If she’s not on duty, do you know where I could find her?’

  There was dead silence. ‘Sorry, I can’t tell you anything about that.’ From her tone of voice it was clear that she knew all right, so why wouldn’t she say? Nursing staff were always on call in case of emergencies.

  Crossing the foyer to return to her room and collect a map, Eve again bumped into Alex and the Russians.

  Alex said, ‘Problem?’

  Eve shook her head. ‘No, no, it’s just I’d hoped to meet somebody but I can’t get through to her.’

  ‘I see. Take care. We’ll be back here to eat this evening if you want to join us. Oh, by the way, it seems that we won’t be finished here for at least a couple of days, maybe three. So, you know, feel free.’

  Eve nodded. ‘Yes, Alex, I already know. I’ll try to fill in my time usefully until you’re ready for me to drive you back to the depot.’ The hard edge to her tone was intentional. If Dimitri had known that they would be in Barcelona for three or four days, then Alexander must have known too. For all Alex’s attempts to be one of the proletariat, she couldn’t stop her background surfacing. Noblesse oblige, and all that, but the Alexander types often assumed without question that Anders was there to serve without question, and Eve Anders had never found such an assumption by anyone at all congenial.

  When she reached the gallery at the top of the staircase, she glanced out of a window and saw the three of them preparing to get into a car whose driver wore the uniform of the Soviet army. Her curiosity was a little aroused, but only a little. She had gathered from their exchanges in the car that they were here to interview some people, but their conversation was so guarded that even had she been curious, she couldn’t have discovered what it was all about.

  With three or four days to spare in this war-torn city, she might make her debut as a serious correspondent. She really did want to write about the kind of pressure under which nurses worked. She decided to go to the hospital.

  On hearing that Eve had asked to see Sister Wineapple, the clerk asked her to wait on a bench while he made some enquiries. Soon another man came and asked her name and was she a friend of Sister Wineapple. Perhaps it was because he spoke broken English with a German accent, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to be watching her reactions, but Eve gained the impression that there was something going on which she didn’t understand.

  She felt guilty, like a child being questioned by a teacher, and the words tumbled out: ‘I’m English. My name’s Eve Anders. I’m a Spanish aid driver based in Albacete. I’m not really a friend of Sister Wineapple, but when I first arrived in Spain, several weeks ago, I was given instructions to drive her to a villa out of the city and stay with her until she was well enough to return to this hospital. Which I did.’

  ‘I see.’

  His attitude really did appear grave in the circumstances. ‘How long were the two of you together?’

  ‘About a week. Why do you want to know that?’

  He looked at her without answering the question. ‘I am a political commissar, you know?’

  Eve nodded, ‘Oh, yes, we call you red chaplains. You give lessons in politics, and I think you also help people with problems, people in the militia, and the volunteers. Is that right?’

  He nodded. ‘A commissar does those things.’

  ‘I just wanted to say hello to Sister Wineapple. Is that a problem?’

  ‘Perhaps you would come with me for a few minutes. You might be able to help.’ She followed him along corridors. ‘If you will please wait, I shall not keep you long.’

  Eve heard voices from the other side of a door; questions, then answers by the commissar. Chairs scraped and the door was flung open by a tall man in khaki.

  ‘Captain Mintov!’

  ‘Please, Miss Anders,’ he said in his thick accent, ‘a little information and we may leave you to enjoy your free time in Barcelona.’

  The room was furnished only with a table littered with files and papers, and some chairs. Alex was there. So was Dimitri Vladim, a woman in nurse’s uniform with high-ranking belt and insignias, and two other men besides the commissar. Eve was greatly taken aback.

  Alexander spoke. ‘Well, Eve, small world.’

  ‘Very small. I just came to ask about someone I knew – the woman I was phoning about this morning – and I find myself here.’

  ‘Then we are in luck if you can help us. Just take a seat for a few minutes. How well did you know Sophie Wineapple?’

  ‘If you remember, when I first arrived in Spain, I was supposed to be reporting to the depot but I was sent here instead to collect Sophie and take her out to the rest home. I stayed there the week and then came on down to Albacete.’

  ‘Did you see a change in her while she was there?’ The questioner was obviously a Spaniard.

  ‘She seemed quite better by the end of the week. A little tense still, but really tons better than when I picked her up. I can’t say that she was like her old self because I didn’t know her, but I imagine that’s what she must have been. Look, Alex, do you mind telling me what all this is about?’

  ‘Just bear with us, Eve.’

  Dimitri spoke. ‘Miss Anders, did you spend time with Miss Wineapple?’ She looked at Dimitri who looked back with an entirely neutral stare. His blank look unnerved her. How could a man who only hours ago had used his tongue to surprise and please her, now look right through her? But then she noticed that he was gazing somewhere beyond her left ear.

  ‘No, not a great deal, Major Vladim. On the journey down she was terribly withdrawn, tired was what I thought. She slept a great deal of those first days. There were a couple of horses for people to use. She said she liked to ride and was pleased to find out that I did too, so we went out together. I wouldn’t have let her go alone anyway because at that time she still seemed to me to be not right.’

  ‘Not right in what way?’ The matron wanted to know.

  ‘She looked pale and I think that she was having… a woman’s problem.’

  ‘Was she haemorrhaging?’ Eve looked at the desk. ‘No need to feel embarrassed, Miss Anders, everyone here is a professional person.’

  ‘I am not embarrassed, but I am a bit angry, because I think that you might have all been a bit more sensitive about hauling m
e in here and asking me intimate questions about a friend.’

  ‘So she was a friend?’ the commissar asked sharply. ‘Did she confide in you at all?’

  ‘There was nothing to confide. She was an ill woman. She was fatigued or perhaps she was taking something.’

  ‘What something?’ This questioner was American.

  ‘How should I know? Perhaps something to make her sleep, I suppose. I have no idea. All that I know is she slept and slept and then she got up one morning and wanted to go out on the horses, then she slept some more, and then I brought her back here.’

  There was a short silence, broken only by the click of Alex’s cigarette lighter. Dimitri said, ‘Miss Anders, the American nurse is dead.’

  Eve stared at him, at first not taking in the full meaning of what he had said. ‘Sophie Wineapple? If she’s dead, then why are you asking me all these questions? Did she collapse again? I don’t understand what it has to do with me.’

  Captain Mintov started to say something but thought better of it.

  Eve caught Alexander’s eye and when she too did not speak, Eve stared her down. Then she looked at Dimitri who had lost his earlier stony gaze. He said to the matron, ‘It would be good if Miss Anders had drink. Coffee, maybe?’ Then to the rest, ‘Is pretty good time to break right now. Return thirteen-hundred hours. Señora Alexander, remain if you please? Captain Mintov, we shall speak later?’ Mintov left. ‘Miss Anders, please.’ Dimitri smiled, adjusted the knot of his tie a fraction and undid the buttons of his uniform jacket.

  Damn you, she thought, you’re trying to bring last night into it. Cups of coffee arrived and she accepted one from Dimitri who said, ‘You are quite right, as you say we treat you not good, Miss Anders. Is not our intention. Right, Señora?’ He turned to Alexander.

  ‘Of course it was not intended, Major Vladim. I am perfectly sure that Miss Anders knows that, and I’m sorry if she felt that she was pounced upon, and that’s the truth of it, Eve. OK?’

  ‘It might be OK if I knew what was going on.’