Chapter Thirteen #2
She rolled her eyes at him and went in search of some towels. ‘You know I’m a teacher!’ As she climbed the stairs, her last glimpse of him was his back and shaking shoulders as he quietly laughed.
‘I mean it when I said I was impressed. Incorrigible. That’s not an easy word.
’ His voice drifted up to her as she located some neatly folded towels and a variety of clothing that had been left behind in the hurried departure.
She descended with her trophies and found Sam already setting a saucepan of water on the stove.
‘Where did you learn that word?’ he asked as he filled the stove with wood and set it alight.
‘I can’t remember but I liked the sound and remembered it.’ She felt him watching her. ‘What makes you think I would want you to watch me bathe?’
‘Nothing. It was more of a vain hope.’
She found herself laughing at his puppy-dog expression. ‘You are . . . what is the word?’
‘Handsome? Amazing?’
She laughed again and tested the water in the pan — it was already warm. ‘Fill the bath with hot water and I will think about it.’ She ran a finger along the brim of the tub as he stared at her open mouth. ‘I might even let you . . . scrub my back.’
Sam swallowed. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Were you? About watching me?’
‘I wasn’t. But now I wish I was.’
Her eyes lingered on his lips as he spoke.
It felt good to flirt again. It had been so long since she had felt such freedom, yet acknowledging it also brought her back down to Earth.
How could she feel so carefree in a home where the family had been forced to flee?
‘Is it bad of me to wish you wanted to watch me bathe?’
He put the saucepan she had given him down and stepped towards her, his eyebrows pinched in concern. ‘Bad?’
She would have retreated a step if the sink wasn’t behind her. The intensity in his eyes felt too much, as if she was unleashing something that she had no right to let free. ‘It’s not right to flirt like this.’
He stepped closer. ‘Is that what we are doing? Flirting?’
‘You know we are.’ Suddenly he felt so much closer than before. ‘It is bad,’ she added softly, yet she could not resist tilting her lips to invite him to brush them with his own. ‘There is Klara,’ she murmured. ‘And we are enemies.’
He rested his hands on the sink either side of her, holding her captive. ‘Klara isn’t here. She’s upstairs exploring the house.’
Elsa heard her footsteps above them. He was right. Suddenly their innocent flirting seemed so much more serious.
He softly brushed her hair with his lips. ‘We are told we should be enemies by people who don’t know us. You are not my prisoner.’
It felt like it, but in the most delicious way that slowed her mind and made her not care. ‘But it is bad . . .’ she protested, half to herself. ‘We must be bad.’ She inclined her face towards his as his lips brushed her temple.
‘If this is what bad feels like,’ he murmured, his lips caressing the tip of her ear, ‘then I wouldn’t mind feeling bad more often.’ His mouth touched hers, the pressure no more than if it had been silk floating between them.
She pulled away. ‘No. We should stop.’
He did.
She touched her hair self-consciously and slipped away from him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, unable to look at him. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She turned to face him. He deserved her apology. ‘I should not have encouraged you. You have been a prisoner of war. It was cruel of me to let you think—’
‘It is only cruel if you felt nothing.’
‘I felt something. That is the problem.’
‘Then there is no need to apologize.’ He smiled a little too brightly. ‘You are right, I have been a prisoner for years, but it felt good to have a woman find me attractive again, even if it was for less than a minute.’
They spent the next few minutes filling the tub with both cold and hot water. Klara returned to the kitchen and grew excited to see the clean water waiting for her. It was time for him to leave.
‘I saw some chickens roaming around outside. I’ll search for their eggs and collect more wood while you have your baths.’ Sam poured the last saucepan into the tub and abruptly left. They stared at the inviting clear water and looked at each other, smiling.
‘Your turn first, Klara.’ She helped the child to shed her clothes.
Her body was thin, with ingrained dirt on her hands, feet and neck.
Her hair was dull and lank but her eyes were shining with excitement as she stepped into the water and sank below it.
Her little knees remained above the water like two icebergs.
There was no time to play or relax — two more people were to use it before the water turned cold.
After Elsa washed her hair, Klara scrubbed herself clean as Elsa boiled the eggs Sam had handed through the window.
By the time they were cooked Klara had stepped out of the tub and was dressed.
For the first time in weeks, the little girl was clean and fresh.
However, although she was devouring her eggs, Elsa could see that she was wilting with exhaustion.
‘Time for bed. We’ll have our baths and follow shortly.’
Klara nodded and finished off the last bite of her egg, then slowly made her way up the stairs to fall into one of the abandoned beds.
Elsa glanced out of the window and saw Sam still collecting wood in the fading light.
Gnawing her lip, she tentatively undressed, her eyes never leaving the door.
Naked, she stepped over the rim and eased herself into the lukewarm water, gasping at the glorious sensation as the rising surface cleansed her skin.
For the next few minutes, she busied herself washing her hair and her limbs.
Her skin at first protested at the water, which was growing colder by the minute, goosebumps casting dimpled shadows over droplet-covered limbs.
She scrubbed quickly, eager to finish her bath before Sam returned and saw her shivering.
He remained outside. Gradually her movements slowed as she grew accustomed to the temperature.
Sam was in no hurry to return, and she felt disappointed that he did not.
She remained in the water, knowing she should get out, but lacking the desire to.
Her head tilted back against the tin rim.
Her aching muscles had warmed and loosened, filling her with happy thoughts that brought a smile to her lips.
She stared at the ceiling, feeling more feminine than she had done in days as the silence and warmth of the little half-demolished cottage enveloped her with safety and a faint memory of normality.
Eventually she dragged herself from the bath and dressed again, but this time in clean clothes.
She called out to Sam that the bath was now ready for him.
She tipped a last saucepan of warm water into the bath and shyly left as he entered, retreating to the room next door as he self-consciously peeled off his coat.
She righted an upturned chair, sat upon it and attempted to dry her damp hair with a towel as she listened to Sam bathing on the other side of the door.
She felt oddly disappointed he had not watched her bathe.
But if he had, he would have disappointed her.
Sam was a kind and gentle man, not a perverse one, she told herself, yet there was a voice of self-doubt: had war and the journey taken a toll on her looks?
Was his earlier flirting just a bit of fun?
Perhaps he did not find her attractive enough to bother with her.
She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror.
Her cheeks were flushed from being outdoors so much, and her complexion looked fresh and alive.
She was prettier than she had just imagined herself to be.
Did Sam see her this way? He had found her attractive enough to try to kiss her.
She paused and listened to the splashing of water from the neighbouring room.
He was naked only a few feet away. She began to absently dab at her hair again as she imagined his firm, muscular body confined to the tin tub, his long limbs hanging over the side dripping water on the small dusty rug.
I should have let him kiss me, she scolded herself.
It was just a kiss. What harm could it do?
Finally, the splashing water changed to soft, padding footfalls across the wooden floor and the muted movement of clothes sliding onto his body. Despite this, she still dared not emerge from the room until the aroma of cooked eggs beckoned her to do so.
‘Where is Klara?’
‘Asleep. She is exhausted.’
‘Has she eaten?’
‘Yes. Two eggs.’
‘Good.’ He showed her the saucepan. ‘These look ready.’
They ate a feast of scrambled eggs, which Sam assured her was an English delicacy in his charming, teasing way. She smiled and didn’t tell him scrambled eggs was a ‘delicacy’ in Germany too. She studied him from across the table. The candle he’d lit softened his features into a romantic haze.
‘Why didn’t you watch me bathe?’ she found herself asking.
He sat back in his chair and tilted his head to one side, the light illuminating his damp hair. His eyes darkened.
She felt silly for asking. ‘I only meant—’ she fiddled with the fork on her plate — ‘you’ve been a prisoner for so long, I thought—’
‘How do you know that I didn’t?’ His voice was soft and thick, like sweet honey slipping from a spoon.
She looked up. ‘Because I did not sense you watching me.’
He considered her words as she placed the fork back on her plate. He nodded in acceptance.
‘You are right.’
Her eyes widened.
‘I was tempted.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘But I didn’t.’
She smiled too, inwardly relieved. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s not a gentlemanly thing to do.’
He watched her steadily, as if he was trying to work out her intentions. He wouldn’t be able to guess, she thought, as she didn’t really know herself.
‘Are you surprised a British man can be trusted?’ he asked. ‘Is that what the Nazi regime taught you?’