Chapter 45
The next morning, Eve was surprised to find a box of ice skates had been sent up to the ward for the men, with “Mr. Roth’s compliments.” It seemed a feeble way to make up for his bizarre behaviour the night before, but the men who were fit enough to use the skates were delighted.
Max refused to go, at first, but Eve bullied him outside with the others.
There was a time to sit quietly alone and be sad—she knew that herself all too well—but there were also occasions where you needed sunshine and fresh air and mountains.
After half an hour on the ice, Max was almost smiling.
The POWs soon insisted Eve join them, but she’d never skated before and was hopeless at it.
“Here,” Max said at last, after the tenth time she’d fallen. “Take my hand.”
Eve let him haul her upright, but he didn’t let go as she’d expected.
With his arm to steady her, she managed to skate slowly over the lake.
They were surrounded by other men, but in some way, it felt as if they were the only people there.
She was glad to have an excuse to hold Max’s hand, to feel the warmth of his touch through their gloves.
She felt such utter joy at the sight of him smiling.
Things felt different between them after last night.
How could they not? It was a delight to do something normal.
To not think of dark things for a while. To pretend to be ordinary people.
But soon enough, it was time to return inside for lunch, and Eve reluctantly let him go.
They trudged back to the hotel and were almost at the front doors when Max lightly touched the sleeve of her coat.
They were so close to each other, shoulder to shoulder in the snow, and for a bright second Eve thought he was going to kiss her.
But then he just nodded down to the skates they were each carrying and said gruffly, “Thanks. For this morning and…you know. For last night.”
“Of course,” Eve said softly.
“Stop loitering out there!” Matron called through the open doors to them. “Lunch is served.”
Later that night, Max woke from nightmares sweating and shaking, so Eve took him down to the lobby piano. At first, he just stared at it. They were close enough that she could feel the warmth of his arm and leg pressing against her, could hear the raggedness of his breathing.
“There was this village in France,” he said quietly.
“It had been occupied by the Germans and we were going through these empty, abandoned houses. One of them had a piano in the front room. Our captain was a pianist and he went straight over to it. I was annoyed that he’d spotted it first, but the Germans had rigged it.
As soon as he opened the lid, the bomb went off, killing him and the man stood next to him. ”
Eve was silent. What could she say to such a revelation? Nothing would bring the men back or change what had happened.
“It’s bad enough dying in battle,” Max went on. “But dying because you wanted to play music just seems so…so…”
He trailed off. He’d still made no move to open the piano lid and Eve wondered whether she should do it, but it seemed like something Max ought to do himself.
You couldn’t force someone into recovering.
You couldn’t rush them into feeling better.
She reasoned that even if they sat on this stool, staring at the piano, for an hour, at least it was something, it was a start.
But after another few minutes, Max opened the lid.
Eve knew that the piano in the White Octopus Hotel wasn’t rigged with explosives and yet she still thought she could hear the distant BOOM!
of that other bomb, in that other country, ending two men’s lives so pointlessly.
To get rid of the sound from within her own head, she reached out and pressed down on middle C.
The clear, perfect note rang through the room, banishing the violent echoes from that other world.
It was a relief when Max pressed the key a few times himself and then finally began to play.
The lobby was filled with music all night and they came back to the piano often after that, sometimes during the day and sometimes after dark when he couldn’t sleep. And something started to shift and change between them.
Eve told herself it was friendship, that’s all. It wasn’t love; it definitely, absolutely was not love. Perhaps it was a little bit of lust, though.
One week after that night on the rooftop, Max went to kiss her on the cheek as they were saying good night, but Eve moved her head at the same time, and he planted it on her lips instead.
It was light and feather-soft, yet Eve felt her entire body responding with a yearning completely unlike anything she’d ever felt before.
They broke apart awkwardly and soon returned to the ward, but Eve felt the echo of that kiss all night.
She felt it alone in her bed later, and the next day when they held hands to skate on the lake, and she knew she was entering dangerous territory, that she couldn’t stay here, in a time where she didn’t belong.
Sooner or later, it would have to end. She would have to face up to her commitments and her obligations. Face up to Bella.
She saw her sister, sometimes, when she was in the lobby with Max.
The little girl sat beneath the piano, listening to the music.
Eve never looked properly, of course she didn’t, she wasn’t that foolish, but she often saw her sister’s shiny party shoes poking out from beneath the instrument, saw her chubby legs and the ruffles of that party dress.
I haven’t forgotten you, Eve said to her inside her head.
I know what needs to be done. And I will do it.
I will. I’ll go back to 1935 and I’ll hunt down those last clocks and the final octopus, and I’ll win the scavenger hunt and get the writing paper and bring you back.
I’ll forsake the man sitting next to me.
I haven’t forgotten. I’m just…listening to the music.
Just for a little while, before I have to go.
December arrived and Eve continued to hold Max’s hand when they skated together, even though her own technique had improved and she didn’t really need his help anymore—a fact they were both well aware of.
But they held hands anyway, and this made it easier to talk—of music, and home, and life, and the war.
Eve talked to Max like she’d never before spoken to anyone, looked forward to those excursions onto the frozen lake with an intensity that was truly alarming to her.
“What will you do?” Max asked one morning. “Now that the war’s over?”
“I suppose I’ll have to go back to my normal life.”
“Do you think…That is, might you consider…” He trailed off, then abruptly shook his head. “Never mind.”
And Eve didn’t push him, because she couldn’t bear to hear what he might have been about to say.
And before long, the Swiss nurses all went back to their homes and arrangements were made for the POWs to return to England.
Eve tried to tell herself it was a relief.
She didn’t want to feel the things she was feeling when she looked at Max.
She didn’t want her skin to tingle when she was close to him.
She didn’t want any of it. Because when she went back to 1935, there would still be Bella, waiting for Eve to save her.
And Eve would do it—no matter what it cost, or who it hurt, or what had to be given up.
She would do what she had come here to do.
There was going to be a farewell dinner for all the men later that evening in the Gatsby Room and Eve knew it was time for her to leave as well. In the meantime, Matron had suggested that the men might like to partake of the healing qualities of the mineral pools in the steam baths one final time.
“You won’t find water like that back home,” she pointed out.
There wasn’t much else to do, so they all went along with her idea happily enough.
All except for Max, who wanted to use the lobby piano to put the finishing touches to a piece he’d been trying to compose for the last month.
It was his birthday today, although he hadn’t told anyone.
Eve only knew because she’d been helping Matron to organise some of the ward paperwork earlier in the week.
She wanted to give him something and had spent the past few evenings working on a sketch of an octopus sprawled atop a piano.
It was folded in her pocket, beside the hotel keys, but there hadn’t been the right moment to give it to him yet.
That afternoon, she accompanied the men down to the steam baths and made sure they all had towels and drinking water before she returned to the hotel.
After several hours, with dinner about to be served in the Gatsby Room, Eve went up to the ward to see if the men had returned, but only found Matron busy arguing with Max about his uniform.
It had already been cleaned and pressed once, but Max was insisting it be done again.
“There are bloodstains on the collar,” he said. “I can see them plain as day.”
“I can’t see a stain anywhere,” Matron replied.
“I won’t wear it,” Max insisted. “Not in that state.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but there simply isn’t time to have it washed again before you leave.”
Eve grabbed her coat and slipped outside, walking through the snow to the steam baths.
She had a sense of unease, suddenly, as if she might enter the baths only to find the men gone, vanished, their towels and water lying untouched, like they’d never been there at all.
But when she opened the door, she met them in the act of coming out.
“There you are,” she said, relieved. “Look, you’d better get ready for dinner quickly, or else Matron will be…” She trailed off at the look on their faces. “What’s happened?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”