the road, was it not?’
‘Yes, but I did not think you had noticed me, you seemed so preoccupied.’
‘I have been trained to notice things, but I must admit the filthy peasant I saw on the road bears very little resemblance to the beautiful young lady I found naked in a bath. If it had not been for the uniform coat, I might not have been so quick to realise they were one and the same.’
‘Careless of me,’ she said. ‘I suppose if I want to get back to the British lines I had better dispose of it.’
‘Why were you wearing it?’
‘It is warmer than nothing and nights on the mountains can be cold.’ She paused to sip her wine; it was a full-bodied red and made her feel sensuous and relaxed. She ought to beware of it. ‘Why are you still wearing yours?’
He gave a cracked laugh. ‘As you say, it is warmer than nothing.’
‘We could exchange them. I’ll have yours and you have mine.’
His head snapped up and he looked at her angrily. ‘Now why should you imagine that I would lower myself to wear a French uniform? I…’ He stopped suddenly as an idea came to him. ‘Tell me about yourself. Where did you meet your husband?’
‘Philippe, you mean? At Oporto, or more accurately a little to the north; I am not sure exactly where.’
‘Is Oporto your home?’
‘Of course not. I told you, I am English.’
‘There is no “of course” about it. There is quite a colony of English in Oporto, wine merchants most of them. Why do you think the government at home was so anxious to free it? Port is one of their favourite drinks.’
‘How cynical you are.’
‘Perhaps I have reason to be.’ He paused. ‘Tell me about Philippe.’
‘Why should I?’
‘I am interested and it will while away the evening.’ He leaned forward. ‘Unless you can think of something more exciting to do?’
The implication was clear and it infuriated her. ‘You do not have to spend the evening with me at all. You will find what you want in the village, I have no doubt.’
‘What I want? How can you know what I want? You do not know me.’
‘No. You have not even troubled to introduce yourself. Perhaps you are ashamed to do so.’
‘You want my name? Of what importance is that? It might just as well be Philippe Santerre.’
‘Philippe was an honourable man.’
‘You think I am not?’ He picked up his glass and drained it quickly, then refilled it. ‘You may well be right, Madame Santerre, for who decides such things — a man’s friends or his enemies…?’
‘You are talking in riddles.’
‘My apologies, ma’am.’ He inclined his head and then lapsed into silence.
She watched him for a moment or two then stood up to clear the table. ‘What are you going to do now? Get drunk?’
He laughed. ‘It would take more than a couple of bottles of red wine to do that. Besides, I need a clear head.’ He caught her hand as she passed him. ‘Sit down and tell me about yourself.’
‘It is a very long story.’
‘But a fascinating one, I am sure. You speak like a lady, look like a tramp and behave like a hoyden, so how can I be other than intrigued?’
She laughed and sat down again. ‘My aunt always said Papa had brought me up like a boy.’
‘Impossible!’ he said, laughing. ‘You do not look in the least like a boy. In fact…’ he smiled ‘…I could envy Philippe his good fortune.’
‘I shouldn’t do that,’ she said quietly. ‘He was hanged by the guerrilleros.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday. We were out shooting hares and they captured us.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘I told them I was the wife of an English soldier and Philippe had taken me against my will…’
‘Was that true?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Tell me exactly.’
‘I was married to an English soldier, but he was killed in the chase after the battle for Oporto.’ She did not know why she answered, but it was a relief to have someone to talk to in English, and if he could be made to appreciate her plight he might be prepared to help her.
‘Another husband! How many have you had?’
‘Two.’
‘And still only…how old?’
‘It is no business of yours.’
‘Twenty-two, twenty-three?’ he queried. ‘And already widowed twice?’
‘You are a cynic, aren’t you? Haven’t you ever been in love?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, his face twisting in a wry smile. ‘And little good it did me. But go on with your story, we can come to mine later. Presumably you were at the tail of the British advance with the baggage?’
‘I was, until a courier who had come back with dispatches told me Tom had been wounded. Then I left it and went forward to look for him.’
‘As any good wife would do.’
‘As any good wife would do,’ she repeated.
‘You crossed the river?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘If you are English, you know the whole army crossed in small boats.’ She paused and looked up at him. ‘Or are you testing me?’
He laughed, poured more wine and settled back in his chair. ‘Tell me, did you find him?’
‘Yes, but he died very quickly. I tried to get back but I lost my way and ran into a company of French infantrymen.’
‘And in the blink of an eye you had changed sides and become a French soldier’s wife…’
‘It wasn’t like that at all,’ she protested. ‘You don’t understand. And if that is all you have to say, then I shall leave you and go to bed.’
‘Bed. Now, there’s a thought!’ There was amusement in his voice. ‘Have you a mind to change sides again? I might be able to accommodate you.’
She
