Page 6 of No Man's Land

Josef reached for his beer, swallowed the last mouthful, and set it back down on the table. Naturally, he knew Winchester was distracting him, but what did that matter? It was all a bloody game, and they could both be dead tomorrow.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his eyes to Winchester’s—they were dark blue, like the night sky an hour after sunset. Attractive. He was an altogether attractive man, and it had been a long time since any man had crossed Josef’s path with such eager intent. Only a fool would look such a gift horse in the mouth. Offering him a bedroom look, Josef said, “Oh, definitelyso.”

“Well then.” Winchester picked up his cap, toying with the brim. “Perhaps you’d care to take a walk, Mr Shepel?”

“What did you have in mind, Captain Winchester?” What Josef didnothave in mind was a rough fondle in some back alleyway, looking over his shoulder the whole time. He had more respect for himself than that, and if Winchester thought otherwise, he could shove it.

But the captain held his gaze again and said, “Perhaps, on this matter, you could bring yourself to trust me?”

“That’ll depend on whether you deserve it.”

Winchester considered for a long moment before he said, “Number eighteen, Priesterstraat. Give my name at the door and they’ll let you in. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.” With that he rose, nodded, and sauntered out of the bar.

Leaving the ball firmly in Josef’s court and with plenty of time to reconsider. He appreciated that.

But he didn’t reconsider. He wasn’t the sort of man who second-guessed himself. Besides, his blood was up, and the thought of returning alone to the field hospital and his narrow cot was unappealing. And while Winchester might congratulate himself on distracting Josef from questions about the new weapon—which was Josef’s current best explanation—two could play at that game.

Plenty of secrets, among other things, had been spilled in bed.

Chapter Three

Ten minutes later, Josef found himself walking along Priesterstraat—an unlit, narrow lane leading toward Poperinge’s medieval church. Heavy cloud hid the stars and moon, breeding deeper shadows in the alley. Most houses were locked up for the night, their windows dark, Pop’s weary inhabitants hiding from both the German guns and the British soldiers. Josef didn’t usually mind; he wasn’t afraid of the dark. As he’d told Winchester the first time they met, he preferred the shadows when he was out and about at night.

But tonight, something felt different. He felt uneasy, as if he were being watched.

Was it possible that someone at Toc H had noticed his conversation with Winchester? Unusual in itself for an officer and a man like himself to socialise, but had they signalled their intentions too clearly?

He glanced over his shoulder but saw nobody there, just the square of light at the other end of the street. Quickening his pace, he hurried on, squinting through the dark at the numbers on the building.

A sudden stench stopped him in his tracks, drifting on the air for a moment and then gone. But unmistakable. It was thestench of the black putrefaction he’d seen on those poor dying men. He sniffed the air again, but all he could smell now was the damp and the chill of the night. Wet stone, clean mud. He shook himself; he must have imagined it, thinking too much about Winchester’s secrets.

Ahead, the lane opened out onto a wider street, but just before that, Josef found number eighteen. It turned out to be a very discreet guesthouse with only a small brass plaque on the door displaying its name asJägers.

The door was locked so he rapped lightly, and it was answered immediately by a neat, grey-haired Belgian woman. Josef gave Winchester’s name, no questions were asked, and he was admitted. Inside, he found a cosy parlour to his left with a crackling fire, shelves crammed with books, and several easy chairs. A small reception desk sat in the equally small foyer, and a dark dining room stood to the right. Ahead rose a narrow flight of stairs. The place was elegant, seeming untouched by the war, and certainly the nicest place Josef had visited in Belgium.

Well, truth be told, it was the nicest place he’d visited anywhere.

If this was how the officer class lived, it was no surprise they wanted to keep it for themselves. Not that he could see any officers around, the only other guest being a rather pale older gentleman reading in the parlour.

“Captain Winchester is expecting you, Monsieur Shepel,” the housekeeper said. “Room eight, two floors up.”

He thanked her and took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the right floor, he saw a short hallway either side of the stairs leading to two rooms each. Winchester’s was on the left, at the front of the house.

Light bled from beneath the door, and Josef found himself hesitating, heart thumping in anticipation. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken pleasure with a stranger, but it was thefirst time he’d risked such a thing with a man of Winchester’s class—a man who’d hold all the cards should things turn sour.

The question was, could he trust him?

And the answer, which surprised him given his general antipathy towards officers, was yes. For some reason, he trusted the man.

He hoped he didn’t live to regret it.

Lifting his hand, he knocked softly on the door, and a moment later, Winchester opened it. “You came,” he said, smiling. “I wasn’t certain you would.”

“Neither was I.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but Winchester didn’t need to know that. “But here I am.”

“Here you are.” Winchester took a step back, inviting him in with a sweep of one arm.

The room was as fine as the rest of the house. Not enormous, but clean and richly decorated with a thick carpet and expensive-looking furniture. A small vase of fresh flowers sat on the armoire, and heavy velvet curtains covered the window. A fire burned in the small fireplace, and two comfortable chairs were set around it. But Josef’s eyes were caught by the sizeable bed behind them, and his racing pulse shifted up a gear.

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