The Dirty Dozen by E. M. Nathanson

Author:E. M. Nathanson [Luciano, Michael. editing]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: United, States., army, World, War, 1939-1945, Castles, Criminals, Popular, Music
Publisher: United States : Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

mail, but this place where I am is rather isolated, and by the time a letter reached me from London, I'd probably turn up here again. I'll tell you what, though. I promise to telephone you at least once a week from now on. How's that? And drive up every chance I can."

"Then I'm really your girl?" she said softly.

"Yes."

When they made love, in that same room where he'd stayed before, she overwhelmed him with her need and passion and drove every other remaining thing and person from his mind.

Chapter Twenty

REISMAN FOUND himself alone in his room at The Butcher's Arms when he woke up Wednesday morning. It was almost nine o'clock. He shaved and dressed hurriedly and went downstairs. Tess, looking radiant, was already at work between the kitchen and the public room where some people, military and civilian, were breakfasting. He didn't quite know how to greet her, but she solved it for him by coming to him, flushed, and taking his hand.

"I didn't have the heart to wake you," she whispered. "Should I have?"

"It's all right," he said. "I have a little time. Can you have breakfast with me?"

"I have to work," she answered. "What would you like?"

"Coffee, to start with, and a telephone."

She led him to the phone and, alone for a moment, he kissed her as he had wanted to do. Then he turned her around, pointed her toward the kitchen, and said, "Coffee . . . good and hot . . . lots of it."

It took awhile for the civilian and military hookups to be made, and while he waited impatiently Reisman had fleeting, guilty thoughts about one of the prisoners or all of them picking last night or this morning to create some new trouble or try to break out or in some way take advantage of poor Kinder. Then Kinder answered the phone, assured him everything was perfectly fine, and kidded him about behaving like a mother hen.

Tess served him his breakfast, and then nothing would do but he had to chat with her uncle, whom he had met formally that last week end he had stayed there; and with Mrs. Culver, the cook, who clucked over him and told him how much like a daughter Tess was to her. He wondered how much they knew about Tess and him.

Then it was time to go. Tess walked outside with him to the jeep. It was cool and windy, but there was good, yellow sunlight. The sky held promise and threat of almost any type of weather to come, with mountains of clouds piled high here and there on the horizons and the wind scudding cumulus squadrons at lower altitudes across spaces of blue. Tess wore the coat she had worn that first night of discovery. Her hand was under his arm and he covered it protectively with his own, rubbing it, intertwining their fingers in reluctant parting.

"Is this the spring your poets write about?" Reisman joked.

"Oh no," she said. "There's a saying, 'It ain't spring until you can plant your foot upon twelve daisies.

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