Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

and blankets, while his wife removed the sodden, ripped underpants.

When Kelly crawled briefly out of unconsciousness, his first thought was that he had died and gone to heaven. He was looking into eyes of the purest, clearest blue. He became aware that he was lying naked on the floor being rubbed down by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and yet all he could think about was how bloody cold he felt. The irony was not lost on him and it almost produced a smile.

“Sind Sie Deutsch?” the woman asked, her voice soft but edged with concern.

“Nein” he replied weakly, “Ich bin Brite”. Then realising even in his semi-conscious state how foolish that response had been, added in English, “I’m British. A Seaman.”

“You’re safe for the moment,” she said with only the faintest trace of an accent. “But we must get you into a hot bath quickly to get your temperature up. My husband is preparing it now.”

The Seaman could not prevent a spasm of disappointment at the mention of ‘husband’. He was clearly beginning to feel better already.

“By the way,” she smiled at him, “what is your name?”

“My name?” he repeated. “It’s Kelly, Second Lieutenant Dragan Kelly.”

Interrogation?

Dan Kelly awoke in pain. Every muscle in his body ached and his feet were on fire. He tried to recall the events of the previous evening, but a mist swirled in his head. Visions floated in and out of focus. A heavy thick set man with a beard. A woman with the face of an angel and a soft voice to match.

He recalled being half dragged and half carried by the man into a bathroom and being gently lowered into a bath of what felt like boiling water. He had screamed in pain and the man and woman had quickly pulled him out, the man clamping an iron hand over his mouth.

“Be silent, Dragan!” the woman had remonstrated. “For your own safety you must be silent!”

“Look,” she urged and plunged her arm into the water up to the elbow, holding it there.

“The water is only tepid. It is because you are so cold that you feel such pain.” She pulled her arm out and held her palm on his cheek.

“See! We are not wanting to hurt you, Dragan, but we must get your temperature up quickly or you will die.” She looked deep into his eyes and smiled. “Will you trust me, Dragan?”

Kelly could not remember assenting, but he did remember the torture of being lowered into the water. He had bitten his lip to prevent himself crying out. He recalled what seemed like an eon of pain until that discomfort gave way to an almost unbearable tingling before that in turn retreated into numbness. Then he felt a wave of exhaustion sweeping through his mind and body, after which he remembered absolutely nothing.

Kelly tried to take stock of his situation. He was in a small wooden room with curtains across the two windows. A slight chink in one of the curtains allowed bright light to stream through the window, illuminating the room with a blade of sunlight. Burning wood glowed in the hearth of a stone fireplace, diffusing the room with the scent of pine. He was lying naked in what, he surmised, was a pine bedstead on an extremely soft mattress. The only bed clothing was a duvet of feathers, eiderdown at a guess.

Slowly, painfully, he eased himself onto one elbow and pulled back the duvet. He gazed at the lacerations on his arms and legs and the crude bandages on his feet. Gently he swung his feet out over the side of the bed, placing them gingerly on the brightly coloured carpet. Determinedly he pushed himself off the side of the bed and stood up. Immediately he collapsed back onto the bed with a cry. His feet felt as if hundreds of needles had been simultaneously thrust deep into them.

He lay spread-eagled on the bed panting. He was waiting for the pain to subside when the door opened, and the woman walked in. She glanced away discreetly as he tried to regain his dignity by pulling the duvet about his person.

“Good morning, Dragan,” she smiled, then added in mock chastisement, “you haven’t been trying to get up, have you?” She waved a finger at him and added more gently, “The soles of your feet are badly cut from the rocks and the road I suppose. There is no lasting damage, but it will be painful for a few days.”

As she fussed about him, adjusting the pillows and duvet, he observed her. She was wearing a checked blouse and a light skirt, which reached to her knees. She moved with the grace of an athlete and had a classical figure which was slim rather than thin. She was a little older than himself, he guessed that she must be in her mid-twenties.

The most notable feature of the woman was her face. She smiled frequently, displaying perfect white teeth when she did so, but she didn’t just smile with her mouth, her whole face lit up and her beautiful blue eyes sparkled. Her face was prettily edged by hair that was cut to shoulder length with a light natural wave. It was the almost white blonde rarely seen outside of Scandinavia. Her skin was lightly tanned and flawless.

She was quite exquisite.

“How do you know my name?” he asked.

“You told me last night,” she replied, “but you were in such pain that I don’t suppose you remember.”

“Did you tell me your name?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think I did. That was very rude, wasn’t it?” She giggled. Smiling, she walked over to him and sat down on the bed. Taking his hand and holding it gently, she told him, “My name is Sybilla Thorstaadt. You are in my house.”

“And the man?” asked Kelly.

“That was my husband Gunnar; he has gone to work now.”

“He’s very strong.” Kelly clearly remembered how the man had lifted him in and