“Here? You mean . . .” Martha glanced toward the staircase.
“Why not? I could take the girls to sleep next door. They’d love that. You know how they idolize Wolf and the others.”
Martha felt a blush rise up to her cheeks. From the sound of it, Delphine had been planning this for a while. The chance of spending a whole night alone with Stefan would be the best Christmas present she could wish for. But she didn’t know if he would want it. Was it still too soon for him? And what if people found out that they’d spent the night together? “That’s really thoughtful.” She reached across the table and squeezed Delphine’s hand. “But how would it look to everyone else?”
“No one needs to know.” Delphine shrugged. “I’m pretty sure they’ll all be too drunk to notice where he sleeps.”
Martha nodded. If last year was anything to go by, memories of the three days of Christmas would be at best hazy. “I suppose I could ask him,” she murmured.
The next day, Stefan arrived with the girls to start his new job as Kitty’s replacement. It was strange having him working alongside her in the office. Like turning the clock back to those first days in the camp, when he had been her shadow. She couldn’t remember exactly when the easy companionship between them had developed an edge of tension brought on by suppressed desire. Now he was behaving as if he were treading on eggshells. He was being so polite, so careful in everything he said and did. It made her nervous about broaching the subject of Christmas. She rehearsed what she might say, but every time she ran it through her head, it sounded as if she were trying to corner him into sleeping with her.
It was only when they went out into the woods together a few days later to gather foliage to decorate the mess hall that she plucked up the courage. Something about being outside among the trees seemed to free her mind in a way that rarely happened in the confines of the office. She put her hand on his arm as he reached to cut a pine bough. “Stefan, would you and the girls like to come and stay here for a couple of nights over Christmas?”
His forehead furrowed as he turned to her. “I don’t want to make a problem for you.”
“It wouldn’t be a problem,” she said. “There’s no rule against you staying here for a short time as my guest.”
“Where would we sleep? The camp is full.”
“Delphine suggested that the girls could sleep in the cabin next door, with her and the auxiliaries. She thought they’d enjoy being with the older children.” Martha hesitated. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She was too afraid of seeing disapproval in them.
“We would be alone? No one else in your house?”
“If you want. But you don’t have to. There’s the room in the chapel, if you’d feel more comfortable there.”
“What do you want?” His voice was soft and low. He didn’t sound offended or disconcerted. She raised her head, daring herself to look at him.
“Well . . . I . . . I can’t think of anything I’d like better than being alone with you.” She searched his face. Nothing in his eyes gave away what he was thinking. “But we don’t have to decide now. Why not just see how you feel?”
Christmas Eve at the camp followed the same pattern as the previous year: Martha was required to raise a glass and dance a sequence of polkas and mazurkas until the celebrations reached a pitch when no one would notice her slipping away.
Stefan remained in the office until it got dark. He hadn’t wanted to advertise his presence until the party was well underway.
“It’s even wilder than I remember!” Martha groaned as she flopped onto the chair behind the desk. “I’d ask you for a dance, but I don’t think I have the energy.”
“It’s okay.” He smiled. “I don’t care to dance.”
“Oh.” Her face fell. She should have been more careful. He hadn’t said how or where he had spent last Christmas. She imagined him holed up, alone and freezing cold, in the timber warehouse in Warsaw, mourning his wife. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can understand that this is all a bit much for you.”
He tilted his head as he looked at her. There was still a smile in his eyes. “I have a present for you.” Bending down, he took something from the bag at his feet. It was a little box, its chestnut-brown surface inlaid with a delicate tracery of paler wood.
“That’s beautiful.” She angled it to the light when he passed it to her. “Did you make it?”