“I thought you weren’t supposed to leave the guardhouse?” She climbed down to where he stood, glad that she was wearing trousers.
“The relief detail just arrived,” he replied. “The driver has a thing for one of the ladies in the kitchen. He likes to go see her before we head back to base.”
“Well, since you’re here, I wonder if you could give me a hand?” She explained the problem with the roll of fabric.
“Well, sure I can.” He was looking at her in a strange way, the corner of his mouth flexing, as if he was trying not to smile.
“What? What is it?”
“You have a cobweb on your head.”
“Ugh!” She raked her fingers through her hair. As she lowered her arm, she saw that the sleeve of her jacket was covered in dust.
“No—you missed it.” Sergeant Lewis leaned forward. “Can I . . .” She felt his hand brush her head, gentle but firm. “There. It’s gone.” He held out his hand. A wisp of gossamer floated out in the draft coming through the door. He rubbed it off and started climbing the ladder. Moments later the roll of artificial silk was on the workbench. He helped her roll out a little of it, to check its condition.
“Will it do?”
“Yes, I think so. It’s hard to tell in this light. But there’s yards and yards of it, so even if I find some damage, there’s sure to be enough to make a dress.”
He cocked his head to one side. “I can just about sew on a button—wouldn’t have a clue how to make anything.”
“Well, I won’t actually be making it; the ladies at the sewing class will do that. I’m just going to work out the design.”
“Where’d you learn to do that?”
“I . . .” She hesitated, not wanting to say anything that would prompt further questions about her past. But the look in his eyes was disarming. There was a warmth in them that made her feel . . . what? She couldn’t put her finger on it. Comfortable? Safe? It was both of those, but something else as well: something she couldn’t name. “My mother taught me,” she said. Then, before he could probe any deeper, she glanced at her watch. “Goodness! Is that the time? I’d better be getting back.”
“Can I help you carry it?”
“No—thank you. I’ll be fine now.” Bending her knees to brace herself, she hoisted the roll onto her shoulder. It was heavier than she’d expected, but she was determined not to admit defeat a second time. With a wave of her free hand, she made her way out, blinking in the dazzling light of the midday sun.
Kitty stayed downstairs when the others went to bed that evening. She got out the sketch pad she’d brought with her from England and the pencils she kept wrapped in a scarf that had once belonged to her mother. When she took them out, she held the silk square up to her face. It still carried a faint trace of her mother’s perfume.
It was the first time Kitty had attempted to draw since arriving at Seidenmühle. In truth, there hadn’t been time. But it wasn’t just that: what had been her solace on long, lonely evenings in England seemed entirely frivolous in a place like this. Now, however, there was a reason for it.
She was looking forward to designing the wedding dress for Aleksandra, the girl from the train. A girl who, it turned out, was the same age as she was. Like Kitty, she had left her place of birth far behind and arrived somewhere new and strange. There were many similarities between them; they even looked alike, with long dark hair and gray eyes. It would be fun to design a dress for her—a sort of fantasy of what Kitty might one day wear herself.
She tried to imagine what it would be like to be a bride. But the picture that came into her head was incomplete. The man beside her had no face. Was that because Fred was fading from her memory now that she was far away from him? She didn’t like to admit it to herself, but she had known the instant he had made that ham-fisted proposal in the middle of a crowded theater that she could never marry him. What she’d said about not being able to settle down until she found out what had happened to her parents had been absolutely true. But, to her shame, she had used it as an excuse to brush Fred off.
Her thoughts turned to Sergeant Lewis. Fred would have made fun of her for getting herself all covered in dust and cobwebs to retrieve something that was destined to be worn by someone else. But the sergeant hadn’t raised an eyebrow when she’d told him what she wanted to do. She wondered if he’d remember his promise to lend her his camera for the wedding.