The Colour of War

Chapter 6

A harsh beam of light pierced the night, blinding Evelyn and Stefan as they walked through the cobblestone alley. "What's this then?" The night guard's voice was sharp, steeped with panic and suspicion. He brandished his torch like a weapon, his eyes darting between them, searching for any hint of deception.

"Nothing untoward," Stefan replied firmly, squinting against the glare. "We're Germans."

The guard's eyes narrowed at Evelyn. "Her too?" Doubt evident in his tone.

"Indeed," Stefan said. His hand found the small of her back, a reassuring presence.

"Then what's a soldier doing out here with a—" The guard's words trailed off as the light settled on the colour of her skin.

"Schwarze Frau," he spat the words out. "There's talk of British and French spies here in Cochem."

Evelyn's frown deepened, her patience frayed. "I assure you, sir, we are not spies."

"Ridiculous," she added under her breath, shaking her head to dispel the absurd accusation.

The guard muttered a curse, the torchlight swinging wildly as he turned on his heel and stormed away, leaving them in semi-darkness. His footsteps echoed, fading into the night.

"War makes fools of us all," Stefan murmured once the man was gone.

"Always been seen this way," Evelyn countered bitterly. "Now they're just more honest about it."

Silence followed. A veil of mystery hung in her dark eyes, drawing him in with an irresistible allure. He yearned to ask more, but hesitated, recognising that her struggles were not his to pry into. So, he remained silent.

"Time?" she asked after a moment, breaking the quiet.

"Late. You should get home."

He extended his hand, and she took it, letting him guide her down the winding path.

"When are you leaving for Belgium?" Her voice held a sudden seriousness.

"May," he confirmed, looking away. Deep lines creased his forehead.

"Make this Christmas count." She tried to smile. "I'll find you something special, but you can't open it now. You have to wait until you're back in Cologne."

"Only when I return to Cologne?" His grin was infectious, despite the sombre mood.

"Promise." Her laugh was soft and fleeting.

The lamplight from within the Baptiste home spilled out onto the porch, casting incensed shadows of the two men waiting there. Evelyn's breath caught in her throat as recognition dawned—her father and Earl Baptiste stood firm, their postures rigid with expectation.

"Go," she whispered urgently to Stefan, pressing her palms against his chest.

Stefan's gaze, however, was locked on the advancing figures, his body tensed like a coiled spring. Raymond's voice cut through the quiet evening air, stern and unwavering. "Evelyn, get in the house."

"He's a friend," she blurted, stepping instinctively before Stefan—a barrier to her father's rising temper.

Her father's eyes didn't deviate from the soldier before him. "You lied to me, Evelyn." Disappointment and anger manifested in his tone.

"Out here with a soldier!" Mr Baptiste eyed Stefan with suspicion, his tone filled with contempt. "These people... they want us locked up, or worse."

"I'm sorry," she stammered, the world spinning around her. She tried to gather her thoughts, to explain, to defend. "He's not like—"