Waiting for the Violins Read Online Free PDF Page B

do too, though in my case it’s because I lived over there.” Antonia saw no reason to give details.
    Dora poured the steaming tea into two mugs and brought one over to her. “No beau? That’s a crying shame. And now they’ll have us running around in the dirt in khakis. The lads like that.” She blew into her cup and squinted in an attempt at lewdness. “And if things happen in our off time, who’s to find out, eh?”
    Antonia forced a smile. The thought of meeting a man romantically in training hadn’t crossed her mind. “Somebody’s been reading romance novels.”
    “Hey, a girl’s got to fill up the lonely hours, especially when her fiancé’s incapacitated. If you know what I mean.” She strode across the room to her night table and picked up a battered paperback.
    “I’ve just finished this one. Take it. It’s on me. You’ll need something to relax your brain after all the stuff they’re going to pack into it during the day.”
    Antonia glanced at the title. The Grenadier and the Widow. She settled back on her cot. Well, why not? It was hours before the canteen would open for supper. She opened to the second chapter and read the opening line.
    “Oh, Pierre, how I’ve missed you,” the widow murmured, as he sat down on her bed and slid his hand under the covers .
     
    Ah, it was going to be that kind of romance novel.
     
    *
     
    Antonia flipped through the pages of her notebook to review the lessons of the last few days. Across the room, smoking a military-issue cigarette, Dora did the same.
    “I had no idea there was so much to know about German uniforms,” Dora complained. “There’s no bloody end to it.” She took a drag and blew smoke sideways. “But I got to tell you, much as I hate the buggers, I like some of the uniforms. The black ones with the high boots are really smashing. Our Tommies, well, I love ’em to pieces, but they’re kind of drab in comparison.”
    “You think so?” Antonia studied the pages of SS officers. “Yeah, but according to this, those are only fancy-dress uniforms. In the occupied countries, they’re all wearing gray-green field uniforms like the Wehrmacht.”
    “Pity. Have you learned the SS ranks yet?
    “I think so.” She stared up at the ceiling. “Let’s see, there’s Sturmmann, Rottenführer, Unterscharführer, Scharführer, Oberscharführer, Hauptscharführer— Boy, they really like the sound of ‘Führer,’ don’t they? Then there’s Sturmscharführer, Untersturmführer, Hauptsturmführer. ”
    “And the Wehrmacht?”
    “Yeah, but don’t make me name them. They’re all so repetitive.”
    “Would you recognize them by their uniforms?”
    “Not jolly likely. It took me six months to recognize our own men by their insignias.”
    “Well, somebody’s got more homework to do, doesn’t she?” Dora smirked. “Okay, then let’s move on to Belgian geography?”
    “Easy. Flanders up, Wallonia and the Ardenne down, Brussels in the middle.”
    “Who’s the king?”
    “Leopold III. Surrendered to the Germans against the advice of his cabinet, for which some condemn him as a traitor, but others hail him for saving the lives of his defeated army. Technically a prisoner of war.”
    “What happened to the Belgian army?”
    Antonia dropped back onto her pillow and emitted a long sigh. “Oh, please. Can we stop now? My brain’s turned to porridge.”
    “Yeah, I’m burnt out myself.” She glanced at her watch. “Crikey, it’s ten o’clock, and we’ve got to be up at six tomorrow. Fifteen minutes and it’s lights out for us.”
    “Good. I’ve got just enough eyesight for a few pages of your trashy novel. Let’s see, where was I?” She opened at her bookmark and began to read out loud.
     
    He stood in the doorway of her room. His blue tunic was dusty from the ride, his white jodhpurs stained by the saddle. Belinda pulled her blanket up to her chin. “Dear lady, do not fear,” he said. “No man shall lay a hand on you while you