He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed. “Ursula. Liebchen—Sweetheart.”
She helped him to free herself from her clothing and turned so not to see him undress. “I have never been with a man before.”
Her words left a long pause between them, before he ventured, “Are you a virgin?” She felt hesitancy in his voice.
“I am.”
Now, they stared at each other in confusion and were silent again, but not for long. He tilted her face up and kissed her eyes then forcing back her head, kissed her throat.
Ulya made a sighing sound.
“I want children with you,” he said with such calmness, more like a whisper, she thought she had imagined it.
For a fleeting moment, she mentally pictured her child—their child—and, with a sensation of self-discovery, loved the idea of it.
They moved closer with their bodies. His bare skin was hot to the touch. So were his lips on hers.
“I’ll be gentle, Liebchen.” He arched over her and after the excruciatingly painful push and her gasp, moved carefully in her, bringing her to the point when she experienced the onset of sweet and inward rapture, flooding her, making the ache no more. She clasped her arms behind his head. “I have never felt anything like that,” she exhaled.
“You sleep now.” His lips touched her forehead.
In Vitebsk, Ewald spent rarely more than two or three days in a row, cruising the city’s district. Their time together was short and tenderly calm. He touched on something deep inside her. His gentleness brought a sensation of completeness she had never allowed herself to feel. As though he was on a mission to heal her for her motherless life and losing her father.
She did her work as scrupulously as ever, but her thoughts were on him and it was a strange lightness in her heart that she could not quite explain to herself. Had she felt something like that with Konstantin Petrov, that pilot school cadet from Volsk whose name was not Konstantin and not Petrov at all? The liar. Most likely an NKVD plant. With Nathan? Far from it. With him, she’d experienced a strange physical attraction, which she only now could fathom.
With Ewald all was different. Wanting to see him, to be with him was so out of the ordinary for her. He became integral to her life. At the same time, she was conflicted. Being intimately close to him endangered her life and her mission, albeit he was a source of what was expected from her. But living without him meant a life without a bliss she had never experienced before. Could she subdue these unlooked-for feelings slowly filling up inside her? Was it love that she felt?
54
February 1944
Ulya finished typing Hammerer’s urgent letter, removed it from the Remington, and motioned to Wulff that she was done. “Herr Hauptsturmführer awaits it for his signature.” He grabbed the paper and stepped to the closed door. A sharp knock and Hammerer’s “Step in!” prompted his adjutant to open the door. At that moment, she heard Adamkus’ voice, “…After her visit.” The door closed shut.
Who was that “she”? What did they talk about? The pinpoint Soviet air raid on the storage depot she had visited with Ewald and Adamkus? Or something else not related to her?
As lunch time came, still concerned, she headed to the canteen and, relieved Agnesya was serving her, ordered sandwiches and coffee. Then added, “A whole cabbage pie. Wrap it for me, please.” When Agnesya returned and shielded her from other visitors, Ulya slipped a sheet of paper under the tablecloth then snatched the cup. “Oh!” She banged it back on the table, spilling some drops on the white cloth. “You should have warned me it’s burning hot!” Ulya, outraged, blew on her fingers.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Agnesya looked as if she would break apart from terror. Good performance, Ulya applauded her mentally.
The girl grabbed the cup. One quick brush, and Ulya’s dispatch disappeared in the folds of the crumpled tablecloth. With it, Agnesya wiped the coffee drops and staggered away to the kitchen. She still had a rather haunted, woebegone look about her when she returned with a fresh tablecloth, a cup of coffee, and a couple of paper serviettes, not forgetting the pie. Ulya took her time to finish her coffee then escaped into the bathroom. She unfolded the serviette and, after reading her next assignment, tore it in little pieces and watched them disappear in the whirlwind of flushing water.
While in the evening she carried the pie and a bottle of milk to Nathan’s daughter’s place, a frisson of fear, an innate instinct told her she was being followed. She cast a quick glance around the street, but no one looked as if they might be on her footsteps. That was no comfort, as all it could mean was if someone was shadowing her, they were professional at it. Not a good idea to lead them to the little girl, she decided and headed to the West Dvina where she paused on the bank to reflect a moment. Maybe, she had just overreacted? Yet her instinct told her one could never be too safe. For some minutes, she took lungfuls of fresh air then went home.
When the next day as she headed to the girl and felt rather than saw at the edge of her vision she was being followed, her intuition confirmed her pensive doubts and a terrifying realization washed over her: she stood with the dilemma of finding another way to supply the girl.
“Is something bothering you, Liebchen?” Ewald seemed to recognize her concern as they got together.
To conceal? To pretend? Or to tell the truth? Even as a half-truth? She could hardly believe she was this close to revealing her secrets, but her trust in him overpowered her wavering. “Ewald, there is a little girl
