In Love and War (38 page)

She finished her chocolate and rose reluctantly from the comfort of her bed, but the lure of her own bathroom and the prospect of a hot bath made it worth the effort. The bathroom was tiled in pink marble and the claw-footed bath looked inviting. She turned on the gold-plated hot tap but the water gushing out was cold, bringing back memories of their time in the lodging house ruled over by Madame Chausse. Elsie perched on the edge of the bath, doubled up with laughter. It seemed that the wealthy were no more immune from the power cuts than anyone else. Perhaps there was some justice after all. She had a strip wash in cold water but even that was a luxury compared to the facilities rigged up in an outhouse in the priory grounds, where last winter they had had to break the ice in the stone sink with a hammer.

Refreshed and dressed ready for the wedding, Elsie made her way to the room where they had dined the previous evening in the company of Monsieur Bellaire. Marianne had kept the conversation flowing and Philippe Bellaire had retired early, saying that he had papers to study before he went to bed. He had been kind and courteous to Elsie, but rather vague, as if his mind was on other things, and she was dismayed to walk into the dining room and find him there on his own. He looked up and frowned as if he had forgotten her existence, but then he smiled and half rose from his seat. ‘Good morning, Mademoiselle Mead.'

She pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Good morning, monsieur.'

‘I trust that you had a good night's sleep?'

‘Yes, thank you. It was sheer luxury after sleeping on a palliasse for months.'

‘The croissants are still warm,' he said, passing the plate to her. ‘Or if you prefer I can ring for the maid and she will bring toast. I know that you English love your toast and marmalade. I have a supply sent especially for Marianne.'

Elsie took a croissant. ‘I haven't tasted one of these since before the war.' She reached for the butter. ‘I prefer the apricot confiture anyway.'

He smiled and sipped his coffee. ‘I remember now. Your mother was French, wasn't she?'

‘Yes, she was.' She bit into the flaky pastry, hoping that he did not see the tears that sprang to her eyes when she thought of her mother.

Monsieur Bellaire leaned back in his chair, dabbing his lips with a starched white napkin. ‘They think I don't know,' he said, chuckling. ‘But a wedding, even one arranged in a hurry, is hard to conceal from a parent.'

Elsie gulped and swallowed a mouthful of croissant. ‘You know about it?'

‘This is my home. I might spend most of my time at the bank, but when a crate of champagne arrives under cover of darkness it makes one suspicious. And my son, who normally spends his leave asleep, has been rushing about like a madman. He made the mistake of confiding in my head clerk because he needed to have the banns posted ten days before the event and he knew he would not get home in time.'

‘I don't know what to say. I suppose they wanted a quiet wedding without any fuss.'

‘They will get their wish, but I will be there, as will Henri's mother. I sent a telegram to the villa in le Lavandou the moment I heard of his plan. Selene will be arriving at the Gare de Lyon in less than an hour, and I will be there to meet her.' He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘This will be our secret. My wife and I will attend the civil ceremony to witness our only son marrying the young woman we had always hoped he would take to be his wife.' He patted her on the shoulder. ‘Don't look so worried. Nothing will spoil their day and tomorrow Henri returns to his unit. Who can blame him for marrying in haste?'

Elsie sat for some time after he had gone, wondering whether she ought to warn Marianne and Henri, but that would mean betraying a confidence. She spread apricot jam on the last piece of croissant and popped it into her mouth. Why was life always so complicated?

In the end she said nothing. Henri left early and Marianne was in high spirits as Elsie helped her into her ivory silk gown. ‘It was made for a society woman at the start of the war,' Marianne explained, smoothing the material over her slender hips. ‘But her fiancé was killed and she never claimed it. I hope it isn't an ill omen.'

‘You don't believe in nonsense like that,' Elsie said firmly. ‘It's just pre-wedding nerves making you jittery.'

‘I suppose so. I must admit I didn't think of it when I bought the dress.'

Elsie reached for the circlet of orange blossom and the veil. ‘Stop worrying, Marianne. Sit down and let's see if I can get this right first go.'

They arrived fashionably late at the town hall to find Henri pacing the floor. He looked splendid in his dress uniform, but agitated. He came to a sudden halt when he saw his bride and for a moment he looked stunned at the sight of her, but then his expression gave way to one of pure delight. He came slowly towards Marianne, holding out both hands.

‘You look even more beautiful than usual, my darling.'

Marianne's face was misty beneath the white veil, but Elsie could tell that she was smiling, and the bouquet of lilies, white roses, stephanotis and trailing fern trembled in her hands. ‘I think we should go in,' she whispered. ‘That official looks rather impatient.'

Henri took her by the arm. ‘It's our day, my love. I won't allow anyone to spoil it.' He turned his head to give Elsie a beaming smile. ‘You look lovely too. I'm glad you're here with us today.'

‘Thank you, Henri.' She glanced at the official, who was staring pointedly at his pocket watch. ‘I think there are other couples waiting to get married.'

Henri led Marianne up the red-carpeted staircase and the mustachioed official snapped to attention as he opened the door to the chamber where weddings were solemnised. Elsie followed them into a room furnished with rows of gilt chairs, but only three of the seats were occupied. Marianne uttered a gasp of surprise at the sight of Henri's parents, and then the other wedding guest rose to his feet. Colonel Winter strode down the aisle to embrace his daughter.

‘Papa,' Marianne murmured, her voice catching on a sob. ‘How did you know?' Elsie snatched her bouquet before the blooms were crushed by the colonel's tender embrace.

‘Philippe sent a telegram to HQ. I've been in France for months but this is the first time I've been able to get even a few hours' leave.' He released Marianne, turning to shake Henri's hand. ‘I couldn't be more pleased, my boy.'

Philippe Bellaire cleared his throat noisily. ‘I think the registrar is eager to begin, James.'

‘Of course.' Colonel Winter stepped aside. ‘I apologise for the delay.'

Selene smiled graciously and resumed her seat. ‘Sit down, Philippe. There will be time for congratulations later. We've booked a table at the Ritz for luncheon.'

Marianne flicked back her veil. ‘I knew this would happen,' she whispered as she took the bouquet from Elsie, but she smiled as she took her father's arm. ‘I'm glad you're here, Papa.'

‘I've missed so much of your life, Marianne. The very least I can do is see you happily married.' They approached the table where the mayor waited to perform the civil ceremony.

Elsie awoke next morning with a headache. The luncheon at the Ritz had been a great success, despite Marianne and Henri's previous wish for a quiet celebration. Philippe had booked a room for the happy couple so that they could spend their one-night honeymoon in luxurious surroundings far different from the conditions in camp, and Elsie had returned to the rue de l'Echelle with Marianne's parents. Selene had opted to stay the night with the intention of returning to le Lavandou in the morning, and both she and her husband had taken care to make Elsie feel that she was part of the family. They had dined at home and drunk even more champagne, which Elsie regretted the moment she opened her eyes.

She sat up in bed, sipping her hot chocolate and wondering whether she ought to cut her leave short and return to the priory. Marianne would no doubt be going back to work as soon as Henri's leave was up, and now that she was a married woman she might want to spend her spare time looking for a flat where she could set up home.

Elsie replaced the cup on its saucer and slid her legs over the side of the bed. She felt as though there were demons with pickaxes inside her skull, and she staggered into the bathroom to raid the well-stocked cabinet for seltzer and a couple of aspirin tablets. She bathed in lukewarm water and, feeling much better, she slipped on the wrap that Marianne had loaned her. She was about to sit down at the dressing table and brush her hair when the bedroom door opened and Marianne flew in. She rushed past Elsie, heading for the bathroom. The door slammed shut but Elsie could hear her retching.

She waited until the sounds stopped. ‘Are you all right, Marianne?'

‘No. I'm sick.'

‘Was it too much champagne? I've been suffering a bit myself.'

‘I only had one glass.'

The spectre of Spanish flu sent a shiver down Elsie's spine. The pandemic had swept Europe and it was not over yet. ‘I'm coming in,' she said, opening the door.

ELSIE BURST INTO
the bathroom to find Marianne seated on a chair by the washbasin, holding a wet flannel to her forehead. ‘Why have you come home so early?'

‘Henri had to re-join his regiment.' Marianne groaned, resting her head in her hands.

‘Should I send for a doctor? Are you feverish?'

‘I'm not ill.' Marianne raised her head, smiling weakly. ‘I'm in pod. In the family way – pregnant.'

‘You can't be. Not after one night.'

‘Don't be such an innocent, Elsie. Henri and I have been lovers for over a year. Not very often, of course, because he's not had much leave, but it must have happened when he had a 24-hour pass a couple of months ago.'

‘But you denied it, Marianne.'

‘All right – I lied.'

‘Does he know?'

‘Of course he does. That's why we got married in such a hurry.'

‘You haven't told his parents?'

‘They're very sweet but they're also very old-fashioned, and I wouldn't dare tell Papa. I'll have to make out that it's a seven-month baby or something of the sort.' She turned to face Elsie with a persuasive smile. ‘You're the only one who knows, and I want to keep it that way.'

Elsie sat down on the edge of the bath. ‘And I thought you were sickening for the flu.'

‘Don't mention that word. I'm going to keep well and have this baby. By my calculations it will be born in October, and hopefully the war will be over long before then.'

‘Is Henri pleased?'

‘He's delighted. We weren't planning to start a family so soon, but we both want it desperately.'

Elsie stood up and wrapped her arms around Marianne. ‘I'm very happy for you. It will be a beautiful baby, of that I'm certain.'

‘I think I'll go to my room and lie down,' Marianne said, struggling to her feet. ‘If anyone asks just tell them I'm exhausted after the excitement yesterday. They'll understand.'

‘What about work? Will you go back to the rue Saint-Roch?'

‘For a while, I suppose, but not for long. I intend to look after myself and the little one. Henri will have a son and heir he can be proud of, as well as a wife who adores him. I can't think how I was so blind for so long.'

Elsie opened the door for her. ‘I know what you mean. I was the same with Guy. I just hope and pray that he's all right, because I haven't heard from him for months. At least you know that Henri is alive and well.'

‘Bad news travels fast,' Marianne said, patting her on the shoulder. ‘You'd hear soon enough if the worst had happened. I'm going to report in sick tomorrow so you and I can go flat-hunting together. It will be fun.'

Despite all their efforts, accommodation of the type Marianne wanted was hard to find, but she was in a buoyant mood. ‘It will take time,' she said cheerfully as they left the last apartment they viewed, which looked as though a bomb had dropped on it, the former tenant having been an artist with a drink problem. She pushed an empty absinthe bottle out of the way with the toe of her black patent leather shoe. ‘Never mind. I'm not in a hurry and something will turn up.'

‘I wish I could stay longer,' Elsie said wistfully. ‘But my leave is up tomorrow and I have to return to the priory.'

‘You're not too far away. You must come again as soon as possible. I need you, Elsie.' Marianne grinned mischievously. ‘You can tell your superior that Madame Bellaire is in desperate need of a brilliant coiffeuse, and the future of the whole Bellaire dynasty depends on keeping the mother-to-be happy and content.'

‘You always were a little crazy, Marianne,' Elsie said, laughing. ‘I can imagine how that would go down.'

‘I know, but you must try to visit more often. Henri seems to think that the war will be over before the winter takes hold, and I trust his judgement.'

Elsie returned to the priory, receiving a rapturous welcome from Rosemary. ‘I didn't go to Dover in the end. Cancelled. Anyway, it's been ghastly without you,' she said earnestly. ‘I had to pair up with Audrey Summers and you know what a pain in the neck she can be. She grumbled non-stop about anything and everything until I could cheerfully have strangled her.'

‘How has it been apart from dear Audrey?' Elsie picked up a tin mug and sipped the strong tea sweetened with condensed milk. Only a few hours earlier she had been drinking from a delicate bone china cup in the palatial surroundings of the Bellaires' Paris apartment. She glanced round the cell-like room with its stone sink and the paraffin stove which the girls used to make hot drinks when they were on duty. A damp musty smell mingled with the odour of the paraffin and a waft from the latrines outside. The contrast between the life of the wealthy in the relative safety of Paris and the stark conditions under which the FANYs worked hit Elsie more forcibly than ever, but she was glad to be back. This was where she had chosen to be and the hardships they endured were as nothing compared to those of the men in the trenches.