Winter Roses (28 page)

Motor transport had been laid on to meet them and they rattled over the paved roadways out to Versailles where the meetings were to take place. How nice it would be if God could provide one further coincidence and make the driver Phoebe. He didn’t; it was a woman though, a sign that all able-bodied men were at the front here too. Her excitement, tinged with nervousness, mounted as they drove, at Luke’s special request, along the Champs-Élysées, before weaving their way through the Paris suburbs to Versailles. Now she knew she was in France. The familiar sight of an English high street, each shop proudly displaying its owner’s name was replaced by
boulangerie, charcuterie, chevaline
–
horsemeat? she wondered, startled. Wait till she told Mrs Dibble about that.

‘This is the Boulevard de la Reine,’ Luke told her as they drove through Versailles. ‘You’re going in like Queen Marie-Antoinette.’

‘Let’s hope I don’t end up like her,’ Caroline retorted, catching her breath at the first sight of the chateau. ‘It’s enormous. And beautiful. We’re not staying in it, are we?’

‘No. We’re going to the Trianon Palace Hotel. The sanitary installations are somewhat more advanced there, so the French army wisely requisitioned it for their top-brass meetings.’

Caroline had had only one brush so far with French plumbing. The water closet had provided plenty of water but precious little else. Merely two stone footsteps to step on over a hole and a flush that enthusiastically cleaned your feet, boots and, if you weren’t careful, your skirt too. She was all in favour of the Trianon Palace – especially when she saw it. In its position at the far corner of the boulevard, it overlooked the chateau park and indeed looked grand enough to be a chateau in its own right. So was her bedroom; Felicia in her formal VAD uniform which she never wore at the front since it was too impractical, looked a severe and small figure amidst this white and gilt elegance.

‘Caroline.’ She ran across to embrace her. ‘I couldn’t believe it when Luke said you were coming too. Isn’t he kind?’

‘Yes,’ agreed Caroline. If only Felicia knew! ‘I’m here to do a job of course, just like you.’ She had obeyed Luke, and now almost believed that
was
the only reason she was here.

A shadow crossed Felicia’s face. ‘I didn’t like coming away, because I’m sure the fighting is going to break out again in force any day now. All that persuaded me is that GHQ know when it’s going to start and they wouldn’t have wanted me to come here if it was to happen while I was away. Would they?’

‘No,’ Caroline agreed guiltily.

‘I did wonder why you were coming,’ Felicia confessed. ‘Last time I was here, I talked to Captain Rosier. He told me all about his Christmas at the Rectory. I felt as though I’d been there with him. I like him very much, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ muttered Caroline through clenched teeth.

Felicia looked at her thoughtfully. ‘He reminds me of Daniel.’

‘Why?’ Caroline was startled.

‘I’m not sure I can explain, but I’ll try. Both of them try to rule their hearts with their heads, and to most people they succeed all too well. Those of us who love them know how hard it is.’

‘How would you like a pillow fight, dear sister?’

Yves did not appear at dinner, which increased Caroline’s nervousness. She felt lost amid this sea of top-brass uniforms, and she was doubly glad that Felicia was present too. Yves’ name was not even mentioned and she could not bring herself to ask Luke where he was. Instead she forced herself to join in Felicia’s and Luke’s banter, though feeling decidedly de trop.

In the morning she felt calmer, which was just as well. How, she asked herself, as her stomach kicked, could one
khaki-clad figure stand out so arrestingly in a room full of uniforms? Yves was standing by one of the windows talking, and as the jolt of recognition shot through her, he glanced over and she saw his face freeze in shock. (Thank you, Luke, for not warning him.) Seeing his discomposure, she immediately felt more confident, and she bowed her head slightly to acknowledge him. Then she joined Felicia and Luke at the breakfast table. The worst was over.

‘Caroline.’ He looked older, and the scar on his cheek seemed to stand out more prominently. ‘Miss Lilley.’ He bowed to Felicia. ‘May I join you?’

Luke waved to the spare chair as waiters (French army version) bustled around, bringing out steaming jugs of coffee and what looked like bread and jam together with new-moon-shaped pastries.

‘Croissants,’ Felicia informed her knowledgeably. ‘You can tell the top brass are here. We wouldn’t get them otherwise.’

‘I am delighted to see you, Caroline.’ (There didn’t seem very much delight in Yves’ voice, however.) ‘May I ask, Captain Dequessy, why Miss Lilley is here?’ he asked mildly.

‘I will tell you myself, Yves.’ Caroline decided to rescue Luke from the guillotine. ‘Captain Dequessy will tell you that for many months I have been concerned there was something wrong with the reports we were receiving in Folkestone through Monsieur Fabre. I am a junior member of the section and naturally cannot therefore be taken into its confidence as to the exact situation with the Belgian
networks, but nevertheless it seems to me that Monsieur Fabre is undoubtedly working for the enemy. Perhaps the Germans persuaded him to do so after the capture of our mail bag from the ferry last year. It occurred to me that were I to attend the meeting on intelligence this morning, ostensibly as a WAAC taking notes of the proceedings, I could then relay any information you wished from the section in casual conversation with Monsieur Fabre. False information of course. He might suspect Captain Dequessy; he would never suspect me.’

There was a stunned silence as she finished, which Felicia eventually broke. ‘“Face the wall, my darling, while the gentlemen go by,”’ she quoted. ‘Have some stale bread – and do tell Mrs Dibble about
that
.’

Luke and Yves seemed to be conferring without words, for Yves gave a slight nod, before Luke said, ‘That seems an excellent plan. If you agree, Captain Rosier, I’ll go ahead.’

If you agree? Caroline was puzzled. Why was Yves so involved still in the affairs of the British section? Yves looked uncertain now, and she congratulated herself that she had convinced him of the integrity of her visit. The second step was over.

The next was more difficult. He did not attend the meeting she was at, and at luncheon he was sitting far away from her with the Belgian Army Intelligence Chief. There would be another meeting tomorrow morning, but this afternoon was free for private discussions. And that was exactly what she intended to have. The time had come to stop dissembling, and for this she had to involve Luke, knowing he would be only too happy to escape with Felicia.

She waited in the hotel lobby with trepidation, keyed up. At last Yves came down the staircase, looking round for Luke whom he’d expected to meet. When his eyes fell on her, he obviously realised immediately that no Luke would be found. He came over to her, and from the look of anger on his face she decided to speak first.

‘Luke told me you had intended to spend the afternoon at St Cyr, the military school.’

‘He was correct. We had matters to discuss.’

‘I thought you might prefer –’ she would
not
be put off by his forbidding expression ‘– a walk in the gardens of Versailles. I know that everything of value has been removed from the house, but the gardens are still beautiful, and I would like to see the Trianons and
le petit hameau
.’

‘I am sure your sister would be better company – ah, I suppose Luke too has matters of more importance than mere war on his mind.’

‘Yes, and he is right. Yves, I came here only to tell you two things, and when I have told you, I will leave you – if you wish – in peace.’

‘Peace?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘That, my Latin master would point out, is a non sequitur.’

It was another glimmer of humanity, and she held her breath as he seemed undecided. Several painful long seconds later, he made up his mind. ‘Come then, we will play make-believe for the afternoon.’

‘Like Marie-Antoinette dressing as a shepherdess in her
petit hameau
?’

‘Yes. We too must have our means of escape.’

They walked into the gardens by the porte de la Reine.
The chateau was closed for all its portable splendours had been taken away for safety when the war swept perilously close to Paris, but nothing could affect those magnificent gardens, even though they were badly in need of love and attention. On this sunny afternoon, however, the avenues and statuary and fountains gleamed out their splendour, even if the water was not cascading from them.

‘Shall we go to the
petit hameau
– and the Petit Trianon? I’ve always wanted to see it since I read the book by Miss Moberly and Miss Jourdain about their experiences there.’ Half of her wanted to plunge right in, the other half knew she needed time to get used to being with him again.

‘What exciting adventures occurred to them?’

‘In August 1901 they saw Marie-Antoinette on the lawn. Not to mention several of her courtiers and estate workers.’

‘What imaginative ladies.’

‘They’re not. That’s why they’re taken seriously. They are principal and vice-principal at an Oxford college.’

‘Too much of
le bon vin
on a summer afternoon?’

‘They
both
saw the ghosts. They lost their way, just as we might do, walking along these paths, and were directed to the Petit Trianon by oddly-dressed men they took to be gardeners. As they approached the house from the rear, having passed several houses that had long since disappeared, the queen was on the lawn, sketching. It was the anniversary of the day the queen was on trial, pleading for her life, and the theory is that she fixed her thoughts on happier days at her
petit hameau
and the Petit Trianon, and the ladies somehow tapped into her images which were imprinted on the atmosphere.’

‘And these ladies run an Oxford college, you say?’

Caroline laughed, and he said immediately, ‘You are happy,
cara
, despite what has occurred between us?’ He took her hand and there was a mist in her eyes.

‘I am happy to see you, because of what occurred. I see no ghosts from the past, Yves. I see us, now.’

He took her into his arms, and kissed her. ‘Tell me your two things,
cara
, and then we shall talk politely of Versailles and its splendours, take coffee at the restaurant in the gardens, and nothing more. You know, my dearest, if you speak of now, that is what must happen.’

She took a deep breath. ‘The first thing I want to tell you is that Fred Dibble is dead.’

He looked at her in surprise. ‘Dibble, that is the name of your housekeeper, yes? But who is Fred? Her husband?’

‘Her younger son. You never met him. He was twenty-two and simple-minded.’

‘That is very sad, for you were obviously fond of him. But I do not see what this has to do with us.’

‘It has everything to do with us, Yves. Fred was conscripted, and the best that Father and Dr Marden could manage was to get him allotted to home-service duties only. Then came the Somme and men were needed, so they forgot about home service and sent him abroad. When they found he wasn’t up to trench work, they put him to work in the cookhouse. Then in May the battalion was moved up the line at Ypres to be ready for the offensive, and as women are now replacing the soldiers in cookhouse jobs, they could send him to the trenches. He was in the bombardment at Messines Ridge. He ran away afterwards
to come back home, but he was found, court-martialled and shot for desertion.’

An exclamation of breath. ‘Caroline, I am very sorry. This is terrible for his family and yours.’

‘That’s not all—’

‘Tell me,
cara
.’

‘Don’t call me that, Yves, not till I’ve finished. And then only if you wish to. If you don’t, I’ll understand.’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘Fred’s name was carved on our local tree on the list of fallen heroes,’ she continued, ‘and then the truth emerged about his death. Some in the village wanted the name removed, by carving a large white patch to obliterate them. My father refused to let that happen, but the Dibbles are deeply, and irrevocably, hurt. What has it to do with us? Because much cruelty comes about when there is no time for justice; it steamrollers over everything and everyone. The only way to beat it is not to give in to the sorrows it places on us, but to snatch each joy as it flies. After seeing Fred’s initials on that tree I believe his death is so terrible that we must fight the war by strengthening ourselves with what happiness we can.’

There was a silence. ‘And the second thing?’ he asked quietly.

‘The second is very simple. It is 25th July, 1917.’

‘And its significance?’

‘It’s my birthday.’

Taken by surprise again, he began to laugh. He tried to draw her close again but she stopped him. ‘No, Yves, not till I have finished. I’m twenty-five years old today, and life stretches out before me like this long avenue. I want to walk
down it with you, and if that is impossible, I want to walk as far as possible at your side.’

‘We discussed it, Caroline, and I told you why we cannot do so,’ he said quietly.

‘Then we must discuss it again. At Easter in 1914 I was listening to the blackbird singing in the tree outside my window in Ashden, and knew I wanted something more than it could offer but not what it was. Now I do. It’s you, Yves, whether for a day, a month, a year, or for ever. I want to be with you, share your life with you as far as that’s possible, and be happy with you. That’s all I can do for Fred.’

His hand was trembling in hers, as she quoted gently: ‘“The Bird of Time has but a little way to flutter/And the Bird is on the wing.”’

‘Is that why you gave me the
Rubáiyát
last Christmas?’

‘No, but I don’t think Omar Khayyám would have hesitated over what I’m asking.’

‘Life is not a poem, my beloved.’

‘If we don’t try to make it one, there is no point to it. Yves, all I ask is that we love each other while we can. When the war ends you will return to your wife. I accept that.’