He was almost running as he hurried from the Underground station to her door. In that era of polished parquet rather than fitted carpets (reserved contemptuously for beauty salons and the world of haute couture) he heard the quick tap of her heels as she came to answer his ring. They clung to each other wordlessly and when he looked up from kissing her he saw that she had closed the drawing-room door so that they could have their private moment without embarrassment to themselves or to her brother.
Henri was standing already when they entered the room: smiling, hand outstretched. The legacy from years of North African sunshine had not quite faded, the wind off the sea had turned his tan into a weatherbeaten ruddiness.
But Nicole: James’s heart seemed to contract when he looked at her. She was pale in a way which cosmetics could not mask, she had lost weight - and had had little to spare - there was a sadness in her eyes, her fingers, which had always been slim, were thin and clutched his hand with nervous possessive force. She had always had a clear, fresh complexion. The poor diet in France had robbed it of its healthy glow. (For a decade after the war, Frenchwomen were to be instantly identifiable by their bad skins).
James and Nicole sat side-by-side on the sofa, holding hands. Henri regarded them benignly. He had - the Royal Navy, with which he was serving, had marvellous resources - arrived with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label. It lubricated their eager talk.
‘Your parents?’
Nicole glanced quickly at her brother before her eyes met James’s. ‘They are very brave. And of course absolutely undaunted. They are both doing everything they can to help. They defy the Boches in every possible way. Too much. They scared me. Papa, at the shipyard, provokes all the delays and sabotage that he possibly can. Maman takes great risks for escaping British airmen.’
‘Are they in good health?’
‘Only the collaborators have full stomachs; but they are well. Now tell me about Roger.’
‘From the bearing they took on his last transmission, he came down somewhere south-west of Clermont Ferrand.’
‘Then he has an excellent chance of being helped by the Maquis. That should be a comfort to his parents: but please be discreet, James. Don’t quote me.’
‘Of course I won’t. And I suppose I daren’t ask you any questions?’
She shook her head and gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze.
‘I’m going home for forty-eight hours in two days’ time. Why don’t you both come?’
‘I have to go back to my ship tomorrow.’ A look of pride crossed Henri’s face. ‘As First Lieutenant to the Flotilla Commander, I try to make myself indispensable. And we are busy.’
James nodded. ‘I know something about that. I envy you. My job is a very good one, as ground jobs go; but I’m slowly going gaga with frustration.’
‘How much longer will it be before you go back to flying?’
‘Only another month, with luck, I’m pushing my boss to cut the six months short, but I don’t think there’s any chance of that. Meanwhile I’m trying to sort out the best job that will be going in a month’s time. I want a squadron that has the Spitfire Nine. It’s worth waiting a few extra weeks if it means I’ll get one.’
‘And Tiny?’ Nicole asked.
‘He’s after the same thing. I’m trying hard to convince him that he’d have more fun on Typhoons; to reduce the competition a bit. But he keeps asking why, if I’m so keen on the Typhoon, I want to go back to Spits. I’m afraid I’m not succeeding in convincing him.’
There had been a lot of constraint for them all, for a while, but James’s wryly humorous manner now had lightened the burden of anxiety they were all carrying: Nicole and Henri for their parents, himself for Nicole and Roger. For the past half-hour the whole evening had been in the balance and could have fallen into a desolate mood from which it would have been impossible to extricate it completely. But now, after James had concealed the heartache he felt for Nicole, the woe he shared with her and Henri about their parents, and his perturbation about Roger, the evening had been rescued. The whisky was no hindrance in this salvage operation.
They dined well, at the Savoy, in celebration of Nicole’s return and her reunion with her brother. When Henri said goodnight, shaking James’s hand like a well-brought-up Frenchman, he gave James a friendly, understanding smile and there was amusement underlying his parting words, ‘Sleep well.’
James had to be up early to return to Uxbridge.
‘But I’ll see you again tomorrow night,’ he told Nicole as he helped her to undress. ‘And you’ll come with me when I go on my two days’ leave, won’t you?’ She was shy, which he put down to their seven months apart. It was only when, in the dim light of her bedside lamp, he saw the small burn scars on her back that he understood the real reason why she had been so hesitant with him.
Tears filled his eyes as he bent to kiss her gently where she had been burned. He felt her body racked with sobs, now that she could cast aside all pretence.
‘What did they do to you, darling?’ He could hardly speak coherently through his own distress.
‘The Gestapo have an unpleasant way of extinguishing their cigarettes… but… I didn’t tell them anything… ‘
‘And you escaped?’
‘My friends of the Maquis rescued me. I was being taken from the Gestapo Headquarters to prison, and they ambushed the van.’ She drew a deep breath, and with a bitterness he had never expected to hear from her, said ‘They killed every one of the Boches swine… four of them… and none too gently or quickly, I can tell you.’
‘Oh, my God. You poor darling.’
‘I enjoyed seeing it. I can’t pretend I didn’t. My only regret, then and now, is that I didn’t have a gun or a knife with which to have a hand in it myself.’
Hours later, happy and quiet together in the aftermath of love, James asked gently ‘What now?’ ‘You will go back to commanding a squadron… and I… I shall go back soon to France.’
‘No, Nicole. There is no need for that: the work you do here is just as important… essential.’
‘No. And in your heart you know it. I owe it to brave men like you and Christopher, Roger… and even Henri who has seen so little action in so long a time… I owe it to you and all the thousands like you… I must go back. That is the work I can do best, and which I can do better than most people… because 1 know now what it is like… with experience, the second time will not be so difficult… so bad. Besides, my darling, you may have to bale out over France one day - God forbid - and wouldn’t it be a comfort to know that I am there to help you back to England?’
‘How much longer has all this to go on, do you suppose?’ James’s listlessly contemplated the dreary future.
‘With Japan and America still only dabbling at war while they build up their strength, Rommel giving us such a bad time in the desert, nearly the whole of Europe to liberate and half the Orient… this war will go on for years, and don’t ever make the mistake of thinking there are any short cuts if we want total victory.’
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Too Late the Morrow Page 19