The Courier

by CW Browning

  He chuckled and they strolled across the manicured grass towards the patio. They were halfway there when a voice called out of the night.

  “Mr. Ainsworth, sir!” A young footman was running across the grass towards them, waving something. “Mr. Ainsworth! There’s a telegram arrived for you!”

  Evelyn’s father frowned and released her arm as the breathless servant reached them.

  “The boy is waiting in case you need to send a reply,” he gasped, handing him the sealed telegram.

  “Thank you. I’ll come now.”

  He nodded and turned to run back to the house. Mr. Ainsworth glanced at the envelope in his hand and strode forward into the light cast by a torch a few feet away. He broke the seal and opened the single sheet of paper, reading quickly as Evelyn joined him, a frown creasing her brow.

  “What is it?” she asked, laying a hand on his arm. “Is everything all right?”

  He glanced at her and shook his head, the easy smile missing from his lips.

  “I’m afraid it’s from London,” he said.

  “London! Has someone been hurt?”

  “No, no, nothing like that.” He folded up the telegram and turned towards the house. “I must send a reply though. You run along back to your party and tell your mother I’ll be along shortly.”

  “But Dad! What is it?”

  He hesitated, then turned to face her reluctantly.

  “I’ve been recalled back to London,” he told her. “We’re going home.”

  “Home? To England? When?”

  “Immediately.”

  Chapter Two

  August, 1938 - Paris, France

  “You’re back, Evie! Bon! Come and see!” a voice called gaily from the drawing room as Evelyn crossed the large square hallway. “Nicolas has outdone himself!”

  Evelyn glanced at the slim silver and pearl watch on her wrist and turned to move towards the drawing room door.

  “I have to hurry, Gisele,” she said, entering the large, cheerful apartment. “My father is coming soon to take me to dinner. I have to dress. How has Nicolas outdone himself?”

  A striking young woman with black hair looked across the room, a cigarette in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. Dressed for dinner, her pale evening gown shimmered in the lamplight and jewels sparkled at her throat. She laughed and waved the cigarette in the direction of the card table in the corner of the room.

  “See for yourself!” she said, lifting the glass to her lips. “It’s too amusing.”

  Evelyn felt her lips curving in response to her cousin’s contagious good-humor. She looked to the table where her other cousin, Nicolas, was seated with a pad in front of him and a glass of champagne at his elbow. As she walked over, he looked up, a laugh on his face.

  “I should really sell these to the newspapers,” he told her, sitting back in his chair and reaching into his dinner jacket pocket for his cigarette case. “I could make a fortune.”

  “You already have a fortune,” Evelyn said with a smile. “What have you drawn this time?”

  He pushed the pad to the edge of the table so she could take a look. On the heavy, white drafting paper was a penciled caricature and, when she saw it, a laugh bubbled up inside her. Adolf Hitler, with a very over-sized head, was shaking hands with Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain. What made the sketch so funny was the fact that Hitler only came up to Chamberlain’s hip, his legs engulfed in black pants that made him look more like a cartoon than a man. For Chamberlain’s part, his long body was drawn to exaggerate his height, and his face bore a striking resemblance Nicolas’s horse.

  “Oh Nicolas!” she gasped before bursting out laughing. “For heaven’s sake, don’t let Uncle see that! He’ll have a coronary!”

  Nicolas grinned cheerfully and lit a cigarette, reaching for his champagne.

  “It can’t be any worse than when he saw the one I did of Pétain,” he said, standing and moving over to the sofa. “I thought his face would remain puce indefinitely.”

  “Are you dining in?” Evelyn asked, taking one last look at the drawing on the table.

  “No. We’re going to the Fournier’s. We’re just waiting for Maman and Papa.” Gisele looked at the clock above the mantel. “Where are you going?”

  “Café de la Paix. It’s Dad’s favorite.”

  “I didn’t know he was coming to Paris,” Nicolas said, looking up from his seat on the sofa. “How long is he staying?”

  “Only tonight.” Evelyn looked at her watch and turned towards the door. “He’s on his way to Vienna.”

  “Vienna!” Gisele exclaimed. “What on earth for?”

  Evelyn laughed and held her hands up in the air.

  “I have absolutely no idea! I’ve learned not to question my father about his work. Now, if I don’t hurry, I won’t be ready in time. Have fun! Give Marc my regards!”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to send your love?” Gisele teased as she headed out the door. “The man is absolutely crazy about you. You should throw him a bone.”

  “Heaven forbid! Then I’d never be rid of him!”

  Evelyn gazed across the table at her father’s warm and familiar smile. He looked tired, but he seemed in good spirits as he sipped his wine.

  “How is Mum? Is she enjoying having Robbie home?” she asked, setting her own wine glass down and reaching for her knife and fork.

  “I think so,” her father answered. “Robert had a few of his friends to stay and you know how she loves to have people coming and going.”

  “I do miss her, and I’m sorry to be missing Robbie’s visit. When is he going back to York?”

  “I don’t know if he is, actually,” he said, picking up his knife and fork and cutting into the braised lamb on his plate. He cleared his throat. “You haven’t heard from him?”

  Evelyn eyed him with misgiving, her knife poised above her fish. “No. Should I have?”

  “I suppose not.”

  Evelyn cut into her fish, then glanced at her father. “You might as well tell me. You know I’ll find out eventually. I always do.”

  His lips twisted and he shot her a look of rueful amusement.

  “That you do,” he admitted. “I don’t know how you do it. It’s absolutely impossible to keep a secret around you. It makes birthdays and Christmas a right old pain.”

  “You shouldn’t all be so transparently obvious,” she retorted with a grin. “Now tell me about Robbie. What’s he doing now?”

  “He’s joined the RAF Auxiliary Air Force.”

  Evelyn stared at him, her fish in its white cream sauce forgotten. “What?”

  “You know he loves flying,” he said, reaching for his wine. “He’s been training with them up in York.”

  Evelyn felt her heart drop as she stared at him.

  “Why?” she demanded, her voice cracking. “With everything that’s going on in Germany, why on earth would he join up?”

  Her father looked at her gravely.

  “That is precisely why he joined the RAF,” he said quietly. “There are some that think another war is unavoidable, despite Chamberlain’s attempts to placate Hitler and keep peace in Europe. If that is true, then it wouldn’t make any difference if Robert joined now or was forced to join later.”

  Evelyn’s hand began to shake and she reached for her wine. Seeing the trembling, her father reached across the table and took the glass, setting it down and clasping both her hands in his.

  “Evie, this is why he didn’t tell you,” he said softly. “He knew you would worry.”

  “How can I not?” she whispered miserably. “You know as well as I do that Hitler won’t stop with Austria. Have you read that squalid book of his?”

  That drew a twisted smile from her father.

  “No, I haven’t. But I’m not surprised to hear that you have. Where on earth did you get hold of it?”

  “I came across a copy in a library in Switzerland last summer when Mother and I went for our holiday.” She pulled her
hands away from his and picked up her wine. “It should be required reading for Parliament. Perhaps then they would stop trying to appease the man.”

  “Now Evie, you know we can’t get into another war,” he said with a frown. “If we’re left with no alternative, then obviously we will have no choice. But we must try to avoid it all costs.”

  “Don’t you think if we took a stand against Hitler that he would back down?” she demanded, her voice low.

  “You don’t poke a bear with a stick, Evie.” His voice was just as low as hers. “We have no way of knowing how strong his army has become. We can’t afford to be rash.”

  She let out an impatient sigh and sipped her wine, frustration building inside her as it always did these days when she and her father discussed world affairs. While they both fervently believed the same things politically, they had very different views on how to accomplish them.

  “When did Robbie join?” she asked, setting her glass down and dropping the subject for the time being.

  “Two months ago.” He picked up his utensils and went back to his lamb. “He flies on the weekends. There’s some talk of his going down to an airfield in Cambridge. That’s why he may not return to York. He’s waiting to hear from his squadron leader.”

  “What is he flying?”

  “Hurricanes,” came the unexpected answer. “But there’s a new plane now and he’s itching to transfer over to them. The first ones are to be delivered to Duxford, but then they say they’re being equipped to some of the Auxiliary squadrons.”

  “Fighters!” Evelyn exclaimed, startled. “How did he end up flying those?”

  Her father shrugged and sent her a grin.

  “You know how your brother is. He probably bought a wing commander a bottle of Glenlivet.”

  She choked back a laugh. “And here I was imagining him flying old bi-planes.”

  “You really mustn’t worry, Evie,” he said suddenly, pinning her with his blue eyes so like her own. “Robert is doing his part for England, as I fear many will before long. It’s just the way of it. Worrying about him won’t change anything. It will only rob you of joy. You’re on holiday in the City of Lights, the best city in the world! Don’t bother your head with thoughts of things that may never come to be.”

  Evelyn was quiet as she went back to her dinner. Her father didn’t understand. She loved spending time with her aunt and uncle in Paris. The parties, nightclubs and shopping were exciting and fun, and she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Gisele and Nicolas were full of mischief and good humor, and they had embraced her into their lives without hesitation. However, somehow she felt as if the sparkling gaiety was an illusion, and that a dark cloud was looming on the horizon. While determined to enjoy herself, Evelyn was acutely aware of the political unrest engulfing all of Europe. She fell firmly into the camp of people her father had referred to so casually. She believed another war was unavoidable, and now her brother was committed to fight in it.

  A very familiar feeling of unrest and impatience settled inside her. Her father was a diplomat, working closely with very important men in London, sent to other governments on assignments that he couldn’t speak about. Now her brother was a pilot with the RAF part-time, learning to defend the skies. And what was she doing? Going dancing most nights in Paris and buying exclusive clothing from Chanel during the day.

  It was something she couldn’t begin to expect her father to understand, as she wasn’t sure she understood it herself. She should be enjoying herself, and if her worst fears were realized, she should be ready to join the Women’s Auxillary at home with her mother and work to provide relief to those in need. That was what was expected of young women in her class. Her role had been laid out for her before she could even walk.

  And that was precisely what was causing this overwhelming feeling of being trapped.

  “What are you thinking about?” her father asked, glancing up and seeing the look on her face.

  She shook her head, setting down her utensils and pushing the plate away. She had no appetite now for the dinner in front of her, and she gave up trying.

  “What the future holds for me,” she answered, sipping her wine. “I feel rather like I’m a leaf blowing randomly in the wind.”

  He smiled faintly. “You’ll find your place in the world, don’t worry.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” she sighed. “Robbie’s flying planes, you’re doing important diplomatic work, and what am I doing to prepare for a possible war? I’m dancing and shopping and breaking Marc Fournier’s heart.”

  “Marc Fournier?” Her father looked up at that. “Isn’t he Pierre Fournier’s oldest?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, you could certainly do worse,” he said thoughtfully. “Why are you breaking his heart?”

  “Oh Dad! I’m being serious!”

  “So am I!” he said with a wink. “Your mother would be over the moon if you married a Frenchman, especially one of the Fourniers.”

  Evelyn laughed despite herself.

  “I hate to disappoint you both, but I have no intention of encouraging him,” she said bluntly. “He is very nice, but…”

  “But not for you,” her father finished.

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  He sighed in mock despair, the twinkle in his eyes belying the sound.

  “Well, someday you will meet someone who is for you,” he said. “I just hope I’m still alive to see it. At this rate, I’ll be bent over with old age.”

  “You make it sound as if I’m inordinately picky,” she said with a grin. “I’m not. I know exactly what I want. I just haven’t found it yet.”

  “There’s no rush, my dear. You’re still young. Enjoy yourself, and the rest will come.”

  A waiter removed Evelyn’s plate and she sat back as another one re-filled her wine glass.

  “How long will you be in Vienna?” she asked, once they had finished and left the table.

  “Only a few days,” he answered, sitting back in his chair and reaching for his wine. “Then I’m going to Prague. Shall I bring you back something pretty?”

  Evelyn smiled. “That would be lovely, but completely unnecessary.”

  “Of course it is, but I don’t see why I shouldn’t spoil my only daughter on occasion.” He paused, then sobered. “Although, I don’t know how much time I’ll have for shopping. This was an unexpected trip, and very last minute. I wonder if I could ask you to do me a favor?”

  Evelyn raised a tawny eyebrow. “Of course! What is it?”

  “I have a packet of papers that need to go to William Buckley. You remember him, don’t you? He was at our Christmas party last year.”

  “Yes, of course I remember him! He went hunting with us on Boxing Day and bagged himself a pair.”

  Mr. Ainsworth chuckled. “Of all the things you could remember, you remember that.”

  “Well, of course I do. It was some fine shooting.”

  “He keeps a house just outside Paris. He’s working with the French government in an advisory capacity and I have some papers for him to pass on to Daladier. However, my train leaves early in the morning and I won’t have time to deliver them.”

  “I can take it for you. Where’s his house?”

  “Neuilly-sur-Seine.”

  “I’ll ask to use Gisele’s car. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  “Thank you. I’ll phone him up and tell him you’re coming when I get back to the hotel.”

  “Of course, if I’m doing you a favor, now I will expect something pretty from Vienna,” she teased.

  Mr. Ainsworth laughed. “Consider it done.”

  Chapter Three

  Evelyn jogged down the stairs and rounded the corner at the bottom, striding down the hall to the family dining room. The smell of coffee wafted down the corridor, along with the sound of low voices. She was the last one down for breakfast.

  “Bonjour!” she sang gaily, entering the large room. “I’m sorry I’m late down. I was wri
ting letters to my mother and Robbie.”

  Nicolas turned from where he was serving himself at the long sideboard along the wall.

  “How industrious of you! I have no such excuse. I was recovering from last night,” he told her, setting a croissant on his plate and moving on to a platter of fresh fruit.

  “How were the Fournier’s?” she asked, crossing the room to where her aunt was seated next to her uncle at the end of the table. “Good morning, Tante Adele,” she said, bending to kiss the offered cheek.

  “Good morning, mon petite,” her aunt replied. “How was dinner with Robert?”

  “Very nice, thank you.”

  “The Fournier’s were as expected,” Nicolas said, moving towards the table. “We went to La Coupole afterwards.”

  “Ah, that explains why you’re recovering this morning,” Evelyn said with a grin as she bent to kiss her uncle on his cheek. “Good morning, Uncle Claude.”

  “You did miss a good time, Evie,” Gisele said, pouring coffee into her cup from the ornate pot on the table. “Maria Santiago St. Jeunes was there and she brought her goat, George. Who names a goat George? Anyway, George decided that Madame Ferrier’s train on her gown was tasty and he chewed a good eight inches of it off before anyone noticed.”

  Evelyn turned to go to the sideboard and pick up a plate. “What did Madame do?”

  “What could she do? There was no point in making a fuss, as it was already done. Someone went and got some scissors and cut the train.”

  “Why on earth did someone bring a goat into a nightclub?” Adele asked, looking up from her correspondence.

  “Oh, it’s all the rage now, Maman,” Nicolas said gaily. “Josephine Baker started it with her cheetah a few years ago and now everyone has something. You can’t go anywhere without feeling like you’re visiting a zoo.”

  “I suppose it could have been worse,” Adele said thoughtfully. “I think I’d rather be confronted with a goat than a cheetah.”