The Champagne War

by Fiona McIntosh

  Later, strolling back down to the roadway, their fingers entwined once and then let go. It seemed Charlie was wise enough to sense all her concerns and had no intention of compromising her standing in the community.

  They had just about reached the top of the hill, which would once more give them a view back to the house across the small villages. Charlie was telling her a tall tale about the day he’d been called upon to help ease an extremely large lady out of a narrow stationery cupboard at school. He was exaggerating in his storytelling, of course, because he could see how amused she was, and it was obvious that he was going to exploit that laughter. She didn’t mind at all – loving how entertaining he could be and how she hadn’t thought he could possess such fun if she recalled the man who had woken up in the underground hospital.

  ‘. . . and being only this tall, by now my face was wedged between Mrs Slocombe’s left buttock and —’

  ‘Ah, there you are, dear Sophie.’ They stopped in their tracks, amusement trailing away like a wraith, as Louis Méa crested the hill. ‘They told me I’d probably find you here. I thought that was your laugh. It’s wonderful to hear.’ His smiling gaze flicked between them, but Sophie, who knew this man much too well, could see the expression was pasted on for their benefit. ‘And you are?’ He directed this at Charlie.

  ‘Louis, what a surprise.’ She knew her voice was tight with guilt and he was too perceptive. She needed to be smarter in this moment than he took her for. ‘Er, I’d like you to meet one of the brave Allied soldiers who is recuperating at my Épernay sanitorium.’ Louis fixed Charlie with a gaze that, if she wasn’t mistaken, was vaguely adversarial. ‘This is Captain Charles Nash of the Leicesters. Captain Nash, this is my brother-in-law, Monsieur Louis Méa.’

  ‘Ah,’ Charlie said, cutting her a glance. ‘The very man we were talking about just moments ago. Forgive me, I can’t shake easily.’ He gestured to the sling.

  ‘Talking about me?’

  ‘Yes, Madame Delancré was explaining that you are as committed to finding your brother as she is.’

  ‘Indeed. That’s a pretty scarf,’ Louis noted.

  ‘I’m tired of hospital bandages, sir,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ve decided to be more colourful in my recuperation.’

  ‘How very flamboyant,’ Louis said as Sophie sighed in private relief that he didn’t recognise it. ‘Your French is excellent, sir. I must congratulate you on being so bright of personality, with flushed cheeks and so much laughter that I could hear it from the other side of the hill.’ He blinked with perplexed enquiry. ‘Madame Delancré has this effect on all. They should bottle up her spirit as some sort of magical potion that brings every wounded soldier back to good health.’

  ‘Louis.’ She stepped up and kissed him on both plump cheeks. He would recognise the soft warning in her tone, even if Charlie wasn’t familiar with it. ‘This is the man that my cousin Gaston saved.’

  ‘I owe him my life,’ Charlie said.

  Louis shrugged. ‘I have heard about you, Captain, from the Commandant. From what I can tell, you saved yourself. It was a remarkable tale of your heroism.’ All of this was said with a rip of sarcasm tearing through the otherwise sweetly veiled words. ‘Gaston de Saint Just assured me that his men simply hauled you out of the water, but you’d navigated through enemy lines on your own while badly wounded. Quite the hero.’ He gave Charlie the benefit of his podgy smile and Sophie felt a pit open in her stomach because she alone could tell that Louis had already decided that Charlie was a new obstacle. ‘And all the girls love a hero, Captain Nash. Even Madame here has no defence.’

  She felt Charlie demur. ‘I don’t know about that. I can’t remember any of it.’

  ‘Why were you looking for me, Louis?’ Sophie enquired, her voice deliberately light but as pointed as an arrow. She hoped he could feel the poke of it. ‘You didn’t say you were coming.’

  ‘Er, I can find my way back, Madame Delancré,’ Charlie offered. ‘Thank you for showing me the vineyard, and I’d like to help . . . whatever use you can find for a one-armed soldier, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll think on your offer.’

  Charlie gave a formal nod of thanks. He turned again to Méa. ‘Goodbye, monsieur. I hope there is good news of your brother to come.’

  Charlie departed down the hill towards the house and Sophie looked back at Louis.

  ‘What on earth drags you up here, Louis?’

  ‘You can’t take your eyes off the captain.’

  She cut him a look of disdain. ‘No, Louis, I can’t take my eyes off my vineyards right now . . . not if I want to have a harvest this year. Captain Nash accompanied me. I think the walk, the companionship, will help him to recuperate.’

  ‘It would help any of us, Sophie.’

  ‘And because of that notion you would begrudge him the time?’

  He shook his head, embarrassed. ‘No, but be careful.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of shaming your good name.’

  She swung on him. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’

  ‘Not at all. I am simply cautioning you.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Louis sighed. ‘Do they all get turns wearing your scarf? Are they all at some time singled out for special attention, including the personally guided tour . . . or is the English captain somehow above all the other injured you care for?’

  She had thought the scarf had slipped his notice as hers and she was reminded once again of his acuity. ‘The scarf was merely convenient a week ago in the hospital. And yes, I find him to be good company.’

  ‘A dog is good company. That man’s in love with you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She stomped past him, hating that she might be so transparent to him.

  ‘Am I being ridiculous? I’m simply protecting my —’

  ‘Your what, Louis? I hope you weren’t going to say “assets”.’

  He smiled unpleasantly. ‘I was going to say I was simply protecting my brother’s wife.’

  She breathed out her anger. ‘Your fears are unfounded.’

  ‘Good, because I have some news.’

  Sophie stopped walking and glared at him. ‘What news?’

  ‘From the Red Cross. It’s why I’m here. They’ve found something.’

  20

  From a distance Épernay did not look touched by almost four years of hard warring that had been fought on its doorstep. The miracle was that Reims, for all its destruction – where no street had been left intact, its magnificent cathedral a broken giant, stooped and smashed – had held. The city had not capitulated throughout what felt to Charlie like the sounding of the seven trumpets, which had fascinated him at school, studying the Book of Revelations during religious instruction. The city’s implacability and its ruin made Épernay appear like a scene from a holiday postcard. While eastern France exploded, burned, fell over, Épernay looked like a beautiful girl enjoying her first adult summer.

  Charlie’s romantic musings were arrested by the sight of soldiers marching along the road, reminding him that this region was not altogether untouched; it only appeared that way to the casual observer. Their combined heavy footfall and dark expressions spoke of the death they’d witnessed and the companions they’d lost. This region too had given up its sons to the bloodbath; from the women working the fields and those around Sophie’s cellars and outbuildings, the war had taken husbands, sons, lovers as it had taken from every other woman around France and indeed beyond. They might also lift a cautionary finger and remind him that for all its delicious beauty, this region had lived under four years of constant fear of being overrun. Other areas of France had not spotted a German uniform – but that might be a churlish thought, given their men had still marched to war. He waited, holding back at the bottom of the hill to let the weary pass. Only a couple looked at him, their gazes cutting his way and then sliding off slowly. He couldn’t tell if their looks were levelled with disgust or envy . . . perhaps both. He knew any on
e of those soldiers would swap with him in a heartbeat and he guessed that to them he must look quite the sight: half-dressed in his English soldier’s uniform, the collar undone, and a silken paisley scarf holding his arm as a sling. Were they scorning him for not marching back into the fray, or wishing him luck for escaping the next battle? He raised a hand to acknowledge them but not one returned the gesture.

  He arrived back at the house to find Gaston de Saint Just waiting in the vestibule. ‘Commandant,’ he said, nodding as Gaston stood, despicably smart, golden hair glinting along with his smile.

  ‘You’re looking brighter, Captain Nash.’ Gaston gave him the full breadth of his smile. He was taller and broader than Charlie. He wore his uniform with pride, and he deserved to feel that pride, Charlie presumed, for this man was surely a heroic figure in the region.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ They might be distinct armies, but military rank prevailed no matter which country one hailed from. Charlie knew to respect his superior. ‘What news of the Brigade, sir?’

  Gaston’s glad expression dissolved to graveness.

  ‘What is left of your Brigade is to the south of Épernay; they are mostly in the town of Étréchy. I have taken the liberty of informing them that you are here and recuperating from your wounds. It is not such a great distance if you wish to make contact – as I’m sure you do. I can assist with that.’

  ‘That’s kind, thank you. What about the Leicesters . . . is there any information about them specifically, sir?’

  At this, Gaston’s expression shifted to one of deeper sorrow. ‘Your Tigers took a terrible beating, Captain. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that, because you were there in the worst of it. It was nothing short of a slaughter.’

  ‘How many?’ Charlie asked, and the grit of despair crunched in his voice.

  ‘All,’ Gaston replied, clearly deciding not to step around the question. ‘There is no easy way to give this news. Your battalion, as I understand it, is down to cadre strength.’

  Cadre. Only its administrative people and perhaps some wounded. Charlie felt broken by the news, so much worse than he had imagined. He had to steady himself with his good hand gripping the banister.

  ‘I’m sorry to be the messenger of this news.’ Gaston waited, and when Charlie said no more, he continued. ‘As I understand it from my enquiries, the regiment has been formally transferred to the 25th Division.’

  ‘Any stragglers at all, sir?’

  ‘Again, only as I understand it, Captain, any remaining soldiers, of whom there might have been just a handful left standing, were transferred to the 6th and 7th Battalions.’

  ‘This means the Leicester Tigers no longer exist.’ Charlie shook his head, and his companion remained silent out of respect. He let out a low breath before he looked back to Gaston. ‘Thank you for finding all of that out, sir.’

  Gaston nodded. ‘I am full of regret for your men, Captain, but they were courageous to the end. I am sure the Tigers will re-emerge.’

  Sophie and Louis arrived at this moment. Charlie thought she looked pinched and pale, but he was sure his own complexion was waxy to match. He watched her find a smile for Gaston, allowed him to greet her formally with kisses to each cheek. She glanced sideways at Charlie; he sensed a message in it, as Gaston greeted Louis with surprise.

  ‘Yes, I made a trip down from Paris, as yesterday I received some news of Jerome.’

  Charlie blinked, cut a glance back at Sophie, but she wasn’t looking at anyone.

  ‘News?’ Gaston repeated, reaching for Sophie’s arm.

  She nodded. ‘The French military believe they’ve found his tunic,’ she admitted. ‘No one’s quite sure. It’s filtering down from the army through all the various departments into the Red Cross, so we wait.’

  ‘I am certain it is his,’ Louis said.

  Charlie could not measure an iota of sadness in his tone; if anything, he was matter-of-fact.

  ‘I’ve waited this long,’ Sophie said, sighing. ‘I’ll remain patient.’ She dredged up a wan smile. ‘Anyway, how come you’re here without warning, Gaston?’

  ‘I brought news for the captain,’ he said, looking slightly awkward.

  ‘A big news day,’ Louis remarked. ‘I hope there’s something hot and decent to drink in the parlour. Good day, Captain Nash.’ He nodded at him and turned to the commandant. ‘Gaston, always a pleasure. Come, my dear,’ he said to Sophie, making sure Charlie saw the squeeze he gave her elbow. ‘Let’s leave the soldiers to their soldiering, shall we?’

  ‘What news?’ she asked, looking between them, ignoring Louis. He sighed and remained at her side.

  ‘About the captain’s regiment,’ Gaston replied. ‘I thought he might be eager to be done with France.’

  ‘Actually, I’m not ready to leave France, sir,’ Charlie admitted.

  The commandant gave a confused smile this time. ‘You’ve done your bit, Captain. No one should ask any more of you. And let’s be practical now, you cannot be of any further use to your country, or indeed France, in your state.’

  ‘I wasn’t referring to being useful to my country. I wasn’t even referring to the war. In this regard I do remain useless, sir.’

  ‘Then you should go, Captain,’ Louis said, deciding to re-enter the conversation.

  Charlie turned and directed his next remark solely at Louis. He hadn’t realised he was going to step so purposefully in front of Sophie, like a chivalrous knight, but he had no intention of letting the domineering, almost effeminate Louis step into his brother’s boots. In the few heartbeats that had passed, he made the decision that he would prefer Jerome to return and scoop her up into his embrace than allow the coercive, underhanded Louis to have his way. It seemed he’d left one war to step into another. ‘I am not, however, useless to Madame.’

  And there it flashed. It wasn’t hatred; it wasn’t even jealousy. Far more complex, Charlie grasped: this was a man used to getting what he wanted, and he felt threatened by Charlie’s presence. Charlie was an outsider, upsetting the order of life. He could see all of this in the barely detectable sneer that the Frenchman was nonetheless unable to disguise.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gaston asked, frowning, looking towards Sophie for guidance but Charlie replied.

  ‘I believe I can be of service to Madame Delancré, sir.’ He glanced her way and she looked down, hiding a sly smile. ‘I can —’

  ‘Madame Delancré has no need of a crippled English soldier in her life, Captain Nash, if you’ll forgive my insensitivity,’ Louis interjected.

  ‘I can,’ Charlie said evenly.

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Forgive your insensitivity.’

  Louis bristled as Gaston straightened to his full height, seeming to have taken a measure of the undercurrent. ‘Captain, I shall leave this decision to you although I would be glad to take you to where the British have gathered in the region.’

  The more senior man’s perception of what was right for Charlie’s next move was wholly correct. It could be considered desertion if he didn’t acquiesce and join his own brigade, regiment . . . whatever it was that was gathering south of Épernay. Even if he did want to help Sophie, army protocol came first.

  ‘Oh, I might help out, Gaston,’ Louis said in his most condescending tone. ‘I will more than happily take the good captain all the way to Étréchy, spare you the trouble and him having to change transport. I have my car.’

  Gaston glanced at Sophie, and then slid a look Charlie’s way, as though taking a measure, before removing a map from his pocket and unfolding it on a nearby table. Louis took keen interest, poring over the map. ‘This is where you’d be going,’ Gaston gestured. Charlie glanced at where Épernay was and where the commandant’s clean fingernail pointed. ‘Just south here.’

  ‘This all seems rather fast,’ Sophie remarked, looking between the men. ‘The captain is really not healed sufficiently.’

  Charlie addressed the commandant. ‘Did they say what was going to hap
pen with me?’

  Gaston shrugged. ‘No, but I suspect you’ll be going home to England.’

  ‘Tea at four with . . . what do you call those things?’ Louis searched for the right words. Charlie frowned, feigning interest. ‘Ah yes, with cream and scones.’

  ‘Scones,’ Charlie corrected him, explaining that the word rhymed with shone not tone. Louis blinked with irritation, which absently pleased Charlie, given the Frenchman had aimed to insult him. He continued, still directing his attention at the commandant. ‘It’s really not that far away from here, is it? I can easily get to this place, Étréchy?’

  Gaston blew out a breath as if to say the distance was neither here nor there and his remark purely academic. ‘Not too far, no.’

  ‘Then I suggest the captain remains here to fully recuperate; even I can get him to Étréchy within an hour or so,’ Sophie remarked.

  ‘It’s really not a problem,’ Louis said offhandedly. ‘I will take him. Go pack, Captain Nash,’ he urged.

  She blinked with annoyance. ‘Charlie, wait, please. Gaston, while I realise you’ve got infinitely more influence, I’ve already been assured that no one can get in touch with the British at Étréchy until the lines of communication are properly reopened.’

  Charlie looked at the commandant. ‘Forgive me, sir, I presumed you had spoken directly with the British army and received word back about me?’