by Pamela Pope
A few interested eyes turned to Ellie as she walked between the lines of bogies and made for the ambulance coaches which stood isolated at the far end, conspicuous by their newly-painted white roofs and red crosses. Now work had finished on the American train no one was near it. There were wooden steps up to the doors of the sixteen bogie vehicles, the elevation being too great for admittance from ground level, and Ellie stood aside at last for Mr Thorne to precede her up the first of them. Then she lifted her grey skirt slightly to negotiate the steps. The door was locked.
‘Oh dear, oh dear.’ The old man was fumbling through his pockets and getting very agitated. ‘I seem to have come without the keys. Will you excuse me while I go back for them?’
There was nothing else she could do. She tapped her fingers on the wooden balustrade impatiently, then tried to see through the window. This was a pharmacy car containing an operating table, treatment room and office for the doctors. In service it would have to be coupled between the ward cars.
Exasperated at the delay, she spent the time looking at the once-familiar scene around her, and beyond the body shop she saw there was a new building. It was well-lit within, though she couldn’t see the purpose of it, and curiosity got the better of her. She went back down the steps and left the shop by a rear door which had once opened out onto another yard, but now led through to a dark passage between the two buildings.
It was quite a long passage with a couple of doors leading off and a large set of double doors at the end with glass top-panels illuminated by the internal electric lights. The windows were the right height for her to look through and she saw a huge machine shop with rows of long benches at which sat a hundred or more women of all ages, elbow to elbow, mob-caps on their heads, engaged in assembling shell-fuses. Overseeing them were men in cloth caps, probably invalided out of the Army and glad to be involved in very essential war work.
Ellie watched undetected for several minutes, fascinated by the speed with which the women worked, but when someone who looked like a security guard appeared she realised how bad it would look if she was caught spying. She darted back down the passage to one of the heavy side doors which was ajar, and slipped inside to let him pass.
The room was obviously a storeroom, and much bigger than she would have expected. There was very little light, but she could make out boxes of parts for fuses stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling, with little space to walk between them. The smell of dust and cardboard made her want to cough; luckily she didn’t.
She was waiting to make sure the coast was clear when she became aware of another presence in the storeroom. Furtive movements made her shrink back between two of the shelves, and her heartbeats quickened as a shadowy figure crossed her path. She realised she was trapped: to be discovered here would be even worse than by the double doors in the passage, which at least was a fairly public place.
He knew she was there. Oh, dear Holy Virgin, what was she to do? The man was extremely quiet as he moved stealthily to the door to cut off her escape, and she daren’t leave her hiding place. She held her breath, expecting to be seized at any minute and hauled out to face charges, but when she peered out fearfully she had the surprise of her life.
The other occupant of the storeroom stood for a few seconds in the dimness looking up and down the passage. He turned briefly to face her direction, as if checking something, and Ellie’s stomach muscles suddenly contracted. It was her uncle, Julian Cromer!
She’d understood from both William and Max that Julian no longer had anything to do with Court Carriages, but times were difficult. She had only to think of the quavering voice of Mr Thorne to understand how the shortage of male staff was affecting the company, so no doubt it had been necessary to ask Julian back. Surely it had been shortsighted to let him go in the first place.
He’d seen her, she was sure of it, and she almost called out his name, but stopped herself. She wanted to speak to Julian, but first she needed to extricate herself from the suspicious circumstances her curiosity had created. It wouldn’t do for him to find her in an obviously sensitive part of the Works, where she had no business to be. She must be able to greet him openly.
His eyes glittered in the half-light, and his searching glance passed over her. With a sigh of relief she realised he hadn’t noticed her hiding place after all. He took an anxious look outside and then left, closing the door behind him.
Ellie allowed a few seconds to elapse, then tried the door. It wouldn’t open. Julian had turned the key in the lock.
With sickening alarm she had to face the fact that she was locked in, and nobody knew she was there.
*
William was looking for a dark-haired girl. He’d thought he wouldn’t have the slightest difficulty recognising her, especially as she would be wearing American Army uniform, but as he stood at the station entrance searching the faces milling past he began to think he couldn’t trust his memory. When he tried to picture her, he found it almost impossible, because what he remembered was intangible. After that briefest of meetings he’d been left with a feeling of completeness, though he hadn’t been aware before of an inner void, and of course allowances had to be made for extraordinary circumstances playing havoc with his emotions. Even so, he knew it had been one of the most important days in his life. Inner recognition had been what mattered, not facial details.
Galina had been continually in his thoughts since that meeting on the road near St Mihiel, keeping him sane in conditions so appalling he wondered each night if he would live to see the next sunrise. He had lost two of his best men the week before, when a booby-trapped bridge was destroyed. The offensive was gaining momentum, the enemy being driven back towards Belgium, but for the advance party of engineers with the job of opening up roads and railways destroyed by the Huns in retreat, there was always the danger of setting off primed explosive devices, no matter how careful the preliminary inspection.
The communication Galina had sent was brief. ‘Paris, October 12th, 3.30 pm, Gare de Lyon, main entrance. Make it if you can, Galina.’ The telegram was in his hand, though the contents were engraved on his mind. He looked at his watch and saw the minute hand had crept on another five minutes, making it almost four o’clock. He didn’t know what he would do if she didn’t turn up after all. It had been difficult enough to get forty-eight hours’ furlough. He didn’t think he would ever be able to return to the front if he didn’t see her.
He’d had no proper sleep for weeks. His face was gaunt, his eyes haunted, and he shivered with cold and disappointment. A chill wind was whistling through the station and he was glad of his long khaki overcoat. An Austrian knot in black braid on each cuff indicated his Captain’s rank, and he was obliged to acknowledge many a salute while fearing the distractions might make him miss the one person he was desperate to see.
Five more minutes had slipped by when the voice he longed to hear came from behind him.
‘Hello, soldier.’
He turned. He stared. He faltered over her name. ‘Galina?’
The girl smiling up at him was the most ravishing redhead he had ever seen, and if it hadn’t been for the green eyes and dusting of freckles he would have sworn she was a complete stranger. Not only was her hair a different colour now that the grease was washed out of it, her clothes were different too. She wasn’t wearing uniform.
‘Were you here to meet anyone else?’ she asked, laughing. ‘Sorry I’m late. I got here a few hours earlier and managed to do some shopping. I felt I’d die if I had to wear khaki any longer.’
‘You look lovely,’ he said. The words were inadequate. She looked wonderfully Parisienne in a golden-brown tunic dress reaching well above her ankles, a brown velvet coat and a small green and gold plaid hat with a single feather at the back. Her laced boots were black patent leather with gaberdine tops, and the high heels gave her added grace. ‘Wherever did you manage to buy such finery?’
‘There are still places if you have the money.’
She slipped a gloved hand through his arm. ‘Come on, I’m starving. Let’s have some real food, shall we?’
They started to walk, but had gone only a short distance when William stopped and turned her towards him.
‘Galina, we’ve both been over here too long. It affects the mind. Meeting you was like a miracle.’
‘I know.’
‘But let’s be realistic. If we’d met in Southampton at Court Carriages I would have barely been polite. I’ve never liked you since you kicked me when I was a kid.’
‘And I hated you. Spoilt brat … Mama’s pet! I’ve always been determined you wouldn’t get your hands on any of my company.’
‘Which you acquired fraudulently. Your father embezzled my mother’s money to get it. One day I’ll find a way to get you out.’
‘Never.’ She stamped her foot, and he was glad of the protection of his knee-length leather boots in case she aimed a pointed toe at his shins.
There was a glint in her eyes, but it wasn’t malicious. The shine in his own was humorous, and full of admiration. She was so exquisite.
‘Okay, so that’s settled … we hate each other,’ he said. ‘Now let’s forget it and enjoy the next couple of days.’
‘Suits me,’ said Galina. ‘I didn’t bring up the past in the first place.’
After an adequate meal in a bistro they wandered the streets of Paris, her gloved hand tucked through the crook of his arm. Signs of the German bombardment had left scars in places, but the beauty of the city remained intact and it glowed in the dwindling light of the cool autumn evening. Wall posters advertised Le Casino de Paris. Les Demières Nouveautés d’Angleterre et d’Amerique dans LA GRAND REVUE. They bought tickets and laughed at the antics of Boucot, sang along with Rose-Amy, and tapped their feet to the music of the Sherbo-American-Band. For William there was the thrill of seeing forty-eight beautiful dancing girls, but when Galina teased him he said that none could equal the way she looked that night.
After leaving the Casino they walked some more, Galina chattering all the while about inconsequential things while William listened and marvelled at the warmth of her low voice. Not a single swearword escaped her. She was different entirely from the female Army driver he had held in his arms and comforted only a few weeks ago, and his affection grew.
‘Why are you with the Americans?’ he asked. ‘Why don’t you drive for the British Army?’
‘Because I am American,’ she said. ‘Have you forgotten I was born in Chicago?’
‘So you’re still a US citizen?’
‘Uncle Max never suggested I become anything else. I … we’ve got umpteen more cousins over there. Do you ever see them?’
‘No. After Grandmother Berman died, my father’s brother and family moved out to the country and we lost touch.’
‘We were never good enough for you. I wonder your mother didn’t change her name back to Harvey.’
He was rattled. ‘My mother isn’t a snob. If she had been, she wouldn’t have married my father.’
Galina squeezed his arm and smiled disarmingly. ‘Let’s not fall out.’ It was getting very late, and the moon which had cast a bright path across the river earlier had become obscured by cloud, making the streets dark. ‘I saw the hotel where I want to stay,’ she said. ‘It’s a big place not far from the Madeleine.’
‘I shall choose where we stay,’ said William.
Their wandering had brought them to the Hotel de France in a street called rue de l’Arbre Sec; it was a small establishment with fancy wine bottles in the windows either side of the door and thick lace curtains at the windows above. It looked clean and cosy, and very anonymous. The woman who booked them in was plump and homely, her dark hair drawn into a plain knot at the back of her head.
‘Deux chambres?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows in Gallic surprise when William asked for separate rooms.
‘I think this must be a “maison d‘assignation”,’ giggled Galina. But she was already enchanted with it. The stairs were narrow, the bedrooms quaint and typically French with their heavy carved furniture, dark patterned wallpaper and lace bedspreads. The pillows were long bolsters. ‘I love it. I can’t remember when I last smelt lavender.’
‘Sleep well then,’ William said. It seemed appropriate to kiss her lightly on both cheeks before retiring to the room next door.
It was the first night he’d been in a proper bed for many months and he ought to have slept soundly. He closed his eyes, savouring the luxury of sheets and blankets and certain that within minutes sleep would claim him, but his mind was over-active. He kept reliving the events of the day, and he was very conscious of the girl in the next bedroom. Shame at the way his body reacted to thoughts of her made him deliberately try to keep her from his mind, but the more he tried the worse it became. Galina was his cousin, yet he wanted her so desperately he couldn’t lie still. Finally he slept, only to dream of her.
At breakfast next morning Galina looked as if she had spent an equally wakeful night. Her eyes were less bright and she was very quiet.
‘I guess I’ve gotten used to sleeping on the ground,’ William said. ‘I found the bed a mite strange.’ The red check tablecloth dazzled his eyes, and the coffee served in bowls without handles taxed his patience when he was so thirsty.
‘The pillow hurt my neck,’ said Galina. ‘I had to throw it out.’
They ate French bread in silence, but every time they looked up their eyes met, and when both reached for the jam at the same time their fingers touched. She drew hers back as if they had been in contact with a flame.
Presently he gave up all pretence. ‘I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking of you,’ he admitted.
‘And I just lay there waiting for morning to come.’ She, too, was candid. ‘I wanted to be with you again.’
He felt better knowing this madness was shared. He’d been afraid she would laugh and call him a fool.
‘We’ve got a whole day to ourselves,’ he said. ‘Let’s not waste a minute of it.’
He booked the rooms for a second night before they went out into the garlic-smelling street. Restrictions governed what they could do in war-time Paris, but it didn’t matter. They were content just to be in each other’s company, and as they walked hand in hand between the lime trees in the Luxembourg Gardens they scarcely noticed the presence of French tanks and troops. The air was fresh, the sky a clear blue, and there was no sound of gunfire to dampen their spirits. They had so much to talk about, yet in moments of silence it seemed much more was said. William had never met a girl with whom he was so immediately at ease.
Later, in Les Halles, he bought flowers for Galina, an armful of red roses too big for her to carry. She gave all but one away, some to a girl with a screaming baby, more to an old woman in black with the sorrows of the world in her eyes.
‘I wish everyone could be as happy as I am today,’ Galina cried. ‘I wish the day would never end.’
‘We’ll have it to remember.’ They had been laughing, but thoughts of returning to the front line sobered them temporarily. William carried her hand to his heart and held it there. ‘Promise me you’ll take care. I’ve never had anyone to worry about before. If anything happened to you I’d be devastated.’
‘Nothing’s going to happen to me,’ she said. ‘Or to you either. We’ll both be around to fight over Court Carriages when the war is over.’
They ate at a café in Les Halles where an old man was playing a harp and thick brocade curtains with tassels down the edges were drawn at dusk to black out the light. A candle flickered in a glass on the table. And as it burnt down they were increasingly aware that their time together was getting shorter. William caressed Galina’s cheek with his fingertips. Her skin was soft in spite of the amount of time she spent outdoors, and it had the pale clarity which went with red hair, a creaminess he could almost taste.
She quivered at his touch. He saw the pulse beating rapidly in her throat, and she dr
ew his hand away from her cheek and up to her lips. Time seemed to stand still. Presently he kissed her. She leaned towards him in anticipation, and when their lips met the gentle touch sent a shock through every part of his body.
‘Galina, I think I’m in love with you.’
The words were drawn from him involuntarily. He expected her to tell him not to be absurd, but instead she cupped his face between her hands and repeated the kiss he had instigated.
‘I love you too.’
‘What would you say if I asked you to marry me?’
The question took her by surprise, in spite of their declarations. ‘Marriage? No, William, that’s not possible.’
‘Give me a good reason why not. And don’t say it’s because we’re first cousins because the law doesn’t forbid it.’
‘There’s more to it than that,’ she said. ‘I’m half Irish Catholic and half Russian Jew.’
‘And I’m half Russian Jew and half American Catholic. Does it matter?’
‘I’ve been brought up Jewish.’
‘And I’m Catholic.’ He smiled into her eyes. ‘But only in name. I’ve no great attachment to the church of Our Lady even though the family are devout.’ He paused. ‘Do you believe in God?’
She said: ‘Yes, implicitly, in spite of all the atrocities and bloodshed I’ve seen.’
‘So do I. So let’s trust in Him to guide us without caring too much about the route we take,’ said William.
But Galina was not persuaded. She sat back in her chair and gave him a teasing smile. ‘I think you’re only asking me so that you can be sure of having Court Carriages.’
He laughed. ‘Perhaps I am.’ Then he became serious again. ‘Galina, I wouldn’t care if the whole Works went up in smoke. I want to take you back to America after the war … as my wife.’
‘It’s too sudden. We must give ourselves time. Emotions are strained and unnatural during a war. No one can count on even seeing the next day. If we still feel the same way when all this is over, then perhaps I’ll think about it. I can’t make decisions now.’