He continued along the line, praising Marthe and Lucy too, but not as effusively. Later, as they washed up their utensils, he said quietly to Bridie. ‘You have a gift. Remember that. Your mother was right to send you to us. You bring credit to her, and to us.’
She felt the pleasure, and then the pain. But as her mam had said for as long as she could remember, ‘Smile. It’s what those at Easterleigh Hall do, however dire the situation.’
At the day’s end, she walked with Lucy and Marthe, and they stopped as usual at the café for a coffee, sitting at a table outside, and then ordering a glass of red wine. They sat under the shade of the awning as the sun beat down. Bridie leaned back, soaking up every second, because soon it would be only a memory – but one that would sustain her, just as much as Easterleigh Hall. Lucy brought out her gold cigarette case and offered it round, as she always did. As always, Bridie and Marthe shook their heads. Lucy lit up with her gold lighter.
She had said, on the first day, that her father had given it to her before she left, saying that gold always held its value, and she was to keep it with her always. Just in case.
‘In case of what?’ Marthe had asked.
‘Just in case,’ Lucy had said. ‘We’re Jews, and it pays to have a “just in case”.’ She looked serious, for the first time since they’d known her, as she replaced the case and lighter in her handbag.
Bridie remembered Tim’s cigarette case then, which Heine had given him. It was gold, or was it silver? She couldn’t remember. Was he still giving him such presents – in other words, buying him? She shut off the thought, as a familiar voice roared out, over the sound of running feet, ‘Bridie, I’m here. We got an earlier boat.’
The girls spun round, and there was James, blonde hair tousled, running towards her, his rucksack bouncing on his back. There were two others with him who stood around grinning as he hugged her, and shook hands with the two girls. James said, ‘Bridie’s told me all about you,’
‘All?’ queried Lucy, arching her eyebrows. ‘I do hope not.’
The boys laughed. James introduced them, and explained that Archie and Ian were staying at a hostel tonight, and were meeting up with other friends there. They drew up chairs and crowded round the small table as the waiter brought wine, not asking whether they’d prefer coffee. He was right, because they fell on it, but only after they’d chinked glasses, and said in unison, ‘Happy days.’
Bridie sagged with relief, thinking Ian and Archie might have mentioned Spain, but met James’ eyes, and saw the slight nod. They knew better.
Archie was a student at Cambridge University, and said that it had been the most wonderful journey, from the moment the gangplank was withdrawn. ‘It was a perfect night, and the stars were magnificent. We watched the lights of England fade, and stayed on deck until we reached Dieppe. Had to wait for the train to Paris, and here we are.’
Marthe said in her fractured but improving English, ‘Bridie say you are travel in France, then, ’ow you say, back to studies. Is right?’
Archie nodded. ‘More or less.’
Ian said, ‘Not me.’
Bridie froze, and so did James, the glass halfway to his lips. Ian continued, ‘I’m a plumber, so I ain’t got no studies, just leaks.’
There was a pause, then a burst of laughter, led by James. Lucy said, ‘Now if you mended roofs I’d be picking your brains.’ The pair of them launched into a discussion about a mate of Ian’s who might be able to help her, and how big was the roof? His face was a picture when he was told. He gathered himself, and said he’d drop a line to his mate, who might be able to gather up an army of roofers if the price was right.
At eight o’clock, the waiter brought coffee and cognac for them all. Bridie gave hers to Ian, who threw it back in one gulp, before heaving his rucksack onto his back. He headed off with Archie, promising to have some more thoughts on roofers, which he would tell Lucy tomorrow evening. Archie bowed over Bridie’s hand.
Bridie and James headed towards Madame Beauchesne’s apartment. Once they were out of earshot, she said, ‘It’s grand to have you here, bonny lad. Do you want to go out after dinner, to see something of Paris?’
‘Another time, Bridie. I’m absolutely whacked. I know I have to have dinner with our hostess, but perhaps you can carry the conversation. My French isn’t enormously good, as you know.’
Madame Beauchesne, as perceptive as always, merely smiled when James explained that his French was limited, and he hoped he’d be better company tomorrow, after a good sleep. ‘Of course,’ she said, in English. ‘I too am, as you say, under the weather. Rather a headache, so I will be eating little, and sleeping much. Now, dinner is ready, so tell me news from Easterleigh Hall as we eat.’
During the meal James mentioned the Basque refugees, Estrella and Maria, and described their perilous voyage to England, where people had greeted the dispossessed, mainly children, and taken them under their wing.
‘They will stay when Bridie returns?’ asked their hostess. She looked pale, and had left her dessert of chocolate macarons and cream half finished.
‘I’m sure, or if they prefer to move on, then my mother will help them with whatever they wish to do.’
Madame Beauchesne patted her mouth with her serviette. ‘It is a good thing that your family does, but forgive me, I have a most dreadful migraine, they are the bane of my life. I will need to stay in bed for some of tomorrow if it takes its usual course, so I bid you farewell, dear James, until tomorrow evening.’
She looked at Bridie. ‘You are quiet tonight? You too are tired, I feel. So, my dears, Bridie, you and your James sit over a cognac, and catch up on his news.’
She rose, and James helped her to the door, asking if she needed his help mounting the stairs. She declined, ‘I know the procedure for my headaches, my dear. A darkened room and peace and quiet is all that is needed.’
When James came back to the table, Bridie asked, ‘Are you alright? You seem more than tired.’
‘Lying to so many people, including Mother and Father, doesn’t sit well with me. I’m glad you don’t have to do the same. I will leave a letter with you to post to them. Just say that I called in to say farewell before heading off on my travels and that you knew nothing of my plans. Now, dearest Bridie, please do not pour me a cognac. All I want is my bed. So come and show me my room, and we can talk more in the morning.’
The next day passed far too quickly. James had things to do, and Bridie had an exam to take, on wine. They all met at the café, and the air of excitement and apprehension around the boys was tangible. They laughed too loudly, and drank too much. Marthe and Lucy grinned at Bridie. Lucy said, ‘The excitement of holiday time. Soon it will be our turn, girls.’
Within moments, it seemed, James and Bridie were walking back to Madame Beauchesne’s apartment. James talked of his meeting with the group who were setting off by train for Arles in the morning at eight thirty, of the need to disembark there, rather than Nîmes, to confuse anyone who might want to stop them. ‘The authorities are determined to prevent their nationals enlisting in the foreign army of the International Brigade, so they are watching those who disembark at Nîmes carefully.’
He told her the time of the train and gave her his letter for his parents, to be posted in a week, when he would be safely in the Pyrenees, and beyond their reach. She, in her turn, had secretly placed a letter in Marthe’s bag, tucked into her sauces notepad, which she would need for the session on Friday. It was in an envelope on which she had written, ‘Please post this letter to my mother at the address on the envelope, but not before a week has passed.’
Madame Beauchesne was still unwell and had left a note of apology, which Cécile gave them. Bridie’s relief was immense, because it made her exit so much easier. She packed that night, stuffing her jodhpurs and boots in her carpet bag, together with underwear, books, a notepad and some money she had saved from the allowance her parents had sent her with. She added her jacket, umbrella, and woollen jumpe
r, as the winters could be hard, she thought.
She rose at six in the morning, and slipped a note under James’ door, saying she had forgotten in the excitement that she had an Institute visit to Poitiers, and would see him at Easterleigh Hall on his return. She wished him bon voyage.
She left a note for Madame Beauchesne with the cook, who had prepared croissant and coffee. In the note she explained that she had forgotten to tell her that Monsieur Allard had arranged a trip to Poitiers for the Institute students, to sample the food in a restaurant. While they were there, they were taking the opportunity to stay with the parents of one of their fellow students south of Poitiers. She would contact her with her approximate time of return.
She also thanked her, from the bottom of her heart, for all her kindness, and hoped that she would recover soon.
She arrived early at the railway station and went straight to the ticket office, where she asked for a one-way ticket to Arles. At the ticket seller’s raised eyebrows, she changed it to a return, blaming her faulty French. He nodded. She hurried out, her straw hat pulled down, and waited alongside some trolleys piled high with trunks, watching for James, Archie and Ian. People were milling about – women with smart hats, and others with headscarves, some with smart handbags, some with baskets. The men wore hats or berets. The engine, five carriages down, was shooting out steam, smuts were falling, sulphur hung in the air. It smelt like Easton, with its glowing slag heap.
At last she saw the three of them, and nearby was another small group of young men, and behind them, two more groups of three, and so it went, all piling into the same carriage, but not the same compartment. She hurried into the carriage behind them, feeling sick with nervousness, with shame, because she had lied to so many people, and she could hardly bear the guilt. But she must. Someone had to do this.
The train jerked, spat sparks, wheels ground on the tracks, slipped and then caught, and slowly they pulled free of the station. She had packed three of the croissants, loaded with butter and jam to sustain her. Her water bottle, bought in a walking shop, was full, and as the heat of the day built, she knew she would need every drop.
She listened to the desultory conversation of the passengers, breathed in the garlic oozing from the pores of the man sitting next to her. He was reading a newspaper. She looked out of the window. France was so flat. Had her father marched along here, and Uncle Jack, and all the others? How strange and awful to have war played out on your own land. How much noise there must have been with the artillery firing on and on, so that the ground shuddered miles from the front line, as her da had said.
He’d be bringing in the cows for milking, just as Fred Froggett would, at his farm under the Stunted Tree Hill. Did James miss Home Farm? Did he miss the chats he would have had with her da and Fred Froggett on market day? She watched from the window as the French farmers harvested ripe wheat, bleached by the sun. They passed through towns, and the train stopped in the stations. Then more countryside, and slowly she relaxed, and slept, waking with a start at a station when the man next to her rose, left, and slammed the door.
She searched for a sign to tell her where they were. The woman across from her, with a headscarf and basket on her knee, said in French, ‘You sleep and I will tell you when we arrive at your station?’ There was a question there.
Bridie hesitated a moment, ‘Arles,’ she said.
The woman frowned and stared, but then nodded. ‘Very well, but . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Sleep. I will wake you. We have hours yet. I go to Nîmes.’
‘Thank you, Madame.’ It seemed safer to sleep than talk, for then the questions in the Frenchwoman’s eyes might progress to words.
She dozed, waking to see drier land. The train stopped or slowed frequently. She dozed again, this time waking to vineyards on sloping hills, and olive groves. The heat was harsh as it beat in through the windows, and the shadows sharp and dark. The train was slow. She sipped from her water bottle. It was warm. The woman opposite was knitting what looked like a child’s cardigan. They were passing Roman-tiled farmhouses, stone built. A small herd of goats grazed on sparse shrubs halfway up a hillside. An old man with a stick guarded them.
Eventually, night fell. The train continued, then stopped for a long time, it seemed, and finally drew into Arles at dawn. She hauled her rucksack from the seat beside her, then leaned out of the window, watching the carriage in front of her. There they were, alighting onto the platform. She opened the door, called, ‘Thank you, Madame.’
She jumped down and hurried after them, staying out of sight. They were heading for the bus station, and she saw they were splitting up, much as they had when embarking, but this time into pairs. She and James could sit together. She ran now, catching up with him, pulling him round. ‘I’m coming with you. I need to do this too. We must make a stand, together, all of us.’
Archie was walking beside James. ‘What the hell?’
James was staring at her. ‘For heaven’s sake.’ He gripped her arms. ‘Bridie, what are you doing here? You’ve got to go home.’
Archie glanced across as a man shouldered himself towards them, barging through the flow of boys and men heading towards the bus station. ‘Here comes Stephen Sadler. Now you’re in trouble, James.’
‘Williams, what the hell is this?’ the man seethed.
James lowered his voice, and explained to Sadler, ‘She’s my cousin, and has followed me here, with some ridiculous notion of joining us. Oh God, Bridie, how the hell could you?’
Archie was looking from one to another. The stream of boys and men had stopped to stare.
Bridie said, ‘Ridiculous? And what do you mean, how could I? You lot are going, so what’s ridiculous about me—’
‘Oh shut up, Bridie,’ James said.
Sadler waved the others on, and Archie and Ian. He glared at her, hissing, ‘You damned little fool. It’s hard enough without this sort of rubbish. You’re not coming, and we’ll be bloody lucky if you don’t blow the whole thing sky-high. What the hell are we going to do with you? We’re trying to be inconspicuous here, and it’s ended up a bloody circus.’
Bridie couldn’t believe this was happening. She reached forward, clutching at James’ arm. ‘James, don’t be like this.’
‘Bridie, you’ve done enough damage. Just be quiet.’ As he spoke he was shrugging free of her and turning away, shaking his head.
Damn them, she’d head for the border, clamber the Pyrenees on her own. She swung round, then stared about her. How? She hadn’t an idea which way. Suddenly her head spun, and frustration and disappointment drained her of all strength.
Ian had returned. He patted Bridie on the arm. ‘Keep your pecker up.’ He turned to Sadler. ‘Tell you what, sir, why don’t we settle ’er in a pension. I bet she’s left a letter with someone, telling ’em to post it to her parents in a week or so, like we all ’ave. She will have said she’s away for a few days, just so no-one gets alarmed, so how about we make her swear to stay here for a couple of days. Then she can go back, just as she’s said, and it’s all tickety-boo, everyone’s calm. She can stop the letter being sent, and send yours.’
Stephen Sadler dragged his hands through his hair. ‘Bloody women. You, James Williams, had better bloody sort her out, because I’m not having this idiot jeopardising our plans. Half an hour to settle her, and then we leave.’
Bridie saw the fury in James’ face as he looked from Stephen to her, and couldn’t believe he could be like this. She’d walked away from everything to be here, because it was so important. She only realised she had spoken aloud when James said, ‘For the last time, Bridie, shut up and bloody well grow up. This isn’t a game. Easterleigh needs one of us. How could you bloody do it to them? Come on.’ He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. It hurt. His face was white with rage.
Ian took James’ rucksack. ‘You’ve lost two minutes with that little tantrum, Jamie, my lad. Get a bloody move on, then get back ’ere, or the boss’ll go without you.’
Bridie pulled free, shouting, ‘Why do I have to go back? Why can you go off and fight, and not me? Well, I’ll take myself over the mountains. Get on your damned bus.’
James grabbed her again, pulling her to him, whispering. ‘People are looking. I’m taking you, and making sure you actually book in, and if you don’t do as Ian said, I will never, ever forgive you. I need to do this. You don’t, and mustn’t. You have to wait two days, then go back.’
She let him lead her down street after street, her mouth dry, her legs shaking, until finally they found a pension, where the owner, Madame Colbert, said she had a room free. He booked her in, took her to her room, and made her promise to stay quiet. She looked into his face, which was closed and cold. She had done so many wrong things, and she said this to James, sobbing, and at this his fury faded, and he put his arms around her. ‘Dearest Bridie. What a mess. Why didn’t you talk to me, as I talk to you? Then I could have explained why it’s no place for you.’
She leaned on his chest. ‘That’s why I didn’t say anything. You would have said no.’
He hugged her tightly. ‘Bridie. You have to listen to people sometimes. Stop rushing into things, making irresponsible decisions. You’re not a child, not any more.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’ve got to go.’ She felt him kiss her hair, and then he pulled free. ‘If I’m not back for university, I will get in touch by October, somehow.’
‘Be lucky, be safe,’ she said, still sobbing. ‘The pitman’s prayer. Come back to me, James.’
He checked his watch, and ran from the room.
Chapter Sixteen
The next day, the early morning sun sliced through the gaps in the old, weathered shutters as Bridie forced herself to leave her bed. She had not undressed or washed since James had left. She had just cried. Now, as she pushed open her shutters and opened the windows, she wondered how it was that the man with the cart containing something in large baskets, covered by a cloth, was trundling along, that the woman setting up her market stall near the boulangerie could smile, and talk to that other woman. Surely the world should have stopped?
A House Divided: An Easterleigh Hall Novel Page 17