The Hidden Palace, page 37
There was a pause.
Florence turned to look at Rosalie. ‘Your husband, Robert Beresford, do you mind talking about him?’
‘My funny, lovable, brave Bobby. I’m very happy to talk about him. Great love, if you find it, is one of life’s most precious gifts. I had that with him.’
‘It must have been terrible when he died.’
‘It was … but not for one moment did I regret knowing him. It sounds like a cliché, but he really was the love of my life.’
They were both silent. All you could hear were their footsteps and a few birds shifting in the trees.
‘Do you think you’ll ever marry again?’
‘No. I have my life in Mdina, and Gerry and I will get on with the final volume of Addison’s work while I’m in London.’
‘You’re fond of Gerry?’
‘Very. He’s my best friend. And a best friend is a fine thing indeed. I have other friends in Malta too. Otto – he’s a journalist and Tommy-O, a cross-dressing singer, although I see less of him now that he’s no longer performing. And of course, after all you’ve done to find me, we two will be enormous friends as well. And I hope you will come back to Mdina and stay with me.’
Florence smiled. ‘I would love that.’
But as she thought about friendship and what it meant, she realised that Hélène and Élise had always been her very best friends and now one of them was not and that made her sadder than she could ever have imagined.
The days soon passed and once Christmas was over Élise and her daughter went back to France and Rosalie left for London. The house had been packed to the rafters with laughter, and tears, but was so quiet now it left Florence feeling low. She put a brave face on it for Jack’s sake, because with the unfinished apartment to complete in Malta, in January he’d be going too.
‘You could come with me,’ he said on their last evening.
She shook her head. ‘I’d rather just stay here. I have my job at the manor. I was lucky they agreed to take me back. And I have my writing. After everything, I need to feel settled.’
‘I’ll only be gone for a few short weeks and when I’m back, we can plan the wedding.’
She smiled. ‘Our lovely summer wedding. Actually, Rosalie offered to help and to pay.’
He looked surprised. ‘She didn’t need to.’
‘She really wants to. And isn’t it traditional for the bride’s family to bear the cost?’
He laughed. ‘I suppose it is. Summer still sounds good to you?’
‘Absolutely. I’d hate it to be cold and wet.’
He touched her cheek. ‘It will work out you know.’
She frowned, unsure, and then realised why he was saying that. The argument with Hélène. She’d been trying to put it to the back of her mind but had failed miserably. She’d tormented herself over a letter she’d written but when both Jack and Élise had insisted it would be best to leave Hélène alone for now, she had torn it up. But she hated feeling so helpless.
The morning of Jack’s departure came round quickly, with a grey sky and the wind and the rain beating hard on their bedroom window.
‘Bugger,’ he said. ‘I was hoping we’d get out for one last walk before I leave.’
‘There is something I’d rather do,’ she said with a suggestive laugh, then she climbed on top of him and leaning over, kissed him hard on the mouth.
As the winter dragged on, Florence longed to speak to Hélène with love and hear her sister reply in the same way as she used to do. Instead, all she could see was her Hélène’s tight, pale face when they’d spoken beside their mother’s grave. It had been awful. Her sisters had been the ones who’d loved and accepted her funny little ways. Teased her. Called her their little witch when she spent hours stirring a pot on the stove, her days growing and pickling vegetables, and the moments when, balanced precariously on the table, she reached up to hang herbs to dry from the ceiling hooks. She sifted through layer after layer of happy memories. And terribly sad ones too. Victor’s death, Violette’s suicide. She missed her sisters with such an ache inside her and tried to nurture the hope that Hélène would come round, accept what had happened, forgive her. But would she even come to the wedding?
Jack wrote by airmail to say he missed her and asked if she was all right.
‘I’m fine,’ she’d written in her reply, for how could she tell him how she really felt? I’m bloody lonely and very sad.
Of course, being married would be an ending of sorts for the sisters, although an ending had already happened when she’d been forced to leave the Dordogne. She began to think more seriously about the wedding because Hélène would not be her only problem. Should she invite her father Friedrich and her half-brother Anton? Both German, they’d hardly be welcome so soon after the war.
The January days stretched out cold and hard, the need she had for forgiveness becoming corrosive. When she should have been happy about her love for Jack, she felt guilty, although Rosalie was coming down for a few days and Florence was looking forward to planning the details of the wedding with her and Gladys.
February was strangely less depressing than January and then towards the end of the month, not long before Jack was due back, Florence realised she had missed a second monthly period. She had assumed the first absence was because of her grief over Claudette’s death and despair over Hélène’s coldness, but the second? There had to be a different reason for that. She made an appointment with the doctor where she supplied him with a urine sample and then went home. Two weeks the doctor had said, then call me.
It was the longest two weeks of her life. Florence hugged the possibility to herself, didn’t tell a soul what she suspected, and all the time she was thinking of Jack’s face when she told him. She saw the first wild snowdrops in the woods and grew excited, then some early daffodils came up in the garden. They’d have to bring the wedding forward of course if … if … if.
Then early one morning she called the doctor from the telephone box at the crossroads and he spoke in a cheerily brisk voice. ‘Congratulations, my dear,’ he said. ‘I’m assuming your fiancé will be pleased. A bit cart before the horse, of course, but since the war everything is pear-shaped. You’ll make a wonderful mother. Come in and see me soon for a physical examination.’
‘Well, I’d better get weaving,’ she said, ‘and thank you. Thank you so much.’ Once outside, delirious with excitement, she laughed and laughed, and then as she walked down the track towards Meadowbrook and home, she cried tears of joy.
CHAPTER 55
A few days later she heard the taxi bringing Jack home from the station. She raced down the stairs and outside to the brook, where she ran through the water, grasped him by the arm and as the taxi took off, dragged him indoors.
‘Well, I’m delighted you’re so pleased to see me, but I have left my bags outside. It is raining.’
‘Get them then, go on, get the damn bags. I’ve got something to tell you. Something important.’
He smiled at her and shook his head in amusement. ‘Whatever it is, you look mighty pleased.’
‘Go on,’ she said, holding her secret tight for just a tiny bit longer.
‘Okay. I’ll get the bags. I suppose you wouldn’t consider putting the kettle on?’
‘I’ve got something better than tea.’
He raised his brow, clearly intrigued. How could men be so stupid? she thought.
When he came back in, she ordered him to put the bags down.
He did so and now he was grinning.
‘You’ve guessed, haven’t you?’
‘I think so.’
‘Well Jack Jackson, you and I are going to have a baby.’
His eyes widened, shining as a multitude of emotions played across his features. Amazement, joy, disbelief. He picked her up and whirled her around, then thought better of it and put her down excessively gently.
‘I won’t break,’ she said with a laugh.
‘Oh my darling girl, that is the best news. The very best news.’ Eyes brimming with tears, he said, ‘I want to shout it to the world. Have you told anyone?’
‘Of course not, idiot. I was waiting for you. But I’ll be too fat to get married in August. It will have to be April.’
So April it was, and when the morning of the wedding came round, Florence still didn’t know at what time Hélène would be arriving. Victoria, who was to be Florence’s flower girl, had to be fitted for her dress, so she and Élise had arrived a week before the big day with news that Hélène was planning to follow on. But so far there had been no sign of her. Florence had written to Friedrich telling him about the wedding and the baby. But she’d also had to explain how unwise it would be for him and Anton to come to England with so much bad feeling about the Germans still rumbling on.
I am to be a grandfather, he’d written back, sounding thrilled to bits. That will be enough for now.
Now Rosalie entered Florence’s bedroom, her eyes shining.
‘You have such beautiful blonde hair,’ she said. ‘I think we should just pin it with a flower at either temple and let it curl naturally to your shoulders. What do you think?’
‘Sounds lovely. Do you know where Élise is?’
‘Vicky tore her new dress. Élise is mending it while muttering ominously. My, but that little girl is a force of nature.’
Florence laughed. ‘Just like her mum.’
Élise would be her matron of honour as bridesmaid seemed the wrong term for someone who was already a mother. Although strictly speaking a matron of honour was a married woman.
‘Is Élise happy?’ Rosalie asked.
‘I suppose so. Why do you ask?’
‘Vicky’s father’s death.’
Florence shuddered at the memory. ‘When Victor was executed it was dreadful for all of us but obviously so much worse for her. He was such a brave man and she loved him so much.’
‘Love like that and an ending like that doesn’t fade.’ She paused. ‘But we mustn’t dwell on sadness today of all days.’
Florence nodded.
‘So … how are you feeling?’
‘I can hardly breathe for excitement. I swear I didn’t sleep a wink,’ Florence said.
Rosalie smiled. ‘Sit, eyes shut and relax while you have the chance.’
Florence did as she was told and sat there quietly, imagining her mother’s eyes on her, her cheeks flushed with pride and fussing about something that was not quite right. She laughed out loud.
‘Something the matter?’
‘Just thinking about Maman. She wouldn’t like the bouquet.’
Florence had chosen flowers from an Exeter florist. Daffodils, blossom, and some delicate leaf – so pretty but Claudette would have thought it not nearly grand or elegant enough. Nor would she have approved of the village hall for the reception. The small bouquet had just been delivered to oohs and ahhs from Victoria and was now safely in a jug downstairs where neither Victoria nor the cat could reach it.
Rosalie had stayed at a hotel close to the village hall after spending the day blowing up balloons and arranging greenery and candles. Gladys and Florence had been cooking for days, using anything that grew in their gardens or that either of them had bottled the year before, along with chickens and a ham that Gladys’s husband had procured in exchange for some help fixing up an old motorbike. They had no pigs of their own currently ready for slaughter. Rosalie had hired a small band to play dance tunes so everyone was hoping it would be a lovely, happy afternoon.
When her hair was done, Florence stepped into her wedding dress, Rosalie buttoned it up and they both looked in the mirror.
‘Darling, you look so beautiful,’ Rosalie said.
Florence patted her tummy. ‘Thank God it still just fits.’
With a fitted bodice, sweetheart neckline and high waistline which fell into a long very slightly bell-shaped skirt, the dress was simple with lightly padded shoulders and sleeves that came just to Florence’s elbows. She had been saving clothing coupons for ages, as had Gladys; they both made their own clothes from whatever they could find so had used very few of them. And Rosalie’s friend Gerry had contacts in London who’d agreed to make the dress out of ivory silk from China, as it was too soon after the war to buy silk from Japan or Italy. Florence also had a thirteen-foot net train. Lace would have been nice, but they couldn’t run to that.
They had asked guests not to buy presents but to contribute whatever they could in the way of food and drink and to deliver it direct to the village hall before the wedding, which would take place in the church on the other side of the street. Gladys had enrolled an army of helpers to organise the food and drink and to lay the tables. Ronnie and Jack had already sourced all the tables and chairs they needed, and Gladys had been up half the night ironing tablecloths she’d begged and borrowed from all her acquaintances. There were white tablecloths, checked tablecloths, and floral tablecloths, and each table now had a little posy and a candle in the middle. The whole effect was charming and exactly what Florence wanted.
When the bridal music started up Florence sailed down the aisle on the arm of her aunt, followed by Élise in a full-length dress in violet and Victoria dressed in the same colour. When Florence saw Jack smiling at her and blinking nervously her heart did a little flip. She glanced back at the church, full of friends, family, and local people who’d all been invited at Gladys insistence. The entire wedding had been a community effort, so it was only right. But as Florence’s eyes swept around the congregation, she still saw no sign of Hélène. She felt herself wobble but Jack took her hand and squeezed it. She smiled and recovered herself.
The ceremony went off without a hitch. When it was over a few photographs were taken outside the church and then everyone hotfooted it over to the village hall. When Florence entered, she paused, and everyone clapped as she glanced at all the smiling faces and the beautifully decorated hall that looked like something from a fairy-tale woodland scene.
Florence saw Henri, Hugo, and Marie grinning at her, and thought of Henri’s beautiful wife, Suzanne. That was such a desperately sad story, and she couldn’t bear to dwell on it today. But she was amazed and delighted to see her old friends. Nobody had told her they’d be coming but it looked like Élise and Jack had secretly arranged everything. She saw Jack’s father Lionel getting quietly sozzled, and Gladys and her husband Ronnie raising their glasses and nodding happily. Grace was there too, looking lovely in cobalt blue with Bruce smiling by her side. Some of Jack’s wartime buddies and chaps he’d been at school were wolf-whistling, and many of the locals were clapping as well.
When they took their seats, Rosalie sat on one side of Florence along with Élise and her daughter, and Jack, his father, Gladys and Ronnie sat on the other side.
‘Where’s Hélène?’ Florence whispered in her sister’s ear.
‘No idea.’
‘She definitely said she’d come?’
Élise nodded.
They drank Florence’s elderflower champagne, although others preferred a trip across to the pub to bring back ale. The food was a mixture of potato salads, early green salads, slices of ham and chicken, with vegetables of every shape and size. Some people brought bacon and egg flans – easy to carry – and they were delicious, others brought fresh bread, cheese, or home-made puddings. Florence put her worries about Hélène aside and loved every moment, including the speeches. One of the men Jack had known at school stood up to talk about Jack, which had everyone in hoots of laughter.
‘I didn’t know he’d been such a naughty schoolboy,’ Florence said, sounding horrified, and everyone who knew Jack rolled their eyes and guffawed.
‘A terror,’ Gladys piped up. ‘But he’s our terror and we love him.’
Glasses clinked and were filled again.
Then Jack rose to his feet and the room hushed. ‘I would like to say a few words about my wife, whom I first met in 1944 during the Nazi occupation of France. She may look as sweet as anything you’ll see on these tables, but I would like to tell you she is made of solid steel.’
Florence could feel her cheeks reddening and gazed down at the table, willing herself not to cry.
He went on to tell them about their journey across the mountains but didn’t mention why. Didn’t speak of her German father.
‘We went through a great deal, faced danger together, and I am the luckiest man on earth to be married to this courageous and utterly beautiful woman. She has a wise head on young shoulders. An old soul, I think they say. Anyway … she brought me back to life after the loss of my son.’ There was a momentary hush, then he raised his glass and his voice almost cracked as he said, ‘To my darling wife, Florence.’
With tears in their eyes, everyone repeated the toast and Jack kissed his new bride.
Rosalie spoke briefly and told the story of Florence’s determination to find her and when she finished everyone clapped.
Then as the band warmed up, the tables and chairs were cleared to the side and Jack reached out his hand to Florence, his eyes shining. He took her in his arms, and they began a slow waltz to ‘All of Me’, and she whispered in his ear as he bent towards her. ‘Thank you, Jack. I’m so happy.’
‘I’m sorry Hélène hasn’t arrived yet. I know it means a lot to you.’
She nodded, closed her eyes, and was able to count her blessings as she danced with her husband. Her husband.
Then, when the music went more upbeat, several more couples joined the dancing and then more and more until everyone was swing dancing in variations of the jitterbug, even Gladys and Ronnie, which made Florence smile. The band played the music of Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey and Benny Goodman, and a female singer joined them to sing the hit songs from the last few years. ‘We’ll Gather Lilacs’, ‘I Dream of You’, ‘The One I Love’, and more. Then the dance music started up again, jazzy and fun, but Florence was roasting and told Jack she needed a breath of fresh air.
‘I’ll come,’ he said.
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll go on my own. Dance with somebody else now. Rosalie maybe.’ But then she saw Rosalie already on the floor with Gerry. ‘Élise then.’
