Of War and Women

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 4

  Interlude

  London – February, 1941

  Felicité and Lord Sutherland shared quite a merry time on the drive back to London, he possessed of a way of making her feel quite comfortable in his presence. On their arrival at her flat in North Dulwich, he dropped her off, saying, “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Delacroix. I shall be in touch.”

  “Thank you, Lord Sutherland, the pleasure is all mine. I shall look forward to hearing from you.”

  The following day Felicité returned to her demoralizing job clearing rubble. As London was rapidly being restored to her pre-war look, Felicité realized that this sort of work was short-lived, not to mention the fact that it was not her cup of tea. She desperately hoped for word from the Earl, but by the time a month had passed her hopes had begun to fade.

  March

  Felicité rushed into the small shop, desperate to escape the tumultuous rain plummeting without. Spying Maryann across the room, she waved frantically and, rushing forward, she enveloped her in a smothering embrace and exclaimed, “My, it has been months, Maryann! How in heaven’s name are you?”

  “Never better,” Maryann deadpanned and, pulling out a chair for Felicité, she inquired, “Coffee, tea?”

  “Something hot, anything hot, to take the chill from this miserable weather,” Felicité responded pleasantly.

  “Be right back,” Maryann replied, and shortly thereafter she came back with a brimming cup of tea, saying, “Here you go, piping hot!”

  “Thanks,” Felicité responded, but thenceforth changing the subject, she inquired, “Why meet in the West End on such a day, Maryann?”

  “Oh, I live a block from here. Sorry if it was inconvenient for you.”

  “Oh, I had no idea you lived in the West End. Just exactly what are you doing in London, anyway?”

  “Same as everyone else - attempting to make a living. These are tough times.”

  “You can say that again,” Felicité responded in agreement, “I’m having a time of it myself. How about you?”

  “Oh, I have a job. The pay is okay, but who knows how long it will last.”

  “What sort of job?”

  “I work at the Windmill Theatre,” Maryann revealed impulsively.

  “What? The Windmill? Isn’t that the place where the women are dénudé?”

  “Well, after a fashion, yes,” Maryann responded evasively, “But, according to the law, if one is motionless, one is not naked. One is instead a sculpture.”

  “Hmmm, seems like I heard something like that,” Felicité volunteered, “Maybe that’s where Lady Sutherland got the idea for her show that night at Wharton Manor.”

  “You are entirely correct, Felicité,” Maryann observed matter-of-factly.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because she told me so that very night,” Maryann put in, “That’s how.”

  “Wow! I had no idea…”

  “Yes, well, there it is nonetheless,” Maryann murmured.

  “But what’s that got to do with you, Maryann?”

  “Oh, not much. It’s just that, after the Battle of Britain began Oxford cancelled classes, and I was left with no means of support. I had been on scholarship at Oxford, and my parents were in no position to care for me for long, so I came down to London, and somehow I became interested in The Windmill.”

  “Soooo, what do you do at The Windmill, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Why, I am a sculpture, of course,” Maryann volunteered.

  “Surely not!” Felicité inquired, fear rising within her.

  “On the contrary, I take my clothes off and let the soldier boys ogle my every attribute.” she responded decisively.

  “What!” Felicité exclaimed in denial, but then, realization finally coming over her, she murmured, “Oh, I get it. It all started with Lady Sutherland’s speech that night, about how we all needed to give the soldiers a going away present. That’s it, isn’t it!”

  “Well, more or less, but the truth is, I needed a way to make a living. And that night gave me the idea, that’s all. Besides, there’s really nothing to it, Felicité. Why don’t you come down some night and see the show. Tis quite classy in a certain way. I think you’d like it.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” Felicité responded doubtfully, “I shall think about it.”

  Shortly thereafter the two departed, promising to see one another again as soon as possible.

  A Week Later

  Felicité purchased a ticket and, locating a seat on the very back row, she attempted to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Sure enough, at the end of the third part of the show, there was a still scene in which Maryann was one of the principles. And, although she was nearly naked, there was no movement whatsoever and the scene was overlain with a thin gauze curtain, rendering the entire scene somehow ethereal. The overall effect was one of artistry, thereby eliciting awed responses from the nearly entirely male audience. Felicité had never imagined that such a seemingly lurid show could somehow be produced with such elegance and taste.

  The Following Day

  The pair met in the same coffee shop, Felicité bursting at the seams with newfound interest.

  “It was incredible, Maryann! I mean, I had no idea,” she volunteered, “And you, dear Maryann, you looked absolutely stunning!”

  “Thank you, dear Felicité. Thanks so much.”

  “I’ve always thought of that night at Wharton Manor as somehow immoral,” Felicité observed. “I suppose one has to be on the viewer’s side of the screen to get the proper impression.”

  “Exactly! And that, dear Felicité, is precisely why I was drawn to the theatre. I simply had to know what was going on in the minds of those airmen that night. Same with you, I’ll bet.”

  “And now we both know,” Felicité nodded in agreement, adding, “And it seems, tis not the prurient reaction I had assumed.”

  “No, not at all, if you ask me,” Maryann replied thoughtfully, “So, when can you start?”

  “Start what?” Felicité responded blankly.

  “Start working at the Windmill, of course,” Maryann observed with obvious certitude.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Felicité frowned.

  “Look, how much longer do you plan on carrying rocks?”

  “I know, I know,” Felicité stammered, “Tis just that, well, let me think about it.”

  “Right, but don’t wait too long. More and more girls are applying to work there.”

  “I shall let you know within a week. How does that sound?” Felicité suggested.

  A Week Later

  Felicité came forward, a pained expression on her face.

  “What is the matter?” Maryann said, rising to give her a hug.

  “I don’t want to do this, that’s what is the matter,” Felicité responded, adding, “But I feel I have no choice in the matter. I had hoped for a job with the Army, but it’s been two months, and I’ve heard nothing. The rubble clearing jobs have all dried up, so now I have no means of employment, and I am afraid that I’m in a rather tight position, Maryann.”

  “Why don’t you want to do it, Felicité,” Maryann inquired.

  “I don’t know,” Felicité responded, “I really don’t know.”

  “Well, what about this? Suppose I could get you a job working stage crew, just for a bit, until you decide to take the plunge. What about that?”

  “I say,” Felicité responded excitedly, “That might just be the perfect compromise. “When could I start?”

  “Come by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Perfect! See you then, Maryann.”

  Two Weeks Later

  Still attempting to adjust to her new nocturnal working hours, Felicité arose to the sound of a knock at the door of her tiny apartment. “Who is it?” she inquired groggily.

  She heard a voice from without reply, “Message for Miss Felicité Delacroix from General Sutherl
and.”

  Felicité jumped up, tugged the door open in anticipation, and replied excitedly, “Yes, I am Miss Delacroix.”

  Politely handing her the envelope, the soldier responded, “Message for you, miss.”

  “Thank you,” she said and, quickly tearing the message open, she perused the following:

  April 23, 1941

  Miss Felicité Delacroix

  7 Upton Place

  North Dulwich

  Dear Miss Delacroix:

  I trust that you are well. You will recall that we met more than two months ago at Wharton Manor in the Cotswolds. Perhaps you will also recall that we discussed at that time the possibility that there might be a position within the Home Office for a translator with your skills. I believe that I have found a position that may be of interest to you. If you will be so kind as to come by my office at 14 Sherendon Lane, near Piccadilly Circus at your earliest convenience, I shall supply you with further information. I look forward to seeing you very soon.

  With Kind Regards-

  General Robert Sutherland

  Earl of Winston

  Felicité immediately put on her best business attire and, shrugging into her coat, she made her way directly to the address listed on the general’s letter. After a short wait the general’s adjutant ushered her into his office.

  Rising from behind his desk in evident delight, General Sutherland announced, “Miss Delacroix! It is so nice to see you. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  Attempting to appear professional, she responded politely, “Sir, thank you very much. Tis so wonderful to see you again.”

  “Have you heard from my son, Trant?”

  “No sir, I have not,” she replied in embarrassment.

  “Too bad, but I shouldn’t worry, Miss Delacroix. We are all quite busy at the moment. War will do that to one, you know.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  “Right, then, down to business. Miss Delacroix, we have need of an interpreter between the Home Office and General de Gaulle’s staff. Tis just a backup at the moment, as we have another senior interpreter, but we could really use your help. Our other interpreter is not a British citizen, if you get my meaning.”

  “Ah, yes, sir. I understand. I assure you that my full allegiance is to our country.”

  “That is reassuring, Miss Delacroix. We have done our homework, and your dossier confirms your assertion. Therefore, I am pleased to offer you the position forthwith. The pay is at the same pay grade as a lieutenant in the army. How does that sound to you?”

  “Sir, I am quite overwhelmed. I am most honored by your offer, and of course, I accept. I hope to make you proud of me.”

  “Miss Delacroix, Felicité, if I may, I already am most proud of you. You have done much for our country already. With this new position, I believe that you shall continue to do us proud.”

  Felicité was so excited when she left the general’s office that she actually jumped for joy. Having thusly informed Maryann, the following day she began her new job at the Home Office. At first she had no idea what was going on. She was placed in a large open room with perhaps twenty other young ladies, all of whom were tasked with translating documents. She translated six days a week from eight in the morning until six-thirty each evening. She had never worked so hard in her life, but she couldn’t complain since everyone else was working the same hours.

  She had been working at the job for nearly two months when she was called into the superintendent’s office one day. “Miss Delacroix,” the superintendent began, “We are most pleased with the work that you are doing here at the Home Office. In fact, your translations are so precise and well written that we have been asked by none other than General Charles de Gaulle himself to transfer you to his personal staff. Since you are not military personnel, this appointment would necessarily entail your appointment to the British Army. You would hold the rank of lieutenant. Would such an appointment interest you in any way?”

  Somewhat taken aback by the military implications, she replied, “I would like to have more information, if you don’t mind.”

  “Excellent. I shall take that as a ‘perhaps’. Here is an address. Please go round to see Captain Hightower immediately. He will brief you on the possibility and, if you are interested, he will affect your transfer. If you decide to decline the offer, then I shall expect you back here within two hours’ time.”

  Felicité immediately returned to her desk and gathered up her belongings. A short time later she was a lieutenant in the British Army, assigned temporarily to the staff of General de Gaulle. Within the space of two months she had gone from little more than a rubble digger to a lieutenant in the British Army, forthwith detached to the Free French Army. She was terrified, but she supposed that she was not alone in that feeling. At least she had not been transferred to the front lines, a far more terrifying fate shared by many.

  London – November, 1941

  Squadron Commander Trant Sutherland was temporarily assigned to the Home Office for the purpose of air command planning of the North Africa Campaign. Tasked with organizing fighter support for the British land forces, he was working extremely long hours. He nevertheless took the opportunity to visit his father’s office before the end of his first week on assignment in London. Upon being admitted to the general’s office he said, “Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning, Trant,” his father replied, “Good to have you here. We need more men with good planning skills. I know that you would rather be on the front lines, but you were well enough in harm’s way during The Battle of Britain, and now we are in desperate need of your help here.”

  “I’m here to do what I can to help, sir,” he responded.

  His father then said, “Excellent. Now, have you seen that young lady that visited us at Wharton Manor? What was her name?”

  “You know her name very well, father - Felicité. You arranged for her to be posted to the Home Office. Mother has informed me of everything. It seems that there is a conspiracy to bring the two of us together.”

  “Guilty on all counts, Trant. Surely you are aware by now that your mother is the queen of our chessboard, as it were, and you and I are little more than her pawns. I suppose that we should at least be pleased that she is indeed the white queen rather than the other way round. But seriously, you could do worse than this young lady your mother is touting for you, of that I am quite certain.”

  “Perhaps, father, but at the moment I’m unlikely to do either better or worse, since there are not enough hours in the day for anything but this damnable war. What is she doing these days perchance?”

  “You haven’t heard? She’s been posted to General de Gaulle’s personal staff.”

  “What, Felicité?” Trant blurted in utter amazement. “No, I hadn’t heard. What in blazes is she doing for him?”

  “It seems that her translating skills are exceptional. General de Gaulle happens to be very picky about his staff, as I’m sure you know. She passes as a true French national by his standards, and she passes as a true Brit by ours. That combination is quite difficult to come by in a single competent person. And in case you hadn’t heard, she has been placed on active duty in the British Army, with an officer’s commission of course.”

  “Oh, a fellow officer…” Trant mumbled to himself incredulously, “I say, that’s rather hard to envision. My most vivid image is of her decked out as a kitten in rather ribald fashion. This is all far too shocking and difficult for me to assimilate, sir.”

  “Understandable…quite understandable, under the circumstances,” Lord Sutherland rejoined and, pausing for a moment, he continued with a not unsurprising observation, “As usual, your mother has a recommendation.”

  “Aha! Leave it to Lady Sutherland to intervene. What does she have on her mind, sir?”

  “She thinks that it is high time you had dinner with Miss Delacroix.”

  “I say, what bad t
iming for such a suggestion!”

  “Perhaps, but is there a better time, pray tell?”

  “Point well taken, sir. Right. Well then, perhaps I should see her. Can you arrange for General de Gaulle’s staff to release her to the Home Office for dinner with one of the staff?”

  “Certainly. I shall arrange it forthwith. And I shall give you a call when it is arranged.”

  “Thank you, sir. I wish you good day,” and at that Trant saluted his father and departed.

  London – A Week Later

  Trant met her at a restaurant near Piccadilly called The Hefty Boar. Felicité was in uniform, as was Trant. As she came in off the street their eyes met momentarily. He came towards her, apparently taking her in. Upon reaching her he put out his hand to hers and blurted serendipitously, “My God, I can’t breathe, Felicité. You absolutely take my breath away. May I say, you look even lovelier in uniform?”

  Eyeing him suspiciously, she countered, “And what, if I may ask, brought this on, Mr. Chicken?”

  Ignoring her question, he instructed, “Please follow me, Felicité. I have a quiet spot already set for us.” She followed him to a table that was well situated for a bit of privacy. After they had each been seated he probed, “So, tell me about your assignment. How is it turning out for you, lieutenant?”

  “To say it is challenging would be an understatement - long hours and little sleep. To make matters worse, General de Gaulle is not a very pleasant man. Actually, that is perhaps too polite a statement on my part, if you follow me.”

  “Yes, I get the picture, but his role is an essential one. As the war rages on, we seem to get deeper and deeper embedded with the French. I have no doubt that the Free French will at some point become indispensable to the Allies.”

  “And what are you doing in London, sir?” she queried.

  “I’ve been transferred here, and please drop the ‘sir’. I’m helping the planning of fighter cover in North Africa. I suppose I’m lucky to be grounded, but I’d far rather be in action.”

  “I’m sure that you will get your fill sooner or later. There aren’t enough pilots to go round, you know.”

  They subsequently ordered dinner, the evening progressing swimmingly. Afterwards they each had a glass of scotch. They toasted and, reaching forward to grasp her free hand, he whispered impulsively, “I’ve missed you, Felicité.”

  At this she put down her glass and replied noncommittally, “I’ve missed you, too.”

  Sensing that she was taking his advance far too lightly, he pressed ahead with, “No, really. I’ve missed you terribly.”

  She eyed him suspiciously, picked up her glass and, taking another sip, she replied doubtfully, “Then why have I not heard from you in six months?”

  “Er, I needed time to think,” he responded evasively.

  “Time to think,” she muttered blandly, “And have you thought?”

  “Yes, yes, I have,” he offered impetuously and, catching her eyes with his, he admitted, “And I find that I am quite taken with you.”

  “And?” she coached distantly.

  “And…and I suppose that I am asking if you would be interested in doing something about it,” he asked tentatively.

  “Sure,” she answered blithely, “What did you have in mind?”

  “Perhaps you could accompany me to my flat? Tis not far.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she replied, but he somehow failed to sense the rather obvious bit of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Well then, shall we?” he queried hopefully.

  “Yes, let’s,” she responded, subsequently rising from her seat.

  They caught a cab to his flat and once inside the door he grabbed her and kissed her passionately, saying, “God, I’ve waited for this for so long. You are so gorgeous, Felicité!”

  Felicité kissed him in return, but then she gently pushed him away, responding, “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I’m afraid that I am not that sort.”

  “Oh come now, Felicité, surely you quite demonstrated what sort you are at the masquerade party.”

  “I’m afraid that remark is quite insulting to me, Squadron Commander Sutherland!” she retorted grimly.

  Eyeing her forlornly, he murmured, “Touché, lieutenant. It seems that I have lost the game.”

  “Game? I assure you, I am not playing at games! At some point you shall realize that, or you shall move on to your next intended conquest. Now, I must say good night to you. I have an early day tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Miss Delacroix,” he croaked forlornly as she yanked the door open.

  “Good night, sir!” she exclaimed, summarily slamming the door behind her as she departed.