‘I’m relegated to the role of servant now then, am I?’ he said, sitting up on the side of the bed and pulling on his trousers. ‘I seem to remember last night I was a god.’
‘And so you are,’ she said, running one hand down his bare arm. ‘But any woman subjected to such serious and prolonged lovemaking needs to lie still in a darkened room.’
He laughed and went off into the living room, where she could hear him raking out last night’s fire. She must have fallen asleep again because suddenly he was back, carrying a tray with two cups of tea and a plate of golden, fried eggy bread.
‘You are the breakfast god too,’ she said, sitting up and pulling the covers over her bare breasts.
Morgan pulled the covers back down. ‘Leave it, I like to look at them.’
‘Do you now? Well, I’m a bit chilly. But speaking of covering up. You didn’t use anything last night, did you?’
He looked a bit crestfallen. ‘I meant to, but it went out of my head.’
‘What if I get pregnant?’ she asked, taking a mouthful of eggy bread and rolling her eyes with the delight of it.
‘We’ll get married,’ he said. ‘That is, of course, if you’ll have me?’
Mariette waited till her mouth was empty. ‘Any time,’ she replied. ‘But we’d better be careful in future. I want my folks to know I married you for love, not because I had to.’
‘It might be better to get married here,’ Morgan said, suddenly serious. ‘They might not let me into New Zealand otherwise. And even if they agreed, the chances are we’d be put in separate cabins – and that means sharing, like when you came over here.’
‘My parents and Mog would be sad that they weren’t at the wedding,’ Mariette said thoughtfully.
‘We could do it in a registry office, then have a proper church ceremony in Russell,’ he said. ‘I think they call it a blessing, though. A bloke I knew on the ships got married in Cape Town, and he had that when he got home. His bride was in a white dress, bridesmaids and the whole thing. I expect lots of Yanks will do it, as their girls might not be allowed home with them unless they are married.’
‘How long do you think it will be before the war ends?’ she asked.
‘I spoke to an officer in Netley the other day, and he said the war in Europe couldn’t last more than six or seven months. The Allies are in Germany now, and Rommel’s dead. No one believes he died of his old war wounds. They think Hitler forced him to commit suicide because he believed Rommel was in on the attempt on his life. Just the fact that Hitler is so paranoid, he’d kill off one of his most highly respected officers, suggests he knows the war is over bar the shouting.’
‘But ships won’t sail to New Zealand while the Japs are still fighting us, will they?’
‘No, they won’t,’ Morgan said. ‘And unless we get lucky, we’ll have to wait for all the Kiwi troops to sail back first.’
‘But you do want to come back with me?’
He smiled broadly. ‘It’s what I want more than anything else.’
36
Sidmouth, May 1945
‘Mariette! The phone!’ Sybil yelled up the stairs. ‘It’s your mum and dad.’
Mariette came down the stairs as quickly as she could, dressed only in her petticoat, her hair still damp from washing.
‘Just wanted to wish you a wonderful day,’ her mother said. ‘Are you nervous?’
‘A bit,’ Mariette admitted. ‘But mostly about whether there will be enough food and drink, not that I’m doing the wrong thing.’
‘He sounds to me like the best of men,’ her father chimed in. ‘I really appreciated him ringing me to ask if he could marry you. I hope it won’t be long before you can come home.’
‘Everything feels a bit of an anticlimax after VE day,’ Mariette said. ‘That was wild, so much excitement, drunkenness and all the stuff you’d expect. But since then it’s been back to normal, with horror stories every day in the press about the death camps. Morgan and I couldn’t stomach some of the newsreel at the pictures, it was too shocking.’
‘Everyone here is just waiting for their men to come home,’ Belle said. ‘We’ll be counting the days till we see you and the boys. Now Mog just wants a word, and Peggy said to tell you she’s going to bake a real wedding cake for when you get here.’
Mog came on the phone, and at the sound of her voice Mariette’s eyes welled up. Mog had made her a beautiful dress, ivory satin with hundreds of seed pearls on the bodice. It made her think of the wedding dress Mariette had helped her with when she was seeing Sam, only without the long train. It was just another reminder of how Mog had always been the listening ear, never judging, never shouting, just offering gentle wisdom and kindness.
‘Does the dress fit properly?’ Mog asked. ‘I was afraid it wouldn’t arrive in time.’
‘It came three days ago – I thought I would have to borrow one. But it fits like a glove, and I feel like royalty in it,’ Mariette said. ‘One of the sisters at the hospital gave me the ivory satin slippers she wore at her wedding. No one will even know about my leg, if I walk slowly.’
‘Love him like there’s no tomorrow,’ Mog said, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘And if he doesn’t do the same to you, I’ll box his ears when you get here.’
They had to go then. The last Mariette heard was all three of them wishing her luck and love.
It was a beautiful warm day, without a cloud in the sky. The wedding was at St Giles and St Nicholas Church, at two o’clock. Belle had been against a registry office wedding. She said firmly, ‘A step as big as marriage should have God’s blessing.’ It was also the church Mariette had slipped into before each of her missions to France, so she felt that the setting was a good omen.
Ted was going to give her away, young Sandra was to be her only bridesmaid, and Ian was an usher. The best man was Mr Mercer. Morgan had asked the surgeon because, without him, he’d never have been able to train as a nurse.
Sybil was a stand-in mother of the bride. She’d dug out a beautiful pink dress and jacket with a matching flowery hat that she’d only worn once before, in 1936, to a nephew’s wedding. With rationing and shortages of almost everything needed for a wedding, Sandra’s pale blue bridesmaid’s dress was made from one of Mrs Harding’s old evening dresses. The cake was a decorated cardboard one – beneath it was a modest sponge – but many of the customers had made contributions to the wedding feast. There was a very large ham, several dozen tins of salmon, and a local farmer had brought round a sack full of new potatoes.
Sybil, with Mariette’s help, had made trifles and a huge batch of bread rolls. It had been so long since either of them had eaten soft white bread – the only stuff in the shops tasted like sawdust – that they ate three each, as if they hadn’t eaten a thing in months.
Sybil and Ted had insisted she and Morgan get married from the pub, even though the only contact she’d had with them since going to work at the Borough was a brief weekly telephone call. Sybil said they would always think of her as an adopted daughter, and they thought it was wonderful that she was marrying Morgan.
Mariette had not left her job at the Borough Hospital, and she would be going back there after a brief honeymoon in Lyme Regis. Miss Wainwright had finally retired, though some claimed she’d jumped before she was pushed, and Mariette was now the hospital almoner.
Morgan was still at Netley and would remain there at least until the end of the year. Wounded men were still being brought back to England, and some of the seriously wounded patients were in no condition to be moved nearer to their homes. But Morgan did not work such terribly long hours now, and he had found two rooms midway between the two hospitals where he and Mariette would live. They were saving as much money as possible for going back to New Zealand.
Sybil came to the doorway of Mariette’s room and stood there for a few moments, just looking at the bride sitting in front of the dressing table.
She had always thought Mariette was beautiful, but to see her in her
lovely wedding dress, her skin aglow with excitement and her hair a froth of strawberry-blonde curls cascading over her shoulders, made a lump rise in her throat.
‘Are you nearly ready now?’ she managed to ask. ‘It’s half past one. I must put your veil on for you before I leave for the church.’
‘I wish my parents, Mog and my brothers could be here today, Sybil,’ Mariette said, taking Sybil’s hand and squeezing it. ‘But you and Ted have been wonderful. Not just about the wedding, but ever since I first came here. Thank you for all the kindness and the support, I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
‘You’d have done just fine,’ Sybil said, wiping a stray tear from her eye. ‘You, my girl, have more guts than anyone I know, and Ted and I are proud to know you. But let’s get that veil on. The cart will be here soon, I just hope they decorated it like I asked.’
Mariette sat still while Sybil secured the veil. The idea of the cart made her want to laugh. Back home, in Russell, people walked to the church to get married, but she understood that a car was the norm in England. With the shortage of petrol, a car was difficult, but Sybil had got the idea of a cart. All Mariette could hope for was that it didn’t look like the kind of tumbril they used for people going to their execution.
They went downstairs then to check the tables were all laid up in the bar for the reception. There were snowy-white tablecloths, sparkling glasses and pink flowers on each table. Janice and Molly, two of Sybil’s friends, were organizing the reception and staying behind to have everything ready when they returned.
‘You wait till you see the cart,’ Janice called out from the kitchen. ‘They’ve done you proud.’
Mariette and Sybil went outside, and there it was. The driver, who was wearing a rather battered top hat with a rose pinned to the side of it, grinned sheepishly.
‘Just look at that!’ Sybil exclaimed, clapping her hands with pleasure.
It did look very pretty, the rough wood completely swathed in white sheets, including the seat on the back, which looked suspiciously like the bench from the back of the pub. Garlands of ivy and flowers, some just common weeds like Queen Anne’s lace, plucked from the hedgerows, were tacked all along the sides of the cart, with pink ribbons fluttering in the breeze. The seat itself looked like a double throne, the sheeting covered with a dark green velvet tablecloth, and the arms and back smothered in flowers.
Even the old carthorse pulling it had his mane plaited and a garland of flowers around his neck.
‘I have to go now to beat you to the church,’ Sybil said. Turning to Ted, who had just come out to join them, she waved a warning finger at him. ‘Help Mari in and out of the cart, and don’t go charging down the aisle with her. Slowly, in time to the music.’
‘Yes, dear heart,’ he said with a touch of sarcasm. Then, turning to Mariette, he swept her up in his arms, and deposited her on the bench. A second later, he was sitting in the cart beside her. A great many people had come out of their houses to watch, wave and shout their good wishes. As the driver flicked the horse with the reins, instructing him to walk on, Mariette waved back.
‘You’ve won a lot of hearts in this town,’ Ted said, ‘including mine and the wife’s. Reckon that’s why the sun’s shining for you too.’
Ted did exactly as he’d been ordered, walking at a slow pace down the aisle to where Morgan was waiting.
Mariette noticed that Morgan was wearing a new navy-blue suit, and it fitted him almost as if it had been made to measure. She remembered him saying he would try to get one, as his old one was threadbare, but she hadn’t expected him to find the coupons that would be necessary. He turned to look at her, his lovely mouth curling into a joyous smile. The way the light slanted down on him from the high windows meant she couldn’t see his scar, and he looked as handsome as when they’d first met.
‘Almost there, my beautiful girl,’ he whispered, as she took her place beside him.
In that moment, before God and in His house, she absolutely knew for certain this was a marriage which would be made in heaven.
It wasn’t until they had been through the ceremony and been pronounced man and wife, and she was walking back down the aisle with the ring on her finger, that Mariette saw the four children.
She couldn’t believe her eyes.
She stopped dead by the pew where Bernard, Isaac, Sabine and Celine were standing. The four Jewish children she’d brought out of France.
They were dressed up for the occasion, the two little girls in pretty smocked dresses, the boys in smart blazers, white shirts and grey trousers. But it was their big dark eyes that moved Mariette the most; they were no longer full of fear, but happiness. Their broad smiles said they were as pleased to see her as she was to see them.
‘What a wonderful surprise!’ she gasped, and quickly told Morgan who they were.
Bernard laughed, as he could see the congregation were anxious to move things along. ‘Go on, you can’t keep everyone waiting,’ he said, in halting English. ‘We will see you at the party.’
‘How come they are here?’ she asked Morgan, once they were on the cart and riding back to the pub, waving at everyone. Almost all the guests were trotting along behind the cart in a procession, which made people turn and gasp. ‘I’m thrilled they are here, but I’m mystified too.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ he shrugged. ‘But it is the best of surprises, and Sybil must have had a hand in it.’
Back at the Plume of Feathers, they all sat down at the tables and were offered sherry for a toast. Sybil said Mariette would have to wait a little while before she found out how the children were here. The tables were laid for about thirty-five guests, some of whom were Mariette and Morgan’s friends from Southampton. Mr and Mrs Harding were there, as were Henry and Doreen Fortesque and several regulars from the Plume of Feathers who were particularly close to Mariette. But the four French children were seated at the biggest table, with Mariette, Morgan, Mr Mercer, Sybil, Ted and Ian and Sandra.
As best man, Mr Mercer – who had insisted Mariette call him by his Christian name, George – was to make a speech before the meal. He began by saying how he had met Morgan, and expressed his admiration for a man who, although disfigured, wished to help others who had been crippled or scarred by war. Then he said that he had first met Mariette when he had to amputate her leg.
‘I was, of course, very curious to know how such a pretty young woman came by a German bullet in her knee,’ he said.
He paused for dramatic effect.
‘When a rumour circulated around the hospital that she had brought four children out of France by rowing boat, under fire, I had to know more. It proved difficult because Mariette would only say she wasn’t allowed to talk about it.
‘By this time, Mariette had met Morgan at the hospital. It seemed she had met him previously, when he was a steward on the ship that brought her to England. I asked Morgan what he knew about this rescue of four children, but Morgan didn’t know much more than I already did. However, he did say that Mariette was desperate to know how the children were.
‘I tried many avenues to get this information, but failed miserably. But then, many months later, right out of the blue, I received an inquiry written on official government stationery, asking how Mariette was progressing. It had, of course, to be from the department that had sent her to France. So I wrote back, and I pointed out they were rather late in showing concern for her. I added that she would dearly love to know about the children – how and where they were.’
Mercer halted, looking around at the expectant faces on all the tables, and then he grinned broadly.
‘In a nutshell, and with Sybil’s help, we made pests of ourselves until we had an address. And we finally succeeded in getting the four children here with us today, something I knew would make up to Mariette for not having her own family here.’
He raised his glass.
‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, will you please raise your glasses to Bernard, Isaac, Sabine an
d Celine!’
The four children stood up, prompted by Sybil and Ted. Bernard looked very composed; he was old enough, at fifteen, to understand completely why Mariette was so special. Isaac and Celine looked shy; at seven, they could remember that night in France very well, especially Isaac, who had been winged by a bullet. Only five-year-old Sabine looked bewildered. But she clearly did recognize Mariette, and smiled at her.
‘But for Mariette’s courage, strong will and powers of endurance,’ Mercer went on, ‘these children would not be alive now to hug her and tell her of their new life in Brighton with relatives. Mariette gave them life. And I’m even happier to tell you all that, just a few days ago, the children learned that their parents are alive, and they will be reunited with them within a month or two.’
There was a huge round of applause, and many people were wiping their eyes.
‘Now to the ultimate love story,’ Mercer continued, once the clapping had subsided. ‘Morgan was a handsome steward on the ship that brought the beautiful, young Mariette to England. They fell for each other, but Morgan joined the army when war broke out. When he was so badly burned at Dunkirk, he decided Mariette would not be able to deal with his disfigurement and so he decided never to contact her again.
‘While Morgan was courageously making himself indispensable in the Southampton hospital where he had many skin grafts and plastic surgery, and was also training to be a nurse, Mariette was helping Blitz victims in London. She lost all the family members she was staying with in London on the night of her twenty-first birthday, in the bombing of the Café de Paris, and so she moved to the East End of London to stay with Joan, whose two children – Sandra, our bridesmaid, and Ian, our usher – are here today.’
‘Mari tried to save our mum when the bomb hit the shelter they were in,’ Sandra called out. ‘She climbed out to get the rescue men, but Mum died in hospital.’
‘That’s right,’ Mercer nodded. ‘And Mariette came to live and work in Sidmouth purely so she could be near Ian and Sandra, who had been evacuated here to Mr and Mrs Harding. It was while working in the Plume of Feathers that Mariette was recruited for missions to get people out of France. She was chosen because she is bilingual, but I think they must have seen far more in her than a pretty girl who speaks fluent French.’
Survivor Page 47
