Teardrops in the Moon

by Crosse, Tania

  ‘The menu hasn’t changed, I see,’ Albert observed with wry amusement. ‘But hopefully he has some decent wine left.’

  ‘I expect he will. It’s one thing the French never seem short of.’

  ‘What will you have to eat then, my love?’

  At his words, a little knot tightened deliciously in Marianne’s breast. My love. It sounded so good. So right. Perhaps she had been a fool to stand by her vow for so long – or perhaps fate had simply been waiting for her to meet the right man. To meet Albert.

  They ordered the meal but, as predicted, the choice of wine was far superior. The old man left them alone with the glasses of ruby red liquid gleaming in the vacillating candle-light, and Marianne shivered with elation as Albert took her hand across the table.

  ‘Let’s make a pact,’ he said with a deep smile, ‘not to talk about the war tonight. For just a few hours. Let’s pretend we’re on holiday.’

  ‘All right,’ Marianne grinned, falling in at once. ‘Aren’t we lucky with the weather, seeing how wet it’s been all summer?’

  ‘September can be a lovely time of year,’ Albert agreed. ‘It has a sort of mellowness to it. And then the autumn colours can be spectacular.’

  ‘Winter has its joys, too, though. The bare twigs and branches of a tree can be like intricate lace against a grey sky. And when we have heavy snow over Dartmoor and then the sun comes out, it’s quite magical, as if someone has thrown a sheet of white satin over it and then sprinkled it with millions of twinkling diamonds.’

  Albert raised his eyes to hers, creased at the corners, smiling. ‘I can’t wait to see it. Share it with you.’

  Marianne dreamily met his gaze, an intense sense of harmony sinking into her spirit. They went on talking, eating, drinking the wine, intoxicated by each other’s presence. Marianne knew she had drunk too much, but she didn’t care. She was drowning in a tidal wave of emotion. Of love and of yearning.

  When the restaurateur slipped onto the table a key with a number two on it, they blinked at each other in stupefaction. They both stared at the key, and Marianne felt herself turn a shade of beetroot. Albert was biting his lip, his face so taut that Marianne couldn’t help smiling.

  ‘Shall we?’ she dared to whisper.

  Albert cleared his throat. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like better. But . . . we shouldn’t.’

  A sudden, carefree desire ripped through Marianne’s soul. ‘This could be our one and only chance.’

  ‘But . . . only if you’re sure.’

  She nodded, and Albert’s shaking hand closed over the key as they both stood up.

  ‘Suivez-moi,’ the old man said quietly, reappearing from nowhere. ‘Et la chambre, c’est gratuite. La guerre, vous savez.’

  He led them through the tiny kitchen at the back and then indicated up a winding, wooden staircase that protested under their weight as they climbed it.

  ‘I hope the bed doesn’t creak as much,’ Marianne giggled as they went into a small but clean and tidy room. The shutters were closed against the now fallen darkness, a lamp was burning very low, and a single rose lay on one of the pillows.

  Albert turned the key in the lock, and then faced her across the room. Marianne’s pulse was racing like a traction engine, but she was utterly entranced by a rapturous need, a curiosity that burned inside her like a torch of flame. The breath quickened in her throat as Albert came towards her, eyebrows lifted in questioning. But as he slipped the cardigan from her shoulders, she didn’t stop him. He kissed her, then, and her lips parted in response, tasting the wine on his tongue. His hands were undoing the buttons on her blouse, slid inside to cup her rounded breasts through her silk underwear. She gasped, a tiny, strangled sound, lost in this new, enthralling wonderment, a thrill of ecstasy tumbling down to that secret place that had never before been touched.

  Slowly, delicately, teasing all her senses, Albert undressed her, leisurely, taking his time. Stroking, exploring each inch of her bare flesh as it was revealed. The sensation of the cool air on her skin, of Albert’s gaze on her, drew her on to some dizzying, unknown heights. When he paused to strip off his own clothes, leaving her draped across the bed in her underwear, she missed his soft, feather-light touch, but then she was drinking in his taut, muscled body, the scars from his wounds, and she knew now what she had always missed. What would make her complete. Whole.

  Albert, his own excitement in clear evidence, peeled off her remaining clothes. For a moment or two, she felt utterly vulnerable, afraid. But he caressed her, kissed her, drew his tongue across her breasts and downwards until she stretched languidly, glorying in her nakedness. He found the aching, soft sweet core of her, and she almost cried out, moaning, locked in mindless passion. He held her there, until she could have screamed with hot desire, and when he entered her, her heart flew to the stars. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she pulled him deeper into her, moving against him, led by pure, maddened instinct until some ultimate enchantment plunged into the very core of her being and exploded like a firework. She was so taken by surprise that she hardly noticed Albert shudder against her, and the next instant, he had cradled her in his arms, showering her with little kisses.

  ‘Oh, my darling Marianne,’ he muttered. ‘Thank you. You were magnificent.’ And then his eyes screwed up with intensity as he groaned, ‘Pray God we both come through this war so we can spend the rest of our lives together like this.’

  Marianne felt a cloud of doubt bear down on her at his words. Oh, yes. It was what she wanted, too. She knew it now. But would fate allow her to keep the happiness she had at long last found, or punish her for breaking her vow by destroying it for ever?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘I’m so deeply, deeply sorry about Michael,’ Marianne said quietly, her voice ringing with sincerity, when she judged the moment was right.

  They were sitting in the garden of the Franfields’ elegant, Victorian terraced-villa in Tavistock’s Plymouth Road. The early autumn sun was shining pleasantly and the two girls were enjoying the peaceful afternoon. Ling Franfield was occupied in her role as VAD Commandant – or Matron as she preferred to be called – at Mount Tavy Hospital for shell shock and other wounded soldiers that she had opened with Elliott the previous year; Elliott himself was operating at Tavistock’s civilian cottage hospital, and William was, of course, at school. Only the housekeeper was indoors, so Mary and Marianne were alone to exchange their innermost feelings.

  It was a few seconds before Mary replied, and Marianne noticed the spasm of pain on her friend’s face. ‘Yes, thank you,’ the younger girl whispered at last, clearly fighting back tears. ‘It’s . . . horrible. There’s just a vast emptiness inside me and I’m not sure it can ever be filled. I am trying, though.’ She threw Marianne a weak, brave smile. ‘It must be even harder for his parents, though, losing their only child. And of course, his father, Toby, is still at sea so poor Chantal must be frantic. And then there are both sets of grandparents. Poor Grandpa Adam blames himself for encouraging Michael’s interest in the sea. That must be unimaginable. At least I only have my grief to cope with. And I’ve only known Michael a short while, whereas they’d known him all his life.’

  Marianne had kept quiet, knowing it was good to let Mary pour out her emotions, but now she said gravely, ‘You can’t compare degrees of grief, you know. I felt the same when Hal was killed. That my parents’ grief must be deeper than mine. But it was just different. I’d already secretly applied to join the FANY and I felt guilty about leaving my parents, but they fully understood, and being out there has really helped me. Doing something useful to help save others.’

  Mary nodded solemnly, and Marianne saw her play with the cuff of her blouse. ‘What’s it like, out in France?’

  Marianne gave a wry grunt. ‘Hard graft. Sometimes you wonder where you’ll find the strength from to carry on. But you do. And you see the most appalling injur
ies, of course. And back here in Blighty, I don’t think people realize how many of the troops simply get ill from the dreadful conditions in the trenches: dysentery, pneumonia, frostbite, infected lice bites and fevers, trench foot, the list goes on and on. We even had a measles epidemic sweep through the army in the spring. And then there are those who’ve been fool enough to get themselves VD.’ She paused momentarily, remembering her own night of passion with Albert less than a fortnight previously. Had that been any different? But they loved each other, so she pushed the thought aside, hoping the colour she felt rising in her cheeks didn’t show. ‘But, you know, I wouldn’t be anywhere else,’ she concluded emphatically.

  She saw Mary suck in her lips thoughtfully. But her friend didn’t have a chance to reply before Elliott came out into the garden.

  ‘Do you girls mind if I join you?’ he asked genially, loosening his tie and undoing the collar of his shirt. ‘Mrs Humphries is just making a fresh pot of tea.’

  ‘Of course not, Dad. How did the ops go?’

  ‘Well, thank you,’ Elliott answered, dropping into an empty deckchair. ‘I’m concerned about the appendectomy, though. The op itself was a success, but the poor woman should have brought herself in earlier. She must have been in agony. We only just caught it in time, so I just hope the infection doesn’t spread. If only we had a really good drug to kill infection, it would revolutionize medicine just like anaesthetics have.’

  ‘Dr Elliott, sir!’

  ‘Ah, here comes tea,’ Elliott sighed gratefully as the housekeeper ran across to them.

  ‘Afraid not, sir. You’m wanted urgently back at the hospital. There’s been a terrible accident at Bere Ferrers Station. Seems some New Zealand soldiers got off a troop train thinking they was at Exeter. Only you knows what a little country station it is, and the platform’s too short, and they got off trackside and there were an express coming through. Several was killed outright, but they’m bringing some of the injured here.’

  Elliott was already half way back up the garden. ‘See you later, girls,’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘I’ll come, too!’ Mary called after him, on her feet in a trice. ‘You might need extra help.’

  ‘Me, too.’ Marianne leapt up after her, and the tranquillity of the afternoon was shattered. The war, it appeared, could not leave them alone.

  ‘Mrs Humphries has come up trumps again,’ Elliott declared, getting up from the dinner table and wiping his mouth with his napkin. ‘She can still make a delicious meal despite all the food shortages. But I must get back to the hospital.’

  ‘But, Elliott, you’ve been operating all evening,’ Ling protested. ‘You must be exhausted. Let the others look after them.’

  But Elliott shook his head. ‘Two of them should recover all right, but it’ll be a miracle if the other poor devil survives the night, despite all my efforts. I just feel I should be there.’

  ‘Do you want me to come, too, Dad?’

  ‘No, Mary.’ Elliott smiled affectionately at his daughter. ‘You did enough standing in as theatre sister. It was good to see you in action. I was very impressed, even if you are my own daughter. You need to start using those skills again soon, but enjoy the evening with Marianne.’

  ‘What a dreadful thing,’ Ling groaned as her husband left the room. ‘Those poor young men travelled half way round the world to come and join in the fighting, only to get mown down in some terrible accident.’

  ‘Apparently they hadn’t been given anything to eat since six o’clock this morning,’ Mary explained, ‘but were told to send two men from each carriage to collect rations at the first station. Coming from New Zealand, they had no idea how big Exeter Station would be, and when the train stopped at Bere Ferrers to wait for the express, they mistook it for Exeter. With the bend in the track, the driver of the express had little idea of what happened. Poor man must be going through hell now he knows.’

  ‘Nine dead, two of them decapitated and one sliced in half,’ Marianne murmured under her breath. ‘And another not expected to make it through the night. And there’s me thinking I’d come home to have a rest from the horrors of war.’

  ‘William, off to bed. School in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, Mum. But there’s no need to shield me. I’m going to be a doctor, too, remember.’

  ‘Yes, I do know.’ Ling smiled fondly. ‘And a jolly good one you’ll be, too.’

  William nodded proudly. ‘Good night, then, all.’

  Ling followed her younger son out of the room, leaving Mary and Marianne alone together. ‘What a day,’ Marianne sighed. ‘It was good of your mother to ask me to stay tonight.’

  ‘After helping out at the hospital it was the least we could do, and you were able to wire your parents so they don’t worry. But, this afternoon has made up my mind. I’m going to write to the Red Cross in the morning and ask to be sent out to Calais, if possible. I’ve been sitting around moping for long enough.’

  ‘Oh, well done!’ Marianne cried. ‘You won’t regret it. You’ll feel that you’re really making a difference. Just be careful to dodge the bombs!’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Mary grimaced. ‘I don’t know what Mum and Dad will say with Artie out there somewhere as well, but I’m sure they’ll understand. Only, aren’t I supposed to be twenty-three?’

  ‘To be a FANY you do, yes. And possibly the QAs, I’m not sure. But as far as I know, not with the Red Cross. I’m sure they’ll welcome you with open arms, and anyway, you can always lie about your age. It’s only one year, after all.’

  Mary’s solemn face moved into a grin. ‘Trust you to think like that!’ she chuckled, and both girls fell about laughing as the tensions of the appalling events of the afternoon were all at once released.

  Marianne peered out from the mess-hut door through the driving rain that lashed in across the sea. It was only a week into November, but already the wind was bitterly cold. Marianne was beginning to wonder if they shouldn’t be preparing for another biblical flood, the two pleasant weeks in the second half of September having been the only respite in the wet weather since the snow and ice of the previous winter. And now that dreaded season was approaching once more.

  She recognized immediately the forlorn figure in the Red Cross uniform, looking around in bewilderment as it battled with its umbrella in the gale. Marianne dashed straight outside without a care for her own protection, and grasped the nurse by the arm.

  ‘Mary, quickly! Come in from the rain!’

  She ran with her friend back inside the hut and hung up her wet cloak for her before the two of them hugged tightly.

  ‘How fantastic to see you! When did you arrive?’

  ‘Ten days ago,’ Mary informed her, glancing at the strange surroundings. ‘They processed me quite quickly as I’m already qualified, and suddenly I was off and didn’t have the chance to write and let you know.’

  ‘But you’re here now! Are you settling in all right?’

  ‘Thrown in at the deep end, more like! They made me a sister straight away and put me in charge of two medical wards. I’d rather be in surgical, but that might come later. So you can imagine I’ve been pretty busy finding my way around, and this is the first chance I’ve had to come and find you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you! And that I spotted you out in the rain, or you’d have been even more soaked than you are!’

  ‘At least unlike you my work’s indoors, if you count tents flapping and groaning in the wind as indoors. But I do sleep in a proper building.’

  ‘Lucky you!’ Marianne laughed enviously. ‘We just have cubicles in a draughty hut. But come and meet Stella, my partner in crime, and my other friends.’

  She quickly made some introductions and then went to fetch Mary a welcome mug of tea. When she returned, Mary was chatting away as if she had known the group all her life.

  ‘You’ll have your work cu
t out on a medical ward with winter coming on,’ Phyllis was telling her. ‘The fighting usually dies down a bit, but the men get sick even quicker.’

  ‘The wet conditions have already been the worst ever for all this fighting around Ypres. Men sliding off duckboards and drowning in the mud. Ugh, unimaginable. Thank God we finally took Passchendaele yesterday. You had heard the news?’

  ‘Oh, yes—’

  ‘I think the casualties have been the worst ever, so hopefully they should start easing off now.’

  ‘Don’t you think the Allies are going to want to push on, though, now we’ve had such a victory?’

  ‘Didn’t your Albert say he thought something hush-hush was going on?’

  ‘Well, he couldn’t say any more than that,’ Marianne answered doubtfully.

  ‘Albert?’ Mary questioned her. ‘Who’s Albert? What’ve you been keeping from me, Marianne?’ she teased.

  ‘Oh.’ Marianne felt heat flare into her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry. I never mentioned him to you . . . well, because of Michael.’

  ‘Oh, Marianne, that’s so thoughtful. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have a sweetheart just because. . . . So, I want to hear all about this Albert.’

  Marianne nevertheless heard a catch in Mary’s voice, but before she could reply, a sudden silence fell on the entire mess hut and all the FANY girls looked heavenwards.

  ‘That’s Moaning Minnie, again, isn’t it?’ Mary asked in a small voice.

  ‘The air-raid siren, yes,’ Marianne confirmed. ‘I’ll get you a tin hat, and then we all have to go and huddle in the dug-out – until we get called out. So,’ she nodded with a wry tilt of her head, ‘welcome to France.’