by Lily Baxter
‘Getting married?’ Elsie stared at her, dazed with shock. ‘But you don’t go in for long relationships. You told me so at lunch. That’s so unfair on Henri.’
‘This is different, darling. Henri and I practically grew up together.’
‘Yes. You always said you were like brother and sister.’
Marianne trilled with laughter. ‘That’s all changed, and I realised that I’ve always loved him. He feels the same.’ She leaned forward, her expression suddenly serious. ‘You aren’t upset, are you, Elsie? I know you said you’ve fallen for Guy, but you don’t still have feelings for Henri, do you?’
Elsie stood up and went to sit beside Marianne, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘What I felt for Henri was something like a schoolgirl crush. It was always a dream and I got over him ages ago. If this is what you really want then I’m happy for you.’
Marianne gave her a quick hug and then pulled away. ‘I don’t usually embrace females but I make an exception in your case. You really are like a sister to me, Elsie, and I’m glad you’ve taken it like this.’
‘And you’re getting married tomorrow? Why the sudden rush? You’re not …’
‘How could you think such a thing?’
‘Sorry, but why deprive his parents of their only son’s wedding? They approve of you, don’t they?’
‘Of course they do. It’s just that Henri has a few days’ leave and this awful war is dragging on. Who knows when it will end, and we’ve got used to living for the moment. It just seems that the time is right for us now, so we’re having a civil ceremony in the town hall.’
‘I thought you’d want a white wedding and a huge reception.’
Marianne smiled ruefully. ‘I might have done before the war, but it doesn’t matter to me now. Anyway, Henri is a Catholic and I’m supposed to be Church of England, so that rather rules out a religious ceremony.’
‘Has this got something to do with your father and his visit? He told me that your mother had died and I’m so sorry, Marianne.’
Marianne rose to her feet and went to the window to gaze down at the street. ‘I didn’t see much of my parents while I was growing up, but that didn’t make me love them any the less. I suppose I thought they were a permanent fixture and one day they’d take over Darcy Hall and we’d be a family again.’ She turned her head to look at Elsie. ‘Is it wrong to want to belong to someone and have a family of my own?’
‘Of course not, and I’m sure that Monsieur and Madame Bellaire will forgive you and that your father will understand.’
‘Thanks, Elsie. I’m so glad you’re here.’
‘Me too.’
‘We must find you something else to wear. I won’t have my chief bridesmaid looking like a sack of coal, even if it is wartime.’
‘But Marianne …’
‘No buts, darling. I’ve got a wardrobe filled with haute couture clothes. Some of them I bought in Red Cross sales and Selene has been terribly generous. It’s lucky we’re the same size and what suits me also looks good on you.’ She marched over to the sofa and dragged Elsie to her feet. ‘I haven’t had so much fun since we changed clothes while we were at the Merchant’s House.’
‘I’m not swapping places with you this time, Marianne Winter. You’re the one who’s going to marry Henri, not me.’
Marianne’s wardrobe was impressive. In fact it was a whole room dedicated to clothes, shoes and accessories, and her bedroom was as opulent as the rest of the apartment. They spent the afternoon going through the racks of gowns with Marianne selecting the ones she thought suitable and insisting that Elsie should try them on, ignoring her protests and a request for something simpler.
Standing in front of the cheval mirror with her shoulders drooping, Elsie studied her reflection. ‘I look a complete fright in this, Marianne.’ She plucked at the eau de Nil silk.
‘That’s one of my favourites,’ Marianne protested. ‘Stand up straight and don’t slouch.’ She circled round Elsie. ‘Perhaps you’re right, but I can’t understand why this one doesn’t suit you. I look wonderful in it, or so I’ve been told.’
Elsie stepped out of the gown and replaced it on the hanger. ‘I’m too skinny for a dress like that, and I’m as weather-beaten as a navvy.’
‘You are a bit too slim,’ Marianne said reluctantly. ‘It’s quite fashionable these days, but you need feeding up, my girl.’
Elsie stared at the pile of discarded gowns that Marianne had tossed onto a chair. ‘Do I have to dress up? It is wartime, and my uniform is quite clean. It just needs ironing.’
Marianne uttered a shriek of dismay. ‘I’m not turning up at the church with you looking like a prison wardress.’ She seized a cream tussore dress. ‘This is one that Selene gave me. I’ve never worn it because it’s a bit tight over the bosom, but it should fit you.’
‘This is the last one,’ Elsie said, holding up her arms so that Marianne could slip it over her head. ‘If this one doesn’t look right …’ She stared at the young woman who gazed back at her from the mirror. ‘Oh, my goodness. I look so different.’
‘That’s the one.’ Marianne stood back, arms akimbo. ‘I have perfect taste, and you look absolutely splendid. Now let’s find a hat that goes with it and some gloves, and shoes. You can’t tramp down the aisle behind me wearing those ghastly boots.’
An hour later, wearing one of Marianne’s less formal outfits consisting of a navy-blue skirt and a white blouse with a sailor collar, Elsie was able to relax a little even though the chair in the drawing room had a slippery seat and she was afraid she might make the wrong move and slide to the floor. She sipped tea from a bone china cup.
‘I thought the French only drank coffee,’ she murmured as the maid left the room.
‘I had to teach Cook how to make tea,’ Marianne said airily. ‘I have some sent from Fortnum’s every month, although it’s become ridiculously expensive. It’s my one extravagance, so don’t look at me like that, Elsie.’
‘The western world is falling apart and you have a maid and a cook at your disposal. I can’t believe it.’
‘I don’t employ them, darling. My future father-in-law lives up to his old standard and who am I to quibble?’ Marianne reached for the silver teapot and refilled her cup. She was suddenly alert as she put the pot back on the tray. ‘That sounds like Henri. He must have come home early.’ She glanced anxiously at Elsie. ‘Are you ready for this?’
Elsie’s hand shook as she put her cup and saucer down on the table. ‘Of course I am.’ She braced herself to meet the man who had captured her heart in what seemed like another lifetime.
Henri strolled into the drawing room. ‘I came home early, Marianne …’ He broke off, staring at Elsie. ‘I don’t believe it. Elsie?’
She rose to her feet, holding out her hand. ‘Hello, Henri.’
‘I didn’t know you were coming.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘Did Marianne tell you about us?’
‘I know that I have to congratulate you,’ Elsie said, smiling. He was even more handsome than she remembered, but there were furrows between his brows and lines of worry on his forehead. The war had changed him in a subtle way that she could not quite define, but she realised now that she had been in love with a phantom. This was the real Henri Bellaire and he might be as handsome as Adonis, but she was in love with an ordinary mortal. No one could compare to Guy.
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Did you have a hand in this, Marianne?’
‘Absolutely not. I was as surprised as you when Elsie turned up at the rue Saint-Roch, and delighted, of course.’ She patted the empty space beside her on the sofa. ‘Come and sit down, darling. Would you like tea, or something stronger?’
Henri walked over to the bell pull and tugged at it. ‘I think this calls for a celebration. I obtained a crate of champagne, don’t ask how, but this seems an appropriate moment to sample a bottle.’ He went to sit beside Marianne. ‘I’ve heard all about your time with La Dame Blanche, Elsie. You girls did a w
onderful job helping injured soldiers to safety.’
Elsie shot a quizzical glance at Marianne, who was smiling innocently. ‘We were glad to do our bit.’
‘But I was more than happy to return to Paris after Elsie and Guy had left,’ Marianne said, linking her hand through Henri’s arm. ‘If I’d remained in Belgium we might not have met again and realised that we were destined to be together, my darling.’
Henri gazed into her eyes with a tender smile. ‘It was fate, Marianne.’ He kissed her on the tip of her nose. ‘It was written in the stars.’ He turned his attention to Elsie. ‘So how do you come to be in Paris? Are you going to work at the rue Saint-Roch?’
Marianne tucked her hand through the crook of his arm. ‘She’s doing something much more heroic. Tell him about it, Elsie.’
Next morning, after a blissfully peaceful and comfortable night’s sleep in a bed that would have been grand enough for a princess, Elsie was awakened by the maid bringing in a pot of hot chocolate. Such luxury was unimaginable, even in peacetime. Elsie sat up in bed sipping the drink, which had probably come from a similar and highly illegal source like the champagne, but was none the less tasty for that. She appeased her conscience by making a silent promise to work even harder when she returned to the priory, and vowed never to complain about the skimpiness of their meals or the lack of variety in their diet. It was, she supposed, the way of the world. The rich would always be rich and the poor just had to get on with life as best they could. It was pointless to rail against matters she could do nothing to change.
She finished her chocolate and rose reluctantly from the comfort of her bed, but the lure of her own bathroom and the prospect of a hot bath made it worth the effort. The bathroom was tiled in pink marble and the claw-footed bath looked inviting. She turned on the gold-plated hot tap but the water gushing out was cold, bringing back memories of their time in the lodging house ruled over by Madame Chausse. Elsie perched on the edge of the bath, doubled up with laughter. It seemed that the wealthy were no more immune from the power cuts than anyone else. Perhaps there was some justice after all. She had a strip wash in cold water but even that was a luxury compared to the facilities rigged up in an outhouse in the priory grounds, where last winter they had had to break the ice in the stone sink with a hammer.
Refreshed and dressed ready for the wedding, Elsie made her way to the room where they had dined the previous evening in the company of Monsieur Bellaire. Marianne had kept the conversation flowing and Philippe Bellaire had retired early, saying that he had papers to study before he went to bed. He had been kind and courteous to Elsie, but rather vague, as if his mind was on other things, and she was dismayed to walk into the dining room and find him there on his own. He looked up and frowned as if he had forgotten her existence, but then he smiled and half rose from his seat. ‘Good morning, Mademoiselle Mead.’
She pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Good morning, monsieur.’
‘I trust that you had a good night’s sleep?’
‘Yes, thank you. It was sheer luxury after sleeping on a palliasse for months.’
‘The croissants are still warm,’ he said, passing the plate to her. ‘Or if you prefer I can ring for the maid and she will bring toast. I know that you English love your toast and marmalade. I have a supply sent especially for Marianne.’
Elsie took a croissant. ‘I haven’t tasted one of these since before the war.’ She reached for the butter. ‘I prefer the apricot confiture anyway.’
He smiled and sipped his coffee. ‘I remember now. Your mother was French, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, she was.’ She bit into the flaky pastry, hoping that he did not see the tears that sprang to her eyes when she thought of her mother.
Monsieur Bellaire leaned back in his chair, dabbing his lips with a starched white napkin. ‘They think I don’t know,’ he said, chuckling. ‘But a wedding, even one arranged in a hurry, is hard to conceal from a parent.’
Elsie gulped and swallowed a mouthful of croissant. ‘You know about it?’
‘This is my home. I might spend most of my time at the bank, but when a crate of champagne arrives under cover of darkness it makes one suspicious. And my son, who normally spends his leave asleep, has been rushing about like a madman. He made the mistake of confiding in my head clerk because he needed to have the banns posted ten days before the event and he knew he would not get home in time.’
‘I don’t know what to say. I suppose they wanted a quiet wedding without any fuss.’
‘They will get their wish, but I will be there, as will Henri’s mother. I sent a telegram to the villa in le Lavandou the moment I heard of his plan. Selene will be arriving at the Gare de Lyon in less than an hour, and I will be there to meet her.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘This will be our secret. My wife and I will attend the civil ceremony to witness our only son marrying the young woman we had always hoped he would take to be his wife.’ He patted her on the shoulder. ‘Don’t look so worried. Nothing will spoil their day and tomorrow Henri returns to his unit. Who can blame him for marrying in haste?’
Elsie sat for some time after he had gone, wondering whether she ought to warn Marianne and Henri, but that would mean betraying a confidence. She spread apricot jam on the last piece of croissant and popped it into her mouth. Why was life always so complicated?
In the end she said nothing. Henri left early and Marianne was in high spirits as Elsie helped her into her ivory silk gown. ‘It was made for a society woman at the start of the war,’ Marianne explained, smoothing the material over her slender hips. ‘But her fiancé was killed and she never claimed it. I hope it isn’t an ill omen.’
‘You don’t believe in nonsense like that,’ Elsie said firmly. ‘It’s just pre-wedding nerves making you jittery.’
‘I suppose so. I must admit I didn’t think of it when I bought the dress.’
Elsie reached for the circlet of orange blossom and the veil. ‘Stop worrying, Marianne. Sit down and let’s see if I can get this right first go.’
They arrived fashionably late at the town hall to find Henri pacing the floor. He looked splendid in his dress uniform, but agitated. He came to a sudden halt when he saw his bride and for a moment he looked stunned at the sight of her, but then his expression gave way to one of pure delight. He came slowly towards Marianne, holding out both hands.
‘You look even more beautiful than usual, my darling.’
Marianne’s face was misty beneath the white veil, but Elsie could tell that she was smiling, and the bouquet of lilies, white roses, stephanotis and trailing fern trembled in her hands. ‘I think we should go in,’ she whispered. ‘That official looks rather impatient.’
Henri took her by the arm. ‘It’s our day, my love. I won’t allow anyone to spoil it.’ He turned his head to give Elsie a beaming smile. ‘You look lovely too. I’m glad you’re here with us today.’
‘Thank you, Henri.’ She glanced at the official, who was staring pointedly at his pocket watch. ‘I think there are other couples waiting to get married.’
Henri led Marianne up the red-carpeted staircase and the mustachioed official snapped to attention as he opened the door to the chamber where weddings were solemnised. Elsie followed them into a room furnished with rows of gilt chairs, but only three of the seats were occupied. Marianne uttered a gasp of surprise at the sight of Henri’s parents, and then the other wedding guest rose to his feet. Colonel Winter strode down the aisle to embrace his daughter.
‘Papa,’ Marianne murmured, her voice catching on a sob. ‘How did you know?’ Elsie snatched her bouquet before the blooms were crushed by the colonel’s tender embrace.
‘Philippe sent a telegram to HQ. I’ve been in France for months but this is the first time I’ve been able to get even a few hours’ leave.’ He released Marianne, turning to shake Henri’s hand. ‘I couldn’t be more pleased, my boy.’
Philippe Bellaire cleared his throat noisily. ‘I think the registrar is eager to begi
n, James.’
‘Of course.’ Colonel Winter stepped aside. ‘I apologise for the delay.’
Selene smiled graciously and resumed her seat. ‘Sit down, Philippe. There will be time for congratulations later. We’ve booked a table at the Ritz for luncheon.’
Marianne flicked back her veil. ‘I knew this would happen,’ she whispered as she took the bouquet from Elsie, but she smiled as she took her father’s arm. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Papa.’
‘I’ve missed so much of your life, Marianne. The very least I can do is see you happily married.’ They approached the table where the mayor waited to perform the civil ceremony.
Elsie awoke next morning with a headache. The luncheon at the Ritz had been a great success, despite Marianne and Henri’s previous wish for a quiet celebration. Philippe had booked a room for the happy couple so that they could spend their one-night honeymoon in luxurious surroundings far different from the conditions in camp, and Elsie had returned to the rue de l’Echelle with Marianne’s parents. Selene had opted to stay the night with the intention of returning to le Lavandou in the morning, and both she and her husband had taken care to make Elsie feel that she was part of the family. They had dined at home and drunk even more champagne, which Elsie regretted the moment she opened her eyes.
She sat up in bed, sipping her hot chocolate and wondering whether she ought to cut her leave short and return to the priory. Marianne would no doubt be going back to work as soon as Henri’s leave was up, and now that she was a married woman she might want to spend her spare time looking for a flat where she could set up home.
Elsie replaced the cup on its saucer and slid her legs over the side of the bed. She felt as though there were demons with pickaxes inside her skull, and she staggered into the bathroom to raid the well-stocked cabinet for seltzer and a couple of aspirin tablets. She bathed in lukewarm water and, feeling much better, she slipped on the wrap that Marianne had loaned her. She was about to sit down at the dressing table and brush her hair when the bedroom door opened and Marianne flew in. She rushed past Elsie, heading for the bathroom. The door slammed shut but Elsie could hear her retching.
