by Peggy Savage
‘Let’s find that little dressmaker,’ Helen said. ‘She might have something.’
They found the shop. There was now a single dress in the window, a discreet afternoon dress in pale green. ‘It’s the right colour,’ Amy said. ‘Green would look good with your hair.’
They went inside, to a delighted dressmaker who was only too eager to help them. Helen tried on the dress. ‘It’s perfect,’ Amy said, ‘but it needs taking in.’
The dressmaker bustled about with her pin cushion. ‘Ask her when it will be ready,’ Helen said. ‘Your French is better than mine.’
‘Quel jour?’ Amy began.
‘Demain,’ the dressmaker beamed. ‘Demain.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Amy said.
Helen beamed. ‘Wonderful. I’ll rush out at lunchtime.’
‘We’ll go to Printemps then,’ Amy said, ‘and get the cloaks.’
Amy and Helen walked down the marble staircase. ‘This is more like it,’ Helen said, ‘Sweeping down this staircase in a dress, going out to dinner.’
Dan and Peter were waiting in the hall, and Dan introduced Peter. Amy was watching Peter as he met Helen, and noticed the slight widening of his eyes. She wondered if Helen had noticed.
‘We’ve even managed to get a cab,’ Dan said.
They climbed into the carriage and the horse clattered off. ‘Where are we going?’ Helen asked.
‘We’ve found a hotel that has a good reputation,’ Peter said. ‘About food, I mean.’
‘Whatever it is it will be better than the food at the forward hospital,’ Dan said. ‘It tends to be rather monotonous.’
They drove through streets that were dimly lit and empty of people. Amy gazed out of the window as they passed, imagining these streets as they used to be, bright with light, the tables outside the cafés thronged with people, conversation and laughter. She glanced up to see Dan looking at her.
‘You look very thoughtful, Amy,’ he said.
‘One day,’ she said, ‘I’d like to see Paris at its best, as it used to be.’
‘So would I,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we’ll be able to do that one day.’
She smiled briefly and looked out of the window again, not quite sure what he meant.
They arrived at the hotel and it was like stepping into another world, the world of old Paris; low-lit tables, flowers, the unaccustomed scents of French food, that unique cuisine. An ageing waiter showed them to their table.
Peter put his nose into the air and sniffed deeply. ‘Fabulous,’ he said. ‘Real food. We’ve had nothing but bully beef stew for weeks.’
‘We’ve had cabbage,’ Helen said.
There was an orchestra; four middle-aged ladies playing Strauss. ‘So much for dancing,’ Dan said, laughing. ‘No ragtime.’
‘I like waltzing,’ Helen said, looking at Peter. They were both gazing at each other then, not speaking. Dan smiled at Amy and slightly lifted his eyebrows.
They ordered dinner from a limited menu, consommé, roast leg of lamb in a wine sauce and a lemon tart.
‘How do they make it taste so different?’ Amy said, putting down her knife and fork after the lamb.
‘Garlic and herbs and wine,’ Dan said, ‘And whatever wonderful secret ingredient the French are keeping to themselves.’
‘This poor, beautiful country,’ Amy said.
Around them the other diners ate and chatted. ‘These are the real Parisians,’ Amy said. ‘The ones who stayed after Mons, the ones who wouldn’t give up.’
‘You both stayed,’ Peter said. ‘I think you ladies are very brave.’
‘Not as brave as you,’ Helen said, gazing at him. ‘And there are women at your hospital, aren’t there? They are the really brave ones.’ There was a tremor, an excitement in her voice.
Now what is she up to, Amy thought? She had obviously found something with Peter. It was beginning to look like the bolt from the blue, love at first sight, a coup de foudre, whatever you wanted to call it.
The orchestra began to play a slow waltz. Peter stood up and held out his hand. ‘Would you like to dance, Helen?’ She went off with him to the little dance floor.
The waiter brought coffee. Dan laughed. ‘They appear to have hit it off,’ he said.
Amy nodded. ‘Quite amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.’ She dropped her eyes before Dan’s steady gaze.
‘He’s a good man,’ Dan said.
She looked up again. ‘And she’s a great girl, straight and honest. I wouldn’t like to see her hurt.’
‘He wouldn’t hurt her,’ he said. ‘I know him well. We were at Cambridge together. I think he’s rather shy with women. A bit like me, I suppose.’ She noticed that his ears were pink again.
‘But the war,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t seem the right time to – to get involved.’
She sensed his withdrawal. He looked down and stirred his coffee and when he raised his head his look had changed, become detached, impersonal. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said.
Helen and Peter came back. They all lingered over coffee until half past nine, talking of family and home; Dan and Peter telling stories about their clinical training at St Bartholomew’s. Amy listened, asking innocent questions, careful not to make a mistake.
At half past nine promptly the restaurant closed and the cab was waiting for them at the door. They were back at the hospital well before ten, and said goodbye just inside the door. Helen and Peter stood apart talking, leaning towards each other, almost touching.
‘Will you go on writing to me, Amy?’ Dan said. ‘It makes such a difference, getting normal, friendly letters.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And thank you for the evening.’ They shook hands and the men left, out into the night.
Amy called in at Matron’s office to say that they were back, and they went up to their room and undressed and got into bed.
‘Wasn’t that absolutely marvellous?’ Helen said.
‘Yes, it was. ‘Amy lay on her back, looking at the shadows on the ceiling.
‘I’m going to write to Peter,’ Helen said. ‘He asked me. Isn’t he nice?’
‘He seems very nice indeed,’ Amy said. Helen sighed happily and turned over.
I should be there with them, with Dan and Peter, Amy thought. I should be doing what they are doing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
1914
AS Amy crossed the hall on her way to the dining-room, the main door of the hotel was hurriedly opened and a man, an older man in civilian clothes, stepped inside. He was tall, very upright, but he passed her so quickly that was all she could see. He spoke urgently to one of the nurses, and she led him away. Another official from the War Office, she thought, come to see what they were up to. But, as she was leaving the dining-room after lunch, one of the orderlies stopped her.
‘Sister wants you,’ she said, ‘On the officers’ ward. She said to come when you’re ready.’
She had time, then, to wash her hands and put her hair up again into its neat bun.
Sister smiled at her when she went into the ward. ‘Lieutenant Maddox’s father is here,’ she said. ‘Sir Henry Maddox. He wants to see you.’
She sounded rather overawed, Amy thought, with some amusement. Sir Henry must be quite something. It took quite a lot to overawe the sisters. She was glad that she’d had time to do her hair and change her apron.
‘He’s with Lieutenant Maddox now,’ Sister went on. ‘I’ve put the screens round to give them a bit more privacy. Just go in.’
He was the man she had seen earlier in the hall. He had been given a chair beside his son’s bed, but he stood up as she went in behind the screens.
‘Amy,’ Johnny said. He was sitting up in bed, his blue eyes bright. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come. I would like you to meet my father, Sir Henry Maddox.’
Sir Henry put out his hand. ‘Will you shake my hand, Miss Osborne?’ Amy took his hand. He put his other hand over hers, holding her in a warm grasp. He looked into her eyes and smiled.
‘I believe I have to thank you, for saving my son’s life. Not just once, he tells me, but twice. So I am doubly grateful.’ His eyes were the same bright blue as Johnny’s and he had a neat, grizzled beard, a bit, she thought, like King George. He was a lot taller than the King, though, six feet at least. He had an unmistakable air of confidence, of command, but added to that was a pleasant, friendly air. He seemed like a man who was approachable – kind even.
‘I’m just glad that he is better,’ Amy said. ‘He’s been through a lot.’
He let her hand go. ‘So has every man,’ he said. ‘And so have you, from what my son tells me. And the other ladies here.’
‘I just do my job,’ she said quietly, ‘As we all do. We are all in this together, men and women.’
‘You are very courageous young women,’ he said, ‘All of you. Unbelievably so.’ He put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. ‘You have given my son back to me, Miss Osborne, and I shall be eternally grateful.’ He paused, emotion working in his face. ‘I can’t tell you….’ For a moment he seemed near to tears, and then he recovered himself, and smiled. ‘If there is ever anything that I can do for you, anything that you need or want, I hope that you will feel that you can come to me. I really mean that.’
‘Thank you, Sir Henry,’ she said. ‘You are very kind.’
She looked at Johnny, expecting his usual bright, carefree smile, and was startled, almost shocked. He was staring at her, unsmiling, his eyes fixed on her face so directly, so urgently, that she was transfixed and couldn’t look away. He stared at her for several seconds. He seemed to be giving her some kind of message, a deep, personal message, drawing her to him, reaching out to her. She felt her body stir, contract, in a way that was new to her, sensual and overwhelming. She wanted to touch him, to hold him, for him to touch her. She looked back at him, disturbed and puzzled. Then he smiled suddenly. His face softened and he went back to his usual carefree, cheerful self. Sir Henry coughed gently beside her. She glanced at him and saw that he also had intercepted the look and that he was surprised. For a few seconds he looked at his son and raised his eyebrows in question and then he too smiled and the moment of tension passed.
‘I shall have to leave you now, Johnny,’ he said. ‘I have a few things to arrange.’ He held his hand out to Amy. ‘I’m taking him home, Miss Osborne, home to his mother. He’ll soon recover there; he’ll be well looked after. Don’t forget, if ever I can be of service to you….’ He left and she could hear him talking to Sister. ‘Very soon, Sister, I hope. I am trying to arrange a place for both of us on a hospital train.’
‘If he says very soon,’ Johnny said, ‘it’ll probably be tomorrow. He wants to travel on the train with me.’ He laughed. ‘He usually gets what he wants.’
‘I can believe that,’ Amy said. He seemed to have forgotten, or was ignoring what had happened. She did not mention the way he had looked at her, and neither did he. She could only imagine what his message had been, and the thought was very disturbing. But to do that in front of his father, knowing that he would see – what did that mean?
‘You haven’t given me your address,’ he said. ‘There’s a notebook and pencil on the locker there. Is your home on the telephone?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not yet.’
‘Write it now, please, Amy. If I know anything about my father we really will be going tomorrow.’
She wrote her address in his notebook. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be in England again. Nothing is certain these days.’
‘I’ll probably be back in France anyway,’ he said, ‘Sooner or later. In an aircraft, with any luck, or else back with my regiment. I’ll find you. You can rely on that.’ He took her hand in his. ‘And thank you again, for everything.’
She left the ward, anxious and confused. Something seemed to have changed, though she couldn’t define it. He had changed. There had been that moment of a different kind of communication, but she didn’t really know what it meant. Yes, she wanted to see him again and he obviously wanted to see her. She felt as if she had placed her foot on a road that was new to her. But what was the point of it? What future could anyone rely on?
She was aware, or thought she was, that there was a moment, balanced between two states of mind; a moment of which she thought she had control. It was a kind of watershed. She could still decide. She could go one way or another. She could overcome her feelings. She could go back, albeit with a heart pang or two. She could forget him, or place him only among the memory of hundreds of other patients, hundreds of other men. That would be the safe way. Or she could go forward, see him again, accept the fact that she was attracted to him and he, apparently, to her. That way would lie enormous risk. She would be taking the chance of loving someone, of the pain of fear and longing and perhaps of agonizing loss. She told herself that she wasn’t a young girl any more. She wasn’t going to be swept away by emotion, just because she had never felt this way before.
Perhaps he would forget her, anyway, as soon as he got home and back into his own world. There must be girls at home who knew him and his family and who were eligible and eager. She tried to comfort herself with that thought; she probably would never have to decide which path she would take. He would forget her.
There were, of course, other problems. He did not know her past history – she had told no one. Her determination to get her licence and her life back was as urgent as ever. If it ever came to the point, how would he react to that?
She went back to her duties on the ward. There were more urgent problems to deal with.
‘I hear your lieutenant’s father has been speaking to you,’ Helen said.
Amy laughed shortly. ‘I was going to tell you myself, Helen, but you can’t do anything here without everyone knowing about it. Yes he did. He just wanted to thank me for looking after him. He’s come to take him home.’
He was gone the next day. He must have left very early in the morning to catch the hospital train that would take him to the hospital boat for England.
‘He’s gone, hasn’t he?’ Helen said, in their room, that evening.
Amy nodded. ‘Early this morning.’
‘Are you upset?’
‘No,’ Amy said firmly. ‘I’m glad he’s gone home. He will get better quicker there.’
‘Are you going to keep in touch?’
‘I don’t know. He’s taken my home address.’ Amy sat down on her bed. ‘I don’t know whether I want to or not. I think perhaps you are right – one shouldn’t get involved.’
‘I don’t think I quite said that.’
‘Yes you did, very clearly.’ Amy smiled. ‘And you could very well be right.’
‘Did I?’ Helen paused and looked sheepish. ‘I’ve told Peter that I’ll write to him, and he is going to write to me.’
Amy looked at her, her eyebrows raised. ‘You’ve changed your tune, haven’t you?’ She laughed. ‘It only took the appearance of Lieutenant Turner, didn’t it?’ she teased. ‘Love at first sight, Helen?’
Helen blushed. ‘Well, I did say that, yes, but sometimes it just happens, and there isn’t much you can do about it.’
‘Are you telling me that you are in love?’
‘No,’ Helen said. ‘I don’t know. We’ve only just met, but he’s so…. Well he certainly isn’t boring.’
‘Don’t you think you should take your own advice?’
‘It isn’t that easy, Amy. I’m so worried. You know where they are, he and Dan, back at that Clearing Station. It’s near a road and a bridge and the Germans won’t think twice about bombing it, even if it is near a hospital.’
Amy sighed. ‘Johnny says he’s going to join the Flying Corps.’
Helen’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, Amy, that’s so dangerous.’
‘It can’t be worse than going back to the trenches.’
Helen sighed. ‘It’s all so terrible. There’s just nowhere to turn, is there? What a pair we are.’
Amy lay awake. She imagined Johnny boarding the train, being carr
ied from the train to the boat, crossing the Channel. She could only hope that there wouldn’t be any German submarines. Then the train home, the carriage or motor car to meet him, his family waiting, his mother beside herself with joy and relief. He would be back in his own world.
What did she really feel for him? Here, she knew, she was in a completely new situation. She had little or no previous experience to go by. She had been so intent on her studies and her career that she had never even thought about having a relationship with a man. Perhaps if her mother had lived she would have been better informed, better prepared for such relationships; but perhaps not. Mothers didn’t usually discuss such things with their daughters. The sexual side of marriage was simply not mentioned. A new bride was supposed to be educated in this regard by her husband. Marriage was just accepted as the normal way of life for a woman. Spinsters were regarded with pity. She was lucky in one way, she supposed. She had studied reproduction as part of her medical training, so she knew about the mechanics of sexual congress. But she had no idea about the feelings that went with it, that preceded it. She had never wanted to know. She had resisted or ignored any advances from any man who might have been interested. She did not want to be involved. She did not want to be deflected from her main purpose. But now this feeling – this was something new. She couldn’t just brush Johnny aside. Her age and the experience of her career had not prepared her for this.
Once, one Christmas, some of the women students had been invited to a dance at St Bartholomew’s Hospital – heavily chaperoned, of course. She remembered a conversation with one of the male students, a hearty, red-faced young man. ‘I don’t know why you all bother,’ he said. ‘You’ll probably get married and then it will all be a waste of time.’
‘Why?’ she said, surprised. ‘Why should it be a waste of time?’
‘Because you’ll give it up,’ he said. ‘You can’t work after you are married.’
