On the other hand, I believe that you can and will find happiness. It will be easier to do so as a widow, than as someone whom people whisper about in corners, wondering why your marriage was annulled. You will now be free to go on with your life, and your child will not have to deal with the confusion of having an absentee father. Eventually the child would learn the truth about me, and it could well destroy him or her. If I believed I could be happy, and that you and the child could be equally so, then perhaps I might have reached a different decision. However, I see nothing ahead for me. Please do not feel sorry for me, and don’t blame yourself. I have had a wonderful, full life, in spite of its short duration. I have provided for you, and made you independent of your family. I want you to be happy, and my fondest hope is that someday you will be able to be with the man you truly love.
With Great Respect and Love,
Owen
CHAPTER TEN
August-September, 1936
Paris
There was no question that Owen’s letter changed my life. While he told me not to feel guilty, nor to feel sorry for him, it was impossible not to do so. The letter haunted me, and I would have given anything if he had only come to me and talked, as he had pledged. However, in time I had to face the realization that Owen made a choice, and I had no right to question it. He was not delusional. Thus, if what he chose to do was his true desire, then I had to accept it.
The next few months were surreal. Shortly after the funeral, Edwina and I arrived in Paris. I was dressed in a black linen suit, with a flowing coat, my dark curls tied back with a black and white taffeta ribbon. Edwina was wearing the latest rage... a pajama ensemble, with broad silk pants and matching shirt, falling loosely to her hips. Of course, the look was marvelous on her. We gathered our luggage and hailed a taxicab. “I was surprised that your Mum didn’t give you more difficulty about this trip,” Edwina said, as she rolled down the window to let in some fresh air. It was a very warm summer day. Even though we had been together over the past several days, we’d had scarce time to talk at length, because of the funeral, and my responsibilities as a hostess. I was exhausted and had slept on the train and ferry trip from London to Dover, Dover to Calais and on to Paris, so this was the first real opportunity we’d had to chat.
“I think both of my parents were just glad to see me go. Mummy shows remarkably little interest in the baby. Didn’t you notice that?”
“Yes, now that you mention it, I did. Strange. I thought she’d simply want to take over.”
“She just doesn’t seem very involved.”
“Perhaps that’s for the best. Certainly in terms of her letting you out of her sight.”
“No question about that. The next few weeks will be the hardest part of this whole scheme. I don’t think my parents will make any fuss until September nears, but then they’re very likely to grow perturbed when I tell them I’m not returning to England yet.”
“We’ll deal with that later,” Edwina smiled. “I know this isn’t easy for you,” she said, with a sympathetic expression, patting me on the knee.
“I’m terrified at the prospect of the birth,” I admitted. “I’ll be so relieved when this is all over.”
“I’ll be here with you every moment, I promise,” Edwina said, hugging me again. I felt so fortunate to have her beside me during such a time. I certainly could never have told my parents the truth, and I could never have gone through all of the manipulation involved in such a scheme, by myself. As it was, I’d been uncomfortable being around my parents ever since announcement of the pregnancy. Mummy was not a fool, and she tended to be quite distrustful and vigilant. Yes, paranoid. It would not have surprised me if she had reached the conclusion that I had wanted to marry Owen so quickly because I was pregnant, which was, of course, the truth. Although it had not been discussed, I knew Mummy had never forgotten that only a short while before my marriage to Owen, I’d been desperately in love with Spence. I knew that it was possible my mother might suspect that Spence was the father of my baby. Of course, knowing the truth about Owen, it was equally possible that Mummy blamed the poor baby for having what she would term a ‘queer’ for a father. That would also explain why she had little interest in her prospective grandchild.
Our car crept its way through the congested streets of Paris, and finally we arrived in the Ninth Arrondissment, with its narrow streets, lined with tiny galleries, selling ‘about to be discovered’ art works. The area had preserved its nineteenth century architecture, charming courtyards and timeless Parisian air. That was where Edwina lived, as well as where her school was located, on Rue de la Rouchfouchuod. In rather short order we pulled up in front of a building, which had clearly known better days. Still, the neighborhood possessed a certain charm. It was populated with young people, living the quintessential Bohemian existence. We extricated ourselves from the taxicab, and while I paid the driver, Edwina took the baggage, and continued toward the entrance to the building on Rue Blues. The flat was on the fifth floor, with a lift. The building dated to the 1840’s. Once we reached her floor, we were required to walk down a narrow corridor. Edwina maneuvered round, and produced a key ring, which opened the door to the flat.
Upon entering, I couldn’t help but be amazed at how Edwina’s unique, creative style had brought elegance, and panache to what would normally have been a rather cramped, small living space. There was a living room, two bedrooms and a bath. A balcony overlooked a Louis Philippe style courtyard. The floors were wooden and there was even a small, marble fireplace. It was decorated in black and white, which was unusual, and perhaps daring at that time. There was a feeling of clean, geometric precision in the furnishings, and the only objects’ d’art were crystal. The entire effect was opposite of the Queen Anne and Chippendale that surrounded me at Willow Grove Abbey and Winnsborough Hall. While it was not what I might have chosen, I rather liked it. It fit Edwina’s personality. There were glass shelves on one wall, with mirrors behind, creating an illusion of space. In front of those stood a chrome and glass teacart, where a silver ice bucket rested, along with a cocktail shaker and a variety of crystal glasses.
“I’m going to have a martini. I’ll fix you up with a smashing glass of milk, my dearest friend,” Edwina exclaimed, with a laugh. She moved to the bar and began to pour gin into a glass.
“How kind,” I laughed, making a face. “But, never mind, I’m only teasing. My baby is much more important to me than a cocktail. I’ve never had a martini though. Once the baby comes, I really must try one. Remember when we had our first pink gin together?”
Edwina arched an eyebrow and made a little moue with her mouth. “Such a long time ago, Lady Sophia. I do not believe it was my first, but I may have led you to believe so. I’m no longer that ‘jeune fille’.”
I laughed again. “Martinis are all the rage in America, aren’t they?”
“And on the Continent. Everyone in Paris is drinking them. I don’t want to boast, but I’ve been told that I concoct the world’s perfect martini,” she pronounced, airily.
“Ah... After the baby comes, we’ll toast its arrival,” I smiled.
Edwina poured a glass of milk from a bottle in the small icebox, and we sat in her tiny parlor. It was good to be away from all of the stress and upheaval of the past weeks. “A boy or a girl?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter, as long as the baby is healthy.”
“You do have an actual due date, don’t you?”
“Yes... Oh, yes. August second. It isn’t that far away, Edwina. Have you made arrangements for me to see a physician here?”
“Yes, and he’s supposed to be very fine. Several people recommended him. He speaks English too. You have an appointment in the morning.”
“Perfect. I shall feel better when I’ve established myself with a good medical person. This is all a bit overwhelming.” I placed my hand on my enlarged mid-section.
“Of course it is, Sophia. Nevertheless, everything is prepared. Come, I need to show y
ou where the baby will sleep.” She reached out her hand, and helped me to stand. We walked into one of the three small bedrooms. In the corner was a beautiful bassinet, festooned in white lace. It was exquisite. I was extremely touched that Edwina had gone to such trouble. There was a small table piled with nappies, lotion, and every other necessity one collects in preparation for a birth.
“Edwina! You’ve thought of everything! How wonderful you are. And so organized.”
“I knew there wouldn’t be a lot of time after you arrived. I wanted you to be able to relax as much as possible. After all, this has been the most beastly year for you, in so many ways. I do so want this to be a happy event, in spite of the circumstances.”
I was so choked up, I could scarcely speak, so I simply reached out, put my arms round Edwina, and buried my head on her shoulder. It didn’t take much to make me weep in those days.
***
During the following weeks, I familiarized myself with Edwina’s neighborhood. I did not venture far away from the flat, as I tired easily and had no desire to socialize. Edwina was free from classes for the summer months, so we lazed about, sleeping late and taking our meals at small neighborhood bistros, such as Au Petit Cafe, and La Petite Ivalides. I visited the physician, Dr. Dupree once a week, and felt I was in excellent hands. He pronounced that I was in fine health, and predicted an easy birth. My parents rang once weekly, and I reported upon my lovely, restful visit, keeping them unaware of what was really happening. On 5 August, as Edwina and I were sitting in Au Petit Cafe finishing a lovely meal, I felt cramping in my lower abdomen. There was no doubt what it was.
“Oh... Oh my Gosh, Edwina. I think I’m having a labor pain,” I cried.
“Oh... Oh Goodness, Sophia. Shall I fetch an ambulance?”
“No, no. However, I think we had better return to your flat. I shall ring Dr. Dupree and tell him what’s happening. He’ll tell me what to do.”
We immediately returned to Edwina’s flat, and rang the doctor. Thank goodness, there was not a long delay in reaching him. He was very calm, telling me that he wanted me to time the contractions, and to ring him back when my water broke. Edwina told me to have a lie down, which I gladly did. We proceeded to wait. It seemed an interminable length of time, although in reality it was not. Less than two hours later, I felt a rush of wetness and immediately rang Dr. Dupree again. That time he told me to take a taxicab and meet him at hospital. I had prepared a small travel bag ahead of time, so we were able to depart immediately. There was no difficulty finding a taxi, and while I was anxious to get there, it didn’t seem an unduly long ride. By then the pains were much more intense, and I was growing fearful.
Edwina was a Godsend. She stayed very serene and that, in turn, helped me to keep sane. She checked me in, and the nurse took me by chair to the maternity floor. I was settled into a room, dressed in a white, sterile gown, and the doctor came in. He examined me and said that it would still be awhile. I wanted it to be over at once. However, no matter what I wanted, the baby had its own ideas.
Finally, at three o’clock on the morning of 6 August 1936, I gave birth to a healthy five pound, three ounce baby girl... ‘Isabella Chloe Winnsborough’. From the moment of her arrival, she was the absolute light of my life. She had dark hair and Spence’s gorgeous blue eyes, along with a tiny rosebud mouth. How I wished that I might have shared the joy of her birth with him. When the nurse brought her to me, she was wearing a tiny white baby gown, and her hair had been swirled into a minuscule curl. All of the nurses were raving about how long her lashes were. I reached down and touched her little hand, and Isabella grasped hold of my finger. At that instant, I lost my heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Late November, 1936
A Chance Meeting
Edwina was just as potty over Isabella as I was. Neither of us had much experience with babies, and we exclaimed repeatedly about her extremely tiny size. We examined her from head to toe, remarking about her extraordinary beauty. All of the trials and tribulations of the past months were inconsequential. Isabella was such a miracle, and each time I gazed at her beautiful face, I marveled at the fact that one weekend of passion had resulted in such a perfect little creature.
When we brought her home to Rue Blues, Edwina set about spoiling her unmercifully. Within the first three weeks of her life, she purchased eight tiny dresses, and then set about designing more. I bounced back very quickly, and by September on warm afternoons we took the baby for long walks in a lovely pram that I’d purchased. We would go to the Bois de Boulogne, sit on a bench eating ice cream, and enjoy sounds of children playing. Other mothers were there with their babies, and we compared them to Isabella. Of course, not a single one was as pretty.
No one in England knew of Isabella’s arrival. I wanted to shout from the rooftops that God had blessed me with such a beautiful cherub. I continued to speak to my parents weekly, and as I’d feared, they began to badger me about returning home to have the baby. Finally, Edwina and I put into motion the final chapter of our campaign to ensure that Isabella be shielded from any truths that might cause her future pain. In early September, Edwina rang my parents, telling them that I was in hospital with labor, and that it appeared the baby was going to be born prematurely. Twenty-four hours later, Edwina rang them back and said that Isabella had been born, on 16 September. Of course, Mummy was not at all pleased that her grandchild had been born in France, and proceeded to give Edwina a piece of her mind for not having insisted that I return to England sooner. Edwina handled the entire situation deftly, and by the time I spoke to Mummy she had calmed down considerably. I told her that everything was fine... that I intended to recuperate, allow the baby to gain strength, and then return to England. My family immediately sent two dozen pink roses. Edwina convinced them to send them to the flat, saying that I was sharing a room at hospital, and that it would be rude to put on such a show in front of a stranger. Mummy was infuriated that I was sharing a room, but no matter. That was only a minor blip.
At first, Mummy and Papa were determined to travel to Paris at once to bring Isabella and me home. I was horrified at the mere thought that they might actually do so, and begged them to not even consider such a thing. I told them that everything was wonderful; that I felt splendid, and that all I needed was a bit of time for recuperation before I could travel back to England. In addition, I explained that the baby was definitely too tiny to travel yet. Edwina told them that it would upset me greatly if they were to make such a trip. The protestations finally seemed to satisfy everyone concerned, and I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. There had been such a large number of instances over the past nine months when I’d not been at all certain that everything would work out so well. It had required a great deal of strength not to fall apart at so many junctures. Now, it was over. I had the baby, and Isabella was all that I had imagined she might be.
I lingered on through the fall, and into the start of winter. I’d had no intention of staying such a long time. It irritated my parents no end, but I was always prepared with an answer for them. One of the best was that I had no husband to return to, and that it would depress me greatly to return to England. They didn’t argue about that. In mid-November, I finally began to make plans for my return. Isabella was healthy and robust, but still very small, so I was not overly concerned that anyone would think she looked older than she should. This meant that I still had a couple of weeks left in Paris. Classes had resumed at the end of September, and Edwina had more or less returned to her normal life. I’d not let Isabella out of my sight since her birth, but finally I grew to trust the girl who lived in the flat above Edwina’s…a ballet dancer of Russian extraction, named Kira Brunkow. She was a lovely girl, but I had difficulty communicating with her. Edwina had become quite fluent in French, and she and Kira were able to converse in that language. Edwina, in turn, acted as an interpreter for me. Kira was completely enamored of Isabella and continually begged me to allow her to baby sit. Finally, one night Edwina and
I decided that it was time to re-join the world. Kira offered to sit with Isabella, and I knew that I could trust her. Therefore, I relented and Edwina and I planned an outing. I fed Isabella and placed her in her bassinet. I probably still wouldn’t have left, had the baby not been sleeping soundly. By that time, I had weaned Isabella from nursing, and she was perfectly content with her bottle.
Edwina mixed two of her famous martinis, and I finally sampled one. It was divine. We were feeling marvelously giddy by the time we crawled into a taxicab, and headed to Edwina’s favorite haunt, Les Deux Magots, that well-known café on the corner of Place St. Germain-des-Pres. Seated at a corner table, we settled into the comfortable camaraderie that can only be associated with close friends. Being together again, just the two of us, was nice. We were free, and able to talk at length without the interruption of a baby’s grizzle. We felt young. It had been a long, long time since I’d felt young, though I was still only nineteen. It was obvious that Edwina was very much at home at Deux Magots. The waiters knew her by name and several patrons acknowledged her upon our arrival. This was usual, for Edwina had a way of drawing people to her. It was her joie de vivre... an indefinable charisma that set her apart from others. We ordered a bottle of Pouly Fuisse, and began to chatter and gossip, just as we had at Ashwick Park.
“Sophia, how do you feel now about your decision not to tell Spence about Isabella?” Edwina asked me. “Now that she’s actually here, I’ve wondered if you’ve had misgivings, but haven’t wanted to bring up anything that might upset you.”
“I made the correct decision, Edwina. Not that I don’t still think about him. On the contrary, especially since Isabella’s birth, I think about him constantly.”
Willow Grove Abbey: A Historical World War II Romance Novel (The Somerville Trilogy) Page 16
