In Love and War

by Liz Trenow

  Her heart ached with love and fear for him. All too soon her boy would become an adult, keen to leave home and forge his own way in the world. Thank heavens the war was over and he would not feel he had to fight, like his brother.

  *

  A knock at the door made her stomach lurch. Was it the hotelier, with more bad news? Or, worse, the police come to arrest and deport them? Otto looked up, his face pale in the gloom of the room, his eyes wide as wagon wheels, sensing her fear. She put her finger to her lips.

  The knock came again, louder this time, and then a woman’s voice: ‘Mrs Weber?’

  Martha put on her shoes and smoothed her hair before going to the door, opening it cautiously, just a crack at first. It was the English girl, Ruby.

  ‘May I come in for a moment?’ she asked.

  Martha hesitated, gesturing with a raised finger for the girl to wait. Even now, after the kindness this girl had shown her, she found it difficult to trust anyone.

  ‘Hurry, Otto. Put your book away, tidy up your things.’ She straightened the bed quilt, pulled the bolster into place, threw their scattered shoes and clothing into the wardrobe before returning to the door. She let Ruby in, and closed the door behind her. There was only one chair, and she could hardly invite a stranger to sit on the bed, so the three of them stood, uncomfortably close to each other, in the small space between the bed and the door.

  Ruby began speaking slowly and carefully, in English.

  ‘I think I might have found someone to take you to Langemarck.’

  Heaven be praised. ‘Langemarck?’

  The girl nodded. ‘To find your nephew.’

  ‘Mais . . . ?’ she gestured with hands outstretched, palms raised.

  ‘You know Mr Smith? Freddie?’

  Martha shook her head.

  ‘Englishman. In the bar downstairs?’ The girl mimicked lifting an imaginary drink to her lips, her hands gripping around the handle of a Stein of beer. Now it was clear that she was referring to the rather dishevelled Englishman who seemed to inhabit the hotel bar whose blond eyelashes gave him a slightly disreputable look; the fellow to whom Otto had taken such an immediate dislike. Martha pointed to her own left arm, the one that Freddie had missing.

  ‘That’s the one. He is going to try to find a car or something.’ Ruby gestured driving, with two hands on an imaginary steering wheel. There was no explanation as to how, with this disability, the man might be able to drive, and there was another problem. She held out her palm, touched it with the fingers of the other hand. ‘How much?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I don’t think Freddie wants money. Only for fuel, perhaps.’

  Martha shook her head, not understanding.

  ‘For petrol,’ Ruby tried again. ‘Petroleum.’

  It was the same word in German. God be praised, it might really be happening. Martha smiled, offering her hand. As they touched, for a brief, charged moment, their eyes met. The girl’s, a pale speckled hazel, seemed to radiate the deep sorrow that Martha had sensed when they first met. Of course she, like them all, was only here because she had lost someone. A husband, a brother, a father or a lover?

  Feeling the warmth of the other woman, Martha longed to ask her, to offer her sympathy, to soothe her grief; feeling a surge of that powerful motherly desire that would lead you to give anything, even your own life, if only it could take away your child’s pain.

  The girl smiled back and the sadness was spirited away in that instant, in that moment of mutual friendship and understanding that seemed to breach all barriers of language or national enmity. She’s a survivor, Martha said to herself. She will find happiness in future, just as we will all survive this, and find some kind of happiness, just so long as we remember to show kindness to each other.

  The moment passed, their hands parted. ‘Good. See you tomorrow then.’ Martha thanked her again, said goodbye and closed the door, resting her back against it, eyes closed, dizzy with relief.

  ‘What was all that about, Ma?’ Otto whispered.

  ‘She’s going to help us get to Langemarck.’

  ‘To Heiney’s grave?’

  ‘To Heiney’s grave. At last.’

  ‘How? Who is driving?’

  ‘Does it matter, Otto? At least we are going to get there.’

  ‘I heard her say Freddie. That Englishman from the bar with the creepy eyes?’

  ‘Now you’re being silly. Whatever have his eyes got to do with it? I am sure anything she organises will be perfectly safe.’

  ‘Not with him driving with only one arm it won’t.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Otto, let’s just wait and see, shall we?’ she snapped. ‘We’re going. At last. That’s the most important thing.’

  She sat down heavily on the bed, trying to order her thoughts, and after a few minutes Otto came to join her, sitting close and resting his head on her shoulder. The intimacy of the gesture took her by surprise: it was so long since he’d voluntarily sought physical contact with her. She pulled him to her.

  ‘What is it, mein Liebling?’

  ‘I’m scared, Ma.’

  ‘What of, boy?’ She turned and took his face in her hands. His fear was hardly surprising after the difficult events of the day. She expected him to say he was afraid of the horrible people in this town, or of being driven by a one-armed man. These she could deal with. But what he said instead shook her to the core.

  ‘Of having to live the rest of my life.’

  ‘What do you mean? Now we are at peace there’s so much for you to look forward to.’

  ‘Without Heiney.’ The tears began to well again, in grief for her living son as much as for the dead one. She’d been so focused on her concerns about travelling, of finding a way to get to the grave, that she hadn’t really considered the effect it must be having on Otto.

  ‘Are you worried about seeing Heiney’s grave?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Me too, my darling. But it’s something we have to do, don’t you see? So we can tell him we love him. And say goodbye, properly.’

  ‘I don’t want to say goodbye.’ His voice cracked. ‘I’m scared of knowing, really knowing, that he won’t come back any more. That he’s gone for good.’

  She struggled for words, but failed to find any. All she could hope for was that finding the grave might help both herself and Otto find a way to live the rest of their lives without him.

  21

  ALICE

  In the lobby of the Hotel de la Paix, Cécile Vermeulen took up a wooden mallet and struck the gong hanging from its frame by the reception desk. Five strikes in rapid succession on the beaten brass sent up deep reverberations sufficient to rouse guests from every corner of the hotel. She preferred her customers to arrive for dinner in an orderly fashion: not all at once, which made it stressful in the kitchen, but never late or the food might spoil and her hard work go to waste.

  Fearsomely proud of what she saw as ‘her’ hotel – Cécile was raised in the flat above the historic cafe and helped her parents turn these rooms into chambres d’hôtes before the war – she was now determined to transform it into the premier destination for pilgrims visiting the nearby cemeteries and battlefields. She and Maurice would soon make their fortune, of that she was certain.

  Up in her room, Alice sat huddled in her quilt, sipping from the bottle of brandy that she’d bought as a gift for Julia’s family and chiding herself for feeling so miserable. She’d known Sam was dead, right? Otherwise he’d have been home long ago, stupid. All the telegram had done was to confirm it. She had achieved what she’d set out to do in coming here. All they needed was the photograph finally to confirm his identity and soon enough she would find out where he was buried. Then she would be able to visit, to tell him she loved him, to explain how guilty she felt allowing him to leave, to make her peace.

  Somehow none of this felt like any consolation.

  The sound of the gong made her feel suddenly hungry. She’d missed lunch. Unravelling herself, she went
to the basin to wash her face and hands, making a smile, and then a frown, at herself in the mirror. Both expressions reminded her of Sam, always had, always would. There were so many family likenesses. ‘You’re a part of me,’ she whispered to the reflection. ‘You will be with me for the rest of my life.’

  She shook herself. What you need is a hearty dinner and some cheerful company. There was no answer from Ruby’s door, so she went down to the bar. It was empty. She stood at the doorway, peering across to the cafe. No sign. Then, just as she was resigning herself to dining alone, she heard the squeal of brakes.

  ‘Aleese?’ Daniel looked impossibly dashing at the wheel of his rusty green coupé. ‘Come to Lille with me? I have to deliver some orders.’

  ‘Lille? That’s miles away.’ She didn’t feel ready to see him again, somehow, not after this afternoon’s revelations. It would mean putting on a brave face, being the charming, witty Alice he’d come to expect.

  ‘Only about fifty kays. An hour and a half, perhaps? We’ll get there in time to eat.’ He patted the seat beside him. ‘She’s no Rolls-Royce, but she goes well and it’s a good road once you get away from the battlefields. I just have to drop in to the office, and we can go to my favourite restaurant. What do you think?’

  A dozen doubts flooded her mind but the rumbling of her stomach quickly dismissed them. What better distraction could she ask for than a trip in that car and the promise of dinner with Daniel? ‘Just give me a moment.’

  She raced up to her room and changed into her prettiest dress, the one with the green flowered silk with the flattering lace border around collar and cuffs, and carefully pulled on a clean pair of silk stockings. She reapplied lipstick, powdered her nose, dabbed her neck with eau de cologne and brushed her hair into place. That’ll have to do, she said to herself, pulling in her tummy as she posed in front of the long oval mirror. You may not be eighteen any more, but he’s no spring chicken either.

  She grabbed a scarf and the light green linen jacket that matched the dress so well, and was about to rush downstairs when she remembered Ruby. On a piece of hotel notepaper she wrote a note and pushed it under her door. Out with Daniel. Back later, A.

  *

  For the first few miles he listened quietly, sympathetically, manoeuvring the car around the potholes in the road as she poured out her heart, telling him about this afternoon’s telegram from her father and her devastation on discovering that her hopes of finding her brother alive had been so completely dashed. He was almost certainly dead, and buried who knew where.

  At last she could no longer hold back the tears. He pulled up the car and put his arm around her as she sobbed. ‘My sweet, dear Aleese,’ he murmured. ‘You are so brave to come here and I’m sorry there was not a happier result. But maybe you will find his grave, and that may be some consolation, no?’ After a while she took a few deep breaths, wiped her face and declared that she was okay now.

  He seemed determined to cheer her, as they drove on, recalling their time in Paris and their friends there. He told her what had happened to him and his family during the war, and talked about his work, the people he worked with and his new apartment. She was grateful for the distraction. His girlfriend was never once mentioned. She imagined someone impossibly glamorous, a more mature version of those girls he used to hang around with in Paris: beautiful, languid, fashionably dressed and devastatingly clever. He deserved her.

  *

  Whatever Alice had expected Lille to be like – Brussels, perhaps, or a small version of Paris – was soon replaced by reality.

  ‘Poor devils had a rough time in the war,’ Daniel observed drily, as he steered the car through streets of shelled and fire-damaged buildings. ‘Thank heavens I was in Paris when the Germans rolled in; they didn’t leave till the liberation last November.’

  Even in those streets not obviously damaged by shellfire the buildings appeared in danger of collapse through neglect. Small signs of life – a geranium growing in a window box, washing hung on lines strung across the street, a bowed, black-clad woman sitting on a step – only served to emphasise the struggle that people must have endured.

  ‘It must have been grim, living under German rule,’ she said.

  ‘It was. They took people’s food, furniture and pretty much everything from the shops and factories for their troops. The place was packed with soldiers – most people had Germans billeted in their homes. The starvation was terrible. And the regulations, mon Dieu! My neighbour says they had to have a form for everything, even for travel to another part of the city. People were forced to work in the fields and factories and anyone who got sick was deported. It was miserable.’

  ‘I had no idea,’ Alice said.

  ‘It was not good to be a woman here, either. The orphanages are full of Boche babies.’

  She fell silent, finding it hard to imagine what it must have been like, at the absolute mercy of a brutal, ruthless enemy.

  In the central square – La Grande Place, Daniel called it – the buildings, although in desperate need of repair, seemed relatively untouched by the shelling. It was five in the afternoon and the place was bustling – shops were open and cafes were filled with workers quenching their thirst. Dominating the square was a tall stone tower that reminded Alice of Nelson’s Column in London, only this one was topped with the statue of a woman.

  ‘She’s the Goddess,’ Daniel said, ‘memorial to another war, another occupation long ago. Poor old Lille, she gets it every time.’

  He turned into a side road, pulled up and switched off the engine. ‘My office is just around the corner. I’ll be as quick as I can.’ He tweaked her cheek affectionately and dashed away. As she waited, she repaired her make-up. Brave face, Alice. Allow yourself a little fun. Soon, he was back. ‘Business over. Now, how about that dinner? I’m starving.’

  The restaurant was in a cellar, its low, brick-arched ceiling supported by columns, their table in a corner carefully chosen by Daniel because – she now understood – it was unobserved by other customers. The maître d’hôtel had welcomed him like a long-lost friend, glancing at Alice with the look of someone who understood exactly the nature of their engagement.

  From the menu it was hard to imagine the city had ever suffered food shortages. ‘It’s your country we have to thank for this.’ Daniel explained how American loans to rebuild farm production and the fishing industry were already taking effect.

  ‘You choose for me. Anything but beef stew,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’ve eaten enough of that to last a lifetime.’

  ‘You do not adore our carbonnade?’ He pulled a teasing face. ‘Quel dommage.’

  Black-clad waiters with stiffly starched aprons went about their work with the Belgian formality she’d come to admire, taking seriously the business of good service. He ordered moules for both of them, followed by a carbonnade for him and, for her, lapin à la gueuze.

  ‘I’m not sure I can eat a fluffy bunny with a clear conscience.’

  ‘It’s delicious, you’ll see.’

  When the sommelier arrived Daniel tasted the wine with great seriousness. Once approved, their glasses filled, he raised his. ‘To the memory of your brother.’

  ‘To Sam,’ she said shakily, before taking a long sip. The wine was delicious. She took another.

  ‘Now, let us enjoy our meal. I guarantee you will feel better once you have eaten,’ he said, with a sweet smile.

  After a tentative start, she discovered that she quite enjoyed the mussels, and most of all the delicious cream and wine sauce. Daniel showed her how to use an empty shell to pinch out the chewy orange morsels. It seemed a wonderfully sensual way of eating, although she was grateful for the dish of warm water with a floating slice of lemon, provided for rinsing her hands.

  He refilled her glass several times, ordering another bottle when the main course arrived. The tender flesh of rabbit in its gravy of light beer was a delightful surprise. She watched him as he concentrated on his food, the thick dark hair falling over
his eyes, and wished that this moment would never end. He leaned across the table, taking her hand.

  ‘I am pleased you could confide in me,’ he said. ‘It feels so natural between us, n’est-ce pas?’ He spread her fingers, stroking the sensitive skin between them. It was the most exquisite sensation, resonating up her arm and throughout her whole body. Giddy from the wine, warmed by the good food, weary from her sorrows, it made her feel reckless.

  Poor Sam, his life taken when he was only twenty-one, will never again have the chance to enjoy these pleasures. You only have one life, she said to herself. You might as well live it to the full.

  ‘I suppose we should head back before long. I just have to call in at my apartment to pick up some clean clothes,’ he said as they finished their coffee. ‘Maybe you would like to see it?’ he added, almost as a throwaway.

  In the ladies’ she combed her hair, powdered her shiny nose and reapplied her lipstick. For a fleeting second she saw in the corner of her eye a vision of Lloyd beside her, looking up from his wheelchair like a devoted spaniel. Handsome as he was, he’d never been flirtatious, let alone seductive, and she was almost certain that he, like her, was still a virgin. She recalled their tentative fumblings on the settee after her parents had gone to bed – lots of kissing, heavy breathing and intimate touching – but after his accident even that had become constrained by his self-consciousness about the leg. Her feelings had never come close to the kind of desire that she experienced for Daniel: that melting, overwhelming wave that left her giddy and breathless.

  She turned from the mirror, blinking away the image.

  22

  RUBY

  Ruby called out and knocked again, pressing her ear to the side of the door.

  At last she heard a faint groan. ‘Just having a lie-in. Go without me.’