by Jane Peart
“Nothing that glamorous or exciting, I’m afraid.” She drew a long breath. “Well, if you really want to know. I had always used Tante’s name before I went to France the summer of 1939. My intention was to go to the orphanage where I was brought as a baby and find out about my real parents.”
“And did you?”
Niki shook her head and again stopped as their waitress brought them a pot of tea, two cups and saucers, then went away again. Niki poured and as she did, she wondered how she could explain all this to Fraser. Or why she now agreed that it was important that he know more about her.
“What happened then? I mean, in France?” Fraser asked.
“I went to the orphanage—well, it’s no longer an orphanage, but I thought they would have records or something about who brought me there, so I might be able to trace my real parents.”
“And?” Fraser prompted.
“It wasn’t much help.” Niki shook her head. “The nun in charge told me that after the war there was a lot of confusion. Nobody seemed to know or care much about records and birth certificates. The children just needed shelter, food—”
“Did they tell you anything?”
“She showed me a list of possible last names, one of which was Gilbreaux. But she did not know whether the woman who brought me there was my real mother or a relative or perhaps some kind person who found me abandoned somewhere. That seems to have happened often in those dreadful times. Even if the parents loved their child, they may have had no way to support their little one. Who knows? So you see, I don’t know who I am or where I come from.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Anyway, I decided to use the name Gilbreaux. I thought it would be easier to get into one of the services. That was, of course, before Pearl Harbor and the Americans coming in.”
The waitress came back with their food, and they both realized they were hungry. While they ate toasted cheese sandwiches and tomatoes, they turned to lighter subjects. The waitress suggested fresh apple tart for dessert, and Fraser ordered another pot of tea.
When it came, he filled their cups, then said to Niki, “You know, asking you about yourself was not just idle curiosity. I’m really interested. And from what you’ve told me, I’d say you were one of the lucky ones, to have had someone like Cara to love and want you, give you an obviously wonderful home. Many of the orphans there probably spent most of their childhood in institutions—”
“You’re saying I should be grateful instead of looking for my real parents, changing my name.” Niki’s dark eyes flashed. “But you can’t understand about this emptiness, this not knowing, all the missing pieces. You can’t know how that feels. So telling me how I should feel is pointless.”
“Forgive me.” Contrite, Fraser reached across the table for Niki’s hand. “I only meant that at least you grew up in a home with two parents who loved you, cared for you—”
“I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. Tante and Kip—the Montroses—are wonderful. So is my foster brother, Luc. He’s half French, too, so we understand each other.” She broke off. “I’ve talked enough about myself.”
There was so much more Fraser longed to know about her, but sensing her mood, he decided it would have to wait for another time. It was enough for now. She was the most interesting girl he had ever met. He felt in his heart of hearts that he and Niki Gilbreaux had a lot more to find out about one another, things that had nothing to do with the Montrose family. They were linked in a very different way. But now it was wartime. Everything that had to do with the future had to be postponed. Still, he knew that he and Niki, somewhere down the line, had discoveries to make together.
Fraser’s train was already in the station when they arrived, so there wasn’t much time left together. As Niki stood with him on the platform, Fraser asked, “I want to see you again. Like the song says, where or when?”
“Well, I have to get back to my job.”
“If I come up to London?”
“Sure. If I don’t have duty.”
“I’ll call,” he said. The train whistle gave a warning shriek, but Fraser remained standing, looking down at Niki.
“You’d better hurry,” she said.
Fraser took a few steps away from her, then turned back, and before she could move, he put his hands on her upper arms and drew her close, waited a single second, then leaned down and kissed her. It seemed so natural a thing to do that Niki didn’t even blink but returned his kiss.
“I’ll call!” he said as he started down the platform to the nearest train car. He waved again before swinging aboard.
“Yes, do that!” Niki called back and stood there waving until the train had disappeared down the track. Then she walked slowly back to where she had left the Bentley. It was getting dark as she drove up the road back to Birchfields. The lovely old mansion was silhouetted against the purplish sky. Everything looked the same, but for Niki everything had changed. She felt different. Something strange and wonderful had happened. She wasn’t sure just what … yet.
chapter
17
NIKI HAD TO CATCH an early train the morning after Fraser left, and as she traveled back to WRENS headquarters, she tried to make some sense out of the last few days. The unbelievable connection of their lives, the almost instant camaraderie they had, the ease with which she had been able to talk to him, even to tell him so much about herself, amazed her. Could you get to know someone well enough that quickly to imagine yourself in love? People were always talking about love at first sight. Did that really happen? Or was it just wartime? They said it happened because everyone was desperate to grab whatever happiness they could while they could. But Niki hadn’t felt that way. She just wanted the war to be over, for France to be free again, so she could go back, pick up her search to find her real parents.
Fraser had made her realize how lucky she was to have been brought up in such a loving family. She had never actually compared her good fortune with the fate of the other babies who had been brought to the orphanage at the same time she had. What had become of them? Where were they now?
Niki shivered and shifted her cramped position in the crowded compartment of the train. She looked around her at the other men and women in uniform. What would happen to them, to us all? she wondered. And to her and Fraser, who out of the strangest of coincidences in this crazy, mixed-up world had found each other?
Elly was lying on her bunk reading when Niki came into their quarters. She looked up from her book and stared at Niki curiously. “What’s happened to you?”
“What do you mean? I just spent nearly four uncomfortable hours on a train and then a bus, that’s what happened to me,” Niki replied wearily, dropping her duffel bag and sinking down on the bunk opposite.
“No, not that…. There’s something different about you.” Elly looked puzzled.
Niki almost said, “I’m in love.” But she didn’t have a chance, because Elly yawned and said, “You’re to report to Officer Brimley, first thing.”
“Now?”
“Now.” Elly returned to her book.
Niki grabbed a quick cup of strong tea, laced heavily with sugar to give her some much needed energy, before reporting to her superior.
As she entered the office, Officer Brimley glanced up briefly from whatever she was writing. Frowning, she acknowledged Niki’s salute, then continued filling out what looked to Niki like a long requisition sheet. Finally she raised her head and gave Niki a measuring look.
“We have received a communiqué stating you may qualify for a special assignment,” Officer Brimley said briskly. “You are granted a two-day pass to go to London for an interview with Colonel Thornton. You are to leave as soon as you can arrange transportation.”
Niki blinked. “That’s all, ma’am?”
“That’s all.” Officer Brimley’s lips closed in a firm line, and she handed Niki a slip of paper.
Niki had been in the service long enough to know that one was given only necessary information, no
more. “Yours is just to do or die.” Still, she was full of curiosity. What did this mean? What kind of special assignment?
She still felt stiff, sandy-eyed, from her trip. Now she was supposed to turn around and go back to London.
Niki arrived in London an hour earlier than her appointment and had time for a quick cup of tea and a few biscuits at the station tearoom before reporting to the address she was given. It was a plain office building with no indication of what it housed. She gave her name at the receptionist’s desk in the front hall and was taken upstairs and into an office. Behind a large desk were two army officers, who rose to their feet at her entrance. Niki was so astonished that she forgot to salute as she had been taught in basic training.
What followed was even more strange. One of the officers, a man with rugged features, an outdoorsy complexion, and a gray mustache, introduced himself. “I’m Colonel Thornton. This is Captain Strawn.” He indicated the officer standing to his right. “We appreciate your coming. You are probably asking yourself just why you have been singled out.” He paused. “We understand you speak and comprehend French fluently. We are looking for bilinguals, because of the present situation in France.”
An hour later Niki left the office, went down the stairs and back into the hallway. Just as she was about to push through the outside doors, something caused her to halt, look back over her shoulder. It was then that something stopped her cold. Coming out one of the doors behind her was a man who seemed familiar. Niki didn’t recognize the blue gray uniform he was wearing; however, he was deep in conversation with a British officer. As they walked together down the hall toward her, she saw that the officer was Captain Strawn, who had excused himself and left during her interview.
Niki stood there, her hand on the door handle, ready to walk outside. The closer they approached, the surer she became. His name formed itself on her lips and she was about to call it out, when he lifted his head and their gaze met. It lasted only a split second, for he whirled around abruptly and started walking back down the hall. The officer with him looked startled, then glanced over at Niki and followed the other man more slowly until he caught up with him at the end of the corridor. They both disappeared into the door of an office.
Niki was bewildered. Her brain signaled that she had not been mistaken. The man with Captain Strawn was Paul Duval. She was sure it was he. What was he doing in London? Why had he not contacted her? But then, she hadn’t heard a word from him since that last night at Birchfields, the night they had danced on the terrace and he had kissed her…. The romantic aura of that evening seemed in stark contrast to the reality of this austere building, London at war. Had he seen her? If so, why had he turned around and gone in the other direction as if … as if what? Was he avoiding her? Avoiding being seen and recognized? But why? She gave her head a little shake as if to clear it. She went out and walked a few blocks. It was Paul. She knew it was Paul.
Niki stopped short. She was walking in the wrong direction. She should be going toward Victoria station to catch her train. She reversed herself, still lost in thought. What was Paul doing in that building? She had taken an oath of silence about the purpose of her interview, because the attempt to enlist bilingual people to set up radio contacts in occupied France was top secret. Did Paul have something to do with that? Was Paul part of the French Resistance, here in London on some secret mission?
Suddenly Niki felt a hundred years old. This was not the exciting adventure she had at first imagined. Stories were surfacing every day of Nazi occupation, of atrocities, of torture and betrayals. With certainty she knew Paul was involved in this underground movement against the oppressors.
She thought of the studied politeness of her interview. After questioning her at some length, Colonel Thornton had said, “Well, we are grateful for your coming, for your candor in replying to all our inquiries into your personal life. You are, however, quite young, and this is a great responsibility, requiring much thought and intensive training of a very different sort from what you’ve undergone in the WRENS. I have given you a cursory overview of what would be demanded of someone in this unit. I advise you to think it over very carefully. We will certainly keep your name on file.”
He had been courteous but dismissive, and Niki left, subdued and uncertain. Had she bitten off more than she could chew? Would she be up to it if—and that was a big if—they called her back, accepted her for this secret mission? Then Niki remembered what had happened to her at Saint Paul’s Cathedral, her new commitment to seek God’s guidance, her new conviction that he would give it if she asked.
chapter
18
THREE WOMEN OBSERVED Luc Montrose’s arrival as his small English sports car swerved into the graveled circle in front of Birchfields. One was his Great Aunt Garnet, standing at the diamond-paned windows of the library. The other two, Alair Blanding and Cilla Ridgeway, looked from an upstairs bedroom window, partially hidden by the chintz curtains. They leaned on the sill, watching him as he parked the red Austinmini, then unfolded his long, lean body out of the car. He stood for a minute, running his hand through his dark, wind-tousled hair, before reaching back and retrieving his cap from the seat. He put it on, adjusted the tunic of his U.S. Air Force officer’s uniform, and in a few quick strides took the terraced steps of the sprawling Tudor mansion.
The cousins exchanged an approving glance. One girl let out a long, low whistle, rolling her eyes dramatically. The other affected a swoon, sighing. Then they both laughed. They had been curious to meet this young man they had heard so much about from Niki. His photograph was among those in Aunt Garnet’s “rogues gallery,” as she called the silver-framed family pictures displayed on the piano in her upstairs sitting room. Most of them lived in Virginia, where the girls’ step-grandmother Druscilla also lived.
From his adopted sister they had heard that Luc was handsome and charming. Was he also as reckless and headstrong as his father, Kip, the fabled WWI ace?
Alair and Cilia had grown up in England, but because of the American connection, they were always curious about that branch of the family. Since Aunt Garnet had begun having her open weekends for servicemen at the nearby army base, they came to help with the hostessing. As Cilia quipped, “Tough duty, but someone’s got to do it!” They enjoyed the flattering attention showered on them by the British servicemen, but since the United States had come into the war, a smattering of Americans training in the area also came to the dances and buffets. Alair had graduated from the Swiss finishing school they had both attended and was teaching at the improvised kindergarten started for some of the London refugee children now posted in various homes in the county. Due to the war, Cilia had not been able to return to Switzerland and was now completing her education at an English girls’ school in Kent. Cilia was champing at the bit to enlist in any of the women’s service organizations. Volunteering to be hostesses for the weekend events was a “war work” both girls enjoyed tremendously. It required little else than to be gracious and dance well, skills they both had in abundance.
“Shall we go down now or wait until Aunt Garnet calls us?” Alair asked, going over to the dressing table and fluffing her golden hair.
Cilia pulled a comical face. “I don’t know. Perhaps we’d better go on our own, appear casual.”
Alair checked her wristwatch. “It’s almost teatime. It would seem perfectly natural for us to go down now, don’t you think?” She couldn’t understand her own timidity about meeting this American cousin. Well, not really a cousin. He was actually their step-grandmother Druscilla’s cousin or half cousin or something like that!
A half hour later, sitting across the room from Luc, Alair had to admit he was every bit as handsome and charming as Niki had told them. What he was really like under his assured personality and keen sense of humor, she intended to find out. When introduced, he had greeted them both with the kind of ease attributed to well-bred Southerners. His was the more casual type of good manners compared with that of the young Engli
shmen she knew. And she found it very attractive.
After about fifteen minutes of general conversation, Aunt Garnet excused herself, explaining, “We’re shorthanded these days as to the household staff, Luc. The younger people have all gone into various branches of the service. My cook, Mrs. Beasley, takes an afternoon nap and sometimes sleeps through teatime. So I’d better go see if things are ready.” She got up from her chair. “Poor soul, she’s getting on in years so….”
At this remark Alair and Cilla exchanged a glance. Aunt Garnet, over one hundred years old, never considered herself as “getting on in years.” Truly she was a marvel.
Leaving the young people chatting as if they’d known each other forever and had not grown up on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Garnet went out to the kitchen. Over the years she had acquired the English custom of late afternoon tea and now looked forward to it. It was usually just a light snack when she was here alone, but now with Luc and the girls here with their youthful appetites, she wanted to make sure there were plenty of tiny sandwiches, freshly made currant scones, to serve. With so many shortages due to wartime rationing, they were lucky to be in the country, where eggs and butter from nearby farms were readily available. Although doing without such things was not all that much of a sacrifice. Surely, she’d learned to do without a great many more important things during the War between the States. What an awful time that had been at Montclair, when she, Dove, and their children had been left to manage while their husbands were off fighting. But why dwell on that? Garnet scolded herself. She pushed those unpleasant memories to the back of her mind, something that over the years she had learned to do quite skillfully. “Live in the moment” had become her byword. In life there was too much pain, sorrow, loss, that came to you without anticipating it.
