A Fire Sparkling

by MacLean, Julianne

  Vivian peered into the front parlor. She was about to run upstairs to change into something fresh for when Theodore arrived home from work, but Mrs. Hansen came bounding up the stairs from the kitchen in the basement.

  “Mrs. Gibbons?” she said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I’m so glad you’re back. I wasn’t sure what to do.”

  “What do you mean?” Vivian replied. “Did something happen?”

  The woman was white as a sheet, which sent a ripple of fear down Vivian’s spine. Was Theodore all right?

  “It’s nothing terrible,” Mrs. Hansen said, reassuringly. “In fact, it’s quite good news, but I think you’ll be surprised.”

  The whole world went quiet for a few seconds. Somehow, as if by telepathy, Vivian knew exactly what Mrs. Hansen was about to say.

  “Is it April?”

  “Yes. She rang from your father’s shop while you were at your appointment, and I gave her this address. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Of course it’s all right! Is she here?”

  “Yes, she arrived about twenty minutes ago. I nearly fell over when I opened the door, because she looks so much like you, Mrs. Gibbons. In fact, I thought she was you.”

  Vivian nearly collapsed with relief, because she hadn’t heard a word from her sister in months. Vivian had done everything humanly possible to reach April, and Theodore had done what he could as well, but it was as if April had simply vanished from the face of the earth.

  Recently, Vivian had begun to consider the possibility that April might be dead or locked up in a German prison somewhere, simply for being British. Theodore had been the one to mention such a thing, but somehow, deep down in her core, Vivian always knew that April was alive.

  Tears of happiness sprang to her eyes. “I can’t believe it. Where is she?”

  “She was tired and wished to lie down, so I put her in the green guest bedroom.” Mrs. Hansen took the bouquet of flowers from her.

  “Thank you so much.” Vivian darted up the stairs. She ran all the way to the third floor and knocked on the door.

  “Come in!”

  The sound of her sister’s voice swept over Vivian like a breath of heaven. She turned the knob and pushed the door open, and there, sitting up in the bed, was her twin—the other half of her soul, from whom she had so foolishly parted in anger eighteen months earlier.

  “April. My God.” Her voice trembled. “I can’t believe it.”

  April tossed the covers aside, leaped from the bed, and dashed into Vivian’s arms. They clung to each other tightly and wept and laughed and kissed each other’s tears away.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” April sobbed.

  “Me too. Please don’t ever leave like that again. I couldn’t bear it! I’m so happy you’re back. But where were you? I called Angelique in Bordeaux last fall, and she said you’d gone to Germany.”

  They managed to stop crying, wiped their tears away, and stepped apart.

  “Yes,” April replied, “but didn’t you get my letters? I wrote to you as soon as I got there. I sent the letters to the shop.”

  Vivian shook her head. “No, I didn’t get any letters, and neither did Papa. I called repeatedly and asked him, and I even went there once, because I was so desperate, and I didn’t trust him to tell me the truth. I searched through the flat when he was at the pub, but I didn’t find anything. Either way, it doesn’t matter now. You’re here, and I’m so happy because I was so afraid you might be dead.”

  “Good heavens, no.” April sat down on the edge of the mattress. “I’m not dead. Although I might as well be. I don’t think I’ve ever been so miserable. It feels like my life is over.”

  Vivian frowned with bewilderment. “What are you talking about? Aren’t you happy to be home?”

  “Of course I’m happy,” April replied in a somewhat crestfallen voice, lowering her gaze to the floor.

  Vivian noticed dark circles under April’s eyes and a conspicuous lack of color in her lips. She moved a little closer. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, traveling across enemy territory. Did you go through Paris? Were there swastikas everywhere?”

  “Yes, I went through Paris,” she replied, “and there were swastikas and tanks and German soldiers patrolling the streets. The feeling in the city was nothing like it was when we used to go there with Maman. I remember music in the streets and flowers blooming in the parks, but this time it was very bleak, and I’m still sick over some of the things I saw. It was awful, Vivian. But I don’t want to talk about that. Not today. Please don’t ask me.”

  With a sinking feeling in her heart, Vivian sat down beside April. “You must have been very frightened.”

  “Yes. I was worried for the people of Paris, but I always felt safe myself. Because I was with Ludwig.”

  Vivian felt a stirring of unease. “Ludwig . . . is he the man Angelique mentioned? The German fellow you fell in love with?”

  “Yes, and I can only imagine what you must be thinking. But I need you to understand that I was happy with him, and I didn’t want to leave him. I would have stayed in Paris, even under the Germans, but he forced me to go. And if it weren’t for this stupid war, I would still be with him.”

  Vivian fought to restrain her exasperation. “It’s not a stupid war, April. We can’t let Hitler do whatever he wants and take whatever he wants, because he’ll come for us next. Someone has to stand up to him. And please remember that you’re English, and I hope that’s where your loyalty lies.”

  April pressed her hand to her forehead. “Oh God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I love England, and I don’t mean to suggest that this war is not important. I agree with you that Hitler is a tyrant, and I can’t bear to think of all the lives that will be lost because of him. That’s what I meant by stupid.”

  Vivian let out a breath of relief. “I see. Well then, yes. I resent it too. I wish it weren’t happening.”

  April slid beneath the covers and rested her head on the pillow. “I’m also sorry that my letters didn’t reach you. I didn’t mean to worry anyone. When you didn’t write back, I assumed it was because you were still angry with me for leaving. But I didn’t give up. I kept writing to you.”

  “I wish I’d received them. It would have spared me a lot of heartache.”

  April nodded. “When Britain declared war, I knew right away that I should come home, but I just couldn’t leave him. Now I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my body.”

  As Vivian held her sister’s hand, she felt her heartbreak like a tangible thing. It was obvious that April truly loved this man, whoever he was, and Vivian understood. She couldn’t imagine how she would cope if she were ever forced to leave Theodore behind.

  But Theodore was English.

  Vivian had so many questions for her sister that she didn’t know where to begin.

  She started by ringing for tea.

  “So, tell me about this man you married while I was gone,” April said while they waited for Mrs. Hansen to bring up a tray. “Papa said he’s someone very important. A cabinet minister.”

  “He’s the deputy minister of supply, so he helps to manage weapons production.”

  “Bombers as well?”

  “No, that’s handled by the Ministry of Aircraft Production now.” Vivian leaned closer and spoke softly. “But just between us, sometimes they step on each other’s toes.”

  April chuckled softly. “That is bound to happen when men take charge of things. Papa also said that your husband comes from an important family, that he’s the son of an earl. I didn’t believe it when he told me. I thought he was having me on. Is it true, Vivian?”

  “Yes, but he’s a second son, so he won’t inherit the title. That will go to his older brother, Henry.”

  April sat forward and smiled. “How exciting. Tell me everything. How did you meet him? And what’s his family like? They must be very grand. Do they have a giant estate in the country, and do they go on foxhu
nts with hounds? Have you learned to ride a horse?”

  “No,” Vivian replied with a laugh. “I’m afraid it’s not quite as romantic as all that. Theodore’s family wanted him to marry the daughter of a duke, and when he told them he wanted to marry me—a shopgirl of questionable breeding who sings in nightclubs—they were not at all pleased. So I’ve never even met them.”

  “Never met them?” April waved a hand dismissively through the air. “Then I say you’re better off, because they sound like a bunch of hoity-toity snobs to me. They’re not good enough to lick your boots.”

  Vivian couldn’t help but giggle. “It’s so good to have you back. I missed you so much.”

  “I missed you too.”

  They squeezed each other’s hands.

  “Now tell me everything about your life,” Vivian said. “You’re such a world traveler. I’m desperate to know about Ludwig. All Angelique told me was that you’d left the cabaret to go with him to Germany, but that was before war was declared. Who is he? How did you meet him?”

  April sighed wistfully. “Well . . . I’ll tell you this much. He is the most incredible man I’ve ever known. The first moment our eyes met, I knew we were destined to be together and that I was going to love him for the rest of my life.”

  There was a part of Vivian that wanted to take hold of her sister and shake her, because it was so like April to fall head over heels for a man without knowing the first thing about him. April was a creature of passion. She didn’t always think things through in a meticulous fashion or exercise caution. She simply leaped, fearlessly, when the wind was at her back.

  “Where did you meet him?” Vivian asked.

  April raised an eyebrow. “Where do you think? The cabaret in Bordeaux. I was singing one night, and he watched me very intently the entire time. I felt his eyes on me, and I could barely concentrate. And he was so impossibly handsome—tall and fair haired with a square jaw and the most hypnotic blue eyes I’d ever seen. When I took a break, he found me at the bar and told me that I made him believe in heaven. The poor man was struggling to speak French to me, and his French was terrible.” She laughed at the memory. “Finally, I put him out of his misery and responded in English. He was relieved, because his English was quite good. But we could only speak for a few more minutes before I had to return to the microphone.”

  Vivian sat forward, feeling invigorated. “That’s so strange! It’s exactly how Theodore and I met. I was singing at the Savoy, and he approached me at the bar during one of my breaks.”

  “Really?” April’s eyes glimmered with excitement. “You and I were always reflections of each other, weren’t we? I read something about that once, that twins who were separated ended up having uncanny similarities in their lives. There was once a set of twins who were separated at birth, and later, when they were reunited, they found out that they both fell down the stairs at the age of fifteen. Isn’t that remarkable?”

  “Yes, but it could have been a coincidence,” Vivian replied.

  “Or not.” April sat back again.

  They smiled at each other with sisterly affection.

  Mrs. Hansen knocked on the door and entered with a tray of biscuits and a pot of tea.

  “I’m sorry that we don’t have much to offer,” Vivian explained as soon as Mrs. Hansen left them alone again. “The rationing started last January, and sugar is a luxury now—unless we eat in a restaurant. They don’t have the same rules as everyone else.” She picked up the teapot and poured two cups. “Whenever I have the chance, I always order crème brûlée.”

  “Maman’s favorite.”

  “Yes.”

  April reached for her teacup. “But surely your husband must have resources, being an aristocrat?” she politely inquired.

  Vivian shook her head. “His father doesn’t give him anything—not a single farthing—and Theodore’s very honest and honorable. He would never take advantage of his position. So we do our best to live frugally on his salary at the ministry. And we only let his house. We don’t own it, but it’s close to where he works, so he doesn’t have to worry about transportation. It’s a five-minute walk from here along Victoria Embankment.”

  “How lovely,” April said, raising her teacup to her lips. “Is that where the Ministry of Aircraft Production is as well?”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest.”

  April set her cup down in the saucer.

  “So, tell me more about your German fellow,” Vivian said. “What happened after you met him at the cabaret?”

  April placed her tea on the bedside table and readjusted the pillows so that she could sit more comfortably. “Well, this is the part that made it seem like destiny. I was wandering through an outdoor antique market the day after he saw me sing, and I found the most darling little set of matching his-and-hers sea chests. The antique seller explained that they had been across the Atlantic and back on a French Navy ship during the Napoleonic wars. They belonged to an admiral and his wife. I fell completely in love with them, but when I asked the price, they were far too dear. I couldn’t possibly afford them, so I asked how much it would be for just one, but the seller refused to split up the set. That’s when Ludwig appeared, as if he’d stepped out of a dream, because I’d been fantasizing about him since the night before, and there he was. My heart went wild when he smiled at me. My belly did flips and cartwheels, and I’m sure I must have blushed the color of a ripe tomato.”

  “Then what happened?” Vivian asked, sitting forward slightly.

  “He offered to buy me the sea chests, but I couldn’t possibly accept such a gift, but he insisted. He bought the set, and after we walked out of the seller’s tent, he gave one to me, doing exactly what the seller had refused to allow, for he was splitting them up. When I pointed that out to him, he told me that the set would remain intact if I became his friend and if we never lost touch with each other. That was the moment I knew that we would always be together—connected as if by an invisible thread from my heart to his.”

  Vivian had been enjoying her sister’s narrative, until April spoiled it with her inflated romanticism. Nevertheless, it was a lovely story. There was something sweet about it.

  “I brought the sea chest with me,” April said, tossing the covers aside. “Would you like to see it?”

  “Absolutely.” Vivian watched her sister slide out of the bed and pad across the oak floorboards to the dressing room. She returned with something that resembled a miniature treasure chest, like something out of a pirate story.

  Vivian rose to take a closer look. “It’s beautiful. No wonder you fell in love with it.” She ran her finger over the metal bands and the polished brass plate, engraved with a lady in a Regency gown and bonnet, holding a parasol.

  “Ludwig’s matching chest has the same brass plate above the lock,” April explained, “except his has a gentleman with a top hat.” April set the box down on the table in front of the window overlooking the street. “But there’s something even more special about it. Watch this.”

  She turned the key and opened the lid to reveal a lining of rose-colored satin. There was some jewelry and a few tightly rolled silk scarves inside. April pushed the scarves aside to reveal a button, which she slid sideways with her thumb.

  Click. A drawer popped open on the outside.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “My goodness,” Vivian replied. “It has a secret compartment.”

  “Yes, and I have something else in here that I want to show you, but I need to know that I can trust you with it.”

  Vivian regarded her sister with apprehension, because the country was at war, everyone was suspicious of everyone, and secrets could be dangerous things.

  April proceeded without waiting for a response, as if she couldn’t possibly imagine a world in which she couldn’t trust her twin sister. She pulled a small ribbon that lifted a false bottom in the drawer and withdrew some photographs. Facing Vivian, as if to draw out the suspense, she held them close to her he
art.

  “This is Ludwig, but I had to hide these when I entered the country, because I was afraid I wouldn’t be allowed in if anyone saw them.”

  Vivian’s pulse quickened. “Why?”

  April didn’t answer the question. She simply held out the photographs.

  Vivian flipped through them and felt sick to her stomach. “He’s wearing a Nazi uniform.”

  “Yes. But he’s not like the rest of them. He’s a good man, Vivian.”

  Vivian frowned. “But he’s a Nazi. What is he? Gestapo? Or is he in the SS? Do you even know what the SS has been doing? Do you know about the Kristallnacht—the riots that happened, where Nazi gangs rampaged through Jewish neighborhoods?”

  “Of course I know about that,” April replied testily, snatching the photographs back. “I thought it was a terrible thing, and so did Ludwig. You need to know that not all Germans are like those men. They’re not all evil, despite what British propaganda is telling you. And Ludwig isn’t in the SS or Gestapo. He’s in the Wehrmacht. That’s different. He’s a lieutenant in the ground forces, and it’s a very important job. He’s absolutely brilliant at it.”

  Vivian watched her sister place the photographs back under the false bottom of the drawer and push it closed.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said. “And I can’t believe you showed these to me. That you seem so proud of them.”

  April faced her confidently. “I am proud of them, because he’s a hero. He has medals for bravery and—”

  Vivian held up a hand. “Please stop. I don’t think I want to hear anymore, and if you have any brains in your head, you’ll burn those pictures and forget about this man, and we can pretend that you never shared any of this with me. It didn’t happen.”

  April’s eyes narrowed, and she frowned. “I thought you’d understand, Vivian. I’m disappointed that you don’t. And I’m not burning these pictures.” She circled around the foot of the bed to where she had kicked off her shoes earlier. They had landed haphazardly under the dressing table.