In Love and War (37 page)

They walked arm in arm through the dusty streets. Paris had changed little as far as Elsie could see, although Marianne said there had been air raids earlier in the year. It might be a city virtually under siege but Paris wore its scars with pride and the people who thronged the streets exuded an air of stubborn resilience. It was all in stark contrast to the devastation and destruction that Elsie had seen in the villages surrounding the battlefields.

Marianne produced a key from her handbag and let them into the Bellaires' apartment on the first floor. Elsie had thought that Felicia's flat was the height of luxury, but entering the Bellaires' Paris home was like stepping into another world. The entrance hall must, she thought, have been inspired by the architecture of the Palace of Versailles, and no expense could have been spared. Ormolu sconces were placed at intervals on walls covered in pale green silk damask, and a huge crystal chandelier sent prisms of light dancing on the ceiling. Her feet sank into the thick pile of the Aubusson carpet, which was patterned with delicate pink and cream flowers, and the air was redolent with the scent of white lilies spilling out of a Sèvres vase. Elsie tried to look casual as she followed Marianne into the drawing room, which was equally magnificent, with its Louis Quinze furniture and tall windows draped in rose velvet with opulent swags and tasselled tie-backs.

Marianne tossed her straw hat onto a chair and dropped her handbag onto a side table. ‘Make yourself at home, Elsie.'

Elsie glanced down at her khaki uniform and serviceable lace-up boots. ‘I feel a bit out of place here, Marianne. Maybe I should find a cheap hotel nearby.'

‘Nonsense, old thing. Don't talk such rot.' Marianne picked up a silver cigarette box and lifted the lid. ‘Do you smoke? I know you didn't before the war, but everything changes.'

Elsie shook her head. ‘No. I tried it once, but I didn't think much of it to be honest.'

Marianne perched on the edge of a spindly-legged sofa and reached for a match holder. She lit her cigarette and sat back, inhaling deeply. ‘Do sit down, Elsie. You look as though you're waiting for a bus.'

Elsie took off her forage cap and sat down gingerly on one of the dainty chairs. ‘It's like being in a museum. I'm afraid to touch anything.'

‘You'll get used to it. The Bellaires have oodles of money even allowing for the war and everything.' Marianne blew smoke rings at one of the three chandeliers in the room. ‘Smoking calms the nerves, or at least that's what I was told.'

Elsie gave her a searching look. ‘You said there was something you had to tell me. What is it?'

Marianne hesitated for a moment, frowning. ‘You were rather keen on Henri, as I remember.'

‘I never said so. What gave you that idea?'

‘I know you so well, darling. Anyway, you're absolutely transparent, like a sheet of glass. You used to blush every time he spoke to you . . .'

‘All right,' Elsie said hastily. ‘So I liked him rather a lot. What's that got to do with anything? I'm with Guy now, and I love him.'

‘Really? You're in love with dear old Guy, the sweetest, kindest, most boring man in the War Office?'

‘That's not fair. He's not boring when you get to know him. He's shy and sensitive but he's got a wonderful sense of humour and he's terribly brave.'

Marianne held up her hand. ‘Sorry I spoke, but you must admit you weren't smitten on your first date.'

‘It wasn't a date exactly. He took me to Hackney to a Christmas Eve party for the Belgian refugees.'

‘My point, darling. That wasn't the most exciting way to begin a relationship.'

‘You're impossible,' Elsie said with a reluctant smile. ‘I was a bit smitten by Henri in those days. Who wouldn't be?'

‘I agree, but what made you fall for dear old Guy? Or were you just sorry for him? You must have spent a long time in his company while you were making your way home and having all those adventures you told me about over lunch today.'

‘I got to know him, Marianne. That's the difference. I stopped pining for someone I knew I could never have, and I began to see what a truly wonderful person Guy is.'

‘Well, I'm happy for you, and it makes what I have to say next so much easier.' Marianne stubbed her cigarette out in an onyx ashtray. ‘Because Henri is here, only thankfully he's spending the day at the bank, which has given me time to prepare you.'

‘Prepare me for what? What are you talking about, Marianne?'

‘I suppose it doesn't matter now, but when you turned up unexpectedly the first thing that came to my mind was how you would react when you found out that Henri and I have an understanding, as Aunt Josephine would put it.'

‘You're engaged to Henri?'

‘Not officially.' Marianne's eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Actually we're getting married tomorrow. Nobody knows anything about it, not even his father.'

‘Getting married?' Elsie stared at her, dazed with shock. ‘But you don't go in for long relationships. You told me so at lunch. That's so unfair on Henri.'

‘This is different, darling. Henri and I practically grew up together.'

‘Yes. You always said you were like brother and sister.'

Marianne trilled with laughter. ‘That's all changed, and I realised that I've always loved him. He feels the same.' She leaned forward, her expression suddenly serious. ‘You aren't upset, are you, Elsie? I know you said you've fallen for Guy, but you don't still have feelings for Henri, do you?'

Elsie stood up and went to sit beside Marianne, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘What I felt for Henri was something like a schoolgirl crush. It was always a dream and I got over him ages ago. If this is what you really want then I'm happy for you.'

Marianne gave her a quick hug and then pulled away. ‘I don't usually embrace females but I make an exception in your case. You really are like a sister to me, Elsie, and I'm glad you've taken it like this.'

‘And you're getting married tomorrow? Why the sudden rush? You're not . . .'

‘How could you think such a thing?'

‘Sorry, but why deprive his parents of their only son's wedding? They approve of you, don't they?'

‘Of course they do. It's just that Henri has a few days' leave and this awful war is dragging on. Who knows when it will end, and we've got used to living for the moment. It just seems that the time is right for us now, so we're having a civil ceremony in the town hall.'

‘I thought you'd want a white wedding and a huge reception.'

Marianne smiled ruefully. ‘I might have done before the war, but it doesn't matter to me now. Anyway, Henri is a Catholic and I'm supposed to be Church of England, so that rather rules out a religious ceremony.'

‘Has this got something to do with your father and his visit? He told me that your mother had died and I'm so sorry, Marianne.'

Marianne rose to her feet and went to the window to gaze down at the street. ‘I didn't see much of my parents while I was growing up, but that didn't make me love them any the less. I suppose I thought they were a permanent fixture and one day they'd take over Darcy Hall and we'd be a family again.' She turned her head to look at Elsie. ‘Is it wrong to want to belong to someone and have a family of my own?'

‘Of course not, and I'm sure that Monsieur and Madame Bellaire will forgive you and that your father will understand.'

‘Thanks, Elsie. I'm so glad you're here.'

‘Me too.'

‘We must find you something else to wear. I won't have my chief bridesmaid looking like a sack of coal, even if it is wartime.'

‘But Marianne . . .'

‘No buts, darling. I've got a wardrobe filled with haute couture clothes. Some of them I bought in Red Cross sales and Selene has been terribly generous. It's lucky we're the same size and what suits me also looks good on you.' She marched over to the sofa and dragged Elsie to her feet. ‘I haven't had so much fun since we changed clothes while we were at the Merchant's House.'

‘I'm not swapping places with you this time, Marianne Winter. You're the one who's going to marry Henri, not me.'

Marianne's wardrobe was impressive. In fact it was a whole room dedicated to clothes, shoes and accessories, and her bedroom was as opulent as the rest of the apartment. They spent the afternoon going through the racks of gowns with Marianne selecting the ones she thought suitable and insisting that Elsie should try them on, ignoring her protests and a request for something simpler.

Standing in front of the cheval mirror with her shoulders drooping, Elsie studied her reflection. ‘I look a complete fright in this, Marianne.' She plucked at the eau de Nil silk.

‘That's one of my favourites,' Marianne protested. ‘Stand up straight and don't slouch.' She circled round Elsie. ‘Perhaps you're right, but I can't understand why this one doesn't suit you. I look wonderful in it, or so I've been told.'

Elsie stepped out of the gown and replaced it on the hanger. ‘I'm too skinny for a dress like that, and I'm as weather-beaten as a navvy.'

‘You are a bit too slim,' Marianne said reluctantly. ‘It's quite fashionable these days, but you need feeding up, my girl.'

Elsie stared at the pile of discarded gowns that Marianne had tossed onto a chair. ‘Do I have to dress up? It is wartime, and my uniform is quite clean. It just needs ironing.'

Marianne uttered a shriek of dismay. ‘I'm not turning up at the church with you looking like a prison wardress.' She seized a cream tussore dress. ‘This is one that Selene gave me. I've never worn it because it's a bit tight over the bosom, but it should fit you.'

‘This is the last one,' Elsie said, holding up her arms so that Marianne could slip it over her head. ‘If this one doesn't look right . . .' She stared at the young woman who gazed back at her from the mirror. ‘Oh, my goodness. I look so different.'

‘That's the one.' Marianne stood back, arms akimbo. ‘I have perfect taste, and you look absolutely splendid. Now let's find a hat that goes with it and some gloves, and shoes. You can't tramp down the aisle behind me wearing those ghastly boots.'

An hour later, wearing one of Marianne's less formal outfits consisting of a navy-blue skirt and a white blouse with a sailor collar, Elsie was able to relax a little even though the chair in the drawing room had a slippery seat and she was afraid she might make the wrong move and slide to the floor. She sipped tea from a bone china cup.

‘I thought the French only drank coffee,' she murmured as the maid left the room.

‘I had to teach Cook how to make tea,' Marianne said airily. ‘I have some sent from Fortnum's every month, although it's become ridiculously expensive. It's my one extravagance, so don't look at me like that, Elsie.'

‘The western world is falling apart and you have a maid and a cook at your disposal. I can't believe it.'

‘I don't employ them, darling. My future father-in-law lives up to his old standard and who am I to quibble?' Marianne reached for the silver teapot and refilled her cup. She was suddenly alert as she put the pot back on the tray. ‘That sounds like Henri. He must have come home early.' She glanced anxiously at Elsie. ‘Are you ready for this?'

Elsie's hand shook as she put her cup and saucer down on the table. ‘Of course I am.' She braced herself to meet the man who had captured her heart in what seemed like another lifetime.

Henri strolled into the drawing room. ‘I came home early, Marianne . . .' He broke off, staring at Elsie. ‘I don't believe it. Elsie?'

She rose to her feet, holding out her hand. ‘Hello, Henri.'

‘I didn't know you were coming.' He raised her hand to his lips. ‘Did Marianne tell you about us?'

‘I know that I have to congratulate you,' Elsie said, smiling. He was even more handsome than she remembered, but there were furrows between his brows and lines of worry on his forehead. The war had changed him in a subtle way that she could not quite define, but she realised now that she had been in love with a phantom. This was the real Henri Bellaire and he might be as handsome as Adonis, but she was in love with an ordinary mortal. No one could compare to Guy.

He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Did you have a hand in this, Marianne?'

‘Absolutely not. I was as surprised as you when Elsie turned up at the rue Saint-Roch, and delighted, of course.' She patted the empty space beside her on the sofa. ‘Come and sit down, darling. Would you like tea, or something stronger?'

Henri walked over to the bell pull and tugged at it. ‘I think this calls for a celebration. I obtained a crate of champagne, don't ask how, but this seems an appropriate moment to sample a bottle.' He went to sit beside Marianne. ‘I've heard all about your time with La Dame Blanche, Elsie. You girls did a wonderful job helping injured soldiers to safety.'

Elsie shot a quizzical glance at Marianne, who was smiling innocently. ‘We were glad to do our bit.'

‘But I was more than happy to return to Paris after Elsie and Guy had left,' Marianne said, linking her hand through Henri's arm. ‘If I'd remained in Belgium we might not have met again and realised that we were destined to be together, my darling.'

Henri gazed into her eyes with a tender smile. ‘It was fate, Marianne.' He kissed her on the tip of her nose. ‘It was written in the stars.' He turned his attention to Elsie. ‘So how do you come to be in Paris? Are you going to work at the rue Saint-Roch?'

Marianne tucked her hand through the crook of his arm. ‘She's doing something much more heroic. Tell him about it, Elsie.'

Next morning, after a blissfully peaceful and comfortable night's sleep in a bed that would have been grand enough for a princess, Elsie was awakened by the maid bringing in a pot of hot chocolate. Such luxury was unimaginable, even in peacetime. Elsie sat up in bed sipping the drink, which had probably come from a similar and highly illegal source like the champagne, but was none the less tasty for that. She appeased her conscience by making a silent promise to work even harder when she returned to the priory, and vowed never to complain about the skimpiness of their meals or the lack of variety in their diet. It was, she supposed, the way of the world. The rich would always be rich and the poor just had to get on with life as best they could. It was pointless to rail against matters she could do nothing to change.