Philippa Carr - We’ll meet again

Dorabella and I had acquired a car which we used jointly. It was so useful for driving into the Poldowns when we wanted to shop. It saved carrying heavy bags over the cliffs or waiting to have goods sent. It was particularly good for driving some of the men to and from hospital, as many of them were unable to do the steep walk. We often went together, and on this occasion had taken in Jack Brayston, a young man of no more than eighteen who had to have a dressing on his leg.

We deposited him at the hospital, parked the car, and were strolling on into the town when we came face to face with Jacques Dubois.

I heard Dorabella give a start of surprise as she cried out: “Look who’s there!” She had drawn back slightly, but he had already seen us.

He advanced smiling.

“This is a delightful surprise,” he began.

Dorabella replied: “Well, this is a shopping center, you know, and we live just along the cliff. We are the ones who are surprised to see you, aren’t we, Violetta? What are you doing here?”

“Making a quick visit,” he said.

“Have you just arrived?”

“I came last night. I stay a night at the hotel … what is it? The Black Rock. I come to see my sister. This day we shall meet. I return this night.”

“Where are you living now?”

He lifted his hands and shook his head from side to side.

“I am in London … I am here … I am there … But we must talk … in the comfort, eh? Why do we not go into the hotel? We could have a glass of wine, yes?”

I looked at Dorabella. I fancied she was not entirely pleased to have this ghost from the past in her company. I left it to her to decide.

She hesitated and looked at her watch.

“We have certain things to do. I could not stay long.”

“Oh come. It would be such a disappointment. Just for a little, eh? One glass of wine?”

“Well, I suppose we have to wait for Jack,” she said. “He’s one of the soldiers staying at the Priory. We have taken him in for a dressing and will have to take him back.”

“Then you will come? That is good. You know this hotel?”

“Yes,” I said. “Is it good?”

“The views are superb,” he said.

I laughed. “Well, it is wartime,” I said. “You can’t expect haute cuisine.’”

We went into the hotel; he found a corner in the lounge and ordered a bottle of claret.

“Now,” he said, “you must tell me how life goes with you.”

“I daresay yours is more interesting,” said Dorabella.

“What is happening with the General?” I asked.

“He is very busy. He broadcasts to the French nation. His plan is to get his men together.”

“Are many coming to join him?”

“All the time.”

“You mean they escape from France and get across the Channel?”

“Some do. It is not impossible. Ah, here is our wine.” He watched while it was poured and then lifted his glass. “To you both, my friends. A speedy end to the war, eh? Then we can all be ’appy again.”

We drank and he savored the wine, implying that he did not think a great deal of it.

“It was so strange,” said Dorabella, “that you should land up on our beach. Was it really by accident or design?”

“Well, I had been to that coast, had I not? To cross the Channel where it is most narrow is best … but it is very quiet … very deserted … along this coast. It would not have been easy to slip out from Calais … from Boulogne … Dunkirk. But the quiet coast … it seemed best to try.”

“It must have been very dangerous,” I said.

“Mademoiselle Violetta, the danger was there, yes, but there was danger all around … and neither Simone nor I wished to live in France in chains.”

“I never knew until you arrived that you had a sister,” said Dorabella.

“So? For the last years we have not met often. She did not live in Paris, you see. She was with our aunt near Lyons. I see her now and then … but not much. But when she saw what was happening she came to me. She could not live in a humbled France. Nor could I … so we came together.”

“You were very brave to come in that little boat.”

“The sea was very kind to us and when I landed I rejoiced. I knew I was with friends.”

“Friends?” said Dorabella, a little tersely.

“We should always be friends,” he said, smiling smoothly.

“And you came straight to Tregarland. That was a coincidence.”

He smiled at me impishly. “I confess … I knew roughly where we were. Remember, I had come here to paint. An artist has a special eye … shall we say. There is this … this form of the rocks … exciting … fascinating.”

“It was dark when you came in.”

“I knew … just a little … and had an idea … where we were. I could hardly believe we had come in just beneath Tregarland. I thought we should be farther west … Falmouth or the Lizard perhaps. But by great good luck we were with friends.”

“It was certainly very clever of you,” I said.

“Oh no, Mademoiselle. Just luck. It comes to us in life sometimes, you know.”

“Have you seen Simone?” I asked.

“Not yet. I have heard that she is very happy here. The people, she says, are very kind and she is living with this Mrs….”

“Penwear,” I said.

“Yes, Mrs. Penwear, who thinks she is a very brave young lady to leave her country and come to fight for freedom.”

“She seems to be liking working on the land.”

“Simone will adapt herself to whatever must be done.”

“Has she ever done any kind of work like this before?”

“They had a small estate in France … my uncle and aunt, I mean. It may be that she learned something of the kind there. More wine?”

“No thanks,” said Dorabella, and added: “By the way, did you ever hear what happened with that wine merchant?”

“Wine merchant?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“We read in the newspaper, just as we were leaving, that Georges Mansard was found murdered. It would be the same man, wouldn’t it?”

“Who was that?” I asked.

“He was a friend of Jacques. He used to come to the studio to sell his wine. That was what reminded me, when you asked us to have more wine.”

“I remember now,” said Jacques. “Yes … it was robbery. I had warned him not to walk about with so much cash in his pockets. He was not, as you would say, discreet. I said to him, ‘Mon ami, one day you will be set upon by thieves.’ And it was so.”

“Did they ever find the ones who did it?”

Jacques lifted his shoulders. “It was in that street …”

“Something about a monkey, wasn’t it?” said Dorabella.

“The Rue de Singe. Not a very good place to be late at night.”

“I am sorry,” said Dorabella. “I liked him.”

“Oh yes … he was charming. But, alas, he courted danger.”

“And nothing was heard of the murderer?”

“It passed away. The war was nearly upon us …”

“What a terrible way to die!” said Dorabella.

“Have you been to see Simone before?” I asked.

“This will be our first meeting since we came. It will be so good to see her and to hear from her own lips that she is well and happy.”

“You are in the General’s army now then?” I asked.

“Yes … yes. But there is much to do yet. We have to get ourselves … how is it you say? In order? Much work to be done, yes, but when the time comes we shall be ready.”

“Do you think Germany will invade?”

He lifted his shoulders. “It is what they thought to do. It has changed, has it not? A little, yes? It is not so easy as they thought. They believed they would cripple Britain in the air which they must do if they invade. But they have not done this, and it is said that their losses are great. We shall see.” He lifted his glass. “But when they come … if they come … we shall be ready.”

I said, “We should be going. Jack will be ready to leave hospital now.”

We left Jacques, who said with fervor that he hoped we should meet again soon.

As we drove to the hospital, I said to Dorabella: “He has a habit of turning up unexpectedly, that man. First he arrives on the beach and then we find him strolling in Poldown.”

Dorabella agreed.

A new year had come and there had been no attempt at invasion, though there had been scares in plenty.

It had been a dreary Christmas. London had been battered with incendiary as well as high-explosive bombs. The Guildhall and eight Wren churches had been destroyed, and, although London bore the brunt of these attacks, other towns had suffered as well.

Yet the mood had lightened since the evacuation of Dunkirk. We stood alone and we had begun to feel that we were capable of doing so.

Life went on for us as usual. We had grown accustomed to being careful with food and never wasting anything that was edible. We seemed to have realized that, whatever happened, we had to go on living our lives as well as we could.

Charley and Bert Trimmell had been delighted with their bicycles. They would speed along the lanes and up and down the cliff path with the carefree abandonment of happy children. They, at least, were contented.

Spring came and went. It was June again. Soon we should be saying, it is two years since the war started and then they said it would not last until Christmas. How wrong they had proved to be!

And we were growing stronger every day.

Then came the news that, without even a declaration of war, Germany had invaded Russia.

This could mean only one thing. Hitler believed he could not make a successful invasion of Britain. What our Prime Minister had said of our airmen was true, that “never in the history of human conflict had so many owed so much to so few.” They had saved the world and now the full fury of Hitler’s attack was not turned against us only. We shared it with the Russians.

The time was passing—and still Jowan had not come home.

I WAS DEEPLY SHOCKED when I found that the man and woman in the boat were Jacques and his sister. Who would not have been, faced with such a situation so suddenly, and in the middle of the night at that!

I had never wanted to see Jacques again. He had disappointed me, humiliated me by bringing his objectionable Mimi right into the house with what I could only call insolent nonchalance, as though it were the most ordinary conduct for one mistress to be presented to another in such a casual manner. The arrogance of the man was unacceptable and I had wanted to cast off all memory of it forever.

And then, there he was!

I was thankful when he went away, but I quite liked Simone. She was very different from Jacques—quite modest, in fact. Of course, Jacques had been the artist living in the Latin Quarter, thinking he was a Degas, Manet, or Monet, or that little one with the short legs, Toulouse-Lautrec, I think. Simone was more of a country girl, very eager to please, and Tom Yeo said she was a good worker and he was glad to have her.

I struck up quite a friendship with her; she seemed a little lonely and I did not see why my relationship with her brother should affect ours.

In spite of the war and having to see my poor sister grieving for a lover who, I believed, would never come back, I was not displeased with life. I enjoyed being with the recuperating soldiers. They had a special feeling for me, I knew. They liked to chatter in a jolly way, pretending to fall in love with me. It was all very lighthearted and pleasant.

But I could not stop worrying about Violetta. She tried to be cheerful but she did not deceive me. It was there all the time … a cloud to spoil the complete enjoyment of the fun. And fun there was in the silly little things of everyday life. I wished above everything that Jowan Jermyn would come home—or if that was asking too much, that we might at least know what had happened to him. If he had been killed, it would be better for her to know it. Then perhaps she could begin to forget. I thought Gordon Lewyth was in love with her in his way. I never understood the man. Violetta would say that was because he had not been attracted by me, I thought there was something wrong with him. Well, she did say things like that to me, and often there was some truth in them.

But Gordon was a strange man. There was some hidden depth there. After all, his mother was a murderess and now in an asylum. I knew he visited her frequently and must have been constantly reminded of the terrible things that had happened at Tregarland. But I did think he cared for Violetta, and I was sure he would be a very faithful husband. But she loved Jowan, and I supposed would go on doing so throughout her life—even though he was lost forever somewhere over there.