Chapter 23
It was quiet when Florence woke on Christmas morning except for the purr of little Bart, who had somehow managed to fall asleep right beside her face, making her sneeze.
She thought of Christmas in France with her sisters before the war and how noisy it used to be, and she wondered how it would be with a new baby in the house.
They would have already had the long feast they called Le Réveillon – the French Christmas Eve midnight meal, though she wasn’t sure who would have cooked it or what they’d have had to eat.
Supplies must be getting awfully low without her to manage them.
She pictured them before the war. Hélène madly polishing everything until it shone before everyone arrived – she’d have polished Florence and élise if they’d let her; Hélène always did run a tight ship.
And élise would be dragging in greenery at the very last minute and pinning it everywhere.
There used to be mulled wine in the bars.
Mulled wine. And the thought of that brought tears to her eyes.
But she wiped them away and remembered how she would have been in the kitchen roasting the goose.
She could almost smell her old kitchen and longed again for that feeling of home.
Then, in the old days, Marie and Doctor Hugo would arrive bearing a huge b?che de Noel, a decorated yule log made of chocolate and chestnuts.
And Marie would also carry in a box full of fruits, dried figs, hazelnuts, walnuts, almonds, nougat, and dried grapes.
To bring good luck for the coming year, after the meal was over you had to taste thirteen different sweet things representing Jesus and the twelve apostles.
But then the war had come, and Christmas had never been the same, although they’d done their best. And now it was changing again.
How unsettled it made you feel – you thought your world would remain unchanged and go on just as it always had but then suddenly, without you doing anything, anything at all, it completely turned on its head.
She wondered if Friedrich and Anton would be eating stollen, dusted with a thick coat of powdered sugar and baked with aromatic spices. And would they be thinking of her?
She got out of bed and glanced in the mirror.
Her eyes were pink and teary. This wouldn’t do.
You were supposed to be happy on Christmas Day, so she tried a cheerful face, checking her success in the mirror.
Hmmm. Not brilliant. But they were going to see Gladys soon, and no matter what, Gladys always cheered her up.
She washed, dressed and went downstairs.
‘Happy Christmas,’ Jack said, and looking self-conscious, handed her a small box.
‘Oh, I wasn’t expecting—’
‘Last-minute thought,’ Jack said, interrupting her.
She opened it, and nestled in red velvet was the prettiest bracelet she’d ever seen. Two silver chains with small pearls and blue stones threaded through it.
‘It was my grandmother’s,’ he said.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘The pearls are real and the little blue stones are sapphires. I think my grandfather brought it back from India.’
‘It must be terribly valuable. A family heirloom. Are you sure you want to give it to me?’
He smiled. ‘Who else? In any case my grandmother would be delighted to see it worn.’
After a light breakfast, and when they were finally ready, she and Jack went outside to check the weather. As they did it began to snow again. He glanced at the heavily laden sky. ‘A steady fall, I think. Wouldn’t want to take the car.’
‘That’s fine. We’ll walk,’ she said.
He went back inside and she stamped up and down on the ground to keep herself warm while she waited. He came out carrying a box.
‘What have you got there?’
‘Wine, brandy and dried fruit. Brought it back from London.’
‘My God! How did you get it?’ she asked, frowning. ‘Not with ration cards?’
‘It’s not black market, if that’s what you’re thinking. A contact of mine gave it to me for smuggling him out of France safely. I told him he owed me nothing, but he insisted.’
‘The whole boxful?’
He nodded. ‘His family are fabulously wealthy so he raided their Gloucestershire home and gave me some of the spoils.’
When they knocked on the farmhouse door, Ronnie answered and ushered them into the kitchen. ‘We’re all in the sitting room,’ he said, pushing them in front of him along a corridor.
Florence, who arrived in the room first, gasped at what she saw.
A huge Christmas tree reaching all the way to the ceiling glittering with dozens of flickering candles.
Tiny real candles in exquisite little holders.
Tears sprang to her eyes and Gladys, who had been standing by the open fire beside a sleeping collie, smiled.
‘I know you can’t be with your family, my dear, so I wanted it to be extra special for you.’
The lump in Florence’s throat stopped her voice for a moment but she went straight over to Gladys and the two women hugged. ‘Thank you,’ Florence whispered. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Now let me introduce you to my friend Grace from Exeter. I’ve told her all about you.’
‘Hello,’ said a woman with chestnut hair and skin the colour of clotted cream who stood and shook Florence’s hand.
‘And of course, Gladys continued. ‘You already know Grace’s son, Bruce.’
‘How lovely to see you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you were going to be here.’
He smiled warmly and rose to give her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I wasn’t supposed to be,’ he said in a loud whisper, ‘but I knew you’d be here, and after a lot of cajoling, and a last-minute shift swap, here I am.’
Florence felt herself blushing.
‘Come on, Florence,’ Gladys said, ‘You sit down on the sofa beside Bruce.’
Florence glanced across at Jack, who was still standing staring at his feet. ‘Jack,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you give Gladys the box?’
When he looked up, Florence saw something new in his eyes.
They were not accusing. Not that. But they had a look she couldn’t fathom, like an ache maybe, deep in his eyes.
Although the moment seemed to stretch out for ages, it had not really been long at all, and it seemed nobody else had noticed.
Jack passed the box to Gladys, and she opened it, showing them all the contents.
Ronnie said, ‘Well I’m blessed, and here we’ve been on the home brew. ’
After a few seconds, Florence saw Jack struggle to rally and brush it – whatever it was – off, and her heart twisted. She weighed the moment and found it dreadfully heavy. Jack did feel something for her, she knew it, even if he would never admit it. But he had recovered now and was laughing.
‘I was given it all, so best place for it was here.’
‘Got any sweet sherry?’ Gladys dug in the box. ‘Blimey, what the dickens is this? Dramb … how do you say it?’
‘Drambuie,’ said Jack. ‘Scottish whisky, honey, herbs and spices. Courtesy of my friend’s father’s cellars.’
‘How the other half live, eh? Let’s try it then.’
‘It’s usually for after the meal,’ Jack said.
‘Oh, who gives a fig. Give it here.’ And Ronnie went to the kitchen, returning with a tray of glasses. He poured and they drank. He poured again and they drank again.
Florence followed Gladys into the kitchen to help with the lunch and as they were working, Gladys whispered, ‘Like Bruce, do you?’
‘Yes, he’s very nice.’
‘He’s got a crush on you, my girl. You could do a lot worse. But like I said, mind you don’t hurt his feelings. He’s a good lad.’
Florence laughed. ‘Honest to God, Gladys, what are you like?’
When the food was ready and they’d all been served, you could have heard a pin drop as they tucked in. Delicious, everyone agreed, while Ronnie secretly slipped titbits to the ravenous collie. Then Gladys placed a flaming Christmas pudding in the centre of the table to multiple ‘ooohs’ and ‘aahs’.
‘Not brandy, just home-made stuff,’ Gladys said. ‘But it lights up well enough.’
Florence glanced around at everyone. Happy faces, red cheeks, sparkling eyes, especially Bruce’s. The war forgotten.
‘Any more for any more?’ Gladys said, slurring her words a little now.
Florence shook her head, and in her mind, she sent a Christmas blessing to Claudette, Hélène, élise and baby Victoria, and to all their old friends in France.
They turned on the wireless to listen to King George broadcast his Christmas speech to the Empire.
When it was time to leave, Florence noticed a huge bunch of mistletoe had miraculously appeared above the front door. She could have sworn it hadn’t been there when they’d arrived, and she spotted Gladys winking at Ronnie. Bruce stood up and came across to give her a hug.
‘See you soon I hope,’ he said, and Florence nodded mutely. Then he kissed her on the cheek, and she knew she was blushing but hoped everyone would think it was the wine.
She and Jack donned their coats, scarves and hats and they walked towards the door.
‘You gotta kiss her, man,’ Ronnie called out.
Jack stood awkwardly beneath the mistletoe, his hands in his pockets. He bent and gave her a peck on the cheek.
‘Nah! That won’t do at all,’ Ronnie added. ‘Go on, son. Give it some welly.’
Ignoring him, Jack just pushed open the door and strode out. Had Florence seen longing in his eyes, just for a moment? Or was that only her wishful thinking?
The sky was clear and the moon was full as they walked home without speaking.