Chapter 55
A few days later she heard the taxi bringing Jack home from the station. She raced down the stairs and outside to the brook, where she ran through the water, grasped him by the arm and as the taxi took off, dragged him indoors.
‘Well, I’m delighted you’re so pleased to see me, but I have left my bags outside. It is raining.’
‘Get them then, go on, get the damn bags. I’ve got something to tell you. Something important.’
He smiled at her and shook his head in amusement. ‘Whatever it is, you look mighty pleased.’
‘Go on,’ she said, holding her secret tight for just a tiny bit longer.
‘Okay. I’ll get the bags. I suppose you wouldn’t consider putting the kettle on?’
‘I’ve got something better than tea.’
He raised his brow, clearly intrigued. How could men be so stupid? she thought.
When he came back in, she ordered him to put the bags down.
He did so and now he was grinning.
‘You’ve guessed, haven’t you?’
‘I think so.’
‘Well Jack Jackson, you and I are going to have a baby.’
His eyes widened, shining as a multitude of emotions played across his features. Amazement, joy, disbelief. He picked her up and whirled her around, then thought better of it and put her down excessively gently.
‘I won’t break,’ she said with a laugh.
‘Oh my darling girl, that is the best news. The very best news.’ Eyes brimming with tears, he said, ‘I want to shout it to the world. Have you told anyone?’
‘Of course not, idiot. I was waiting for you. But I’ll be too fat to get married in August. It will have to be April.’
So April it was, and when the morning of the wedding came round, Florence still didn’t know at what time Hélène would be arriving.
Victoria, who was to be Florence’s flower girl, had to be fitted for her dress, so she and élise had arrived a week before the big day with news that Hélène was planning to follow on.
But so far there had been no sign of her.
Florence had written to Friedrich telling him about the wedding and the baby.
But she’d also had to explain how unwise it would be for him and Anton to come to England with so much bad feeling about the Germans still rumbling on.
I am to be a grandfather, he’d written back, sounding thrilled to bits. That will be enough for now.
Now Rosalie entered Florence’s bedroom, her eyes shining.
‘You have such beautiful blonde hair,’ she said. ‘I think we should just pin it with a flower at either temple and let it curl naturally to your shoulders. What do you think?’
‘Sounds lovely. Do you know where élise is?’
‘Vicky tore her new dress. élise is mending it while muttering ominously. My, but that little girl is a force of nature.’
Florence laughed. ‘Just like her mum.’
élise would be her matron of honour as bridesmaid seemed the wrong term for someone who was already a mother. Although strictly speaking a matron of honour was a married woman.
‘Is élise happy?’ Rosalie asked.
‘I suppose so. Why do you ask?’
‘Vicky’s father’s death.’
Florence shuddered at the memory. ‘When Victor was executed it was dreadful for all of us but obviously so much worse for her. He was such a brave man and she loved him so much.’
‘Love like that and an ending like that doesn’t fade.’ She paused. ‘But we mustn’t dwell on sadness today of all days.’
Florence nodded.
‘So … how are you feeling?’
‘I can hardly breathe for excitement. I swear I didn’t sleep a wink,’ Florence said.
Rosalie smiled. ‘Sit, eyes shut and relax while you have the chance.’
Florence did as she was told and sat there quietly, imagining her mother’s eyes on her, her cheeks flushed with pride and fussing about something that was not quite right. She laughed out loud.
‘Something the matter?’
‘Just thinking about Maman. She wouldn’t like the bouquet.’
Florence had chosen flowers from an Exeter florist. Daffodils, blossom, and some delicate leaf – so pretty but Claudette would have thought it not nearly grand or elegant enough.
Nor would she have approved of the village hall for the reception.
The small bouquet had just been delivered to oohs and ahhs from Victoria and was now safely in a jug downstairs where neither Victoria nor the cat could reach it.
Rosalie had stayed at a hotel close to the village hall after spending the day blowing up balloons and arranging greenery and candles.
Gladys and Florence had been cooking for days, using anything that grew in their gardens or that either of them had bottled the year before, along with chickens and a ham that Gladys’s husband had procured in exchange for some help fixing up an old motorbike.
They had no pigs of their own currently ready for slaughter.
Rosalie had hired a small band to play dance tunes so everyone was hoping it would be a lovely, happy afternoon.
When her hair was done, Florence stepped into her wedding dress, Rosalie buttoned it up and they both looked in the mirror.
‘Darling, you look so beautiful,’ Rosalie said.
Florence patted her tummy. ‘Thank God it still just fits.’
With a fitted bodice, sweetheart neckline and high waistline which fell into a long very slightly bell-shaped skirt, the dress was simple with lightly padded shoulders and sleeves that came just to Florence’s elbows.
She had been saving clothing coupons for ages, as had Gladys; they both made their own clothes from whatever they could find so had used very few of them.
And Rosalie’s friend Gerry had contacts in London who’d agreed to make the dress out of ivory silk from China, as it was too soon after the war to buy silk from Japan or Italy.
Florence also had a thirteen-foot net train.
Lace would have been nice, but they couldn’t run to that.
They had asked guests not to buy presents but to contribute whatever they could in the way of food and drink and to deliver it direct to the village hall before the wedding, which would take place in the church on the other side of the street.
Gladys had enrolled an army of helpers to organise the food and drink and to lay the tables.
Ronnie and Jack had already sourced all the tables and chairs they needed, and Gladys had been up half the night ironing tablecloths she’d begged and borrowed from all her acquaintances.
There were white tablecloths, checked tablecloths, and floral tablecloths, and each table now had a little posy and a candle in the middle.
The whole effect was charming and exactly what Florence wanted.
When the bridal music started up Florence sailed down the aisle on the arm of her aunt, followed by élise in a full-length dress in violet and Victoria dressed in the same colour.
When Florence saw Jack smiling at her and blinking nervously her heart did a little flip.
She glanced back at the church, full of friends, family, and local people who’d all been invited at Gladys insistence.
The entire wedding had been a community effort, so it was only right.
But as Florence’s eyes swept around the congregation, she still saw no sign of Hélène.
She felt herself wobble but Jack took her hand and squeezed it. She smiled and recovered herself.
The ceremony went off without a hitch. When it was over a few photographs were taken outside the church and then everyone hotfooted it over to the village hall.
When Florence entered, she paused, and everyone clapped as she glanced at all the smiling faces and the beautifully decorated hall that looked like something from a fairy-tale woodland scene.
Florence saw Henri, Hugo, and Marie grinning at her, and thought of Henri’s beautiful wife, Suzanne.
That was such a desperately sad story, and she couldn’t bear to dwell on it today.
But she was amazed and delighted to see her old friends.
Nobody had told her they’d be coming but it looked like élise and Jack had secretly arranged everything.
She saw Jack’s father Lionel getting quietly sozzled, and Gladys and her husband Ronnie raising their glasses and nodding happily.
Grace was there too, looking lovely in cobalt blue with Bruce smiling by her side.
Some of Jack’s wartime buddies and chaps he’d been at school were wolf-whistling, and many of the locals were clapping as well.
When they took their seats, Rosalie sat on one side of Florence along with élise and her daughter, and Jack, his father, Gladys and Ronnie sat on the other side.
‘Where’s Hélène?’ Florence whispered in her sister’s ear.
‘No idea.’
‘She definitely said she’d come?’
élise nodded.
They drank Florence’s elderflower champagne, although others preferred a trip across to the pub to bring back ale.
The food was a mixture of potato salads, early green salads, slices of ham and chicken, with vegetables of every shape and size.
Some people brought bacon and egg flans – easy to carry – and they were delicious, others brought fresh bread, cheese, or home-made puddings.
Florence put her worries about Hélène aside and loved every moment, including the speeches.
One of the men Jack had known at school stood up to talk about Jack, which had everyone in hoots of laughter.
‘I didn’t know he’d been such a naughty schoolboy,’ Florence said, sounding horrified, and everyone who knew Jack rolled their eyes and guffawed.
‘A terror,’ Gladys piped up. ‘But he’s our terror and we love him.’
Glasses clinked and were filled again.
Then Jack rose to his feet and the room hushed. ‘I would like to say a few words about my wife, whom I first met in 1944 during the Nazi occupation of France. She may look as sweet as anything you’ll see on these tables, but I would like to tell you she is made of solid steel.’
Florence could feel her cheeks reddening and gazed down at the table, willing herself not to cry.