Epilogue October 1946
Epilogue
October 1946
Fitz lifted Peter into his pram. ‘Gosh, you’re getting heavy,’ she said, tucking the blankets around her eighteen-month-old son.
The clock in the hall of Badcombe House struck the hour and eight chimes rang out. Fitz went to the foot of the stairs. ‘Yvette! Come on. You’ll miss your bus.’
The young teenager trotted down the stairs, with her satchel hanging from her shoulder. ‘Sorry, I was looking for my gloves.’ She held them up in the air. ‘Found them.’
The autumnal air of early October was already on the chilly side and Fitz fastened the button on Peter’s knitted hat. His blue eyes looked even darker against the white of the wool. He looked so much like his father. Sam’s mother had sent some photographs of Sam when he was a baby and they looked like two peas in a pod. Fitz hadn’t yet been able to meet Sam’s parents but now the war was over, they were hoping to be able to travel across the Atlantic the following year.
‘Where’s Michael?’ asked Fitz as she slipped her hands into her own gloves.
‘I’m here!’ he called, coming through from the kitchen, biting into an apple.
‘And eating as always,’ sighed Camilla, following him out into the hall. She picked his cap up from the table and put it on his head, adjusting it and then making sure the collar of his blazer was turned down. ‘There, that’s better,’ she said. ‘Have a good day at school both of you.’
Both Yvette and Michael attended the local grammar school. They really had become firm friends. Yvette had grasped the English language with ease. There was no trace of a French accent, although they still often spoke French at home. She had thrived at school and had passed the Eleven Plus with flying colours.
‘Isn’t it wonderful how they’ve become such good friends?’ said Camilla, leaning over the pram to smile at Peter and tickle him under the chin. ‘They will miss each other when Michael goes to university next year.’
Camilla had turned into the most doting step-grandmother a person could wish for. Her love for children was glaringly apparent and Fitz had often wondered over the past few years why she had never seen it before. Maybe she hadn’t been looking for it or hadn’t wanted to find it.
Camilla delighted in having them at Badcombe House. When Fitz had first moved back, their relationship had most definitely improved, and then, once Fitz was married, Camilla had taken a step back and allowed her to be the grown woman she now was. Fitz couldn’t deny her experience in France in the December of 1941 had changed her.
Taking care of Yvette hadn’t come without its challenges, but Fitz found herself echoing the position Camilla had been in. She had become a mother to a child she hadn’t given birth to. A child who already had a mother and didn’t know what had happened to her. There had been resistance, tears, anger and confusion but no matter what, there had always been love.
It wasn’t until then that Fitz really appreciated how much of a challenge it had been for Camilla to take her on. And just as Camilla had gone on to have her own child, Michael, Fitz had become pregnant and had Peter.
It was a chain of events no one could ever have predicted, and Fitz had grown very fond of Camilla, even seeking her out for advice on how to handle certain situations with Yvette. She regretted having made Camilla’s life so difficult. Motherhood was no mean feat.
Their relationship now sat somewhere between parent and friend. Fitz didn’t try too hard to define it, rather she tried to enjoy it for what it was.
Life had been full of challenges since Fitz had got back from France. Not only for her and Yvette but for Sam, too.
When Sam had been discharged from hospital, they had moved into Badcombe House, where there was space enough for his wheelchair, and for the first six months, they lived on the ground floor, using one of the sitting rooms as their bedroom.
Sam had approached his new life with the same gusto and enthusiasm as he did everything else in life. Never one to be half-hearted about anything he did, he faced everything head-on, with a fearless and contagious zest for life. He was never going to let being an amputee hold him back.
As Fitz had predicted, Sam had soon mastered the art of walking with his prosthetic leg, but he wasn’t going to stop there. Sam had been back in an aeroplane within months.
Fitz had been so proud of him when they had adapted a plane for him to fly and he had joined the ATA. It wasn’t his dream job, of course, but he had accepted his new circumstances with grace. Being at Badcombe House meant Fitz was able to work for the government in translating conversations enemy prisoners had among themselves. It had been fascinating work. She had only stopped once Peter was born, and now that the war was over, they were all adjusting to a new way of life.
With that, of course, came her promise to the doctor in France to find Yvette’s mother or at the very least, close family. Sam had been in contact with the Red Cross, and they had given as much detail as they could about Yvette’s mother in the hope the charity could locate her. Now they were waiting for any news.
Fitz fastened the top button on her coat and fussed with the blanket to make sure Peter was warm enough. The wind was colder than she expected. ‘Do you want to walk with us to the bus stop?’ she asked Camilla.
‘I won’t today,’ replied Camilla. ‘I’m speaking at the WI meeting this afternoon and I need to go over my notes.’
Since the end of the war, Camilla had become involved with a charity supporting war widows and their young families. Fundraising and speaking to local groups filled a lot of her time.
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Fitz, remembering Camilla had mentioned it at breakfast. ‘Not that you need practice. I’ve been to your talks, and you are a wonderful speaker.’
Camilla waved them off from the doorstep and Fitz followed on as Yvette and Michael kicked through the fallen leaves that littered the grass verges of the drive. Peter was enchanted by the trees blowing giddily in the wind and squealed in delight as a large horse chestnut leaf floated down and landed on the apron of the pram.
They had just reached the end of the driveway when the sound of a bicycle bell caught Fitz’s attention. She looked up to see Alf, the village postman pedalling towards them.
‘Mrs Carter!’ he called waving at her.
Fitz waited for him to reach her. ‘Good morning, Alf. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you, Mrs Carter.’ He dove his hand into the brown post sack on the front of his bike. ‘There we are,’ he said. ‘Two for your father and one for you.’
‘Oh, lovely. Thanks very much, Alf.’
She took the letters from him and tucked them into the foot of the pram.
‘You might want to read that one sooner rather than later,’ said Alf, as he began to pedal away.
Fitz watched him go, puzzled by his comment. She picked up the letters. As soon as she saw the Red Cross symbol in the left-hand corner of the envelope, with the George VI postage stamp in the opposite corner, she knew this was the letter they had been waiting for.
She looked up at Yvette, who was standing at the bus stop with Michael.
Fitz was desperate to open the letter but didn’t dare in front of Yvette. Whatever the news, it had to be imparted with care. She also wanted Sam to be with her when they told Yvette the contents of the letter. He would be home that evening at around six o’clock.
Fitz tried to distract herself for most of the day by taking an extra-long walk with Peter in his pram both in the morning and the afternoon, but thoughts of the letter were never far away. She and Sam had previously agreed that when the Red Cross letter came, they would sit down and read it together. She was happy to wait. She didn’t want to know the truth on her own.
Whatever the news was, whether they had found Yvette’s mother, hadn’t found her, or – the worst news – Yvette’s mother had been confirmed as dead, Fitz was not looking forward to receiving it. If Yvette’s mother was alive, it would very much be a double-edged sword for her and Sam. There was no doubt they had grown to love Yvette over the past five years. Even though Fitz knew it was possibly the road to heartbreak, she hadn’t been able to help herself. It was almost as if, once she’d let Sam into her heart, her heart now knew no boundaries. It was wide open. To love and to be loved was truly a precious gift.
Eventually, six o’clock rolled around. Fitz was waiting on the doorstep as Sam arrived back. He climbed out of the car, lifting his prosthetic under the knee to swing his leg over the ledge.
He stopped as he saw her. ‘Fitz? Is everything all right?’ he asked. How well he knew her.
She held the letter out to him. ‘The Red Cross,’ she said.
Sam nodded and walked up the steps. He put his arms around Fitz and held her closely to him, kissing the top of her head. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ he soothed. ‘We knew this day would come and whatever is in there, we’ll face together. Yeah?’
She nodded. ‘Camilla is looking after the children.’
‘Come on, then. Let’s go inside.’
They went into the study. Sam poured Fitz a port and himself a whisky. He sat down beside her on the sofa.
‘Ready?’ asked Fitz.
‘As I’ll ever be.’
She used the letter opener to slice through the flap of the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of paper. Sam took it from her and unfolded it, before reading out loud.
Dear Mr and Mrs Carter
Further to your letter concerning the whereabouts or fate of one Edith Moreau, we are writing to advise you that we have today heard from the Mairie of Josselin in this matter.
We are pleased to advise that Edith Moreau did, indeed, survive the massacre at Saint Pierre in December, 1941. We understand that she hid under the bodies of fellow villagers for twelve hours, finally managing to escape with only two other members of the community in the middle of the night, via a hidden doorway in the back of the crypt.
Madame Moreau has been informed that her daughter, Yvette Moreau is alive and well in your care. She was overwhelmed with the good news and is desperate to be reunited with her daughter.
As such, please could you contact this office by return so we can arrange to repatriate Yvette Moreau to France and to her mother.
Yours sincerely
A. Akerman
Welfare Officer, Wounded
Missing and Relatives Department
Fitz closed her eyes as a tsunami of emotions washed over her. ‘You all right?’ asked Sam gently.
Fitz nodded. ‘I think so.’ She looked at Sam and saw the same conflict that she was feeling. ‘We have to give her back. We’re going to lose her, Sam. I shouldn’t feel sad, but I do. So wretchedly sad my heart hurts.’
Sam wrapped her in his arms and she could hear him swallow hard as if he was fighting with his emotions. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But she’s not ours to keep. Christ, I wish she could stay with us forever, but she has her own mother waiting for her.’
‘We might never see her again,’ sobbed Fitz. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to cope.’ It was all well and good saying she knew Yvette might have to return to France, but it was something totally different when that notion turned into a reality.
‘Whatever we’re feeling right now about her leaving,’ said Sam, ‘her mother must have been going through it far worse.’
‘I know. I honestly, do,’ said Fitz. ‘And I know I can’t even compare what I’m feeling now to what her mother has gone through, but … I am going to miss her so much. And we may never see her again.’
‘Don’t think like that, sweetheart,’ said Sam. ‘Maybe her mother will let us go visit. We can write to her. We’ll stay in touch for as long as she wants us to.’
Fitz sniffed. ‘I’m so excited and yet I’m so very scared. It’s going to be difficult for Yvette to adjust, too. She hasn’t seen her mother for nearly five years.’
‘We can prepare her as best we can but ultimately, that is out of our hands,’ said Sam. ‘We need to present it as a positive thing. You think you can do that?’
‘Yes. Of course. I just need a moment to get used to the idea,’ said Fitz.
God, she was so lucky to have Sam there as her voice of reason, of calm and of comfort. She dabbed her face with her handkerchief and straightening herself up, she smiled at her husband.
‘Ready?’ asked Sam, squeezing her hand.
‘Ready,’ replied Fitz.
They crossed the hallway from the study to the living room. The door was ajar and Fitz could see Yvette sitting on the sofa with little Peter on her lap, while Michael pretended to tickle him with a cuddly toy. Peter was squealing in delight every time the toy went near him.
Fitz paused in the doorway, savouring the moment of domestic bliss. Her family – an odd complex blend of relationships, but oh, how beautiful that blend was. Fitz could never in her wildest dreams imagine she would find such contentment and happiness here at Badcombe House. She would miss Yvette so much, they all would, but she would always be a part of the Fitz-Herbert Carter clan. Always in their hearts and never far from their minds.
It was a fairy-tale ending for Yvette. The kind of ending Fitz had once imagined for herself as a child, where her mother came back and they all lived happily ever after but she realised that this was the best happy ever after she could ask for.
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