Lovely War(51)

“Precisely.” As if to say, What is your point?

“That’s where training will take place?”

The sergeant nodded. “Simulations are never adequate,” he said. “There’s nothing like training on the job.”





APHRODITE


     A Headache—January 26, 1918





PEBBLES ONCE MORE, and this time, Colette opened the door. Aubrey plucked off his cap.

Her smile was all Aubrey needed. He’d face an entire marine company for that smile.

“Bonsoir, monsieur,” she said.

Aubrey hadn’t particularly cared for high school French class—lordy, if he could go back!—but he knew a welcome when he heard one.

“Evening, mademoiselle,” he said, with a pronunciation he hoped wasn’t too awful. (It was awful.) “Safe for me to come in?”

She drew back the door.

“Where’s our friend tonight?” he asked.

“Hazel had a headache,” Colette said. “She went to bed early.”

Whump went Aubrey’s heart in his chest. Only Colette tonight.

Whump went Colette’s heart. She was all alone with Aubrey.

“That’s a shame,” Aubrey said. “I hope she feels better. There’s sickness going around.”

Colette agreed. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said.

It was, indeed, nothing I hadn’t caused to bring Aubrey and Colette together alone.

Oh, for pity’s sake. It was a mild headache. The dear girl needed rest.

“Do we play piano, then?” asked Aubrey.

Colette laughed. “The senior secretaries know Hazel went to bed. If they should hear you playing, I can’t pretend it was me.”

“Oh. Right.” Aubrey clutched his hat. “Suppose I ought to be moving along.”

Oui. Go. Please. It is best, no?

Stay, I told him. Invite him to stay, I told Colette.

“We can sit and talk awhile,” Colette said. Mon Dieu, she’d said it. Idiot!

Aubrey was out of his coat and on the couch in record time.

She sat a cushion away. Her short hair drew his eyes to her graceful neck, and to the turquoise sheen of her dress, made of drapey silk. Like something worn by a goddess.

That was all him. I didn’t even plant the thought. But I did visit her Paris dressmaker later on.

“We’ve missed you,” Colette said.

“You have?”

“Hazel and I.”

Oh. Safer waters. “That Lady Hazel,” Aubrey said. “She’s a great gal.”

Colette smiled. “I adore her,” she said. “I’m so glad we met. She is sunshine.”

“She feels the same for you,” Aubrey said. “You’re a good friend.”

“Moi?” Colette looked thoughtful. “I just enjoy her, that’s all. I can’t help it.”

I planted an idea, and Aubrey ran with it. “Has Hazel got a boyfriend?”

Colette tried not to smile. “That’s not for me to say.”

“She does!” Aubrey chuckled. “What do you know? Lady Hazel’s got a beau!”

Well, the damage was done. “She’s extremely fond of her soldier,” Colette admitted. “His name is James. He seems to feel the same for her.”

“He’d better,” declared Aubrey, “and he’d better treat her right, or he and my fist are going to have a conversation.”

“You sound like a big brother.” Without warning, her face contorted with pain. Alexandre. He’d never learned about Stéphane. She would’ve fought him if he’d tried to play protector, but now, oh, what she’d give if Alexandre would walk through that door!

The sorrow. It came in waves. Just when she thought the storm had subsided, it ambushed her all over again.

Aubrey pulled back. Colette seemed on the verge of tears. Had he said something wrong?

“I’m a little brother, as it happens,” he said at length. “My sister, Kate, doesn’t need my help with protection. She’s got the most boring boyfriend in the world. Ol’ sleepy Lester.”

“Poor Lester.” Colette smiled, grateful for a change in the subject. “If your sister likes him, he can’t be so bad.”

She still seemed fragile, somehow. Aubrey tried to think of a safer topic of conversation.

“Anyway,” he said, “Hazel’s terrific. I’m glad I met her.” Extremely glad.

Colette smiled again. “There is something . . . How do I mean? Pure about her. The war is so ugly, and humanity has gone mad, but then, there’s Hazel.”

He took a chance. “And there’s you.”

Colette’s eyebrows rose. “I’m not pure. The war has wiped her dirty boots all over me.”

How could she say such a thing? She, so lovely, in every way, and not just to look at, though she sure was that.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Has somebody hurt you?”

She hesitated.

He actually cared. She could see it in his eyes, in the concern written on his face. It would be easier if he didn’t.

“Kaiser Wilhelm has,” she said.

She was covered in nails, all of a sudden. A brittle eggshell in broken, jagged pieces.