Lovely War(56)

“It’s me,” he called back.

The door flew open. Pink cheeks and sparkling eyes stood before him.

“Bonsoir, mademoiselle,” he said. He’d been practicing that for days.

Colette laughed. His pronunciation! It was too much. “Howdy, mister.”

“I want to show you something.” Aubrey held out a hand. “Mind if we go to the piano?”

She took his hand. So new, and yet so familiar. She wanted to explore it, study each line in the palm, and the shape of each fingernail.

What is the matter with you?

“Come on,” he teased. “To the piano.”

She’d been rooted to the floor. If Colette’s face were any more red, she’d be a tomato. They reached the bench.

“I need my hand back,” he said.

She surrendered it unwillingly. He winked and began to play. A plaintive melody, sweet and slow, growing more melancholy until its mournful ending trailed away, leaving silence ringing through the hut.

She took a deep breath.

“I’m calling that one ‘Dinant,’” he told her.

She swallowed. She already knew that.

“Thank you,” she managed to say. “Was this something you’d written before?”

He shook his head. “I wrote it since I saw you last.”

She shook her head. “Formidable,” she whispered. “Would you play it for me again?”

So he did. And now that she knew, really knew, who it was for, and what it all meant, she could absorb it, slowly, phrase by phrase.

Yes. Dinant deserved a requiem like that.



* * *





“I’m going to Paris tomorrow,” she told him, after he’d played a while longer. “Hazel and I. To see her beau, Jacques. That is to say, James.”

“Really?” Aubrey’s face fell. “How long will you be gone?”

She pursed her lips, considering. “Four or five days, I imagine.” She forced a smile. “But you’re leaving tomorrow with the band, aren’t you? The soldiers have been complaining about your departure for days.”

He turned to face her. “I’m not going on the trip.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

He smiled ruefully. “Sorry I won’t be gone?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Sorry for you to miss out on the opportunity to perform.” She smiled. “You were born to perform.”

“I sure hope so.” Now, he thought. Now’s the time. “I asked to be taken off the list for Aix-les-Bains,” he told her.

“Why would you do that?” Her quickening pulse already knew the answer.

He gazed into her eyes, desperate to learn anything they might reveal. “I didn’t want to be so far from you.” Not after all you told me. Not after that kiss.

Hope washed over her. It hadn’t only been kindness that night. Not just sympathy.

Sounds and voices from outside the hut burst my little bubble and reminded them that people would soon return from the concert to the Y hut.

“I guess I’d better go,” said Aubrey.

“No,” Colette said quickly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Good or bad? “Come outside, then?”

They put on their coats and went outside, while the way was still clear, and found a spot behind a shed where they could talk just a little more before the cold drove them back indoors.

The sky stretched above them, riddled with stars. Ocean breezes blew more stars ashore. It was so cold that the only sensible thing was to stand close. She stared at Aubrey’s collar and tie.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” he said gently.

“I want to thank you,” she said, “for the other night. For listening.”

His brown eyes studied hers. “There’s nothing to thank me for,” he said. “I wanted to.”

Her glance darted away. She’s nervous, Aubrey realized. He took her gloved hands in his.

“You are kind,” she told him. “You were so good to listen, and to care. I—” She hesitated. “I didn’t plan to burden you with all of that. It’s too much.”

“Much too much,” he replied, “for one person to bear all alone.”

She didn’t trust herself to answer that. “Anyway, I wanted to thank you.”

Was that what this was? A polite thank-you note? Not if Aubrey could help it.

Gently, he lifted her chin toward his. “They tell you all the time that you’re beautiful, don’t they?” Colette’s eyes grew wide. “All these Yanks?”

Puffs of frozen breath escaped her lips. “They are not very original,” she conceded.

He grinned. “Then I’m going to have to do better. Do they tell you that you sing like a goddess?”

She shook her head. “Most have never heard me sing.”

“That makes me the lucky one.”

Colette had all but forgotten how to breathe. But she saw where Aubrey was going, and for his sake, felt she ought to warn him.

“You see a girl who sings,” she told him. “You like my voice. You might not, always. You don’t hear how I wake up screaming. How I see them all in my dreams. By day I hold it together. At night. I fall apart.”