Lovely War(63)

But they got there eventually.

They stood, face-to-face. Still young, still whole, still beautiful.

And yet, changed—each a little leaner. More experienced. More complicated.

Neither of them could remember a word of English.

That Hazel. You see why I am so very fond of her. She got past that problem in a trice and flung her arms around James. She left him no choice but to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. Hesitation is not an option in a full-body tackle. Her hatpins and hairpins gave way, and he buried his face in her unraveling hair. After weeks of her being an idea, a memory, a dream, and some bits of paper, here she was, warm and real, holding on to him as if she was afraid to let go.

In truth, she was. But all hugs must end, so they pulled apart, just a little. That hurt too much, so he rested his forehead and nose upon hers. Sometimes happiness is just about more than a body can bear.

Was this the moment? Would there be a kiss? All three of us were thinking it.

Not yet.

Fine. I’d waited this long; I could wait a little longer. At this rate, James’s entire Paris leave would be spent standing in this very spot.

“Are you hungry?” Hazel asked him. “Tired? You must want to lie down.”

James was a gentleman, and his thoughts were pure.

“Not even,” he said. “I want to do everything. See everything. With you.” He pressed a hand over his belly. “Eat everything too.”

“Come on, then.” Hazel threaded her fingers through his. “Let’s get started.”

He set off to keep pace with her, then halted and drew her close.

“You came,” he whispered. “You really came.”

What does a girl say in response to so much feeling? The wrong thing, of course.

“Well, you asked me to.” Her eyes sparkled.

There was no wrong thing she could say.

“Hello, Hazel.”

She blushed. “Right. Hello, James.” She grinned. “I got it a bit out of order, didn’t I?”

“No.” James couldn’t help smiling. He’d almost forgotten how. “Not at all.”

“Food,” she said. “Time won’t keep.”

We’d see about that.





APHRODITE


     Café du Nord—February 13, 1918





AT A TABLE near the window of La Café du Nord, directly across Rue de Dunkerque from the train station, sat Colette. A server brought her a cup of chocolat, set it next to her unopened book, and asked what she was doing later on. She answered with a vague smile and took a sip. Not bad.

She watched the train station. It was too soon, no doubt, for Hazel to have found her beau yet. Trains had become wildly unpredictable ever since the war had begun. She should start reading.

Et voilà. There, exiting the station, were Hazel and a young man, arm in arm. He was tall, dressed in a British soldier’s uniform, and he had no eyes whatsoever for the charms of Paris, even as it began to light its evening lamps. He focused entirely upon Hazel.

Bon, she thought. Hazel a trouvé son Jacques.

She finished her chocolate, read a page, and found her attention refused to comply. So she left a few coins and headed for her aunt’s flat.

If only Aubrey were here with her tonight, she thought. Even a citizen of the grand New York metropolis would find much to enjoy in la Ville Lumière. Paris was made for two.

Almost, Colette Fournier envied her charming English friend that night. But, she considered, tomorrow Hazel would need to bid her Jacques goodbye, whereas in a few day’s time she could return to Aubrey. She would need to offer Hazel comfort when the time came.





APHRODITE


     Saint-Vincent-de-Paul—February 13, 1918





GREETINGS ACCOMPLISHED, love and longing gave way to the awkward business of making a plan.

They exited the train station, and James got his first glimpse of Paris. Even after four years of war, its hardships, its labor shortages, the city was a sight to see.

People were everywhere. Soldiers and officers in uniform. Buses full of wounded, headed to hospitals. Couples arm in arm, and older men smoking in doorways. Everywhere, lights twinkled. Music could be heard wafting from somewhere.

“Do you want to go walking?” asked James. “See a show? Maybe there’s a concert?”

“We need to feed you,” Hazel said.

James glanced back at the train station clock. “Supper? Now? It’s not even five o’clock.”

She steered him across the street. “There’s a covered market,” she said. “Let’s get something and call it tea. Later we’ll find a restaurant. Colette’s aunt made a list.”

“So, you’re staying with Colette and her aunt?”

Hazel nodded. “You are too.” She gave him a nudge. “I’m a guest, but you’ll have to pay rent.”

The same place as Hazel! “Are you sure? I figured on a hotel.”

“I had to assure Colette’s aunt that you were a gentleman,” Hazel teased, “so you’d better not prove me wrong.”

They reached the food market, Marché Couvert Saint-Quentin, and explored the stalls. They settled on warm rolls and a bag of roasted nuts. Poor James didn’t realize, quite, how eagerly he inhaled his food. Manners died in the trenches. But Hazel was glad to see him eat.