The Room on Rue Amélie(5)

“It’s a lovely night,” the woman said. She wasn’t looking at Charlotte; she was gazing at the Eiffel Tower. “It’s a bit cold, of course. But there’s something bracing about the fresh air, isn’t there? It snaps you out of a feeling of malaise.”

How had the woman known that Charlotte was out here feeling sorry for herself?

After a moment, the woman spoke again. “I’m Ruby. I live next door to you. But then, you can probably see that.”

“I’m Charlotte,” Charlotte replied, feeling suddenly grown-up. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.” There was a pause, and then the woman asked gently in her strange accent, “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”

“Pardon?”

“It’s just that I couldn’t help noticing that you seem upset. Unless you’re sniffling because you’ve caught a cold. In which case, excuse me for intruding.”

Charlotte was grateful that the darkness would hide her embarrassment. “No. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Well, then, perhaps you can help me with something.”

“But I’m only ten,” Charlotte blurted out. “Well, almost eleven.” An adult had never asked for her help before.

Ruby laughed. “That’s all right. What I need most of all is advice. You see, I’m American.”

“American?” Charlotte was momentarily dazzled. She’d never met an American before; the immigrants she knew were from eastern Europe. “But America is so far away.”

“Indeed it is. I fell in love with a Frenchman and followed him across the ocean to live here. He has lived in this building for a long time. Perhaps you know him?”

“Yes, of course, Monsieur Benoit. Well, my maman and papa know him.”

“I see. Well, Charlotte, this is my problem, and it makes me rather sad: sometimes, people treat me differently because I’m American. They judge me before they know me.”

It was almost exactly what Charlotte had been trying to explain to Papa! To think that the glamorous woman next door had the same sort of problem! “I suppose that’s rather silly of them,” she said slowly.

“How so?”

“Well,” Charlotte said, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “The fact that you are American doesn’t change who you are on the inside. It is just one piece of you.”

“Hmm. That’s quite a good point. But what do you think I should do about the way I’m feeling?”

Charlotte thought about this. “You can’t always change other people’s minds. But you can change whether or not you listen to them, can’t you?”

“Why, yes,” Ruby said. “You know, Charlotte, I think I was right. You are very wise indeed. I will think about what you said.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said, suddenly shy again. She wanted to ask Ruby many more questions. What was America like? Where had she learned to speak French so well? What did she think of Paris? Was she worried about the war that everyone said was coming to France? But Ruby was already moving toward the door of her terrace, and Charlotte realized with a great swell of disappointment that she had missed her chance.

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Ruby said. “I hope we talk again soon.” And then she was gone, leaving Charlotte alone to overlook the moonlit courtyard.

Only later did Charlotte realize that her kitchen window was open a crack, and that if Ruby had already been on her terrace, she would have heard Charlotte’s whole conversation with her parents. The thought made Charlotte feel a bit silly at first, but by the time she went to sleep that night, she felt a little less alone.





CHAPTER FOUR


January 1940

It was icy cold and rainy when Thomas Clarke arrived at the Little Rissington airfield in the Cotswolds for the first time. Not a very good welcome, he thought. The conditions at Desford, where he’d learned to fly DH 82 Tiger Moths, hadn’t been much better, but Little Rissi was supposed to be the real deal, the place where he would earn his RAF wings, where he would learn to fly fighters. He had imagined, somehow, wide-open, verdant fields and babbling blue streams. Instead, the world here seemed to be a study in all the shades of brown and gray, with the wind turning the raindrops into vicious projectiles. By the time he and Harry Cormack made it inside the brick building at the front of the complex, their brand-new RAF blues were drenched straight through.

“If Marcie could see me now,” Harry muttered, glancing down at his sopping uniform as they waited for the station commander. “You’re lucky you don’t have a sweetheart, Thomas. There’s no one to see you in this state.”

“Yes, lucky me.” Thomas rolled his eyes at the man who’d become his closest friend at Desford, where they’d survived the harrowing first weeks of make-or-break flight training together. He refrained from mentioning that Harry likely wouldn’t be seeing his love anytime soon anyhow. The world was at war, and there was a rush to get the newest recruits into the skies. Besides, Harry seemed to have a new girl every few weeks. Where did he find the time? And how could he worry about wooing the young ladies who hung around the pub they frequented when there was battle to be waged? Surely that sort of thinking was a distraction they couldn’t afford.