Flora watched the clock carefully because the timing needed to be perfect. She had asked Matron for one day’s leave, explaining how important it was to bid Maudie and Olive farewell. It was possible that Captain Carlyle might accompany her because they were all close friends from childhood. How easy it is to lie when you are trusted, she thought.
Matron Burke gave her permission gladly. ‘It’s good to know you have such loyal and long-standing friends. Cherish them well.’
Wearing her two-piece tweed jacket and skirt, cape and jaunty tam-o’-shanter, Flora began her stroll down the hill towards the pension, just as a sleek French car slid alongside her.
‘Can I give you a lift, Miss Garvie?’ Kit said. Flora stepped up into the vehicle with a smile: so far, so good, she thought.
They drove into Nice and found the station, parking well out of sight. Kit bought tickets for the little line while Flora stood waiting anxiously. This was going to be such a special day and nerves must not spoil it.
The railway journey took them up a beautiful wooded valley. It grew colder as they rose above the city’s sprawl into a hilly outcrop of jutting rocks. There were pine trees tipped with snow, looking like something on a Christmas card. They held hands, gazing astonished at the magnificent vista before them, then alighted at the second halt. The air was crisp and frosty, but Kit hoped they would find the auberge serving piping hot soup, a plat du jour and a plate of cheese as the officer had promised.
He had forgotten to tell them that there was a winter timetable and the auberge was closed and shuttered. There was a small café where they sat patiently for the dour-faced woman to offer them an omelette and a glass of red wine.
‘This reminds me of the estaminet in the rest areas,’ Kit said. ‘It’s not quite what I had in mind… wait till I see the major.’
‘It’s perfect. Just look at the view,’ Flora said.
‘But I don’t like the look of those dark clouds over there,’ Kit replied.
‘Don’t be a grump. We’ll be back long before they spill their load on the mountains,’ Flora replied setting off briskly along a mountain path. Kit followed but paused reading the skies again. ‘We really should turn back now.’
Wrong again. Silently, slowly at first and then swiftly, the snowflakes began to fall like feathers onto the village. Now the hills looked grey and menacing.
‘I suppose we’d better get back to the station halt and take the first train back,’ Kit suggested.
‘But it’s not due for an hour.’ They found walking suddenly slippery. Flora clung onto his arm.
‘This is not a good idea. I’m sorry,’ Kit said as they slithered down the path to the station halt.
Everything was going wrong, but Flora refused to be downhearted. There was plenty of time to get back, she thought, as they made for the little cabine to sit out the snow storm. At first they waited patiently but the return train did not come. Hour after hour and no sign of it. Now darkness was creeping down the valley, and they huddled together to keep warm, hoping against hope for its arrival.
It was pitch dark when the station keeper arrived with a lantern. ‘Monsieur, there is no more train tonight. It will arrive in the morning,’ he said in a thick dialect that was hard to understand.
‘Is there somewhere to stay?’ Kit asked in broken French. ‘Une chambre, peut-être?’
The old man shrugged his shoulders. ‘Everything is closed, but there is the church. The priest is away… And there’s a stove in the vestry… Come with me this way, madame et monsieur…’
The snow was deep and their boots sank into it but the church was not far away. The old man pushed open a side door. ‘Voilà… there is wood for the stove, a bench. I will bring something for your wife. She looks frozen.’
Flora blushed at her title. Thank goodness her gloves hid a bare ring finger. Panic flooded through her at being stranded so late. How would they explain her absence? After the man left, she turned to Kit, trying to stay calm. He took her hand reassuringly.
‘I’m sorry, this is not what I planned. I should have checked the timetable, but at least we’re dry and can get warm. We’ll spend the night here and trust there will be a train in the morning. I never meant…’ He paused, seeing the look of panic on her face.
Flora surveyed their surroundings. The vestry was damp and soulless, just a cupboard with vestments, empty vases, a picture of Our Lady and child on the wall, a crucifix and some papers. There was a little woodstove on a stone floor. At least it was dry and heat from the stove would keep them warm.
‘Ah well, here we are.’ Flora sighed, her mouth dry with tension. ‘Better make the most of it. We wanted to be alone and now we really are. The old man is being very kind. We must offer him something in return.’
The old man lit the stove and found a thick tablecloth to act as a blanket. ‘I will wake you in the morning. It will be clear by then.’
As the stove began to heat, they pulled the bench closer to its glow. There was silence inside, for the walls were thick. There was nothing to do but wait while the little stove came to life. ‘That’s better,’ said Kit, pulling Flora towards him, settling her into his arms. Their kiss was long and deep and she sensed that this night would change everything. It seemed natural for Kit to spread his greatcoat on the floor and for Flora to shed her cape, so that lying together gave up a heat of a different kind.
Flora was no stranger to men’s bodies, but she suddenly felt shy and vulnerable as she slid down her wet skirt and Kit loosened her jacket and blouse, kissing her breasts through her chemise.
‘Flora… I don’t want to do anything…’
‘Don’t stop,’ Flora whispered. ‘But I have no experience.’
‘Neither have I,’ he replied, nuzzling her ear.
‘Then we’ll learn together,’ she said, allowing his hands to stroke her body. They lay entwined, feeling their way into a slow languid opening to this first act of love, after which they slept, locked in each other’s arms.
Suddenly at first light, Kit sat up, turning to Flora. ‘Marry me, Flora, right here, right now. Don’t let’s wait…’
Flora sat up, startled. ‘You can’t mean that. You’re not free. There’s Muriel to consider.’
‘I don’t love her. I don’t think I ever did,’ Kit replied.
‘Then you should go back and tell her so. I won’t be party to any deception.’
Kit lay back again. ‘And say what? She must sense by now that we are not suited. With you it’s so different.’
‘This is madness and it’s all too soon. You’re not thinking straight.’
‘I thought you felt the same, Flora.’
‘I do, but this isn’t right, not as it is… If we were found out…’ Flora felt panic rising again.
‘So what… this is between us alone. I found you and I love you,’ said Kit.
‘But I care that we do what is honest, even if you don’t… I just can’t be party to anything else.’
Kit grabbed her hand. ‘You can’t mean it. Don’t you want to marry me?’
‘Of course, when the time is right, but not like this. You must go home and sort things out properly. Perhaps time apart will give us time to reflect.’
‘How can you say that after what we’ve just done?’
‘There’s no rush, we can have a lifetime to be together, but not like this.’
Kit stood up, impatient. ‘Life is to be lived now. It’s all we have. I have no desire to go back to my old life, so let’s just elope.’
Flora jumped up, grabbing his hand. ‘Don’t be cross, you have your duties and I have mine. You are still a chaplain, don’t forget.’
‘I’m a sham, a rotten padre, and I don’t believe half of what I am expected to do. There, does that shock you?’
‘My dear Kit, you’ve not been well. This is all part of your confusion and despair. You need to calm down and think about it. All I’m asking is for you to sort out your private affairs. I can wait… It’s not a lot to ask.’ The atmosphere in the vestry was cooling. Flora was trying to be gentle as she let down his impetuous ideas.
Kit’s face hardened. ‘I’ll write her a letter, then.’
‘That’s a coward’s way and you know it. We’ve both lied enough to parents and wives, softening the blow of a son’s death with lies… It’s not fair on Muriel. She’s waited all these years for you. I won’t be privy to it. This demeans you.’
Kit pulled on his greatcoat. ‘I’m not listening to this. I thought you wanted me and now you’re backing out.’
‘I’m doing no such thing. Just asking for time to do everything right.’ Kit was being obstinate now.
‘You don’t know what you’re asking, Flora, you just don’t understand.’
‘Please don’t be angry. I’m trying to be sensible,’ she pleaded.
‘To hell with sensible. We met and fell in love. Now we’re one body and soul – at least I thought so.’
Flora kissed him. ‘Don’t let’s fall out. These past weeks have been wonderful. I never expected to have such feelings. Our love can wait a month or two, surely?’
‘I suppose so,’ Kit said.
‘Now you’re sulking,’ Flora teased. ‘We have all the time in the world, but first we must prepare for the troubles that will be waiting for us down there. Matron will want an explanation.’
‘Does it matter? It’s none of her business. I’m sick of hiding in corners, so let’s come clean and take the consequences.’
‘There you go again, making plans. Just be patient. It’ll soon be morning.’ They sat together in silence. Flora felt a chill between them. This was their first quarrel and probably not their last.
It was a relief when the old man returned. ‘Monsieur, the snow is melting a little. Come, the train won’t be long,’ he said.
Flora was already dressed and ready. Kit was still in his shirtsleeves, scrambling to tidy the floor, hiding evidence of the bed they had made. ‘Merci, vous êtes très gentil. Et votre nom?’
‘Laurent. François Laurent, monsieur.’
‘You are very kind,’ Flora said, offering him something from her purse, but he stepped back, shaking his head. ‘Non, madame. It is our duty to welcome strangers just as the innkeeper welcomed Our Lady into his stable…’ The old man smiled and guided them back down to the station. The sky was blue, without a single cloud. However, the frost between them was still in the air.
*
Kit sat on the train, staring out of the window, smiling to himself. What a perfect day, even if everything he planned had fallen apart. To have spent the night in Flora’s arms was wonderful. Puritans would call this an act of reckless fornication. What a cold judgemental word that was to describe what had happened between them. He was glad he had not succumbed to his friend Dr O’Keeffe’s tempting offer to visit a dubious dance hall in Paris when they were on leave. There was such a feeling of joy, he thought, in the act of love. It had been such a release and a pleasure to have shared it for the first time with Flora.
Now all that remained was to get her back safely to her billet, using the excuse that she stayed out longer than she meant to with her friends until it was too cold and dark to leave. This was the best he could think up. It was easier for him, officers had freedom to come and go. Some even went to casinos, bars and brothels around the city.
As for the other matter, he must write to his boss in Glasgow and to Muriel, make excuses for delaying his return home. He just couldn’t face their inevitable disappointment in him. Aunt Jessie would feel shame that he’d let the side down somehow. It was too complicated and would spoil the joy he was feeling. Now the black cloud that sat above his head was lifting. Everything was possible with Flora by his side.
Together they would start a new life. He would start training as a serious artist. He had always suppressed his passion for painting until now. Perhaps they could both teach, not in Glasgow, of course, but somewhere far away. His plans had no boundaries, but he sensed it was too soon to share his thoughts with Flora. These lofty ambitions might worry her. She was noticeably cautious when discussing the future. Slowly, slowly, Carlyle, he muttered to himself. For the first time in years, he felt almost giddy with optimism.