Flora sat staring up at the vaulted roof of the Cathedral of St John the Baptist in Perpignan. There was a stern, dark feeling of doom and judgement about this Catalan church and a coolness that made her shiver. The altar, by contrast, was a glorious gold extravaganza, strange to her Presbyterian tastes. Somehow it felt the right place to meet Kit again.
She had dressed with care. Slacks were too informal, but her summer dresses were bleached and faded by the sun, and felt too frivolous for such an important meeting. A thin blouse and her only skirt would have to do. She had washed her hair, coiling it into a topknot. Her skin was sunburnt, so she covered her arms with a shawl and put a lace scarf over her head. On her feet she wore espadrilles with laces tied around her ankles. In the camp she wore boots and shirts and a bandanna to protect her hair. She doubted Kit would notice anything about her appearance, but it mattered to her.
She suggested noon, so they could talk and then perhaps find somewhere quiet to lunch.
Looking down at her wristwatch, she noticed the hands were moving slowly past the hour, but she waited on, in case he was delayed. Perhaps this neutral place was not a sensible idea. There were tourists wandering up and down the aisles talking, but no sign of Kit. She sat facing the door, but he didn’t appear.
She made excuses for him. Perhaps he had not received her letter, or perhaps Frankie had mislaid it. He was caught up in the crowded roads, crawling into the city. She waited for a full half hour more, just in case, but still he did not come. How quickly then her anxiety turned to anger. Damn the man! Flora shot out of her seat and made for the door, stubbing her toe on a corner stone. Damn, damn, damn. Why ever had she believed he would come?
Outside there was a commotion, loudspeakers blasting out over the streets and square. Crowds were heading to the source of the noise. It was an announcement in Catalan and French, hard to catch the gist.
Flora tried to push forward. What was all this agitation? Women were crossing themselves. One word she did catch was la guerre… guerra… war.
At last, the waiting was over. Tensions had been building over the past few weeks in the camp. Volunteers suddenly disappeared to enlist, leaving gaps and staff shortages. There was no cause for alarm, for France’s borders were secured by the great Maginot line of defences. France and Britain together were a force to be reckoned with. It all felt so far away on this beautiful September morning.
Had Kit decided to enlist again? Surely not. He was too old. But why wasn’t he here to share this momentous moment with her? Why the hell was she bothering to make excuses for the inexcusable?
Her feet led her instinctively towards the hospital in search of Maudie Wallace. She suddenly felt very much alone and in need of a friend with whom to share this dreadful news. Why was she crying? Kit had let her down once more. Why was she surprised?
*
Kit had slept fitfully, anxious to be up in time to make his way to Perpignan. He was desperate to see Flora again, but his rest had been disturbed by fits of coughing. His forehead burned and his chest was so tight that his breathing became laboured. He tried to clear his throat, but his head was pounding, and there was a strange buzzing in his ears. He tried to ignore it. Nothing was going to stop his rendezvous but as he stood up to dress in a clean shirt and shorts, the room swirled around him and he had to hold onto the wall for support.
Chuck burst in through the door. ‘Wakey wakey, today is the big day when Chris gets to meet his girl…’ He paused. ‘My God you look rough, are you okay? Better take a shower, a cold one. Did the nerves get you? How much did you have to drink last night with Frankie and her gang?’
Kit was not listening, finding it hard to focus because his hacking cough had started up again and his legs went from under him. ‘Shut up and help me… I have to get dressed. I don’t want to be late.’
Chuck stood back. ‘Hell, Chris, you’re as pale as a ghost. What have you—’
‘It’s just my old war wound come back to haunt me today, of all days. I have to see her.’
‘You ain’t goin’ nowhere, chum. You’re burning up. I’m fetchin’ in the doc to look you over. Come on, it’s back to bed for you…’
‘But I can’t…’ Those were the last words Kit could manage. The room went black and he collapsed in a heap on the wooden floor.