It was late April and Flora knew she was dithering about booking her ticket home. There was a new influx of Jewish refugees filling the hospital, tired pregnant mothers preparing to hike over the mountains to freedom if their transit papers were refused at the border. Part of her wanted to stay on to help, the other part knew she must head north. The day came when she could delay no longer and sent a card direct to Kit with the date of her ticket; there was no time to visit the O’Keeffes’ farm, much as she would have liked to do. Kit had been very much in her thoughts and it was hard to push him to the back of her mind.
It was a tearful departure from Elne in May. How she would miss that powdery scent of babies in the nursery at changing time, the playful bath times, the smile on their mothers’ faces and the delight of the nurses when a new baby was born. It was such a special place. She would never forget Miss Eidenbenz, with her girlish and yet deeply spiritual face. Her warmth created a wonderful family atmosphere among staff and mothers. How Flora was going to miss all the fun they had managed to create in the hardest of times.
On the doorstep of the chateau, she was presented with a posy of flowers made with sprigs of mimosa. Anita was driving her down to the city, so she could collect what remained of her funds from the bank. She clutched her ticket and passport tightly, hoping the train would be on time and she would not have to sit on her suitcase. She would telegram Pa later from Paris and give him a surprise.
*
Kit awoke with a start. Had he overslept? Flora was leaving today and he had made sure he kipped down with Chuck Hauser, closer to Perpignan, so as not to be late. He had talked half the night with him. There were so many things he wanted to say to her and he rehearsed them with his young friend.
‘If you don’t ask, you’ll never know.’
‘What if she’s already left?’
‘We can ring the maternity hospital to find out. Leave it with me. Don’t get in a sweat or you’ll set yourself back. Get dressed and we’ll borrow some petrol coupons. There’s a guy at the gasoline pump who will oblige.’
‘It’s a slow crawl into Perpignan. I don’t want to miss her.’
‘If it’s today, we’ve plenty of time, just get dressed.’
Kit pulled on his baggy shorts, a moth-eaten jumper and cotton shirt. There was no time to trim his beard and he ruffled his hair into some sort of order. He had to be on time for once, to wave her off. Please God, give me a chance to make things right. Merciful Father take pity on us, he found himself praying.
As they were leaving, one of Chuck’s mates waved his hands to stop them. ‘Have you heard? The Germans have broken through into Holland and Belgium and are crossing into France. All hell has broken loose! Now the war has really begun.’
Kit looked at Chuck and shook his head. ‘She’ll walk right into a storm if she heads north. We have to stop her!’
They drove through the camp and the rutted dirt tracks. It was windy and wet and Chuck had difficulty seeing through the glass. Kit felt panic rising as they neared the city. Chuck jumped out, to make the call from a café.
‘Do hurry up.’ Kit felt his anxiety rising once more.
Chuck gave him the thumbs up. ‘It’s okay, she’s only just left.’
‘Thank you, thank you,’ he whispered to himself. He must stop Flora. She was walking into danger and almost certain internment.
*
The queue for the Paris train was long and the engine was puffing steam, smoke and dusty smuts as they stood in line. Flora gripped her ticket, in case it blew away. She was early coming, prepared for a wait. The wind blew along the platform, ruffling her thin skirt. How long before they were allowed into the already crowded carriages? Faces peered out at the travellers on the platform. She wanted a carriage full of chattering women to distract her from this painful departure. She could see Anita walking back, after driving her into town. Dear Anita, she would miss her. She glanced back again in case by any chance Kit had remembered the date, but then again, why should he drive all this way to see her off?
At last, she was allowed into a carriage full of ladies in black, knitting furiously and talking amongst themselves in the Catalan dialect. It was going to be a long and lonely journey with just some apples and a chunk of bread and cheese to eat. There were also some precious chocolates, given to her as she left, and a flask of strong coffee. She hoped there was a dining car to break the monotony.
Why hadn’t she returned with Maudie? Duty had held her back, or was it that unfinished business with Kit? Now she had seen him and they had spoken some hard truths to each other, there was no reason not to leave and yet… She felt a sadness envelop her like mist. The two of them had come to the end of the road, with nothing left to say to each other. Flora sat back with a great sigh, wishing the engine would fire up and depart.
*
‘The train’s in… I can see it,’ Kit said as he leapt out of the truck. ‘It’s on time!’ He dashed past the porter, while Chuck bought the platform tickets. He was desperate, peering into each crowded carriage, searching in vain for Flora. She mustn’t go north, not now. Was he too late? Had he got the wrong train? He could feel his lungs tightening with each stride. Don’t give up on me now, he thought. Breathe slowly, calm your pace. He had to find her and warn her. Oh please, Lord, let me warn her… He strode down the whole length of the train and back again. Chuck was doing the same. Then he saw Flora’s face peering out in surprise, just as it had when he’d first seen her on the ambulance train, all those years ago: nurse and chaplain fated never to meet.
‘Pull down the window, Flora, please,’ he yelled and gestured.
Curious, she did just that, to his relief. ‘You came to see me off, thank you,’ she said, leaning out further. ‘And there’s Chuck waving.’
‘You have to get out, there’s war in the north. France may fall and you’ll be trapped… Don’t go!’
‘I’ll be fine. My passport is in order now. Don’t worry about me.’
‘But I do, you don’t understand… They’re fighting for the Channel. You could be killed.’ Kit was pounding on the window. Chuck stood further down the platform, shaking his head and yelling. ‘Ask the damn woman!’
‘Ask me what?’ Flora shouted, as the engine revved up, steam puffing out.
‘Marry me!’ Kit shouted back. ‘Marry me, Flora. I love you… Please don’t let us part all over again…’
Flora couldn’t quite make out what he was shouting. ‘What?’ she yelled, as the train slowly edged its way out of the station.
‘He asked you to marry him,’ said one of the sprightly widows, in perfect French. ‘What are you waiting for, madame?’
‘Kit, Kit, I can’t hear you.’
‘Don’t let him slip away without an answer,’ the lady added, smiling. Flora felt panic as the train began to pull away. Not again, pounded her heart, not again. This is your last chance. It was now or never to follow her heart, as it screamed: Go, just go.
The door opened and the widow woman threw her suitcase out. ‘Jump, madame, jump!’ The smoke swirled around as she leapt, hands first into a sprawling heap. When she recovered from the shock of her landing, she stood up, breathless, but Kit was gone.
*
The two men walked away as the train chugged out of the station, gathering speed. Too late, too late, it rattled on the lines. Kit walked slowly, breathless, despondent. Was it happening all over again?
‘No luck, chum. Sorry, but you tried.’ Chuck took his arm and they made for the exit.
Kit turned back, for one last lingering look at what might have been, and, as the steam cleared, he saw a woman running with a suitcase.
‘Kit, Kit Carlyle… yes, yes, yes.’ He ran towards her and she collapsed into his waiting arms.