Consuela O’Keeffe was waiting at the station in Béziers, waving her arms, so Flora could find her amid the crowds of passengers alighting from the Perpignan train. The journey from Barcelona had been hard with luggage and a baby on her hip so she had stayed the night in Perpignan. Since the liberation in August, the pavements were crowded with a melting pot of refugees, soldiers and people returning home, but she had found a room in a small backstreet hotel. The Tricolor was hanging from windows now that the enemy had retreated northwards. No one could miss the air of relief and excitement in the city.
‘Fleur! Ici! Ici!’ Sam’s wife shouted, as Flora struggled with her bag and baby. Consuela took one look at her friend. ‘You didn’t tell us about this little one in your letter? Wait till Christophe sees his flame-haired son!’ She opened her arms to clasp Christy.
‘He’s with you?’ Flora’s spirit rose with delight. ‘Praise the Lord!’
‘Sadly, no… It’s been such a long time since we were all together. I’m afraid I have no news of him, but come, come. Your letter was such a surprise. We thought you were safe back in Britain, and all this time living in Barcelona?’
It was Flora’s dream that somehow Kit would be waiting at his old friend’s house; a silly fantasy that had helped her sleep at night, imagining their reunion. The truth was like a dousing of cold water. She shivered with disappointment.
Once back in Magret, there was so much news to share and it was wonderful to see the old farmhouse again, with its house still full of children. Later, they sat outside at dusk, sipping wine, listening to a nightingale in the tree. For a moment it was like old times. Flora recalled that first visit when she came to confront poor Kit for not meeting her as planned. How her heart melted, to find him so sick.
‘I did call in at the children’s house, months ago,’ said Sam. ‘But I must warn you, it was in a sorry state. The last I heard of Kit was that he was in the hills, with a group of young resisters. The village was garrisoned, so I didn’t linger. I expect you will be heading north back home, with this little chap?’
Flora leaned back in her chair. ‘Not until I know where Kit is,’ she replied, having no thought of returning to Glasgow. Her long letter had received no reply, but she had left a forwarding address at the consulate, just in case. Her first priority had been reaching Montze, but Sam had no encouraging words. ‘Transport is chaotic. I will take you myself, but petrol is scarce.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Money was the least of her problems. Thanks to the consul’s office and the British Embassy in Madrid, a bank draft had been released. ‘I can hire a car, but I can’t believe we are free at last. There are so many friends in the village I must thank. They will have news of Kit, I’m sure. We’ll wait until he returns there.’
That night, she slept deeply, waking at first light to the dawn chorus. Everything here was as it always had been. Sam’s Irish status had allowed him to stay on untroubled, treating his patients around the district. They owed him so much.
From Barcelona to Perpignan and on to Béziers, her next stop would be to head back to Prades and on to Montze. Now that France had been liberated, it was only a matter of time before the Resistance would disband, before making their way home to their villages. Even now, she could picture Kit, trekking south back to where they would be waiting, back into her loving arms.
*
Days became weeks, and Kit sat alone in his cell, uncertain of his fate. A brief circuit of exercise in the yard brought news of battles won and a shift in the atmosphere in the prison. There was change in the air; a dangerous uncertainty, as if the enemy was preparing to leave. Worst of all, he could hear summary executions in the courtyard. It must be only a matter of time before he was marched out to face the firing squad.
The old padre appeared with a chess set and some ancient books. Sometimes he left extra bread and welcome cheese. They talked of a world without war and sometimes they prayed together. ‘What is happening out there?’ Kit could not resist.
Schultz shook his head. ‘Better not ask.’
What did that mean? His vagueness unsettled Kit. Each day he felt was going to be his last. ‘I must write a letter to my wife. Surely that would be possible, one last wish?’
‘I will see that you get permission for paper,’ Eric replied. ‘If you let me have it unsealed, I will post it for you… I’m sorry it has come to this.’
Was this the sign Kit had been waiting for? His fate was sealed. Flora must know that his last thoughts were of her, and when the padre brought some paper, he sat down to write.
My dearest Flora,
Through the kindness of the padre here, I am allowed to write one last letter. Sadly, I was betrayed, when escaping from a battle and now find myself locked in a mighty prison, within a castle, within an ancient city, that I’m not allowed to name. I am condemned as a member of the resistance group. After my accident, I was hidden in Montze and then spirited away by friends into the woods. In happier times, I would have you laughing at their antics. They were a rabble of young louts, without much aim, other than to escape slave labour, so what could I do but shape them up into a team? We spent the winters holed up in you-know-where. The boys were unaware that it was our home, security was tight and there were frequent raids in the hills, but all that is past history.
In the time I have left, I just want you to know not a day goes by when you aren’t in my thoughts. The precious years we spent together, I clutch to my chest with thanks. We made a little world of our own and fulfilled a dream to give children a home and hope for a better future. That my life must be cut short fills me with sadness, but it is out of my hands now.
Be strong, my dear heart, when you hear news of me. Feel free to return to Scotland, back to the bosom of your family. They need not know anything of my own end, or the part I played in delaying your return to them.
Yours for ever
Kit
*
‘Are you sure you want to go back so soon?’ Consuela hovered anxiously, as Flora gathered the small pieces of luggage. Sam, true to his word, and despite her protestations, had managed to find enough fuel to fire up his battered Citroën for the journey to Montze.
‘Kit might be waiting there, I have to go,’ Flora replied.
‘You’ll need fresh papers to travel. Everything is up in the air, all the rules and regulations are so confusing,’ Consuela warned. ‘I’d hate you to be turned back, or worse.’
‘She’ll be fine,’ Sam replied, as he opened the car door. It smelt of engine oil and leather.
‘Au revoir and thank you for everything. One day soon, we’ll meet as we did before…’ Flora hugged her friend. ‘Wave bye-bye, Christy.’ Her baby was half asleep on her shoulder.
It was going to be a long journey. They stopped off near Prades, to eat a picnic of green beans in a dressing, bread and cheese.
‘Promise us, if you find the house too much, just send word and I’ll fetch you back. You will need to register for ration cards. Jerry may have left, but shortages will make life much harder, I fear.’ Sam added, ‘I will search for news about Kit.’
‘We’ll manage… if I can cross the Pyrenees on foot, I’ll survive now.’ Flora felt her heart thumping as they drew closer to Montze. There wasn’t time to visit Lise. Sam would be anxious to return home, but the old car climbed up the track as far as it could, until the engine petered out. They made the rest of the journey on foot.
Flora stood outside her door. She could see windows broken and a sad look of neglect. It was just like it had been all those years ago, battered and unloved. She straightened her aching shoulders as Christy woke. ‘Let’s see the worst…’
Inside was cold and dusty, but to their relief, intact. Upstairs there were signs of occupation. Men had been living there: cigarette butts, broken chairs and tiles were scattered everywhere, but it was still liveable in.
‘You can’t stay here,’ Sam said, ‘with a baby!’
‘Christy is as warm as toast. I can still feed him. We’ll sleep together until I sort out all the stuff we had when the refugee children came. I’m going to stay, Sam. It’s been my dream to bring our baby home to where he belongs. It’s not as bad as I imagined.’ Flora was trying to feel upbeat.
‘Are you sure?’ Sam was reluctant to leave. ‘Let me at least help you draw water from the well and light the stove. It may not work.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. You’d better get on your way. Thanks for all your help.’ But Flora allowed him to bring water and test the stove before she waved him off down the track, glad to be alone at last.
Flora boiled the battered kettle, bringing out a precious box of tea – a gift from the vice-consul’s wife. It tasted wonderful, even without milk. Tomorrow she would give the place a going-over and find the cot and baby chair. Juliette and Flora may have been in a rush to leave, but they still had had time to put away all the children’s stuff in the barn, covered over with sacking. Sadly, very little of their baby gear had survived. There were sticks and chopped wood, enough to light a small fire. To her relief, the vandals had not found the bedding hidden in a recess.
Tomorrow she must go down to the village for provisions and surprise Lise. She would also visit the post office, in case there were any letters for them. Tomorrow was going to be a wonderful new day.