NIKI FOUND THAT although she was getting better at her job as a teleprinter operator, she felt restless, longed for more interesting work.
When she was off duty, she haunted bookstores, both new and secondhand, searching for French-language books, grammar and phrase books mostly, but then for works of fiction. More and more she was thinking in French. That, she knew, was a good sign. It meant she was becoming more familiar with it.
Weeks went by, the situation in Europe worsened, and Niki began to chafe under the routine she now considered dull and prosaic, given the possibility of what she might be allowed to do.
Then one weekend, feeling particularly restless and frustrated, she asked for a weekend pass and to her surprise got it. She decided to go down to Birchfields. With its rolling hills, trees, and quiet lake where swans floated gracefully, it seemed the only place left with the serene beauty of prewar England.
Garnet was always happy to see her, and Bryanne welcomed an extra pair of hands for the evening of hostessing the men who flocked over to enjoy Garnet’s openhearted hospitality. Niki availed herself of the chance of a leisurely bath, rather guiltily dumping quantities of scented bath salts into the deliciously warm water. Months of the regulation five-minute showers had made her appreciative of such a rare luxury.
Relaxed and refreshed, Niki came downstairs Friday evening, hearing the sound of dance music, and saw couples already circling the polished floors of the drawing room and hallway, where rugs had been rolled up for dancing. Men in every conceivable kind of uniform stood watching the dancers, waiting to cut in, for there were always more of them than available female partners.
It was then that Niki saw him. He was standing in the archway, talking to a fellow officer. There was something vaguely familiar about him. Even as she was trying to recall just why, he turned and looked at her. A smile of recognition broke across his face, and he half raised his hand in greeting. In another minute he was striding toward her. As he got closer, she saw he was above medium height, well-built, wearing a British uniform whose insignia she did not recognize. He wasn’t handsome—his nose was too prominent in his lean, high-cheekboned face, the chin too square—but his smile lit up his very blue eyes, which were regarding her with interest and humor.
When he reached her, he said, “I had a feeling we’d meet again”—using the words of the popular song, he sang the rest—” ‘don’t know where, don’t know when …"’ He grinned. “Did you?”
His voice, with its slight Scottish burr, clicked in her memory. Where or when had they met?
Before it came to her, he spoke again. “WRENS headquarters in December. I’m Fraser Montrose, and you are—Gilbert, isn’t it?”
“Gilbreaux.” Niki automatically gave it the softer French pronunciation.
“We danced and then you had a phone call.” His smile turned into a teasing grin. “And you never came back.”
“I’m sorry. That was very rude of me. I should have explained.”
“Not necessary. Luckily, we have another chance to get acquainted. Could we find some place to sit down and talk?”
Just then, over Fraser’s shoulder Niki saw Bryanne beckoning her, signaling she needed her at the refreshment table.
“Excuse me, I’m supposed to be helping here tonight.”
“I didn’t realize. I thought you were here on R and R.” He looked puzzled. “Are you a local girl?”
“Not exactly—” Niki hesitated.
Fraser gave her a curious look.
“Listen, I’ll go do my chore, and then I’ll bring us some punch and we can talk, OK?”
“Promise not to disappear again?”
“I promise,” Niki said, laughing, and hurried away.
Twenty minutes later, after she had refilled the punch bowl and got dozens more cookies from the kitchen, arranged them on a tray, and placed them on the long refreshment table, she looked around for Fraser. He was sitting in one of the alcoved window seats in the drawing room. Carrying two cups of punch, she went to join him. When she handed him one, Fraser said, “You know, you’re a bit of a mystery, and I love mystery novels, crossword puzzles, so I’ve ferreted a little out about you. But you’ll have to fill in the blanks.”
Niki wasn’t ready to pour out her whole life story to a stranger, even an attractive one. So she countered, “Well, you’re almost as much a mystery to me. Tell me about you.”
“Not much to tell. I’m twenty-four, was at the University of Edinburgh, not quite sure what I planned to do, when the war came about. So I joined up and now I’m in special training. Can’t be specific about what kind. But since you’re in the service, you can understand that. That’s about it. Nothing mysterious about me.”
“Of course, I knew you were a Scot by your accent …”
“And you have an accent yourself,” Fraser said. “I can’t figure out whether it’s American or—Canadian, maybe?”
Niki rolled her eyes. “Hardly!”
“It’s not Australian. I bunk with some Aussies, and I can tell it’s not that.”
“Have you heard of Virginia?”
“Of course. I have relatives there. In fact, my father was an American from Virginia.” He frowned. “From a little town you’ve probably never heard of, Mayfield.”
“Heard of it? I live there!”
“Gilbreaux? That doesn’t sound American to me,” Fraser said slowly.
“It isn’t. It’s French. My real parents were French. But my adopted parents are American, and their name is Montrose.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. They simply stared at each other. Then they both started talking at once. In a jumble of words, interrupting each other with questions, they sorted out the puzzle. Fraser was Jonathan Montrose’s son by his second marriage, to Phoebe McPherson.
“So we’re related!” Fraser said. Then he sounded disappointed. “I don’t know whether to be glad or sorry.”
Niki had to laugh. “Well, not really. However, Virginians go to unbelievable lengths to claim kinship. I’m not actually a Montrose, so we’re not even what they call ‘kissin’ cousins.’”
Fraser drew his face into a comical one. “Now, I know I’m disappointed about that.”
Niki laughed. “You’re really funny. I thought all Scotsmen were dour.”
“That’s as much a misconception as the idea that all Southern women live on plantations and are pampered belles.”
“I guess we both have a lot to learn about each other.”
“That will be a great deal of fun.” Fraser smiled. “By the way, I meant to introduce myself to Mrs. Devlin when I first came tonight. Then I saw you and got sidetracked. My mum wrote to her that if I were stationed anywhere near Birchfields, I would come by, pay my respects. Would you like to take me to her?”
“She may have already gone upstairs. She usually only stays for about the first half hour of the evening. She’s very old, you know,” Niki said, glancing around the crowded room for a glimpse of Garnet. “But of course you’ll come again, and she will insist you make Birchfields your home away from home. Now she is a true Southern lady and was, I’m told, a true belle in her day.”
“Then, another time,” Fraser said. He tipped his head to one side, saying, “Listen …” The song “Where or When” was playing. “I don’t think we ever finished our dance. Shall we?”
They moved onto the dance floor and danced surprisingly well together. When the music ended, Niki said, “I’m sorry, I have to go. As one of the hostesses, I’m supposed to circulate, make sure every guy who wants to gets a chance to dance.”
Fraser had no choice. He watched her walk away, thinking what a pretty and delightful young woman she was. What a coincidence the two meetings with her had been.
Maybe it was even more of a coincidence than either realized.
Saturday evening Fraser was at Birchfields again, eager to get to know Niki better. She was undoubtedly the most intriguing young woman he had ever met. He walked through the French doors into the drawing room, which had now been turned into a sort of cabaret, with small tables all around the edge of a dance space that had been cleared, stripped of carpeting, and waxed. He stood on the threshold for a minute or two, his glance searching the room.
He saw her before she saw him. He started across the room, but before he reached her, an American had whirled her out onto the floor.
Impatiently Fraser waited until the piece was over, then in a few quick strides reached Niki’s side.
“I believe the next one is mine,” he said confidently to the airman. “Sorry, buddy.”
“Hello,” Niki said, smiling up at him.
At least she looked happy to see him.
If she also looked a little dazed, it was because as Niki had seen Fraser approach, something startling had happened. As distinctly as if she had heard them spoken, these words came into Niki’s mind: Someday he will tell me he loves me. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before, and as Fraser tapped the other soldier’s arm and smiled at her, it seemed even more strange.
This is crazy, she thought. My imagination is working overtime. This rangy Scot with the reddish blond hair wasn’t even her type. Too American-looking, actually. Her romantic fantasies ran more to the dark-eyed, Gallic kind, like Paul Duval.
The strains of “The Last Time I Saw Paris” began, and Fraser took Niki into his arms.
As the evening wore on and they enjoyed dance after dance together, Niki found herself strongly attracted to Fraser. Those strange predictive words floated back to her: Someday he will tell me he loves me.
But not yet. Not for a long while….
At last the band began playing its last number, and Fraser asked, “Will you still be here on Sunday? Could we do something together?”
Sunday morning when Niki came out of church with Aunt Garnet and Bryanne, Fraser was waiting for her. Flustered, she introduced them. Both Garnet and Bryanne were taken aback. “My stars, what a surprise!” exclaimed the old lady.
Bryanne expressed her surprise as well. “The last time I saw you, you were just a gangly kid!”
“You should have let me know you were stationed so close,” Garnet said.
“Actually, mum didn’t know. Mail moves slowly in wartime and I just got my orders.” Fraser had the grace to look embarrassed. “I’m afraid I’m not much good at letter writing.”
Garnet wagged a playful finger at him. “You should be ashamed. Don’t you know how anxious she must be about you?” Her smile softened her words. “I think I’ll write her myself and tell her how delighted I am to have met you.”
After an exchange of recent happenings, information, Garnet insisted that Fraser come back to Birchfields with them for “a family reunion of sorts.”
Back at the house, they sat down to a luncheon of poached salmon, new potatoes, and lemon pudding. Garnet looked at Fraser affectionately as she told him how dear his father, Jonathan, had been to her.
“After my sister-in-law, Rose, died, I took care of Jonathan until he was nearly six years old and went to live with his Meredith relatives in Massachusetts.” Garnet wiped her eyes. “That was one of the saddest days of my life, to part with the little boy that I’d come to think of as mine.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Devlin. That’s most kind.”
“Mrs. Devlin, nonsense! Aunt Garnet,” she corrected him. “And you are to make yourself completely at home here, you understand?”
Fraser looked at Niki on the other side of the table and grinned. She met his gaze, then lowered her eyes demurely. She remembered her hesitation in telling him who she was, explaining their strange relationship. Now the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Perhaps now Fraser would be here at Birchfields with or without her encouragement. Not that she minded…. She lifted her eyes and glanced over at him. He was still looking at her. She felt her cheeks get warm.
Bryanne, her own whirlwind romance still so sweetly fresh in her mind, spotted a potential one almost at once. She lent them Steven’s Bentley and her petrol ration card and told them to go off for the day.
It was one of those days that would become a cherished memory, Niki thought even as they drove away from Birchfields. The sky was an unclouded blue, and everything seemed incredibly beautiful. The winding country lanes, the rolling hills where black-faced sheep grazed contentedly. It seemed so peaceful. How was it possible that only a short distance from where the little car took the curves, men were killing each other? Niki thrust that thought fiercely back. Not today. Today she would enjoy the moment.
Fraser glanced over at her and smiled. He had taken off his cap, and his thick hair blew wildly. She smiled back. In fact, she found she couldn’t do anything but smile.
After a while they came to a village. Fraser slowed down and asked her if she wanted to stop for tea. He swerved and parked, and across the street they saw a sign: “Buttercup Tea Shop.” Niki smothered a giggle. It was one of those places she made fun of as being “so tea-cozy British.” She had always described them with her wickedly derisive humor as “those places where elderly women gather to gossip and discuss the latest diet while ordering fluffy desserts.” Today, however, its quaint atmosphere seemed just right, delightful in fact. All her humorous comments faded into oblivion as they came inside the charming interior and Fraser found a table for them in a corner.
“Alone at last.” He grinned. “Now I intend to find out all about you.”
Niki looked at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “But I’ve told you everything there is to know.”
“Not by a long shot. Why do you use the name Gilbreaux?” he asked. “Why not Montrose? Didn’t your adopted mother’s husband adopt you, too?”
“It’s rather a long story …,” she hedged.
“We’ve got all afternoon and I’d really like to hear. Don’t you know, Niki, that everything about you interests me?”
The question was left hanging between them, because the waitress came to take their order. When she left, Fraser leaned forward again. “So now, carry on. You are hiding behind the name Gilbreaux because you’re some kind of Mata Hari, a spy, perhaps?”
“Nothing that glamorous or exciting, I’m afraid.” She drew a long breath. “Well, if you really want to know. I had always used Tante’s name before I went to France the summer of 1939. My intention was to go to the orphanage where I was brought as a baby and find out about my real parents.”
“And did you?”
Niki shook her head and again stopped as their waitress brought them a pot of tea, two cups and saucers, then went away again. Niki poured and as she did, she wondered how she could explain all this to Fraser. Or why she now agreed that it was important that he know more about her.
“What happened then? I mean, in France?” Fraser asked.
“I went to the orphanage—well, it’s no longer an orphanage, but I thought they would have records or something about who brought me there, so I might be able to trace my real parents.”
“And?” Fraser prompted.
“It wasn’t much help.” Niki shook her head. “The nun in charge told me that after the war there was a lot of confusion. Nobody seemed to know or care much about records and birth certificates. The children just needed shelter, food—”
“She showed me a list of possible last names, one of which was Gilbreaux. But she did not know whether the woman who brought me there was my real mother or a relative or perhaps some kind person who found me abandoned somewhere. That seems to have happened often in those dreadful times. Even if the parents loved their child, they may have had no way to support their little one. Who knows? So you see, I don’t know who I am or where I come from.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Anyway, I decided to use the name Gilbreaux. I thought it would be easier to get into one of the services. That was, of course, before Pearl Harbor and the Americans coming in.”
The waitress came back with their food, and they both realized they were hungry. While they ate toasted cheese sandwiches and tomatoes, they turned to lighter subjects. The waitress suggested fresh apple tart for dessert, and Fraser ordered another pot of tea.
When it came, he filled their cups, then said to Niki, “You know, asking you about yourself was not just idle curiosity. I’m really interested. And from what you’ve told me, I’d say you were one of the lucky ones, to have had someone like Cara to love and want you, give you an obviously wonderful home. Many of the orphans there probably spent most of their childhood in institutions—”
“You’re saying I should be grateful instead of looking for my real parents, changing my name.” Niki’s dark eyes flashed. “But you can’t understand about this emptiness, this not knowing, all the missing pieces. You can’t know how that feels. So telling me how I should feel is pointless.”
“Forgive me.” Contrite, Fraser reached across the table for Niki’s hand. “I only meant that at least you grew up in a home with two parents who loved you, cared for you—”
“I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. Tante and Kip—the Montroses—are wonderful. So is my foster brother, Luc. He’s half French, too, so we understand each other.” She broke off. “I’ve talked enough about myself.”
There was so much more Fraser longed to know about her, but sensing her mood, he decided it would have to wait for another time. It was enough for now. She was the most interesting girl he had ever met. He felt in his heart of hearts that he and Niki Gilbreaux had a lot more to find out about one another, things that had nothing to do with the Montrose family. They were linked in a very different way. But now it was wartime. Everything that had to do with the future had to be postponed. Still, he knew that he and Niki, somewhere down the line, had discoveries to make together.
Fraser’s train was already in the station when they arrived, so there wasn’t much time left together. As Niki stood with him on the platform, Fraser asked, “I want to see you again. Like the song says, where or when?”
“Well, I have to get back to my job.”
“If I come up to London?”
“Sure. If I don’t have duty.”
“I’ll call,” he said. The train whistle gave a warning shriek, but Fraser remained standing, looking down at Niki.
“You’d better hurry,” she said.
Fraser took a few steps away from her, then turned back, and before she could move, he put his hands on her upper arms and drew her close, waited a single second, then leaned down and kissed her. It seemed so natural a thing to do that Niki didn’t even blink but returned his kiss.
“I’ll call!” he said as he started down the platform to the nearest train car. He waved again before swinging aboard.
“Yes, do that!” Niki called back and stood there waving until the train had disappeared down the track. Then she walked slowly back to where she had left the Bentley. It was getting dark as she drove up the road back to Birchfields. The lovely old mansion was silhouetted against the purplish sky. Everything looked the same, but for Niki everything had changed. She felt different. Something strange and wonderful had happened. She wasn’t sure just what … yet.