Flors smiled bravely as she stood on her doorstep and waved and waved until her husband Cyrus’s car, carrying their sons, Freddy and Randolph, was out of sight. The agony that she and Cyrus had been through, since the conscription papers had arrived, had almost defeated her. Now the pain set in, as the reality of what Freddy and Randie would face if war broke out took root.
Ella stood by her side. ‘Come on, Flors, let’s do as the British do and put the kettle on.’
‘Oh, Ella, to think of them having gone is unbearable.’
Ella clutched Flors’s hand even tighter and whispered, ‘Hug?’
Painful memories of the past and fears for the uncertain future vied for prominence in Flors’s heart as they hugged tightly. She knew that dear Ella would be feeling these same emotions, too.
As they emerged from the hug, they linked arms and went into the kitchen. A snore made them both jump, and nervous giggles consumed them. Rowena could sleep through anything when she was in her favourite rocking chair by the side of the stove. Even on a hot day like today, she professed that she felt the cold in her old bones. Rowena had known Flors since her childhood in Stepney, and now lived with her.
Flors felt glad of the light-hearted moment. She’d been on the brink of crying, but hadn’t wanted to; she’d save her tears for her own bed at night, when she was snuggled into the arms of her beloved Cyrus. Sighing, she told Ella, ‘It’s as if my nest is emptying all at once.’
‘I know. My darling Arnie is even saying that he will volunteer, if Britain ever comes under threat. And Paulo talks of going too, if necessary. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Oh no. Oh, Ella, everything we know and have built up, since the terrible things we went through in the last war, is under threat.’
‘They say we should be safe here in the South of France, and it’s the north-east that will bear the brunt, if an invasion does happen. But Hitler is threatening Poland at the moment, and I’m so worried about my sister, Calek.’
‘I don’t know what to say, Ella. We can only pray that the Germans don’t succeed in their quest to invade Poland, or that a miracle happens and they heed Chamberlain’s ultimatum.’
‘They have to. Oh, Flors, it’s Calek’s and Abram’s only chance; I fear they are in grave danger. Look at how Germany is treating its Jewish community, if the rumours of their cruel treatment are to be believed . . . Oh God, I can’t think about it. My dear nephew Zabrim is only fourteen.’
‘And there’s no answer to your last letter yet? Surely they will take up your offer to come here?’
‘I am praying for that, but I haven’t heard from them. At least if they sent Zabrim to me, that would ease my mind a little. I’m thinking of going to Poland to find out how they are. I checked and all the trains are still running. Maybe if I do, I can persuade them to come back with me.’
‘No, Ella, no! It’s too dangerous. Please think again, Ella, please. What does Arnie say about it?’
‘I haven’t discussed it with him.’
‘You haven’t discussed what, darling?’
‘Oh, Arnie, I didn’t see you. I – I . . . well, nothing – nothing really. I’ll tell you later.’
‘There’s no time like now. If you can share whatever it is with Flors, then you can share it with your husband, can’t you? Come on, old thing, what is it?’
As Ella poured out her thoughts, Arnie surprised Flors with his response. ‘I think that unless you do this, you will have an agonizing few years ahead of you, Ella – and I don’t want that. But I also think that you should wait to see if Hitler decides to take heed of Britain and France’s ultimatum – which I don’t think he will. If he doesn’t and invades Poland, it will be too dangerous for you to even think of going.’
Flors couldn’t believe the enormity of what Ella had proposed, and even less so that Arnie was partially agreeing that she should go to Poland. After all, she had the feeling that Hitler would find a way of doing as he had in Czechoslovakia and fully invade Poland. And what if that happened when Ella was there?
‘I know what you’re thinking, Flors, but I understand Ella better than she does herself. Now that she has her family back in her life, it will kill her to think of the unspeakable things that might happen to them under a German regime. That applies to all of Poland, but for the Jewish community there – well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I have to support her in this or I will be letting her down.’
They were all silent for a moment, unable to comprehend how quickly their ideal world had changed, and what the future might bring.
Their vineyard, Domaine de Florella, was one of the finest in the Languedoc region – not that this was Flors’s major concern. That she reserved for the safety of her dear friends Ella and Arnie and their children, but most of all for her own family – her dear husband, Cyrus, had been a prisoner in the last war. Surely he wouldn’t have to fight again? And Freddy and Randie were facing God-knows-what. Then there was her problem child, Monty. At seventeen, he was becoming more troublesome, showing traits of his despicable late uncle, Harold.
Oh, why am I thinking like this? Monty is just going through a phase, I’m sure.
Flors’s thoughts turned to her beloved and beautiful daughter, Marjella. Her heart cried out with the pain of missing her, but knowing that she, at least, was safe, staying with Mags in the countryside of Blackburn, helped her to accept the separation. Surely nothing could befall Marjella? If war did come, England would be safe from the fallout, wouldn’t it? It would join with France and beat Hitler back to the borders here, she imagined.
The door to Flors’s chateau was flung open as the kettle boiled.
‘Mama, am I too late? Have Freddy and Randie left?’ Ella and Arnie’s six-year-old daughter Lonia stood in the doorway, a distraught look on her face. She was spoilt by everyone, and everyone loved her, but none of the attention they lavished on her had any effect, for she remained a sweet child, caring and always concerned for everyone.
‘Yes, Lonia, they left a few moments ago.’
‘Oh, Mama, why didn’t they wait to see me? Papa has just brought me from school.’
‘They couldn’t chance missing their train, darling. Once they are in the army, they are under its discipline. An order is an order, and they cannot risk breaking one for the sake of little you.’
‘Oh, Mama, I’m going to miss them. But I’m not going to be sad, because Freddy said that I must be very grown-up and think of others – especially you, Aunt Flors: you’re much sadder than me, and that must hurt a lot.’
‘It does, darling. As does missing Marjella. But we must carry on. Look, I have some nice grape juice cooling on the cold slab in the pantry. I’ll pour you some and we can all sit out under the shade and look after each other.’
The high-pitched whistle of the kettle boiling seemed to seal this as a good idea. True to form, Rowena woke – the one thing that never failed to stir her was the thought of a cup of tea. She sat up and her lips smacked together in her podgy face. ‘Is that there the kettle, honey-child?’
‘Ha, it is, Rowena. Are you coming outside for some fresh air?’
‘There’s nothing good in the fresh air for my old bones. It’s no fun being ninety-one, Missie Flors.’
‘Don’t be silly, you’re just getting lazy – Ella and I will help you outside. The sunshine is good for your bones, and what’s all this “Missie” business? I’m your honey-child, nothing can change that. I hate the term “Missie”; it makes me feel that you think you’re a servant.’
‘No, honey-child, it an old Jamaican way of speaking. I’ve been dreaming I was back on the white sand, gazing out at the sea, and the woman I worked for was going to take a branch to beat me with, for being lazy.’
‘Oh, Rowena; and then I go and say you are lazy. I’m sorry, my darling. But I know what you mean and how you feel. We’re all displaced from where our beginnings were. You must long for home.’
‘No, not old Rowena. I know where me bread is buttered, and it ain’t in Jamaica, or in the cold and damp of the East End, where we met, honey-child. It’s right here with you, in sunny France. Or any place you choose to go.’
Touched by this and by the love she felt for Rowena, Flors hugged her. ‘I love you, Rowena darling. But I’m still going to insist that you come outside with us. None of your flattery will change my mind.’
Rowena grinned, showing her one tooth and lighting up her face. A tear plopped onto her withered cheek. It shone against the blackness of her skin.
‘I love you too, Rowena.’ Saying this, Lonia, who had been named after Ella’s late and much-loved nanny, climbed onto Rowena’s knee and put her arms around the old lady’s neck.
Although the gesture was lovely to see, Flors could tell it was causing pain to Rowena and was glad that Ella saw, too, as she gently steered her daughter away. ‘Lonia, go and tell Paulo and Monty to come for their break, there’s a good girl. They should be in the bottom vineyard. Tell them you aren’t bringing their tea to them, as Aunt Flors needs us all around her.’
‘Yes, Mama.’
As the inner fly-door closed with a bang, Flors turned to Rowena. ‘Let us help you, darling. We’ll take you to the bathroom and get you nice and comfortable. You can put that yellow frock on that we all love. You might feel more like sitting in the garden then.’
‘I’ll make the tea while you’re busy, ladies.’
‘Thanks, Arnie. Come on, Rowena.’
‘Huh, men these days. Not like in my day. Them’s never turned their hands to women’s work, and we wouldn’t let them. Get under your feet, they does.’
They all laughed at this, but there were no further objections from Rowena as Flors and Ella lifted her, washed her down and freshened her up. Flors did worry, though, about the weariness Rowena displayed.
With Rowena now settled in her rocking chair outside in the shade, Flors whipped off the blanket that had covered Rowena’s chair and wrinkled her nose.
‘I’ll wash the chair down, Flors. Have you a clean blanket to put over it?’
Once they’d finished, Flors had to smile. ‘That was like old times, Ella. We turned into nurses again.’
Ella smiled, although it wasn’t without pain, and Flors realized that what she’d said must have jarred. Nursing didn’t hold good memories for Ella. In the past she’d had to nurse loved ones as well as having terrifying memories of nursing in the Somme and then in Belgium.
The horror of it all returned to Flors at that moment, but she straightened her back and, as if there hadn’t been a pause, announced, ‘Anyway, a nice cup of tea is waiting for us.’
Ella still didn’t speak as they washed their hands together in the huge pot sink. But she did hold on to Flors as they went outside with the laden tray.
The shade that Cyrus and Arnie had built provided a cool respite for them all from the rays of the blistering afternoon sun. This was a time Flors loved normally, when their cares were few; a time when as many of their families as possible met to drink tea or lemonade, and have a break until the sun cooled enough for them to continue their day’s work.
Paulo, Ella’s son, tall for his eighteen years, stood with the sunlight on his back. He reminded Flors of his father, also called Paulo, the lovely French officer Ella had met towards the end of the war and had married soon after it finished. Badly wounded, to the extent that he couldn’t walk, Paulo had eventually succumbed to the agonizing lung condition that was a consequence of the gas attacks in which he had been caught up. But he lived on in his son: that same clean-cut handsomeness, the rakish hair that flopped over his face and the piercing blue eyes. But for all his French looks, Paulo junior had the features of his mother’s Polish Jewish ancestry, too. And this was of grave concern to them all.
‘Don’t do that, Monty.’ Lonia’s voice broke into the silence. ‘You are so annoying.’
Monty pulled Lonia’s ribbon from her hair, leaving her ringlets to cascade over her face – a normal teasing gesture for his age, but one that seemed to cement Flors’s feelings about how Monty was turning out. He never took life seriously: not his studies or his work in the vineyard. He seemed to have no purpose, and his ‘I want, and I will have’ trait reminded Flors of the worst times from her life with her brother, Harold.
The secret that she and Cyrus held from their children reverberated through her. They had never found the courage to tell them they were half-brother and sister. Even now as the thought shook her, Flors felt the familiar fear of anyone finding out. Rowena knew, and of course Ella and Arnie did, and Mags and her husband Jerome. But all others who had known were no longer on this earth.
After marrying and having children, she and Cyrus had found out that they shared the same father, when it came to light that Flors’s father bore Cyrus with his long-term mistress, whom Flors never knew existed. But despite the sin of their love, that love was too strong for them ever to make the break, so they had carried on together as a loving husband and wife, only they had to do so far from the shores of England – their home.
It was this connection between her and Cyrus that made Flors worry about Monty; well, about all of her children really, but so far none of them but Monty had turned out to be a Roford in character.
Cyrus had told her over and over again not to worry about Monty, that it was a passing phase, but Flors couldn’t help herself. She’d witnessed at first hand the horrors that her brother was capable of. She’d spoken to Mags about it when she had visited, and Mags had told her that the child that Betsy – Mags’s oldest friend – had birthed to Harold was just the same. Billy, his name was. Mags had said that over the years the attention Billy had received from his stepfather, Angus, had helped to temper the trait a bit, but Billy also held a cruel streak from which his half-sister, Sibbie, often suffered. Flors had never met this nephew of hers, as Billy hadn’t wanted to come to France to meet them all, but she didn’t like the sound of him. Her niece, Sibbie, was different, taking more after her mother, Susan, who had worked in Flors’s family home as a maid and whom Flors had always liked. Sibbie had Susan’s gentle nature. Thinking this, she hoped that Sibbie would never be used by a domineering man in the way that Harold had used Susan.
‘Monty, you’ve done it again! I’ve only just fixed it.’
‘Monty, leave her alone. It’s too hot to be teasing her.’
Monty obeyed Paulo and sauntered away. He always hung on Paulo’s every word. This wasn’t the case with his older brothers, or even with Cyrus. Just as often he gave back-chat to them, which resulted in arguments breaking out.
Although cross with her son, Flors hated to see him left out. ‘Monty, come back and finish your juice, darling.’
‘Leave him, Aunt Flors, he’s feeling down, with his brothers having left. I had to stay in the field with him, as he wouldn’t come down to see them off. We said our goodbyes earlier this morning.’
Flors smiled at Paulo, but felt at a loss. Lonia was now in tears. It was obvious that the second yank Monty had given the ribbon had pulled her hair and caused her pain, and yet she was distressed at having upset him. This all reminded Flors so much of how she’d been with Harold. Trying to please him, almost begging for a small amount of kind attention, and feeling cast out and very lonely when nothing was forthcoming.
Arnie held his sobbing daughter close to him. ‘Don’t worry, Flors. Boys will be boys, and Lonia has to learn that. Far better if you had moved away, Lonia, and then Monty wouldn’t have been able to do the same again.’
Flors saw red. Lonia wasn’t to blame. It was a silly thing, but it meant a lot that Monty was made to apologize. ‘Paulo, please go after Monty and ask him to apologize to your sister.’
It was a relief when Monty returned and said he was sorry and that he’d only been teasing. The day was saved, except for Rowena, who slapped her lips once more and nodded knowingly at Flors. For all the world, Flors wanted to defend her son, but knew that she couldn’t. All the same, she praised Monty for doing as she’d asked, and was rewarded with a smile so like her brother’s that the hair stood up on her arms and she felt as if ants were crawling all over her. History couldn’t repeat itself, could it?
Cyrus, returning at that moment, changed the atmosphere. Even though Flors could see that he had shed a tear, on saying goodbye to their sons, Cyrus soon had them all laughing at how the boys had got onto the wrong train, and at the antics they’d all been through to get them settled on the right train.
A week later Flors received a letter from Marjella that further lightened her cares and lifted her fears. Marjella was happy. Her cousin Sibbie and she were enjoying their time together and had made many plans. Marjella didn’t specify what plans, but Flors was sure these would be silly girlie things.
Cyrus and Arnie had taken Paulo and Monty under their wing since the day the older boys had left and had decided to teach them more about making wine, instead of leaving them to do field work. Paulo still spent hours sitting under a tree with his head in a book studying, but accepted that his dreams of becoming a teacher had to be put on hold.
Monty was taking to this side of the business and his mood lifted. Teatime talk was of the graded grapes, of the presses and how they worked, as well as the lovely wine he’d been involved in making and how he thought it would be the best they had ever produced. His enthusiasm was just like his father’s, and this had pleased Cyrus beyond words.
All in all, the bleakness was lifting a little. There was still hope that Hitler wouldn’t invade Poland and that the war they all feared might not happen at all. Flors prayed that it wouldn’t and that soon her boys would be home, and so would Marjella. Then life could get back to normal – her happy, carefree world put back together again. Oh, how she hoped so. Please, God, let it happen.