Oh Peter, I’d give anything to have you here now. Rosie couldn’t stop her wishful thinking.
Watching the drumhead parade for what felt like an age, her mind had begun to wander. As usual, it had gone to Peter and was regurgitating the same questions: Was he all right? Was he in danger? Was he alive? Not knowing was purgatory.
She had hoped that perhaps Toby might have brought another letter with him when he had come to visit Dorothy over Easter. But he hadn’t. She’d felt like weeping, but knew nothing positive would come from crying. It certainly wouldn’t help Peter. And the last thing her squad needed was to see her down and defeated. Especially Polly.
The clash of cymbals signalling the last of the soldiers snapped Rosie out of her reverie.
‘Right, let’s go, Charlie, off to the clubhouse—’
Looking to her right, Rosie suddenly realised that her sister had been replaced by another young girl who looked nothing like her, but who was roughly the same height.
‘Sorry, I thought you were someone else,’ Rosie apologised, looking round to see where her sister was.
‘Have you seen Charlie?’ Rosie turned to Lily and George. They looked at the place where Charlotte had been standing.
‘I thought she was right there,’ Lily said. Turning to her left, she saw Kate chatting to Alfie, but Vivian and Maisie were nowhere to be seen.
And neither was Charlotte.
She had a bad feeling.
‘There she is!’ George suddenly shouted out.
‘Charlie! Where have you been?’ Rosie looked at her sister. She had on her new blue skirt and a lovely short-sleeved blouse. She was looking so grown-up lately. She had to stop treating her like a child.
‘I thought I saw one of my classmates,’ Charlotte lied.
‘And did you?’ Lily asked.
‘No … I mean, yes … but I lost her in the crowd,’ Charlotte said, blushing slightly.
‘Come on then,’ Lily said. ‘Let’s get to the clubhouse before they run out of tea.’
Ten minutes later they had managed to get themselves a table, and although they weren’t able to hear the open-air service from within the confines of the rather exclusive Ashbrooke members’ club, they were able to see the pageantry of the proceedings taking place on the cricket ground.
Kate had wanted to hear the vicar speak and so Alfie had accompanied her to a spot in the spectator stands where she could catch what was being said. Lily had suggested the spot so as to keep an eye on them both. Or rather, on Alfie. There were only a handful of men that Lily trusted and as yet, Alfie was not one of them.
‘So, the latest news from France is positive,’ George said, taking a sip of tea.
‘Really?’ Rosie asked, her attention focused on George, unaware that Charlotte was being uncannily quiet and well behaved.
‘The major strands of the Resistance movement have been pulled together to form the Conseil Nationale de la Résistance.’
Everyone automatically looked at Charlotte for a translation.
‘What’s that?’ Charlotte asked, looking as though she had just been snapped out of a trance.
‘The Conseil Nationale de la Résistance,’ George said, glancing at Lily and seeing that she too clearly thought that something was awry.
‘The Conseil Nationale de la Résistance means the National Council of the Resistance,’ Charlotte said.
‘Which means?’ Rosie asked, looking at George.
‘It means that finally the illusion that Pétain or another Vichy general might rise to challenge German domination has faded. Those heading up the Resistance have decided that it is only through de Gaulle and the help of the Allies that intelligence-gathering operations and paramilitary groups in France can be utilised more effectively if they are all working together.’
‘In other words, the French have realised what side their bread is buttered and have put all their eggs into one basket to fight the Germans.’ Lily got out her fan, snapped it open and started to fan herself. ‘I do love the French, but, mon Dieu, they can be a little frustrating and slow off the mark. I mean, it’s only taken them three years of occupation and abuse of their men, women and children to come to this conclusion.’
All of a sudden, Charlotte scraped back her chair and got up.
‘You all right, ma petite?’ Lily asked. ‘You’ve lost all your colour.’
‘I’m fine,’ Charlotte said, not looking Lily, George or Rosie in the eye. ‘I just need to use the loo.’
She hurried off.
‘Rosie, go and see what ails the poor girl,’ Lily commanded. ‘Something’s wrong. Very wrong.’
Rosie looked at Lily and George. Their faces showed their concern.
She got up quickly and followed her sister to the toilets.