Survivor (51 page)

‘And so you are,’ she said,
running one hand down his bare arm. ‘But any woman subjected to such serious
and prolonged lovemaking needs to lie still in a darkened room.’

He laughed and went off into the living
room, where she could hear him raking out last night’s fire. She must have
fallen asleep again because suddenly he was back, carrying a
tray with two cups of tea and a plate of golden, fried
eggy bread.

‘You are the breakfast god
too,’ she said, sitting up and pulling the covers over her bare breasts.

Morgan pulled the covers back down.
‘Leave it, I like to look at them.’

‘Do you now? Well, I’m a bit
chilly. But speaking of covering up. You didn’t use anything last night, did
you?’

He looked a bit crestfallen. ‘I
meant to, but it went out of my head.’

‘What if I get pregnant?’
she asked, taking a mouthful of eggy bread and rolling her eyes with the delight of
it.

‘We’ll get married,’
he said. ‘That is, of course, if you’ll have me?’

Mariette waited till her mouth was
empty. ‘Any time,’ she replied. ‘But we’d better be careful
in future. I want my folks to know I married you for love, not because I had
to.’

‘It might be better to get married
here,’ Morgan said, suddenly serious. ‘They might not let me into New
Zealand otherwise. And even if they agreed, the chances are we’d be put in
separate cabins – and that means sharing, like when you came over here.’

‘My parents and Mog would be sad
that they weren’t at the wedding,’ Mariette said thoughtfully.

‘We could do it in a registry
office, then have a proper church ceremony in Russell,’ he said. ‘I
think they call it a blessing, though. A bloke I knew on the ships got married in
Cape Town, and he had that when he got home. His bride was in a white dress,
bridesmaids and the whole thing. I expect lots of Yanks will do it, as their girls
might not be allowed home with them unless they are married.’

‘How long do you think it will be
before the war ends?’ she asked.

‘I spoke
to an officer in Netley the other day, and he said the war in Europe couldn’t
last more than six or seven months. The Allies are in Germany now, and
Rommel’s dead. No one believes he died of his old war wounds. They think
Hitler forced him to commit suicide because he believed Rommel was in on the attempt
on his life. Just the fact that Hitler is so paranoid, he’d kill off one of
his most highly respected officers, suggests he knows the war is over bar the
shouting.’

‘But ships won’t sail to New
Zealand while the Japs are still fighting us, will they?’

‘No, they won’t,’
Morgan said. ‘And unless we get lucky, we’ll have to wait for all the
Kiwi troops to sail back first.’

‘But you do want to come back with
me?’

He smiled broadly. ‘It’s
what I want more than anything else.’

‘Mariette! The phone!’ Sybil
yelled up the stairs. ‘It’s your mum and dad.’

Mariette came down the stairs as quickly
as she could, dressed only in her petticoat, her hair still damp from washing.

‘Just wanted to wish you a
wonderful day,’ her mother said. ‘Are you nervous?’

‘A bit,’ Mariette admitted.
‘But mostly about whether there will be enough food and drink, not that
I’m doing the wrong thing.’

‘He sounds to me like the best of
men,’ her father chimed in. ‘I really appreciated him ringing me to ask
if he could marry you. I hope it won’t be long before you can come
home.’

‘Everything feels a bit of an
anticlimax after VE day,’ Mariette said. ‘That was wild, so much
excitement, drunkenness and all the stuff you’d expect. But since then
it’s been back to normal, with horror stories every day in the press about the
death camps. Morgan and I couldn’t stomach some of the newsreel at the
pictures, it was too shocking.’

‘Everyone here is just waiting for
their men to come home,’ Belle said. ‘We’ll be counting the days
till we see you and the boys. Now Mog just wants a word, and Peggy said to tell you
she’s going to bake a real wedding cake for when you get here.’

Mog came on the phone, and at the sound
of her voice
Mariette’s eyes
welled up. Mog had made her a beautiful dress, ivory satin with hundreds of seed
pearls on the bodice. It made her think of the wedding dress Mariette had helped her
with when she was seeing Sam, only without the long train. It was just another
reminder of how Mog had always been the listening ear, never judging, never
shouting, just offering gentle wisdom and kindness.

‘Does the dress fit
properly?’ Mog asked. ‘I was afraid it wouldn’t arrive in
time.’

‘It came three days ago – I
thought I would have to borrow one. But it fits like a glove, and I feel like
royalty in it,’ Mariette said. ‘One of the sisters at the hospital gave
me the ivory satin slippers she wore at her wedding. No one will even know about my
leg, if I walk slowly.’

‘Love him like there’s no
tomorrow,’ Mog said, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘And if he
doesn’t do the same to you, I’ll box his ears when you get
here.’

They had to go then. The last Mariette
heard was all three of them wishing her luck and love.

It was a beautiful warm day, without a
cloud in the sky. The wedding was at St Giles and St Nicholas Church, at two
o’clock. Belle had been against a registry office wedding. She said firmly,
‘A step as big as marriage should have God’s blessing.’ It was
also the church Mariette had slipped into before each of her missions to France, so
she felt that the setting was a good omen.

Ted was going to give her away, young
Sandra was to be her only bridesmaid, and Ian was an usher. The best man was Mr
Mercer. Morgan had asked the surgeon because, without him, he’d never have
been able to train as a nurse.

Sybil was a stand-in mother of the
bride. She’d dug out a beautiful pink dress and jacket with a matching flowery
hat
that she’d only worn once
before, in 1936, to a nephew’s wedding. With rationing and shortages of almost
everything needed for a wedding, Sandra’s pale blue bridesmaid’s dress
was made from one of Mrs Harding’s old evening dresses. The cake was a
decorated cardboard one – beneath it was a modest sponge – but many of the customers
had made contributions to the wedding feast. There was a very large ham, several
dozen tins of salmon, and a local farmer had brought round a sack full of new
potatoes.

Sybil, with Mariette’s help, had
made trifles and a huge batch of bread rolls. It had been so long since either of
them had eaten soft white bread – the only stuff in the shops tasted like sawdust –
that they ate three each, as if they hadn’t eaten a thing in months.

Sybil and Ted had insisted she and
Morgan get married from the pub, even though the only contact she’d had with
them since going to work at the Borough was a brief weekly telephone call. Sybil
said they would always think of her as an adopted daughter, and they thought it was
wonderful that she was marrying Morgan.

Mariette had not left her job at the
Borough Hospital, and she would be going back there after a brief honeymoon in Lyme
Regis. Miss Wainwright had finally retired, though some claimed she’d jumped
before she was pushed, and Mariette was now the hospital almoner.

Morgan was still at Netley and would
remain there at least until the end of the year. Wounded men were still being
brought back to England, and some of the seriously wounded patients were in no
condition to be moved nearer to their homes. But Morgan did not work such terribly
long hours now, and he had found two rooms midway between the two hospitals where he
and Mariette would live. They were saving as much money as possible for going back
to New Zealand.

Sybil came to
the doorway of Mariette’s room and stood there for a few moments, just looking
at the bride sitting in front of the dressing table.

She had always thought Mariette was
beautiful, but to see her in her lovely wedding dress, her skin aglow with
excitement and her hair a froth of strawberry-blonde curls cascading over her
shoulders, made a lump rise in her throat.

‘Are you nearly ready now?’
she managed to ask. ‘It’s half past one. I must put your veil on for you
before I leave for the church.’

‘I wish my parents, Mog and my
brothers could be here today, Sybil,’ Mariette said, taking Sybil’s hand
and squeezing it. ‘But you and Ted have been wonderful. Not just about the
wedding, but ever since I first came here. Thank you for all the kindness and the
support, I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

‘You’d have done just
fine,’ Sybil said, wiping a stray tear from her eye. ‘You, my girl, have
more guts than anyone I know, and Ted and I are proud to know you. But let’s
get that veil on. The cart will be here soon, I just hope they decorated it like I
asked.’

Mariette sat still while Sybil secured
the veil. The idea of the cart made her want to laugh. Back home, in Russell, people
walked to the church to get married, but she understood that a car was the norm in
England. With the shortage of petrol, a car was difficult, but Sybil had got the
idea of a cart. All Mariette could hope for was that it didn’t look like the
kind of tumbril they used for people going to their execution.

They went downstairs then to check the
tables were all laid up in the bar for the reception. There were snowy-white
tablecloths, sparkling glasses and pink flowers on each table. Janice and Molly, two
of Sybil’s friends, were organizing the
reception and staying behind to have everything ready
when they returned.

‘You wait till you see the
cart,’ Janice called out from the kitchen. ‘They’ve done you
proud.’

Mariette and Sybil went outside, and
there it was. The driver, who was wearing a rather battered top hat with a rose
pinned to the side of it, grinned sheepishly.

‘Just look at that!’ Sybil
exclaimed, clapping her hands with pleasure.

It did look very pretty, the rough wood
completely swathed in white sheets, including the seat on the back, which looked
suspiciously like the bench from the back of the pub. Garlands of ivy and flowers,
some just common weeds like Queen Anne’s lace, plucked from the hedgerows,
were tacked all along the sides of the cart, with pink ribbons fluttering in the
breeze. The seat itself looked like a double throne, the sheeting covered with a
dark green velvet tablecloth, and the arms and back smothered in flowers.

Even the old carthorse pulling it had
his mane plaited and a garland of flowers around his neck.

‘I have to go now to beat you to
the church,’ Sybil said. Turning to Ted, who had just come out to join them,
she waved a warning finger at him. ‘Help Mari in and out of the cart, and
don’t go charging down the aisle with her. Slowly, in time to the
music.’

‘Yes, dear heart,’ he said
with a touch of sarcasm. Then, turning to Mariette, he swept her up in his arms, and
deposited her on the bench. A second later, he was sitting in the cart beside her. A
great many people had come out of their houses to watch, wave and shout their good
wishes. As the driver flicked the horse with the reins, instructing him to walk on,
Mariette waved back.

‘You’ve won a lot of hearts
in this town,’ Ted said,
‘including mine and the wife’s. Reckon that’s why the sun’s
shining for you too.’

Ted did exactly as he’d been
ordered, walking at a slow pace down the aisle to where Morgan was waiting.

Mariette noticed that Morgan was wearing
a new navy-blue suit, and it fitted him almost as if it had been made to measure.
She remembered him saying he would try to get one, as his old one was threadbare,
but she hadn’t expected him to find the coupons that would be necessary. He
turned to look at her, his lovely mouth curling into a joyous smile. The way the
light slanted down on him from the high windows meant she couldn’t see his
scar, and he looked as handsome as when they’d first met.

‘Almost there, my beautiful
girl,’ he whispered, as she took her place beside him.

In that moment, before God and in His
house, she absolutely knew for certain this was a marriage which would be made in
heaven.

It wasn’t until they had been
through the ceremony and been pronounced man and wife, and she was walking back down
the aisle with the ring on her finger, that Mariette saw the four children.

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

She stopped dead by the pew where
Bernard, Isaac, Sabine and Celine were standing. The four Jewish children
she’d brought out of France.

They were dressed up for the occasion,
the two little girls in pretty smocked dresses, the boys in smart blazers, white
shirts and grey trousers. But it was their big dark eyes that moved Mariette the
most; they were no longer full of fear, but happiness. Their broad smiles said they
were as pleased to see her as she was to see them.

‘What a
wonderful surprise!’ she gasped, and quickly told Morgan who they were.

Bernard laughed, as he could see the
congregation were anxious to move things along. ‘Go on, you can’t keep
everyone waiting,’ he said, in halting English. ‘We will see you at the
party.’

‘How come they are here?’
she asked Morgan, once they were on the cart and riding back to the pub, waving at
everyone. Almost all the guests were trotting along behind the cart in a procession,
which made people turn and gasp. ‘I’m thrilled they are here, but
I’m mystified too.’

‘I’ve no idea,’ he
shrugged. ‘But it is the best of surprises, and Sybil must have had a hand in
it.’

Back at the Plume of Feathers, they all
sat down at the tables and were offered sherry for a toast. Sybil said Mariette
would have to wait a little while before she found out how the children were here.
The tables were laid for about thirty-five guests, some of whom were Mariette and
Morgan’s friends from Southampton. Mr and Mrs Harding were there, as were
Henry and Doreen Fortesque and several regulars from the Plume of Feathers who were
particularly close to Mariette. But the four French children were seated at the
biggest table, with Mariette, Morgan, Mr Mercer, Sybil, Ted and Ian and Sandra.

As best man, Mr Mercer – who had
insisted Mariette call him by his Christian name, George – was to make a speech
before the meal. He began by saying how he had met Morgan, and expressed his
admiration for a man who, although disfigured, wished to help others who had been
crippled or scarred by war. Then he said that he had first met Mariette when he had
to amputate her leg.

‘I was, of course, very curious to
know how such a pretty
young woman came
by a German bullet in her knee,’ he said.

He paused for dramatic effect.

‘When a rumour circulated around
the hospital that she had brought four children out of France by rowing boat, under
fire, I had to know more. It proved difficult because Mariette would only say she
wasn’t allowed to talk about it.

‘By this time, Mariette had met
Morgan at the hospital. It seemed she had met him previously, when he was a steward
on the ship that brought her to England. I asked Morgan what he knew about this
rescue of four children, but Morgan didn’t know much more than I already did.
However, he did say that Mariette was desperate to know how the children were.

‘I tried many avenues to get this
information, but failed miserably. But then, many months later, right out of the
blue, I received an inquiry written on official government stationery, asking how
Mariette was progressing. It had, of course, to be from the department that had sent
her to France. So I wrote back, and I pointed out they were rather late in showing
concern for her. I added that she would dearly love to know about the children – how
and where they were.’

Mercer halted, looking around at the
expectant faces on all the tables, and then he grinned broadly.

‘In a nutshell, and with
Sybil’s help, we made pests of ourselves until we had an address. And we
finally succeeded in getting the four children here with us today, something I knew
would make up to Mariette for not having her own family here.’

He raised his glass.

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen,
will you please raise your glasses to Bernard, Isaac, Sabine and Celine!’

The four children stood up, prompted by
Sybil and Ted.
Bernard looked very
composed; he was old enough, at fifteen, to understand completely why Mariette was
so special. Isaac and Celine looked shy; at seven, they could remember that night in
France very well, especially Isaac, who had been winged by a bullet. Only
five-year-old Sabine looked bewildered. But she clearly did recognize Mariette, and
smiled at her.

‘But for Mariette’s courage,
strong will and powers of endurance,’ Mercer went on, ‘these children
would not be alive now to hug her and tell her of their new life in Brighton with
relatives. Mariette gave them life. And I’m even happier to tell you all that,
just a few days ago, the children learned that their parents are alive, and they
will be reunited with them within a month or two.’