‘Something the matter?’
‘Just thinking about Maman. She wouldn’t like the bouquet.’
Florence had chosen flowers from an Exeter florist. Daffodils, blossom, and some delicate leaf – so pretty but Claudette would have thought it not nearly grand or elegant enough. Nor would she have approved of the village hall for the reception. The small bouquet had just been delivered to oohs and ahhs from Victoria and was now safely in a jug downstairs where neither Victoria nor the cat could reach it.
Rosalie had stayed at a hotel close to the village hall after spending the day blowing up balloons and arranging greenery and candles. Gladys and Florence had been cooking for days, using anything that grew in their gardens or that either of them had bottled the year before, along with chickens and a ham that Gladys’s husband had procured in exchange for some help fixing up an old motorbike. They had no pigs of their own currently ready for slaughter. Rosalie had hired a small band to play dance tunes so everyone was hoping it would be a lovely, happy afternoon.
When her hair was done, Florence stepped into her wedding dress, Rosalie buttoned it up and they both looked in the mirror.
‘Darling, you look so beautiful,’ Rosalie said.
Florence patted her tummy. ‘Thank God it still just fits.’
With a fitted bodice, sweetheart neckline and high waistline which fell into a long very slightly bell-shaped skirt, the dress was simple with lightly padded shoulders and sleeves that came just to Florence’s elbows. She had been saving clothing coupons for ages, as had Gladys; they both made their own clothes from whatever they could find so had used very few of them. And Rosalie’s friend Gerry had contacts in London who’d agreed to make the dress out of ivory silk from China, as it was too soon after the war to buy silk from Japan or Italy. Florence also had a thirteen-foot net train. Lace would have been nice, but they couldn’t run to that.
They had asked guests not to buy presents but to contribute whatever they could in the way of food and drink and to deliver it direct to the village hall before the wedding, which would take place in the church on the other side of the street. Gladys had enrolled an army of helpers to organise the food and drink and to lay the tables. Ronnie and Jack had already sourced all the tables and chairs they needed, and Gladys had been up half the night ironing tablecloths she’d begged and borrowed from all her acquaintances. There were white tablecloths, checked tablecloths, and floral tablecloths, and each table now had a little posy and a candle in the middle. The whole effect was charming and exactly what Florence wanted.
When the bridal music started up Florence sailed down the aisle on the arm of her aunt, followed by Élise in a full-length dress in violet and Victoria dressed in the samecolour. When Florence saw Jack smiling at her and blinking nervously her heart did a little flip. She glanced back at the church, full of friends, family, and local people who’d all been invited at Gladys insistence. The entire wedding had been a community effort, so it was only right. But as Florence’s eyes swept around the congregation, she still saw no sign of Hélène. She felt herself wobble but Jack took her hand and squeezed it. She smiled and recovered herself.
The ceremony went off without a hitch. When it was over a few photographs were taken outside the church and then everyone hotfooted it over to the village hall. When Florence entered, she paused, and everyone clapped as she glanced at all the smiling faces and the beautifully decorated hall that looked like something from a fairy-tale woodland scene.
Florence saw Henri, Hugo, and Marie grinning at her, and thought of Henri’s beautiful wife, Suzanne. That was such a desperately sad story, and she couldn’t bear to dwell on it today. But she was amazed and delighted to see her old friends. Nobody had told her they’d be coming but it looked like Élise and Jack had secretly arranged everything. She saw Jack’s father Lionel getting quietly sozzled, and Gladys and her husband Ronnie raising their glasses and nodding happily. Grace was there too, looking lovely in cobalt blue with Bruce smiling by her side. Some of Jack’s wartime buddies and chaps he’d been at school were wolf-whistling, and many of the locals were clapping as well.
When they took their seats, Rosalie sat on one side ofFlorence along with Élise and her daughter, and Jack, his father, Gladys and Ronnie sat on the other side.
‘Where’s Hélène?’ Florence whispered in her sister’s ear.
‘No idea.’
‘She definitely said she’d come?’
Élise nodded.
They drank Florence’s elderflower champagne, although others preferred a trip across to the pub to bring back ale. The food was a mixture of potato salads, early green salads, slices of ham and chicken, with vegetables of every shape and size. Some people brought bacon and egg flans – easy to carry – and they were delicious, others brought fresh bread, cheese, or home-made puddings. Florence put her worries about Hélène aside and loved every moment, including the speeches. One of the men Jack had known at school stood up to talk about Jack, which had everyone in hoots of laughter.
‘I didn’t know he’d been such a naughty schoolboy,’ Florence said, sounding horrified, and everyone who knew Jack rolled their eyes and guffawed.
‘A terror,’ Gladys piped up. ‘But he’s our terror and we love him.’
Glasses clinked and were filled again.
Then Jack rose to his feet and the room hushed. ‘I would like to say a few words about my wife, whom I first met in 1944 during the Nazi occupation of France. She may look as sweet as anything you’ll see on these tables, but I would like to tell you she is made of solid steel.’
Florence could feel her cheeks reddening and gazed down at the table, willing herself not to cry.
He went on to tell them about their journey across the mountains but didn’t mention why. Didn’t speak of her German father.
‘We went through a great deal, faced danger together, and I am the luckiest man on earth to be married to this courageous and utterly beautiful woman. She has a wise head on young shoulders. An old soul, I think they say. Anyway … she brought me back to life after the loss of my son.’ There was a momentary hush, then he raised his glass and his voice almost cracked as he said, ‘To my darling wife, Florence.’
With tears in their eyes, everyone repeated the toast and Jack kissed his new bride.
Rosalie spoke briefly and told the story of Florence’s determination to find her and when she finished everyone clapped.
Then as the band warmed up, the tables and chairs were cleared to the side and Jack reached out his hand to Florence, his eyes shining. He took her in his arms, and they began a slow waltz to ‘All of Me’, and she whispered in his ear as he bent towards her. ‘Thank you, Jack. I’m so happy.’
‘I’m sorry Hélène hasn’t arrived yet. I know it means a lot to you.’
She nodded, closed her eyes, and was able to count her blessings as she danced with her husband.Her husband.
