‘I remember.’
‘Almost as soon as we got back to England, I wrote to her, via Geneva of course, to clarify things between us.’
‘You didn’t say.’
‘No. It was a difficult letter to write. Besides, it was between me and Hélène. I thanked her, told her how much her friendship had meant to me, and I wished her well for the future. I knew how she felt when I was in France, although she never said, but I wanted her to understand there was no chance of anything more developing. I said I hoped we’d always be friends.’
Florence felt a pang and hung her head. ‘Poor Hélène,’ she whispered, thinking how hurt her sister must have been.
‘Does that answer your question?’ he asked.
She didn’t reply at first, then raised her head and met his gaze. ‘I think you know it doesn’t.’
He lifted the bottle of wine aloft. ‘Empty.’
She nodded.
He shook his head as if remembering. ‘Coming across the mountains with you was extraordinary. I saw how terrified you were every single day, but it never stopped you. You were brave, Florence. Very brave.’
‘Jack, I feel …’ Desperate to touch him, she reached out, heart pounding, but he didn’t respond, and feeling rejected, she withdrew her hand. She took a long slow breath to steady herself.
‘I can’t give you what you need, Florence. I’m an old, grief-stricken divorcé and if we hadn’t been thrown together that would have been the end of it. Do you see? I’m not the man you need. I’m just the man you’re temporarily stuck with.’
She nodded her head slowly, but the muscles in her throat constricted and she couldn’t speak. Yes, she saw. It was humiliating, but she saw.
She rose to her feet. ‘I’m feeling tired,’ she managed to say in as normal a voice as she could. ‘I think I’ll go to bed now.’
And she climbed the stairs, crawled into bed, and with her pillow over her head, she cried silently.
CHAPTER 22
One morning in the gap between that last conversation with Jack and Christmas, Florence faced up to the truth. It was time to be pragmatic. Jack didn’t love her and although she pretended it was no big deal, she felt heartbroken because shedidlove him. But Jack had built walls around his heart and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. That he had not been in love with Hélène either didn’t really make much difference to anything – her sister would still be devastated if she knew that Florence harboured such deep feelings for him.
A letter had arrived from Claudette, in which she described her sister Rosalie as fun-loving and affectionate. Her mother explained that their parents never understood Rosalie, that she’d always been the odd one out, and that they tried to stifle her spirit because it had frightened them. Rosalie must have felt so unloved, Florence realised, and felt such a surge of sympathy forthe young girl. No wonder she ran away. So now, having considered everything, Florence made the decision to go to Malta just as soon as the war ended, and she would go alone.
In the meantime, she would contact Bruce. He might turn out to be a good friend for her and she already liked him. She’d hesitated about calling, but knew she needed to spread her wings, get out more, and stop brooding about Jack. So, standing in the phone box, she dialled the number in a rush before she could change her mind. She hadn’t expected him to answer in person and was a bit taken aback to hear his voice.
‘Florence! It’s so good to hear from you,’ he said. Reassured by the warmth she could hear in his voice, it reminded her of how decent he had seemed.
‘Sorry it’s taken so long. I’ve been awfully busy. I’d love to go for a jaunt in your sidecar just as soon as the snow melts.’
‘Goodness. You’re game. The forecast is that it will hang around for a couple of days. So … how about Thursday? I know you’re not far from the farm, but where exactly do you live? I’ll pick you up at ten in the morning.’
‘I have to work in the evening.’
He laughed. ‘We’ll be back long before that. It’s freezing on the bike this time of year. Remember to wrap up.’
On Thursday she heard the motorbike from her bedroom window and ran downstairs in haste, hoping to grab her things before Jack had the chance to open the door. She slipped into her coat and pulled down her woolly hat but couldn’t find her mittens. While she was lookingfor them, she heard Jack open the door and then the sound of voices. She found her mittens and hurried out.
‘Sorry, Bruce, I couldn’t find—’
He smiled at her. ‘No problem, I’ve just been having a chat with Jack here.’
‘You know each other?’ She was surprised, hadn’t expected or prepared herself for that.
‘A little,’ Jack said rather gruffly and then stepped back into the house, closing the door behind him.
The ride didn’t last long. It really was too cold, but she enjoyed feeling the wind burning her cheeks and she had fun being with Bruce too. He pulled up and parked on the edge of a forest and they walked for a while, kicking at the leaves on the frozen ground while talking effortlessly about the war, and about his job and hers. She told him about her sisters and how much she missed them. He listened carefully and said there was only him and his mother. He’d wanted to join up, but as a doctor he was exempt from conscription, which had been a relief for his mother. So instead, he’d worked in a military hospital in Plymouth for two years before returning to Exeter where he was now specialising in cardiology.
