Fitz waited for him to reach her. ‘Good morning, Alf. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you, Mrs Carter.’ He dove his hand into the brown post sack on the front of his bike. ‘There we are,’ he said. ‘Two for your father and one for you.’
‘Oh, lovely. Thanks very much, Alf.’
She took the letters from him and tucked them into the foot of the pram.
‘You might want to read that one sooner rather than later,’ said Alf, as he began to pedal away.
Fitz watched him go, puzzled by his comment. She picked up the letters. As soon as she saw the Red Cross symbol in the left-hand corner of the envelope, with the George VI postage stamp in the opposite corner, she knew this was the letter they had been waiting for.
She looked up at Yvette, who was standing at the bus stop with Michael.
Fitz was desperate to open the letter but didn’t dare in front of Yvette. Whatever the news, it had to be imparted with care. She also wanted Sam to be with her when they told Yvette the contents of the letter. He would be home that evening at around six o’clock.
Fitz tried to distract herself for most of the day by taking an extra-long walk with Peter in his pram both in the morning and the afternoon, but thoughts of the letter were never far away. She and Sam had previously agreed that when the Red Cross letter came, they would sit down and read it together. She was happy to wait. She didn’t want to know the truth on her own.
Whatever the news was, whether they had found Yvette’s mother, hadn’t found her, or – the worst news – Yvette’s mother had been confirmed as dead, Fitz was not looking forward to receiving it. If Yvette’s mother was alive, it would very much be a double-edged sword for her and Sam. There was no doubt they had grown to love Yvette over the past five years. Even though Fitz knew it was possibly the road to heartbreak, she hadn’t been able to help herself. It was almost as if, once she’d let Sam into her heart, her heart now knew no boundaries. It was wide open. To love and to be loved was truly a precious gift.
Eventually, six o’clock rolled around. Fitz was waiting on the doorstep as Sam arrived back. He climbed out of the car, lifting his prosthetic under the knee to swing his leg over the ledge.
He stopped as he saw her. ‘Fitz? Is everything all right?’ he asked. How well he knew her.
She held the letter out to him. ‘The Red Cross,’ she said.
Sam nodded and walked up the steps. He put his arms around Fitz and held her closely to him, kissing the top of her head. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ he soothed. ‘We knew this day would come and whatever is in there, we’ll face together. Yeah?’
She nodded. ‘Camilla is looking after the children.’
‘Come on, then. Let’s go inside.’
They went into the study. Sam poured Fitz a port and himself a whisky. He sat down beside her on the sofa.
‘Ready?’ asked Fitz.
‘As I’ll ever be.’
She used the letter opener to slice through the flap of the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of paper. Sam took it from her and unfolded it, before reading out loud.
Dear Mr and Mrs Carter
Further to your letter concerning the whereabouts or fate of one Edith Moreau, we are writing to advise you that we have today heard from the Mairie of Josselin in this matter.
We are pleased to advise that Edith Moreau did, indeed, survive the massacre at Saint Pierre in December, 1941. We understand that she hid under the bodies of fellow villagers for twelve hours, finally managing to escape with only two other members of the community in the middle of the night, via a hidden doorway in the back of the crypt.
Madame Moreau has been informed that her daughter, Yvette Moreau is alive and well in your care. She was overwhelmed with the good news and is desperate to be reunited with her daughter.
As such, please could you contact this office by return so we can arrange to repatriate Yvette Moreau to France and to her mother.
Yours sincerely
A. Akerman
Welfare Officer, Wounded
Missing and Relatives Department
Fitz closed her eyes as a tsunami of emotions washed over her. ‘You all right?’ asked Sam gently.
