Филиппа Карр - We'll meet again

I was persuaded. Jacques had gone out and if he did return it would do him good to know that I could amuse myself quite happily without him.

So I went to the Bailey apartment.

It was a pleasant place in a block of such apartments. She told me that it was the company's and staff used the place when they were over to work, which several of them did for spells from time to time.

We had a pleasant two hours together, which I thoroughly enjoyed, until I realized that she might expect to be invited back. I supposed I could do it. Jacques wouldn't object. It would have to be when he was out, for I was sure he would find the Baileys dull and not his type.

He was worldly and sophisticated. It was those qualities which had attracted me in the first place. But the Baileys were comforting.

I knew instinctively that in an emergency they would be there. And I was not sure of Jacques. That was the truth. It was beginning to be brought home to me how very rash I had been.

It was summer-that long, hot summer when war clouds were gathering over Europe. I was not particularly interested in the war situation. I was too deeply concerned with my own affairs-but then, as Violetta had said, I always had been.

I was feeling definitely uneasy. Things were not the same between Jacques and me. I had a feeling that something was going on all around me-something which I should know because it was important to me.

Georges Mansard, the wine merchant, came frequently and I looked forward to his visits. With my usual vanity, I thought he might be falling in love with me and, as Jacques seemed less ardent, that was gratifying.

I began to ask myself during those summer days what would become of me.

It was, of course, a question I should have asked myself before I embarked on this adventure, but, as I have admitted, I always ask myself these questions too late.

What a fool I had been! I knew I had been bored at Tregarland's but my sister was not far off, and my parents would always have provided a refuge. And now they believed me to be dead. It is only when one realizes how much one may need a refuge that it becomes of paramount importance.

I looked forward to those days when Georges Mansard took me to the wine bar for a glass of wine. He asked a great many questions.

I was a little evasive about myself, but I expect I betrayed a good deal.

He was very interested to know if I did any work for Jacques.

"You mean modeling?”

"That... or anything else.”

"What else should there be?”

He shrugged his shoulders. "Just... anything.”

"Nothing at all.”

He did say on another occasion: "Still not helping Jacques with his work?”

"No.”

"He just paints all the time, does he?”

"He is out a good deal.”

"Traveling around Paris?”

"Yes, and sometimes farther afield.”

"And never takes you with him?”

"No. He has not done so.”

"It would be very pleasant for you to see a little of France.”

"Very pleasant," I said. I went on: "My friends, the Baileys-those English people I met in the bookshop... do you remember?”

He nodded. He had been very interested in them at first and asked a lot of questions about them, and then seemed to forget them.

I went on: "They are always talking about Hitler. They think there will be war.”

"My dear, everyone in Paris thinks there will be war.”

"And you?”

He lifted his shoulders and rocked to and fro as though to say he was not sure. It could go any way.

"If it comes to that, the Baileys will go back to England at once.”

"And you?”

"I don't know. I don't see how I could.”

"It would be better for you. You should consider it.”

"I don't see how I could, after what happened.”

"Nevertheless..." he murmured.

I saw the Baileys frequently at that time. I told Jacques about them and he had not seemed very pleased.

"But they are very friendly people," I said. "They take a parental interest in me and I have often been to their apartment.”

Rather as Georges Mansard had done, he asked questions about them and did not find them very interesting. When I said that, as I had visited them many times, I thought I should return the hospitality, he shook his head rather irritably and said, "We don't want them here. They sound very boring.”

I supposed they would be to him, but I felt I owed Janet Bailey some explanation, and one day, over a cup of tea, I blurted out the whole story to her. I went right back to the beginning, the meeting in Germany with Dermot, our whirlwind romance and marriage, the birth of Tristan, and the realization that I could endure it no more.

She listened intently as I did so and I saw her expressions of bewilderment, horror, and amazement that I could abandon my baby son.

It was a long time before she spoke.

Then she turned to me. "You poor child," she said. "For that is all you are. A child... just like Marian. I'd say to her, 'Don't touch the stove, dear." That was when she was three years old. 'If you do, you'll burn your fingers." Then, as soon as my back's turned, out come her little fingers. A nasty burn, but, as I said to Geoff, 'It's experience. That will teach her better than anything."“

“I'm afraid my experience is more than a burned finger.”

"I think you should go home. You don't want to stay with this Frenchman, do you?”

"I don't know.”

"That's good enough. If you don't know, you'd better get away and the sooner the better. That sister of yours... she seems a sensible sort.”

"I must show you a picture of her. It's a miniature. I couldn't leave it behind when I went.”

"Why don't you write to her?”

"She thinks I'm dead.”

"Yes, it is a mess, isn't it? Oh, Dorabella, how could you!”

"I don't know. Looking back I don't understand how I could.”

"It was a heartless thing to do," said Mrs. Bailey slowly.

I stared ahead and felt the tears in my eyes.

Suddenly she put her arms around me.

"I think you have been rather a spoiled baby," she said. "But babies grow up. I think you should... now, quickly. It's not right for you to be here. What is the artist of yours like?”

"He is good looking... very worldly... very sophisticated.”

She nodded. "I know. It's a pity you couldn't see things a bit more clearly. I know the sort. And when it's over, what shall you do?”

"I just don't know.”

"There's a way out. You could go back and tell your people all about it. They'll be shocked... but I reckon they'll be so glad to have you back that they'll forgive you.”

"I don't know if I could face it.”

"I've got a daughter of my own. I know how mothers feel. I know how Geoff and I would be if it were Marian in this mess. Not that she would be. She's happily married with two of the sweetest little things you ever saw-a girl and a boy. But if it were us, we'd be saying, 'Give us back our daughter and never mind the rest." Look here, my dear, do you mind if I talk this over with Geoff?”

"No," I said. I felt as though I were drowning and they wanted to help me at all cost.

After that I saw them very often and we always discussed my position.

Geoffrey was of Janet's opinion. Some means must be found of getting me home.

In the midst of all this I met Mimi.

It was one afternoon. I had been visiting the Baileys. I had come home a little earlier than usual. I sat down in the salon, thinking over my conversation with Janet. She had been telling me that the company had suggested that, because of the way things were going in Europe, it might be necessary for their staff in Paris to make a hasty exit.

"It is looking more and more grim," she said. "Things are really working up to a climax. Geoff says that it was inevitable after Hitler had taken Czechoslovakia. That really was the last straw. And now, all this talk of Lebensraum and his designs on Poland... I know he says he has no quarrel with Britain... unprepared as we are, Geoff thinks that if he sets foot in Poland we shall declare war.”