Read Online We'll Meet Again by Philippa Carr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Philippa Carr
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of tea in their apartment. Not that the tea tasted like it did at home, but it would be more comfortable than a cafe, and she would enjoy being able to talk to someone in English.
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.
Mimi
I T 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
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.
Mimi
I T 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
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