Illusions of Happiness by Elizabeth Lord Page A

England. Other times her thoughts wandered to Freddy Dobson, a common soldier no doubt fighting in the trenches. That was if he was still alive or had he been killed, shot in what they called No Man’s Land or blown to pieces in some trench? If so had he been found or did he lay buried, unknown? Had he married his fiancée never uttering a word about his casual affair and a silly young girl he’d left pregnant with his baby? Did he and his wife have a child of their own, a child borne in wedlock? Another thought, if he’d been killed, his wife would now be a widow. Or maybe he’d been sent home maimed for life or blinded by chlorine gas, which the papers had reported to be like a sickly, greenish-yellow fog that drifted across open ground towards the still mainly unprotected Allied troops. Freddy’s wife would be left to nurse him for the rest of their lives, that once handsome and vigorous young man who had turned her heart, stricken and scarred forever.
    Part of Madeleine’s reaction to that speculation was that such an end was exactly what he deserved, moments later to feel chastened and full of remorse at such a wicked thought. But it was no concern of hers any more. She had a new life now and it was wonderful. Whatever had befallen Freddy Dobson was way in the past.

Ten
    Amazing how quickly summer had flown. Only two weeks to her wedding. Not that there’d been much for her to do, James having taken charge of almost everything.
    It was to be a quiet affair, with few guests invited. ‘Far better that way don’t you think, my dear?’ he’d said, and as she nodded, glad enough for it to be so, continued, ‘Not as though I were marrying for the first time and I assumed you wouldn’t care for anything ostentatious in light of the present situation between yourself and your family.’
    Even though it had been said kindly with smiles intended to comfort, his words had bitten deep. But she knew what he meant. There’d been no reply from her parents to his invitation, not even to decline, making her half wish he hadn’t included them at all.
    There had been one reply; from her mother’s sister Maud whom she hadn’t seen in years but had hoped might accept but even that had been to decline with the excuse that a recent bout of ill health would prevent her attending. Whether true or not, Madeleine rather suspected she’d more than likely been influenced by her father.
    No one on her side would be there so in a way it did come as a relief that it would be a simple wedding. Most were these days; hasty marriages, little to celebrate, young men dragged off to fight almost immediately upon being conscripted; the food shortage dictating meagre wedding breakfasts coupled with a natural reluctance to indulge in anything too showy while perhaps in almost every street more than one woman was grieving the loss of a husband to an enemy bullet or shell. So it was only right that her wedding should be a quiet one.
    No bridal gown for her. She’d be wearing a simple, two-piece tailor-made tweed costume with a white blouse of hand-embroidered voile, together costing all of six pounds eighteen shillings and sixpence, expensive but which he’d insisted paying for, together with a lovely double row of pearls. All she’d taken with her on leaving home for that place for unmarried mothers had been just a couple of pieces of jewellery, left to forever regret the other fine pieces left behind. Now there was no longer need to fret. James was here now. Provided she wasn’t greedy he’d buy whatever jewellery took her fancy.
    What she didn’t fancy were the few days they were to spend at a small hotel at Buxton in Derbyshire after the wedding and the intimate part of it as his wife. She’d grown fond of him of course but their relationship had been purely platonic, he seeming to prefer it that way somewhat to her relief. Now faced with her prospective duty as a wife she was becoming increasingly concerned at the thought, even to