During the occupation, life went on pretty much the same for some of us children—it is a dim memory. And again, some people do not wish memories to be stirred. Suzette for instance.”
Angela sat in the front of the car with Philip, and after only quite a short drive, they reached a delightful part of the river banked by trees and pleasant meadows, more reminiscent of England than anything Angela had yet seen in France. Suzette had brought all the equipment needed for making tea. The two young men however had brought a bottle of wine.
“How can you drink so much wine?” laughed Angela.
“How can you drink so much tea?” retorted Laurie. “I have been to England many times. They drink tea from early morning till late at night.”
“Philip tells me you saw Simon last night,” Suzette said as they lazed in the sunshine.
“Yes, he was with Paulette,” Angela said dully.
Suzette looked at her keenly. “When are you seeing him again, Angela?”
“He said he would call me tomorrow.”
“But my dear, why did you tell him you did not want to see him, and why did he let you?”
‘I ... just didn’t want to impose myself upon him. After all, Madame LeFeure, I mean, Suzette we were not really friends back in England.”
“Impose yourself on him! What nonsense. Do you know what I think? When two people begin acting in the rather strange and stupid manner that you and Simon are doing, it can only mean one thing. It can only mean they are in love.”
Angela gave her a startled look. “Oh no,” she said quickly. “I’m quite sure you’re wrong.”
Suzette smiled, but said no more.
It was ridiculous, thought Angela. Simon couldn’t possibly be in love with her. He had so obviously regretted even kissing her as he had shown by his apology the following morning. After all, there was nothing in a kiss, but he had been determined that she should not misinterpret it. Besides, if she was the woman he wanted to marry, why hadn’t he asked her when she told him plainly that it made no difference to her what his father had been? But in spite of all they had talked about, he still wanted to find out about his father. No, Suzette was quite wrong.
Inexplicably, she found herself thinking of Roger. He loved her; there was no doubt about that. What she felt for Simon might well be due to the “magic” he himself had spoken of. She swallowed hard. She did not believe that at the moment, of course, but perhaps back in small, sane, unpretentious Lockerfield, she would come down from the stars and realize that Roger’s love was the only one she really wanted, the only real love, sure and safe. They had dinner that night in Suzette’s apartment where Angela learned something of the art of French cooking. Again, she was reminded of Roger. She mentioned this to Suzette, who was immediately all interest.
“ An Englishman who is an artist and who can cook? He sounds more like a Frenchman.”
“He almost looks like one,” laughed Angela. “He has a beard.”
“Are you fond of him?”
“Yes, very. We’ve known each other for a long time. He wants to marry me.” She found it somehow soothing to her troubled spirit to talk about Roger.
She looked at Suzette covertly, wondering what her reaction to that last piece of information would be. She was rather amused to see a very thoughtful expression enter her eyes.
“Do Simon and Roger know each other?” she asked.
“They have met,” answered Angela.
“Mm. I begin to understand,” Suzette said slowly.
“What do you begin to understand?”
But Suzette would say no more. They joined Laurie and Philip who were attending to the very serious business of choosing and decanting the wine. Later, they went to the opera and saw a very wonderful performance of The Marriage of Figaro, finishing the evening at one of Paris’s numerous nightclubs.
True to their arrangement, Simon telephoned on Saturday morning. Angela’s hand shook a little as she held the receiver.
Angela sat in the front of the car with Philip, and after only quite a short drive, they reached a delightful part of the river banked by trees and pleasant meadows, more reminiscent of England than anything Angela had yet seen in France. Suzette had brought all the equipment needed for making tea. The two young men however had brought a bottle of wine.
“How can you drink so much wine?” laughed Angela.
“How can you drink so much tea?” retorted Laurie. “I have been to England many times. They drink tea from early morning till late at night.”
“Philip tells me you saw Simon last night,” Suzette said as they lazed in the sunshine.
“Yes, he was with Paulette,” Angela said dully.
Suzette looked at her keenly. “When are you seeing him again, Angela?”
“He said he would call me tomorrow.”
“But my dear, why did you tell him you did not want to see him, and why did he let you?”
‘I ... just didn’t want to impose myself upon him. After all, Madame LeFeure, I mean, Suzette we were not really friends back in England.”
“Impose yourself on him! What nonsense. Do you know what I think? When two people begin acting in the rather strange and stupid manner that you and Simon are doing, it can only mean one thing. It can only mean they are in love.”
Angela gave her a startled look. “Oh no,” she said quickly. “I’m quite sure you’re wrong.”
Suzette smiled, but said no more.
It was ridiculous, thought Angela. Simon couldn’t possibly be in love with her. He had so obviously regretted even kissing her as he had shown by his apology the following morning. After all, there was nothing in a kiss, but he had been determined that she should not misinterpret it. Besides, if she was the woman he wanted to marry, why hadn’t he asked her when she told him plainly that it made no difference to her what his father had been? But in spite of all they had talked about, he still wanted to find out about his father. No, Suzette was quite wrong.
Inexplicably, she found herself thinking of Roger. He loved her; there was no doubt about that. What she felt for Simon might well be due to the “magic” he himself had spoken of. She swallowed hard. She did not believe that at the moment, of course, but perhaps back in small, sane, unpretentious Lockerfield, she would come down from the stars and realize that Roger’s love was the only one she really wanted, the only real love, sure and safe. They had dinner that night in Suzette’s apartment where Angela learned something of the art of French cooking. Again, she was reminded of Roger. She mentioned this to Suzette, who was immediately all interest.
“ An Englishman who is an artist and who can cook? He sounds more like a Frenchman.”
“He almost looks like one,” laughed Angela. “He has a beard.”
“Are you fond of him?”
“Yes, very. We’ve known each other for a long time. He wants to marry me.” She found it somehow soothing to her troubled spirit to talk about Roger.
She looked at Suzette covertly, wondering what her reaction to that last piece of information would be. She was rather amused to see a very thoughtful expression enter her eyes.
“Do Simon and Roger know each other?” she asked.
“They have met,” answered Angela.
“Mm. I begin to understand,” Suzette said slowly.
“What do you begin to understand?”
But Suzette would say no more. They joined Laurie and Philip who were attending to the very serious business of choosing and decanting the wine. Later, they went to the opera and saw a very wonderful performance of The Marriage of Figaro, finishing the evening at one of Paris’s numerous nightclubs.
True to their arrangement, Simon telephoned on Saturday morning. Angela’s hand shook a little as she held the receiver.
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