All he could murmur now was, ‘You’ve no idea how powerless I felt, Nelly. No idea, and I pray with all my heart you never do, my darlin’. Never.’
Her fingers encased in a grip of steel, Nell tried to ease them out so that she might comfort him, making Billy suddenly aware that he was hurting her.
‘Oh, sorry!’ He was immediately attentive, yet his face remained etched with atrocious memories.
‘No, no … I’m not hurt.’ And with her hand freed, she was able to stroke him tenderly, trying to impart that she understood, that she loved him more than any other person on earth.
Forgetting her burnt skin, a distraught Billy reacted by hugging her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. Then, just as quickly, he apologised again. ‘I just love you so much, you make everything better …’
The minutes leaked away, their voices becoming drowsier. Gripped by an awful premonition that she would never see him again, that these were the last moments they would ever share, Nell refused even now to look away, for that would propel her towards the sleep she was trying so hard to fight.
Even after Billy had gradually succumbed, her eyes remained on his dear face, allowing every detail to be imprinted on her memory, gazing, listening to his breath, feeling it on her cheek …
She had fallen asleep after all. Her head felt like a ball of fire, and her eyelids were stuck together, but the blinding sun which pierced them told that it was morning. She turned away from the source in discomfort, but could not escape the punishing light that streamed in through the window, and so lay there for a second, rubbing her eyes and attempting to prise them fully open.
Then, feeling the heat of Billy close by, she roused him gently with a kiss, privately wincing under his instinctive caress, for her face was still as a beacon in contrast to the white linen pillowcase. Yet, they made love again, for it need not be said that this might be their last opportunity for a very long time.
‘How long do we have?’ she later enquired softly, cherishing every second.
Bill lifted an arm to grope on the bedside table. ‘Oh, bloody Nora, me watch’s stopped. I can smell breakfast, though, so it must be about seven.’ With a hasty kiss, he rolled onto the edge of the bed, forwarded the hands of his timepiece, and began to wind it, chatting to her over his shoulder as he did so, before exclaiming, ‘Sod it, now I’ve over-wound the perishing thing!’ He gave the wristwatch a hearty shake, then tapped it on the table, but nothing could get it started again.
‘Good!’ beamed Nell, rolling across the mattress to imprison him. ‘We can stay here forever then.’
‘’Fraid we can’t!’ Giving her a kiss, then an eye-watering slap on the rear that almost sparked a fight, Billy chivvied her into getting dressed, then both went down to breakfast. His guess had been imprecise, for it was actually closer to eight, and forty-five minutes later they were back in their room, reluctantly, to pack.
This done, Nell took a final look at the bed, her half-wistful gaze noting that the sheets were covered in black hairs from Bill’s chest and arms. ‘Gosh, it looks like a ruddy dog’s slept in it!’ And with a false laugh, she made a last-minute effort to brush them off.
‘Here, don’t forget your budgie box!’ Billy noticed her gas-mask container and quickly hooked it over her shoulder. ‘Whoops, sorry, forgot about the sunburn!’ He gave an apologetic wince, then reminded her, ‘Must get your ration book from the landlady as well.’
‘Do I have to give this back?’ Reluctant to depart, protective of the wedding ring he had given her, Nell was gazing at it now, still upon her finger.
‘Are you telling me you want a divorce already?’ he scolded with good humour, drawing forth a negating laugh from her. ‘’Course you must keep it – and take good care of it till we can use it for real. Here!’ He took a chain from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. ‘I bought you this so’s you can thread it through and keep wearing it, even if it ain’t on your finger. Don’t do it yet, though!’ he warned with a smile. ‘Else the landlady’ll be calling us a pair o’ dirty dogs.’
‘You are so romantic!’ quipped Nell, despite her low spirits. Then she heaved a sigh. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better go and catch our bus then …’
Downstairs, though, there was to be a reprieve. The landlady, who had shown such kindness all along, now proposed that she look after their luggage so they could catch a later bus, and so, ‘Make the most of your honeymoon,’ she whispered.
Though at first deeply obliged, and exhilarated at being allowed this extra time together, by the time evening came around the young couple were forced to accept that it might have been better to leave as planned. For this had merely been a stay of execution. Due to Nell’s blistered skin they had constantly been forced to seek out shade. Not that it really mattered, for their spirits already resided there.
It was almost a relief to arrive back in York. When they alighted in Exhibition Square, it was to be surrounded by the dozens of airmen and soldiers waiting to catch their buses back to camp after an evening out, all extremely merry. Without aid of a street lamp, which were all painted black, Billy held on tight as he steered Nell towards her bus stop, there to wait with her.
‘Leave you on your own and give one of these rag-bags a chance to interfere with you? I don’t think!’ And he insisted on catching the bus with her, even though it would mean a return trip to town for himself.
But it was merely prolonging the agony. Hand in hand, their pace becoming slower and slower as they followed the white line of the kerb to the end of her avenue, Nell finally drew to a halt and turned to him, her face saying everything. Wearing a similar expression, Billy gave a sigh, at the same time nabbing an automatic look at his watch, forgetting that it was useless.
He gave a mirthless little laugh. ‘I’ll have to see if Mr Precious can do anything with it – he does a lot of delicate work with instruments so he might be able to. Well, I reckon I oughta go …’ Implanting a last wistful kiss, then holding Nell at arm’s length and gazing into her eyes, he pledged that they would see each other before too long. ‘Keep your chin up, gel.’ Then, reluctantly, his hands released their hold, and their owner made tracks for his billet.
Unable to bear the poignant departure, her suitcase in hand, Nell immediately turned and hurried for home.
‘Ah, the wanderer returns!’ announced her father in a pleased manner as she entered. ‘We can go to bed.’ But as he turned off the wireless and rose, he thought to ask, ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ Then he chuckled at her mother. ‘From the colour of her face it certainly looks as though she did.’
‘Oh yes, it was smashing,’ replied the luminous Nell. ‘But I’d better not keep you and Mother up any longer.’ Case in hand, she made for the stairs. ‘I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’
‘We’ll look forward to it,’ supplied her mother, rising to pat the cushions. ‘Heavens, your skin does look angry – dab some calamine on before you go to bed.’ Then she made a pensive addition. ‘You know, you wouldn’t think a weekend is long, but we really missed you, didn’t we, Father?’
Touched, and rather guilty at deceiving them, and already pining for Bill, Nell felt her eyes start to burn. Hence, she increased her pace. ‘I missed you too – goodnight then!’
A lump in her throat, she tried her best not to let it get the better of her as she undressed and climbed into bed. But the moment she laid her head upon the pillow, the image returned of Billy walking away. Then she buried her face under the covers, and quietly sobbed.
The next day it was boring old work as usual. Nell was thankful that there would soon be a new career to take her mind off things. But there was a week to get through before then.
How time crawled. It felt like a year had gone past and it was still only Monday teatime. Ever despondent over Billy’s departure, Nell sat at the table, nibbling on the home-grown salad, trying to take her mind off him by watching her parents, wondering what was going through their minds as they ate in silence – had it been just herself and Billy at the table she was sure they would have never stopped chattering. Drat! There she was, thinking of him again already.
Only the clicking of Father’s false teeth was annoying enough to lure her mind away. Mr Spottiswood had developed the ability to clean the underside of his artificial palette without removing the dentures. Using his tongue to whip any debris from beneath, he rolled the clackers from cheek to cheek and around his entire mouth, giving them a thorough vacuum before fitting them back into place again. Why did he persist in doing that, as if it were some sort of art form? Skilful it might be, but the way it warped his face, the dentures jutting forth as if to pop from his mouth at any minute and making him look like a camel, and that awful clickety-clacking they made, it was so uncouth. Did he assume he was being discreet in not actually removing his teeth, or did he just not care?
Nell’s eyes flickered to her mother, who found it as irritating as she did, she could tell that by the slight flare to her nostrils. Yet her mother never dared criticise him, even when he did it at someone else’s house. Poor Mother, dying to be considered as a pillar of the community due to her prominent role with the WVS, purchasing its uniform so she could stand out from lesser women, yet brought down to earth by a husband who did not know how to eat in polite company. And that was not all. Mother had tried to allude that it was not the done thing to sit at the table in one’s shirt sleeves, but there was Father, lord of the manor, with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Nell could not say she blamed him in this heat, but it obviously grated on Mother. How awful to feel that way about someone you were married to: wanting to change them. Nell couldn’t ever envisage being annoyed by anything Billy did. She loved the way he walked and talked and ate, the way his giggles shook his entire body – he was a proper giggler, her Bill – all his little fads, such as picking the strands of orange peel out of the marmalade before spreading it on his toast …
Trying not to sigh, she crunched the last radish on her plate, laid down her cutlery, and attempted to make conversation.
‘One of the girls at work said they found a German parachute in the field at the back of their house after the other night’s raid.’
‘And would she know what a German parachute looked like if it fell on her?’ enquired her father in a supercilious tone. ‘No. You want to tell her to watch it, or she’ll find herself locked up for spouting such rubbish.’
‘It’ll be fifth columnists who’ve planted it,’ explained her mother. ‘Don’t let it frighten you, dear.’
Nell gave a nod and fell silent again. Then, when her parents had also finished, she helped her mother to clear the table, whilst Father seated himself in his armchair with the evening newspaper.
Her mind far away, wondering whether Billy had reached London yet, she was helping her mother to wash the pots when a disgusted exclamation drew both women’s curiosity, and they wandered back to the sitting room.
‘What is it, dear?’ Thelma asked her husband, tea towel still in hand.
Nell’s father regarded her for a moment, the expression on his face turning from annoyance to disgust, as he announced in a tart and slightly melodramatic voice. ‘I was going to ask what you enjoyed best about your weekend in Scarborough, but I won’t trouble you now, for it’s quite evident!’ And he bequeathed the newspaper, suitably folded to display a laughing photograph of a group of young people in swimming costumes, with Nell at their centre, under the banner: Girl with the most sunburnt back.
Nell’s heart leaped as her father stabbed a finger at the dark-haired man beside her in the photograph and mouthed sarcasm. ‘One didn’t imagine your friend Barbara to be so hirsute!’
Her frowning mother snatched up the press and exclaimed, ‘Why, that’s Billy!’
Wilfred turned on her. ‘You knew what she was up to?’
‘No! But I know him – he was at Ronald’s party.’ And his wife joined the attack on Nell, saying, ‘Someone had better explain themselves!’
Nell twisted her fingers as she fought to deliver an explanation. ‘I didn’t enter the competition. The photographer just snapped –’
‘That is not what we’re objecting to, and you know it!’ interrupted her mother. ‘You didn’t think to mention there’d be chaps amongst the group! Did you arrange this at the party, invite Billy along?’
‘No!’
‘Look at him with his arm around you,’ stuttered her father, ‘and you with barely a stitch on!’
‘I’d never have let you pack your bathing costume had I known!’ railed Thelma. ‘You let me assume it was an all-girl group – although those other young ladies leave much to be desired!’
To Nell’s astonishment, she realised then that her mother was under the misapprehension that the strangers in the photograph were part of the fictitious Barbara’s group. This being so, things were not half as bad as they could have been. ‘It was all girls!’ she strove to convince her parents. ‘We bumped into Billy by accident and he tagged along.’
‘To ruin our daughter’s reputation!’ Wilfred was livid with Nell. ‘What have we done to deserve this? There’s our Ronald, doing his bit for King and country, his parents proud as punch, showing off the photo of him that appeared in the church magazine, and what sort of pictorial keepsake do we get of our child? This decadent rubbish!’ He slapped the newspaper onto the hearth. ‘That’s only fit for lighting the fire!’
‘I’m ever so sorry,’ Nell gushed earnestly to both, ‘but it’s this war! No one can afford to be serious all the time. Everyone has to grab their chance of having fu—’
‘Don’t blame Mr Hitler for your behaviour!’ interrupted her father. ‘Fun? Huh! The war seems to have become an excuse for all manner of immorality under the guise of fun!’
‘Quite!’ his wife agreed ‘She’s becoming far too wayward for my liking.’
Nell bit her lip. Thank heaven that neither of them had guessed that she had gone away with Billy alone, and even worse had shared a bed with him. Never in their wildest nightmares could they have conceived such a thing of their well-raised daughter.
‘Well, there’ll be no more! I’m going to write to this Barbara’s parents!’ babbled Thelma, hurrying to a bureau and taking out a writing pad and fountain pen. ‘Here, you can jot down their full address!’
Nell hovered between panic and impatience. ‘It’s hardly their fault, I was the one who was snapped by the photographer! I didn’t even enter the blasted competition.’
‘And you can dispense with that language!’ Her father pointed a warning finger that came dangerously close to her face. ‘Apologise to your mother!’ And after Nell had shown contrition, he added, ‘What she said is right, the girl’s parents are obviously lax and need to be reminded that they had someone else’s daughter in their care!’
‘It wasn’t their fault!’ protested Nell again, but more politely. ‘They had as much idea as I did that I was even being photographed!’
‘That’s hardly relevant,’ barked Wilfred. ‘And stop arguing!’ His scowl served to terminate any further protest. ‘For God’s sake, girl, you seem to have forgotten there’s a war on, that men are out there fighting for their lives whilst you’re acting like some –’ He broke off with a growl of exasperation.
Don’t you think I’m aware there’s a war on? railed Nell silently. That I might never see my darling boy again? That all this kidding about of which you so disapprove is just a front to make everyone feel better? But she didn’t say it, for she had been raised to respect her parents.
‘And as for this chap!’ continued her father, seizing the newspaper again and rapping the photograph of Billy with the back of his hand as if wanting to punch the man himself. ‘If I catch him pawing you again I’ll be writing to his commanding officer!’
‘She won’t be seeing him again!’ pitched in her mother.
‘I shan’t,’ mumbled Nell, eyes to the carpet. ‘He’s left York.’
‘Good – and I forbid you to write to him!’ shrilled Thelma. ‘We’ll be checking all your letters!’
‘Right, get to your room!’ came the abrupt command from her father. ‘And stay there for the rest of the night.’
Packed off in disgrace, Nell flung herself onto her bed, lashing out at the mattress in frustration. These stupid bloody people, why could she not have been adopted by someone at least able to understand? They had no perception of her whatsoever. Dealing the mattress a last punch, she rolled into a sitting position and balanced angrily on the edge of the bed, glaring at herself in the dressing-table mirror.
Then, after a moment or two, she conjured up Billy’s laughing face, made believe that he was looking back at her, teasing the bad temper from her with one of his jokes, and it forced her to blurt out a laugh – laugh, then cry, that she missed him so much already, and he had only been gone twenty-four hours. Face crumpling, and tears bulging over her lower lashes, she jumped up, snatched a brush and ran it viciously through her dark hair numerous times, to try to prevent herself from breaking down completely.
Well, her parents might think they had covered everything, but the letters wouldn’t be coming here. In defiance, she hauled a stool up to her dressing table, and proceeded to write to her beloved, telling him what had just occurred. ‘But you needn’t worry,’ she assured Billy. ‘Nothing and nobody will ever stop me loving you …’
Once the envelope was firmly adhered, and its flap marked with ‘SWALK’ before it was concealed in her pocket for tomorrow’s post, Nell dragged the stool up to her open window, to take solace in the goings-on of the avenue, waving over her sill to the new people, whom she had yet to meet, and chatting to various neighbours until the light began to fade.
Words were terse and far between at the breakfast table the next day. Outwardly cowed, but secretly smug at having the letter to Billy in her pocket, Nell left at the usual time and posted it on her way to work. She was also to slip into the press office during her lunch hour and order two copies of the damning photograph – not purely from any sense of mischief, though certainly this was a bonus – mainly because she did not have any visual record of herself and Billy together, and it was such a good one. The prints would be ready to collect by the end of the week.
Despite having this to look forward to, though, she was, if anything, even more subdued upon coming home that Tuesday evening, for her visit to Billy’s former billet had been fruitless, no letter arriving from his hand.
Still, the fact that she appeared so passive did go someway to healing the rift with her parents. And after all, it was early days, Billy had only been gone forty-eight hours. Undaunted, yet missing him dreadfully, Nell had no need to be ordered to her room that night, but went willingly, pulling her stool to the dressing table and pouring out her heart.
And to her joy, the next day her visit to his digs was to be rewarded by an envelope which sported the endearment ‘ITALY’ – I trust and love you.
Treasuring his letter, and the one which came two days later, she was to read them again and again throughout that week. And also to pore over that memorable photograph, a copy of which was swiftly despatched to Bill, who had said how much he would value it. Thus Nell was to keep herself happily occupied, whilst waiting for her new position to commence.
Finally, the important day came. Instructed to report at eight a.m. to the railway sidings in Leeman Road – which, being at the far side of the network of lines, involved a journey by bus to the station, and then a short walk – Nell arrived in good time, though she was to find two others had beaten her to it. She offered a friendly hello, but being taller and much younger than both, and sticking out like a sore thumb, she felt too self-conscious to say any more for the time being.
The first response was to come from a stocky woman with bobbed auburn hair and a quiet, but mature and amicable way about her, whose smile and the shrewd twinkling glint in her blue eyes more than made up for any plainness. ‘I’m Beata Kilmaster,’ she began, in a soft Yorkshire accent. ‘Are you for the ambulance train as well?’
Before Nell could reply, the third in the group butted in knowledgeably, ‘We’re not meant to call it that, it’s a Casualty Evacuation Train, they’re totally different things.’
‘That’s me told then,’ said Beata, with an arch expression at Nell.
Liking her at once, Nell was now assigned leave to introduce herself. Having done this, she turned expectantly to the self-appointed oracle, whose response was concise.
‘Avril Joyson.’
Nell gave her a nod and a smile, but the latter was secretly for Bill, whom she imagined would have had fun describing this one. Avril’s face was that of a goldfish, cheeks sucked in as if blowing bubbles, and protuberant blue eyes that lacked either warmth or animation. Her tied-back hair was extremely thick and coarse, the colour of hay, and with a tight natural wave. Nell had to bite her lip to prevent herself from bursting out laughing – a goldfish with a thatched roof, Billy would probably have it.
Based only on looks, she much preferred the former woman, who, with her fresh complexion and russet hair, was more like a trusty Cox’s Pippin, and with whom she felt immediately at ease. ‘I wonder which one’s ours?’ She glanced around at the collection of locomotives that chugged and steamed around them, filling the air with their sulphurous hiss. Her query was mainly addressed to Beata, for Avril seemed to be more intent on scrutinising her than the trains.
‘Well there’s one thing, you won’t have any problem hefting patients about. Tall, aren’t you?’
Embarrassed, Nell turned to the speaker, who was looking her up and down quite shamelessly, and tried to shrug off the accusation. ‘Well, taller than average, I suppose …’
‘I can’t think why you’d want to make yourself even loftier with those high heels.’ Avril continued to criticise. ‘And they won’t like that lipstick.’
Already unsure of herself, Nell’s heart sank. Thank goodness she had one person who appeared to like her, as Beata smiled in rebuttal:
‘I don’t suppose the patients will care much, so long as we look after them.’
Thankfully there was someone else for Avril to look at soon, for at short intervals, the rest of the crew began to turn up: a portly mother and daughter duo named Green; a vivacious French woman, coincidentally bearing the surname of French, who could barely make herself understood; two more women of Beata’s age; and seven men.
‘Gosh, they’ve already got their uniforms,’ whispered Nell, as two very aristocratic-looking girls made a tardy appearance. ‘They look rather grand, don’t they?’
But it turned out that the pair had few airs and graces, and from their chummy introduction it appeared they would be more than willing to muck in, even if they were hoping to qualify as state-registered nurses and not mere auxiliaries. One might have guessed from their mannerisms that Lavinia and Penelope Ashton were sisters, but never twins, marvelled Nell, for the first was dark of countenance, the other fair and blue-eyed, the only similarities their height and their wavy hair. During a brief chat with the rest – not instigated by Nell, but by the thoroughbred girls – she discovered that the men were Salvation Army bandsmen, who were to act as stretcher-bearers. All except Avril were very pleasant, decided Nell, as she smiled and shook hands with each in turn. There was no chance to discover much more about her fellow volunteers, for preceding Matron Lennox, Sister Barber came on the scene then, a pretty, delicate-boned woman with fair hair and a heavily freckled face, who grudged them a smile before warning them to pay close attention to what their superior had to say.
Despite the clanking activity from the railway that went on around them, all became attentive to matron, who was starched in dress though not in manner, with pleasant, rather birdlike, features. It was an old-fashioned face, kind, her hair parted in the middle before disappearing under the neat little white cap, conjuring for Nell the spectre of Florence Nightingale.
Upon ascertaining everyone’s name, Matron Lennox was not to mince her own introduction. ‘No woman should offer herself as a nurse unless she is prepared for hard work, self-denial, and to take her share of occupations that are repugnant to every refined and sensitive being.’ Hands clasped before her, her periwinkle-blue eyes rested briefly but effectively on each and every female, allowing her sermon to permeate those ignorant minds. ‘Whether it be your intent to fulfil a lifetime vocation, or whether your services were offered purely from a view of public-spiritedness and only for the duration of the war, the attributes you will need to fulfil your role shall be the same. To whit: –’
To whoo! Nell looked at her feet to stop herself giggling.
– presence of mind, gentleness, accuracy, memory, observation and forethought. No matter what rank you are to achieve, these are essential to the wellbeing of your patients. You may find the way ahead severely taxing, and be especially overwhelmed during your initial introduction to the wards, and fear that there is far too much to learn. But you will not be expected to know everything at once, and, in possession of those qualities, in no time at all you will reach a standard where you can rightly be proud of your title.’ She finished on a smile, then briefly turned away. ‘Very well, Sister, let us show them what they’re in for!’
There followed a procession to the designated train, where Matron was to come to an abrupt halt.
Sister’s eyes penetrated the nearest recruit, who happened to be Nell. But before the latter could grasp her meaning, Beata had stepped forth and opened the door of the van for their superior.
Crushed by naivety, and wondering how Beata could have interpreted Sister’s mute instruction, Nell kept her head down as Matron ushered her group of nurses aboard one of the converted railway wagons, and proceeded to lecture them on what was required.
‘As you can see, even though the workmen have done their part, it is somewhat in the raw.’ Her declaration was unnecessary, for amongst a liberal sprinkling of sawdust were relics of its previous cargo: a wizened carrot and a shrivelled cabbage leaf. Matron began a slow tour, tapping the partitions that separated the ‘wards’ from the rest of the wagon. ‘This will eventually be the doctor’s office, this one for myself, this for the sister, and this is the nurses’ mess.’ She showed them how the stretchers would be installed in racks, one above the other. ‘But before any equipment is installed it will need to be cleaned from top to bottom, and for this it will be all hands to the pumps – so, as I announced earlier, I hope none of you is afraid of hard work. If you are then you’re in the wrong profession.’ She eyed them all with a face that was stern yet fair, as if allowing them this last-minute chance to withdraw.
At Sister’s prompting glare, Nell reacted a few seconds after everyone else. ‘Yes, Matron.’
‘Very well, I shall close by issuing a warm welcome to all, and leave you in Sister’s capable hands!’ And with this she departed.
With their superior gone, Sister Barber then proceeded to give her new nurses all the do’s and don’ts. And the don’ts seemed to be mostly for Nell’s benefit. ‘You’ll be expected to turn up in more sensible footwear tomorrow, Miss Spottiswood, and without lipstick!’
Nell’s humiliation was amplified by Avril Joyson’s told-you-so look, as Sister continued, ‘You won’t feel half so glamorous when you’re swinging the bedpans!’
Initially deceived by the warm smile of welcome and the freckled angelic face with its baby-blue eyes, Nell was quickly learning that this one would brook no nonsense. If Matron was Florence Nightingale, this was Florence Vulture.
‘For those of you who have been nurturing some romantic notion, let me make it plain that you are here under sufferance, and in the most fundamental capacity. Although you may be credited with the title “Nurse”, make no mistake, it is an honorary one. You are here as helpers. Some of you may go on to achieve distinction,’ her eyes flickered briefly to the Ashton girls, before settling on Nell, ‘others are merely here for the duration. But you are all starting out on the same footing, and there will be no lording it over others. I am here to see that you do not kill anyone. We must all of us make the best of it. But let it be known that I cannot abide giddiness or laziness. Neither will be tolerated.’
Having imprinted these opinions on them, Sister Barber began to interview them one by one. On discovering that the Frenchwoman had barely a word of English, she tutted in dismay to herself. ‘What on earth have they landed me with?’
‘Pardon?’ The French woman cocked her ear.
Sister mouthed loudly at her, ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Zey send me!’ came the strangled response. ‘I nurse.’
‘But in England – why are you in England?’
‘Ah, mon mari.’ Mrs French groped for words. ‘’E Anglais!’
Sister heaved a sigh. ‘Good Lord, I’ll warrant you can barely count to ten …’
‘Mais oui!’ The other’s face brightened, and she proceeded to count aloud with pride, ‘Wan, doo, tree, four, fahve, sees, sevahn, ate, nahn –’
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