He knew it was a difficult time for her. Her birthday came and went. She had no word from William or her parents. She was cut off from everyone she loved, her parents, her sister, her husband. All she had was her son, and the baby about to be born that William had left her.
But on her birthday Joachim brought her a book that had meant a great deal to him when he was at Oxford, and was one of the few personal things he had brought with him.
It was a dog-eared copy of a book of poems by Rupert Brooke, and she loved it. But it wasn’t a happy birthday for her. Her heart was full of the news of the war, and the heartache of the bombing of Britain. On the fifteenth of August, the blitz on London had begun, and it tore at her heart to think of the people she knew there, their friends, William’s relatives… the children…. Joachim had warned her this would come, but she hadn’t expected it so soon, or fully understood how destructive it would be when it happened. London was being ravaged.
“I told you,” he said quietly, “you are safer here. Especially now, Sarah.” His voice was kand as he said it, and he gently helped her over a rough spot on the road, and after a while they sat down on a large rock. He knew it was better not to talk about the war, but about other things that wouldn’t upset her.
He told her about his childhood trips to Switzerland, and his brother’s pranks when they were children. Oddly enough, it had struck him early on how much his brother had looked like her baby. Phillip was just walking now, with golden curls and big blue eyes, and when he was with his mother or Emanuelle, he was full of mischief.
“Why haven’t you married again?” Sarah asked him one afternoon, as they sat and rested. The baby was so low she could barely move, but she liked her walks with him and she didn’t want to stop them. It was a relief to talk to him, and without realizing it, she had come to count on his presence.
“I never fell in love with anyone,” he said honestly, smiling at her, wanting to say, “Until now.” But he didn’t. “It’s an awful thing to say, but I’m not even sure I was in love with my first wife. We were young, and we had been together since we were children. I think it was just … expected of us,” he explained, and Sarah smiled. She felt so comfortable with him, she felt no need to keep her secrets.
“I didn’t love my first husband either,” she admitted to him, and he looked surprised. There were things about her that always amazed him, like the constant realization of how strong she was, how fair, how just, and how devoted to her husband.
“You were married before?” He looked genuinely surprised.
“For a year. To someone I’d known all my life, just like you and your wife. It was awful. We should never have gotten married When we got divorced, I was so ashamed I went into hiding for a year. My parents took me to Europe after that, and that’s where I met William.” It all sounded so simple now, she thought, but it hadn’t been then. It had all been so painful. “It was pretty grim for a while. But with William”—her eyes lit up as she said his name—“but with William, everything is so different. …”
“He must be a wonderful man,” Joachim said sadly.
“He is. I’m a very lucky woman.”
“And he’s a lucky man.” He helped her up again, and they continued to the farm and then back. But the next day, she couldn’t make it, and he sat quietly in the park with her. She seemed quieter than usual, more nostalgic, and more pensive. But the day after, she seemed more herself again, and she insisted on going all the way to the river.
“You know, you worry me sometimes,” he said as they walked along. There was more of a spring in her step today, and she seemed to have regained her sense of humor.
“Why?” She looked intrigued, it was odd to think of the head of the German Occupation Forces in the area worrying about her, and yet she sensed that they were friends now. He was serious, intense, and he was clearly a kind, decent man, and she liked him.
“You do too much. You take too much on your shoulders.” He had learned by then how much of the château she had restored herself, and it still amazed him. She had given him a tour of some of the rooms herself one day, and he couldn’t believe the precision and the thoroughness of some of the work she’d done, and then she had shown him all that she had done in the stables.
“I don’t think I’d have let you do it if you were my wife,” he said firmly and she laughed.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I married William.”
He smiled at her, envious of William again, but nonetheless grateful to know her. They lingered at her gate that day for a long time. It was as though she didn’t want to let him go this afternoon, and for the first time, as she left him, she reached out and touched his hand and thanked him.
The gesture startled him, and warmed him to the core, but he pretended not to notice. “What for?”
“Taking the time to walk with me … and talk to me.” It had come to mean a lot to her, having him to talk to.
“I look forward to seeing you … perhaps more than you know,” he said softly, and she looked away, not sure what to answer. “Perhaps we are each fortunate that the other is here,” he said gently. “A kind of kismet … a higher destiny. This war would be even worse for me, if you weren’t here with me, Sarah.” In truth, he hadn’t been this happy in years, and the only thing that frightened him was that he knew he loved her, and he would have to leave one day, and she would go back to William, never knowing what he had felt, or all that she had meant to him. “Thank you,” he said, wishing he could reach out and touch her face, her hair, her arms … but he was not as brave or as foolish as his soldiers.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said softly.
But the next afternoon he watched for her, and worried when she didn’t come. He wondered if she wasn’t well, and he waited until nightfall before strolling toward the cottage. All the lights were burning there, and he could see Emanuelle in the kitchen windows. He knocked on one of them and she came to the door with a frown, with Phillip in her arms and he looked fretful.
“Is Her Grace ill” he asked her in French, and she shook her head. She hesitated, and then decided to tell him. She knew that no matter what she thought of him and his kind, Sarah liked him. She didn’t like him too much. Emanuelle never questioned that. But there was an odd mutual respect between them.
“She’s having the baby.” But there was something more in her eyes, a faint line of fear that he sensed more than saw, and he remembered what she had said of her previous delivery.
“Is it going well?” he asked, searching the girl’s eyes. Emanuelle hesitated and then nodded and he was relieved, because all of their nurses and both doctors were gone to a conference in Paris. As they had no terribly ill soldiers in residence at the time, there were only orderlies in attendance. “You’re sure she’s all right?” he pressed her.
“Yes, I am,” she snapped. “I was there the last time.” He told her to give Sarah his best, and left a moment later, thinking of her, and her pain, and the baby that would come, wishing it were his and not someone else’s.
He went back to William’s study then, and sat there for a long time. He took out the photograph of her he’d found. She was laughing at something someone had said, and she was standing beside William at Whitfield. They made a handsome pair, and he put the photograph away again and poured himself a shot of brandy. He had just tossed it down, when one of the men on duty came to get him.
“There’s someone here to see you, sir.” It was eleven o’clock and he was ready to go up to bed, but he came out and was surprised to see Emanuelle standing in the hallway.