"Much better, thank you. And a cup of tea would be just lovely."
The women each unpacked their few belongings, washed faces and hands at the large white enameled stone sink, and brushed hair back into place. As usual Maisie struggled to fasten the stray tendrils of jet black hair that crept out from under her hat. When they left the room, the women looked almost as fresh as they had in the early hours of the morning, when they had joined their train at Charing Cross for the journey to Folkestone, their port of departure for France.
"Look at those cakes. My word, never seen a pastry like that before; it's a wonder they can do that in wartime," said Dottie.
"No, and you've never tasted a cup of tea like this before either."
Iris winced at the weak tea and reached out to take one of the delicate pastries from the china plate placed in the center of the table.
Maisie was quiet, looking around her at the rather aged grandeur of the dining room at the Hotel St. Georges. Large mirrors were positioned on each wall, and ornate archways led into the lounge on one side and the marble-floored lobby on the other. Waiters ran back and forth, elegant in black trousers that shone with too much pressing, white shirts, black ties, and long white aprons. They were all older men, for the younger men had gone to war.
The clientele was mainly military personnel, and the hotel was packed with officers going on leave or passing through on their way back to join their regiments. Some were with sweethearts or wives, still others with parents, the fortunate ones whose people could make a journey across the Channel to bid them farewell in France.
Maisie sipped her tea, feeling the warmth, if not the flavor, reach the core of her tired body. She was aware of the conversation at their table, a familiar to-ing and fro-ing of observations and opinions, a giggle here, a raised voice there. But for the most part, as the journey to France ebbed away behind her, Maisie was lost in her own thoughts.
"Excuse me, it's Miss Dobbs, isn't it?"
Maisie was jolted from her daydream back into the dining room. She jumped up and turned to face the person who had spoken to her.
"Oh my goodness!" said Maisie, spilling tea onto the white cloth.
Captain Simon Lynch quickly took her elbow to steady Maisie, and greeted her with a broad smile, which he then extended to her table companions, who had immediately stopped all conversation, indeed all movement, to look at the man who had come to the table to see Maisie.
"Captain Lynch. Well, what a surprise this is!"
Maisie regained her composure and took Simon's offered hand. A waiter quickly and efficiently replaced the tablecloth and offered to bring a chair for Simon, who declined, commenting to her companions that he had just been leaving when he had seen his friend, Miss Dobbs.
Simon turned again to Maisie, and as he did so she noticed that he seemed older. Not just in years, for it was just over a year since they had first met. No, he was older in his soul. His eyes were ringed with gray skin, lines had formed on his fresh young man's face, and already gray hair was showing at his temples. Yet he could be no more than twenty-six.
"Just here for two days' leave. Not enough time for Blighty, I'm afraid. I'd heard from Pris that you'd joined up."
"How is she? Have you seen her?"
"Our paths crossed only once. She brought wounded men to my hospital, but, well, we didn't have time to stand and chat." Simon looked at his hands, then back at Maisie."So, do you know where you are going yet?"
"No, we get our orders tomorrow morning, perhaps even this evening. Seems a bit chaotic, really."
Simon laughed.
"Chaotic? You haven't seen chaotic until you've been out there."
"I'm sorry." Maisie rubbed her hands together. "What I meant was--"
"No, I'm sorry. That was horrible of me. And, yes, it is chaotic. The right arm of the British army hardly seems to know what the left arm's doing. Look, I have to dash off now, but, I wonder, is there any chance that you could have dinner with me tomorrow evening? Or do you have to be chaperoned?"
Simon grinned and looked into Maisie's eyes.
"Well, um, well . . ."
Maisie looked sideways at her companions, who were continuing with their tea quietly in order to listen to the conversation. She caught Iris's eye and saw the other woman smile, nod her head and mouth the word "Go." Maisie turned back to Simon.
"Yes, Captain Lynch. Dinner would be lovely. And, yes, actually I do have to be chaperoned, so my friends will be dining nearby."
"Right you are. Let's make it an early one then, I'll meet you in the lobby at six o'clock. In fact, I'll meet you all in the lobby at six o'clock!"
Simon bowed, bade good-bye to the nurses, smiled at Maisie, and moved to go.
"Oh, and by the way--that uniform--it's almost as stunning as the blue silk dress."
And then he was gone.
Maisie took her place once again, amid the giggles of Iris, Dottie, and Bess.
"And what silk dress might that be, Dobbs?"
"You kept that one quiet, didn't you?"
"Sure you want a chaperone?"
Maisie blushed at the teasing, which she knew would continue for some time. She was about to explain that Simon was only a friend of a friend when an RAMC officer approached their table.
"Dobbs, White, Dornhill, and Rigson? Good. Orders are here, and travel warrants. Sorry. You won't be going to the same place. White and Dornhill together at the base hospital. Dobbs and Rigson, you're going to the Fourteenth Casualty Clearing Station-- enjoy it here while you can."
And with that he was gone, clutching several large manila envelopes under his arm while negotiating his way through the busy dining room, in search of other nurses on his list.
The four women sat in silence for a few minutes, looking at the brown manila envelopes.
"Well, he's a bundle of joy, isn't he?" said Iris, taking a knife from the table and slicing open the envelope.
"Dobbsie, my girl, we are indeed off to the Fourteenth Casualty Clearing Station, near Bailleul, like Cheerful Charlie over there said. A CCS, that's as near to the battlefield as nurses are allowed, isn't it?"
"And we're at the base hospital here in Rouen, so we won't be going far, will we, Bess?"
"Well, there we are, then. Let's make the most of it, that's what I say. And let's get some sleep."
Iris dabbed at her mouth with her table napkin, and a waiter scurried over to pull out her chair.
"Yes, good idea. At least one of us needs her sleep if she's to be walking out with an officer!"
"Oh, Dottie, he's just--"
Maisie rushed to defend herself as the women left the table, but her protestations were lost amid the teasing and banter.
Remembering the events of her dinner with Simon Lynch took Maisie's mind off the journey. First by train, then by field ambulance along mud-filled and rutted roads, Maisie and Iris traveled to the casualty clearing station where they would be based until due for leave in four months' time.
As the train moved slowly along, though it was still light, Maisie had a sense of darkness descending. Gunmetal gray clouds loomed overhead, splashes of rain streaked across the windows, and when the train stopped at a station, the sound of heavy artillery in the distance seemed to echo and reverberate along the tracks. Even the birds had been silenced by the mighty orchestra of battle. With the sights and sounds of war around them, people in the landscape loomed with a stark intensity.
Maisie watched from the train window as lines of people trudged along, and more lines of battered humanity appeared to be strung out into the distance. Whole families were leaving communities close to the battlefields, seeking a place of safety with relatives in other towns and villages. Yet the river of civilian evacuation was a stream compared to the long column of marching soldiers, battle weary in weathered uniforms. Young men with faces prematurely aged, showing fatigue and fear as well as a determined levity.