going to happen,’ Ada said, though she’d heard the eerie moans of practice sirens along with everyone else, and watched the air-raid shelter being built in Kennington Park. ‘We don’t want war. Hitler doesn’t want war. The Russians don’t want war.’ That’s what Stanislaus said. He should know, shouldn’t he? Besides, what other chance would she have to get to Paris? Her father had a different view about the war but Ada didn’t care what he thought. He was even considering signing up for the ARP for defence. Defence, he repeated, just so Ada wouldn’t think he supported the imperialists’ war. He even listened now as her mother read aloud the latest leaflet. It is important to know how to put on your mask quickly and properly …
‘But they’re going to evacuate London,’ Mrs B. said. ‘The little kiddies. In a few days. It was on the wireless.’
Three of her younger brothers and sisters were going, all the way to Cornwall. Mum had done nothing but cry for days, and Dad had stalked the house with his head in his hands. Pah! Ada thought. This will blow over. Everyone was so pessimistic. Miserable. They’d be back soon enough. Why should she let this spoil her chances? Paris. Mum would come round. She’d buy her something nice. Perfume. Proper perfume, in a bottle.
‘I’ll be back,’ Ada said. ‘Bright and early Tuesday morning.’ Engaged. She had been dreaming about the proposal. Stanislaus on one knee. Miss Vaughan, would you do me the honour of … ‘We’re only going for five days.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Mrs B. said. ‘Though if you were my daughter, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight. War’s coming any day now.’ She waved her hands at the large plate-glass windows of her shop, crisscrossed with tape to protect them if the glass shattered, and at the black-out blinds above.
‘And your fancy man,’ she added. ‘Which side will he be on?’
Ada hadn’t given that a thought. She’d assumed he was on their side. He lived here, after all. But if he spoke German, perhaps he’d fight with Germany, would leave her here and go back home. She’d follow him, of course. If they were to be married, she’d be loyal to him, stay by his side, no matter what.
‘Only in the last war,’ Mrs B. went on, ‘they locked the Germans up, the ones who were here.’
‘He’s not actually German,’ Ada said. ‘Just speaks it.’
‘And why’s he over here?’
Ada shrugged. ‘He likes it.’ She had never asked him. No more than she had asked what he did for a living. There was no need. He was a count. But if they locked him up, that wouldn’t be so bad. She could visit and he wouldn’t have to fight. He wouldn’t die and the war wouldn’t last forever.
‘Perhaps he’s a spy,’ Mrs B. said, ‘and you’re his cover.’
‘If that’s the case,’ Ada said, hoping her voice didn’t wobble, ‘all the more reason to enjoy myself.’
‘Well,’ Mrs B. said, ‘if you know what you’re doing …’ She paused and gave a twisted smile. ‘As a matter of fact, there are one or two places you might care to visit in Paris.’ She pulled out a piece of paper from the drawer in her desk and began to write.
Ada took the piece of paper, Rue D’Orsel, Place St Pierre, Boulevard Barbès.
‘I haven’t been to Paris for so long,’ she said. There was a wistfulness in her voice which Ada hadn’t heard before. ‘These places are mostly in Montmartre, on the Right bank.’ Stanislaus had talked about the Seine. ‘So be careful.’
Their hotel was on the Left bank, where the artists lived.
*
Charing Cross station was a heaving tangle of nervy women and grizzling children, cross old people, worried men checking their watches, bewildered young boys in uniforms. Territorial Army, Ada guessed, or reservists. Sailors and soldiers. The occasional ARP volunteer elbowed his way through the crowd, Keep to the left. People took them seriously now, Air Raid Precaution, as if they really did have a job to do. A train to Kent was announced and the shambles surged forward, a giant slug of humanity. Ada stood her ground, shoved back against the crowd, banged her suitcase against other people’s shins. Watch out, Miss. The frenzy of the scene matched her mood. What if he wasn’t there? What if she missed him? She realized that she had no way of contacting him. He didn’t have a telephone. He lived in Bayswater, but she didn’t know his address. A woman pushed past her with two children, a boy in grey short trousers and a white shirt, a girl in a yellow, smocked dress. In fact, Ada thought, she knew very little about Stanislaus. She didn’t even know how old he was. He was an only child, he’d told her. Both his parents were dead, as was his much-married aunt. She had no idea why he had come to England. Maybe he was a spy.
This was daft. She shouldn’t go. She hardly knew him. Her mother had warned her. White slave trade. Stick a pin in you so you fainted and woke up in a harem. And all these people. Soldiers. ARP. There really was going to be a war. Stanislaus was wrong. Maybe he was a spy. The enemy. She shouldn’t go.
She spotted him. He was leaning against a pillar in a navy blue blazer and white slacks, a leather grip at his feet. She took a deep breath. He hadn’t seen her. She could turn round, go home. There was time.
But then he saw her, grinned, pushed himself forward, lifted his bag and swung it over his shoulder. A spy. A sharp prickle of heat crept up Ada’s neck. She watched as he wove his way towards her. It would be fine. Everything would be all right. He was a handsome man, despite his glasses. An honest man, anyone could see that. A man of means too. Nothing to worry about. Silly of her. His face was creased in a broad smile. He walked faster, pleased to see her. This, Paris, was happening to her, Ada Vaughan, of Theed Street, Lambeth, just by the Peabody buildings.
*
The Gare du Nord was full of the same sweating turmoil as Charing Cross, except the station was hotter and stuffier, and the crowds noisier and more unruly. Ada was transfixed. Why don’t they line up? Why do they shout? She was tired from the journey, too. She hadn’t slept the night before, and there wasn’t a seat to be had on the train to Dover. The crossing had made her queasy and the view of the white cliffs receding into a faint stripe of land had unsettled her in ways she hadn’t expected. Worry hammered in her head. What if war did come? What if they were stuck here? She couldn’t ignore the scrolls of barbed wire on the beaches ready to snare and rip the enemy. The hungry seagulls hovering over the deserted pebbles and bundles of scabby tar waiting for their morsels of flesh. The battleships in the Channel. Destroyers, Stanislaus called them, hovering hulks of metal, grey as the water.
Then Stanislaus had given her a ring.
‘I hope it fits.’ He pushed it onto her third finger. A single band of gold. Not real gold, Ada could tell that straight away.
‘You’d better wear it,’ he said. This was not how she imagined he would propose, and this, she knew, was not a proposal. Her stomach churned and she leant over the side of the ship.
‘I’ve booked the room under Mr and Mrs von Lieben.’
‘The room?’ Her voice was weak.
‘Of course. What else did you think?’
She wasn’t that kind of a girl. Didn’t he know that? She wanted to save herself for their wedding night. He wouldn’t respect her otherwise. But she couldn’t run away. She had no money. He was paying for all of this, of course he’d expect something in return. Mrs B. had
