“I can help you hide, Nathalie,” I said, thinking of the money hidden in the bottom of my bag. “But I’m going to need your help in return.”
C H A P T E R 13
CHARLOTTE
Collingham, England
1970
“You don’t have to come with us, you know,” I tell Theo the next morning when I find him waiting for us on the footpath outside of his flat in Manchester. It’s a busy street and we couldn’t find a place to park out front of Theo’s flats so Dad’s waiting in the car half a block away. I volunteered to fetch Theo to bring him to the car, in part because I wanted to talk to him privately.
“I’ve come this far,” he says wryly. “I figured I should see this through to the final act. How’s Noah?”
“Not good,” I admit. Theo motions for me to turn around to return to the car, but I shake my head. “He’s barely said a word since we left the professor’s office yesterday. I told him about this meeting this morning as soon as he woke up and he agreed to come but he’s so anxious, Theo. It’s awful.”
“It is perfectly understandable though,” Theo says gently. I’m suddenly struck by two things—his ease with this awkward, uncomfortable situation, and the kindness in his eyes. I’m so grateful to have met him right when we need this kind of support the most. “The war is a period in his life he’s rarely revisited over the years and now he’s trying to face it head-on. That can’t be easy.”
“I know,” I say. “But you should know that in the last ten minutes he’s decided he doesn’t want us to come in when he speaks to Jean.”
Remy’s name, it turns out, is Jean Allaire. He lives a few hours’ drive away in Collingham, Leeds. We were almost at Theo’s flat before Dad changed his mind about us joining him for the meeting and he’s far too stressed for me to argue the point. He agreed that Theo could join us for the drive if he wants to, and I’m really hoping that’s what he decides to do.
“Oh no,” Theo says, wincing. He glances back toward his flat. “Well, that’s his prerogative, of course.”
“But you’re welcome to come for a drive if you didn’t have plans…” I add hastily. Dad’s behavior this morning is not at all what I expected when Remy agreed to meet with him. Theo has obviously had some experience dealing with men and women who served and the difficulties of speaking about their experiences. I’d be relieved to have skilled backup to support Dad if the meeting doesn’t go well.
“No plans to speak of,” Theo says, then, “I’ll still come along. Moral support and all that. If you don’t mind…？”
“I’d appreciate that,” I say, relieved. “He really doesn’t seem himself today.”
“He may well feel better after he sees Jean.”
I insist Theo take the front seat beside Dad. He protests at first but soon acquiesces—he’s much taller than me, and Dad’s car is small enough that the back seat is cramped. The trip to Remy’s will take us a few hours and as we set off, Dad locks both hands on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road as if the very act of driving requires every ounce of his concentration. We’ve only made it a few blocks when Theo twists around to speak at me.
“Where do you work? What grade level?”
And at that, we’re chatting away—at first, the conversation a little forced as we try to fill the space around Dad’s stony silence, but soon we’re engaging in an easy back-and-forth. Theo works at a boys’ independent school and teaches both modern and ancient history. “For fun,” he manages the school’s chess competition and astronomy club.
“It’s not what I imagined for my life,” he admits. “I thought I’d be an academic. Probably a military historian like Harry. But my mother always says ‘man makes plans, God laughs,’ and…” He shrugs. “Here we are.”
He tells me about the dedicated characters of family history group and some of the remarkable discoveries they’ve made about their ancestors since he started it eighteen months ago. I’d thought of him as awkward, but it turns out Theo is easy company once he warms up.
After Theo and I have been swapping teaching stories for an hour or so, Dad finally clears his throat and asks, “Your…er…your wife doesn’t mind you giving up your Saturday to drive with us, Theo?”
When Theo explains there’s no wife to speak of, my father’s eyes meet mine in the rear-vision mirror and he gives a wink. I glare at him because this car is way too small for such an awkward matchmaking attempt, but inwardly, I’m relieved to see a spark of my dad’s usual, cheeky self.
Remy’s extensive cottage is on a leafy street in Collingham. Once Dad’s parked the car on the cobblestone drive, he closes his eyes and draws in a shuddering breath.
“You don’t have to do this, Noah,” Theo assures him. “If you’ve changed your mind, I can just go to the door and tell him so.”
Dad opens his eyes. He still looks anxious, but he puts his hand on the car door handle.
“I set out to thank him, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to do so,” he says unsteadily. “But I also have a lot of questions and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about hearing the answers.”
With that, he leaves Theo and me behind. We watch as Dad approaches the house, but before he can even ring the doorbell, the door swings open to reveal a man about my father’s age. Jean Allaire’s shoulders are slightly stooped, and he wears what’s left of his black hair in a long, sparse comb-over.
But from my vantage point here in the car, I observe a moment of pure, awkward nothingness where they just look at each other, as if neither is sure how to begin. Jean seems wary and Dad is shuffling his weight from foot to foot like a child on his first day of school. After an excruciating moment, the men disappear inside the house.
“God, I wish he’d let us join him,” I say.
“He’ll tell you about it when he’s ready,” Theo replies.
The door opens again and a woman emerges. She’s wearing pearls and a fitted floral dress, and her golden hair is set in curls that frame her face. She approaches the car and Theo winds down his window.
“I’m Marion, Jean’s wife,” she introduces herself. “I assume you two are here with Noah?”
“Yes, Mrs. Allaire,” Theo confirms. “Charlotte here is his daughter, and my name’s Theo. I’m a friend.”
“You really don’t need to wait out here. They’ll go into Jean’s study if they need privacy,” she says firmly, then she grimaces. “I’ve been anxious all morning so I did some baking to keep myself busy. We’ll need some help to eat it all.”
We follow her into the house and to a large formal dining room. The long oval table is set with a beautiful woven runner, and atop of this sits a steaming teapot and all manner of delicious treats. But Dad and Jean are already seated there, and when we enter the room, Dad looks up at us, slightly alarmed.
“I saw them waiting in the car and told them to come in,” Marion announces. “You two can retreat to the study if need be.”