Free Somewhere in France: A Novel of the Great War by Jennifer Robson

cordial and soda, a penny each for scones, jam tarts, or ginger cakes. The bell hanging above the shop’s front door jingled loudly; she looked up, her heart racing, but saw only the back of a departing customer.
    Perhaps Robbie had forgotten. Perhaps his train had been delayed.
    Better to think of something else, anything else. What of the people surrounding her? At one table, a group of young women talked excitedly, their chairs pulled into a companionable circle. They were fashionably dressed, their skirts even shorter than hers, and one of them had rouged cheeks and lips. Lilly decided they probably worked in a nearby office or shop, doing the work of men who’d been called up.
    She turned her attention to an older couple, the husband clearly too infirm for service. They’d ordered tea and crumpets, and seemed to be relishing every bite. At one point the wife reached out and gently brushed a crumb from her husband’s coat, a gesture born, Lilly imagined, of long years of love and companionship.
    Nearest to Lilly was a young couple, the man in uniform. The woman held his hand, ignoring her tea, her eyes fixed on his as he spoke slowly, softly, his words indistinct but their murmur infinitely soothing. I promise I will be fine, he must surely be saying. I will be fine; I will return to you; you mustn’t worry about me. I will be fine . Lilly said a silent, fervent prayer that it would be so.
    The bell jangled again, knocking against the glass of the shop’s front door. She looked up, telling herself it couldn’t be him; it would only be another stranger, come for tea and toast and a warm refuge from the sharp chill of the day. But it was Robbie, politely holding the door so the elderly couple, finished with their crumpets, could depart.
    He surveyed the shop interior, then, seeing her, smiled crookedly. The shopgirls, silent for a moment, turned in their chairs to look at him, their expressions nakedly admiring. He walked toward her, unbuttoning his greatcoat; under it she could see the khaki of his officer’s tunic and trousers. Someone, his mother probably, had polished his leather gaiters, boots, and Sam Browne belt, and she saw, as he removed his hat, that his beautiful golden hair had been cut very short.
    “Hello, Lilly. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

Chapter 11
    “N o, not at all,” Lilly answered, her voice even sweeter than he’d remembered. “I only just arrived.” She rose from her chair and, unexpectedly, stood on tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek.
    Light as it was, the caress burned like a brand on his skin, lingering after even the memory of her scent had faded. She was so very pretty, her hazel eyes shining, her creamy skin adorned with a constellation of freckles that she probably detested but which he found delightful.
    “Do sit down,” she prompted, and only then did he realize he was still on his feet, looming over her, his coat slung over one arm. Belatedly he sat and tried to gather his thoughts.
    Lilly smiled at him, seemingly unconcerned by his awkward response to her greeting. “How was your journey from Scotland?”
    “Quite pleasant, thank you. It was hard to say good-bye to my mother, though. My wee cabin felt rather lonely for the first few hours.”
    “I’ve never been on a sleeper train. Do they give you a proper bed?”
    “More of a bunk, really, that pulls out of the wall. I slept very well; I think it must be the rhythm of the train. Rather like being a baby in a cradle. Before I knew it, we were pulling into Euston.”
    The waitress, noticing that Lilly was no longer alone, approached them. “Good morning. May I take your order?”
    “What do you want, Robbie?”
    “Just a cup of tea, thank you.”
    “May we order a pot of tea between the two of us?”
    “Of course, madam,” the waitress said, smiling encouragingly. “Would you like something to eat?”
    “Robbie?” Lilly asked, but he shook his head. “No, thank you; just the tea for