Holding hands, Flors, Mags and Ella looked at each other as Mags said, ‘Together – and with Flors at our helm – we can achieve anything. Just as we did back in 1914. Did I ever tell you girls that I love you as if you were my sisters?’

‘Mmm, a few times, Mags.’ Flors winked at Ella as she said this, and all three burst into laughter. Lonia seemed to come to life at this – she giggled and clapped her hands. ‘I love you all too, and as if you were my sisters.’ This increased their laughter, making tears run from their eyes. And although some were tears of joy, Flors knew that her own tears and Ella’s were tinged with sadness, too. Ella brushed hers away. ‘Oh, Lonia, darling, we’re going to be all right.’

‘We are, Mama. We always are, with Aunt Flors.’

Flors’s tears of joy increased, blocking out the sadness. Their Lonia – the little girl with cheek, spirit and a way of making everyone laugh – was back, and Flors thanked God for it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Narbonne, France

Sibbie and Marjie

‘Your way of dealing with Monsieur Passat has worked. That little French boy you bribed to take the groceries up to Monsieur’s apartment is waiting every time I go to deliver now. Costing me a fortune, though, Marjie.’

‘I know, Sibbie – he’s a little devil. One centime isn’t enough for him. I have to give him an apple or something, as well.’

‘Ha! He’s a minx. In the three or so weeks he’s been working for us, he’s done well out of us.’

‘He has, but he’s also saved us from a pervert.’

They were getting ready for a rare evening out, at the insistence of Madame Bachelet. ‘You are young and should enjoy life more. There’s a local dance, and lots of young people will be there. Go. Here, I have tickets for you.’

The girls hadn’t been keen. The only dance they wanted to go to was one with Paulo and Wills, and that couldn’t happen for a long time.

The dance was being held in the municipal buildings attached to the public swimming pool, about a mile from their home. While cycling to it, they were stopped and their papers checked, but as this had happened many times before, they had taken it in their stride, just as they did the banter of the gendarme, who had flirted with them.

The hall was drab and cold, not at all inviting and painted a dull yellow. The lighting was dim, though the music, played by a trio – pianist, cellist and saxophonist – did excite them as they played a lively jazz number, and the joviality of the young people lifted them. ‘Let’s dance, Sibbie. All the girls are dancing together. I’ll be the woman, though. I couldn’t take the man’s part.’