The Postcard by Leah Fleming Read Free Book Online Page B

Besides, it was time Marthe led her own life. She was far too attached to Caroline, and the girl was too old for a nursemaid. Marthe’s life was back in Belgium and Phoebe had
paid her handsomely in lieu of notice. With superb references she’d soon find a good position in another family. Thankfully she’d not made a fuss, and as a reward they would call in on
their way home. Then it would be term time and Caroline would be sent to one of the best boarding schools in the north, recommended by Kitty’s friends.
    The house at Dalradnor would still be there for holidays, though Caroline must come to London for her long vacations. It would be the best way to shape her into a young lady instead of an
overgrown tomboy. In time she would learn to accept the changes without any fuss.

Dear Mrs Ibell, Tam and Cullein
    I crossed the sea and wasn’t sick. We went to Paris and looked at a lot of pictures and we went up the Eiffel Tower . We have hot chocolate for breakfast and no porridge and flaky
crescents with jam. I have been to fairy castles like in picture books but now we are near Nice. It is very hot and sunny and the sea is blue like the picture. My favourite ice cream is green with
sprinkles of chocolate on the top. I hope Cullein is missing me.
    Love Callie

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    The sea was sparkling, the scenery beautiful, with palm trees waving and bending like fans. On the hillsides, looking across the bay, were perched villas all the colours in a
sugared almond jar: pink, turquoise, gold and apricot, with red-tiled sloping roofs. Their villa had a garden with a swing and a dipping pool. Aunty Maisie brought friends to stay and took Callie
for walks and ice creams by the plage. They all took a car to the lavender fields above Grasse where the perfume was so strong it made Callie sneeze. They trawled through the open markets in
Cannes, fingering strange fruits, vegetables and bunches of herbs all the colours of the rainbow. Callie bought a lace hanky for Marthe and tubes of chocolate-dusted walnuts for Mrs Ibell.
    Sometimes she felt horribly homesick for Dalradnor but she swallowed back the longing, knowing she’d return soon with such stories to tell them all. Everything was different in France: the
street smells, the houses, the food, the chatter. Girls paraded with parasols to shade their faces, children wore such pretty dresses and matching hats. She swam in the sea in a new cotton bathing
costume with polka dots on it, not the knitted navy-blue one she’d brought from home, which stretched and sagged when it got wet. Aunt Phee bought her a lace-edged fan and a straw hat, and
made her nap in the afternoons when she wanted to play out. There was a party dress with a beautiful dropped waist and sash that she had to put on when they dined in a restaurant with waiters who
treated her like a grown-up and brought her water in her own wine glass.
    Uncle Billy Demaine called in with his friend Lyall, who was an actor in films, and Callie got his autograph. She rode on donkeys, and in coaches drawn by tired ponies along the Corniche. It was
all fun but she was glad when it was time to pack up and head north. She sent postcards to the twins and to Marthe in Bruges. They would be collecting her on the way back and she hoped she’d
had a good holiday too.
    The train north took an age and they changed at Paris to visit a place called Albert. Nowhere could have been more different from Nice or Paris. There, emerging from the station Callie was
surprised to see, all around, broken buildings and trees, and ditches down the sides of the roads. Across the fields there were fences inside which were lined up row upon row of little white
crosses, hundreds of them. These were the graves of soldiers who fell in the Great War, Aunt Phee explained, and she felt sad that they were stuck out there so far from home, but at least not
alone.
    Then, when Aunt Phee had looked awhile, they took a taxi to a tiny village where in the square Aunt