Chapter 5

The Aftermath

Now all was silent outside. The night air, deliciously warm and intimate, softly wafted in.

I still clung languorously to my lover, filled with an enchanting sensation of fulfillment. He seemed to feel the same way. We were lying still, remembering how sweet had been those past moments!

Then, pressing me closer to his manly chest, he whispered caressingly:

"What's your name?"

"Monique."

"It's a pretty name. But how come you are alone in this shelter?"

The shrieking of a whistle rent the air.

My lover jumped.

"Roll call," he cried.

Quickly he dressed, while the whistling continued, piercing and persistent.

"I've got to get back to camp now, I'll try to come back; in any case where are you going?"

"I want to reach Furness where my mother is probably staying."

"Good! I believe my regiment is moving there. I'll do my best to see you again."

One last passionate embrace and he was gone.

That was the last I ever saw of him. I believe my case is quite exceptional. At the age of 15 a man took, or rather I offered him, my virginity, and I don't even know him. I don't know his name, how old he was, I haven't the slightest idea what he looked like.

Of my many lovers, my initiator is the only one of which I know nothing.

Strange are the ways of life.

Anyhow, in these memoirs, I want to express my deepest gratitude to him.

This I am able to appreciate even more now after my countless adventures. He acted with tenderness and tact, the very opposite of what I would have expected from a wandering trooper.

After all the excitement, I fell asleep. A well-deserved slumber, the sequel of my first day of love. It is not every day that a girl makes love for the first time!

Next morning I awoke to find the sun streaming in. It must have been fairly early, although I couldn't tell the time as my watch had stopped.

All was quiet. From the coast distant gunfire and an ominous column of dark opaque smoke reminded me that a war was still on.

I got to the now deserted camp where I was able to find fresh water, quickly splashed some over my face, then made a cup of cold coffee.

Unhurryingly I set off for Furness.

The whole place was in an uproar; soldiers, civilians, cars, lorries, trucks and all the rest of it blocking all traffic.

The situation did not look very promising, I was seriously beginning to wonder how I should find my mother in this mess.

Luckily I remembered that one of our friends knew the proprietor of the main hotel: "The Golden Crown."

I had no trouble locating it.

In peacetime it had been a luxury hotel, but today it looked more like barracks, a school, a garage or in fact, a dump; anything but a palace.

Meeting the owner's wife, I lost no time in questioning her.

"Yes my child, your friend, the Marquise B—, got here yesterday."

Then it dawned on her.

"You must be the daughter of that poor lady who lost you near the mill. Come quickly, your mother is terribly upset; she has been crying all day long."

She took me up to a room on the third floor, where I found all my lost friends. You can imagine what happened next. A lot of sobbing, crying, wet hankies and what have you! I shan't bother you with all that sissy stuff.

I made up an ingenious tale with a little truth and a lot of lies, which kept everybody happy, including myself.

One of our fellow travelers was the marquise's brother. He was a handsome looking character about 40, with a soft, clean-cut face and a charmingly cynical smile, in fact a typically refined and distinguished aristocrat.

The curious quizzical glances he shot at me during the revised version of my adventures made it clear to me that he, and he alone, doubted the truth of it. He gave me the impression of "feeling" that something had happened to me, that I was no longer the same.

This woman's man, with his clear insight, guessed I was no longer the virgin schoolgirl he had met at Bruges.

He lost no time in proving it.