A Country Road, A Tree Read Online Free

girl,” he says.
    “I know.”
    He doesn’t offer anything more, holds a smile at bay.
    “And…?”
    He shrugs.
    “Ach, come on!”
    He smiles. He says, “Years ago, we used to play tennis, mixed doubles, when I was at the École Normale. But I didn’t see her again until last year, after the attack. She read a report in the newspaper and remembered me. She came to the hospital and, well, that’s when.”
    “That’s when you fell in love.”
    It is to be supposed so. He does not confirm, correct or contradict.
    “She made curtains for my flat.”
    Mollie laughs.
    “They’re actually quite fine.”
    “Sorry. I’m sure they’re beautiful…” She waves a hand. “I didn’t mean—I just never thought of you—being the fellow that you are, I didn’t think you’d care about things like that.”
    “I didn’t say I cared. But when it gets dark,” he says, “one has a need of curtains.”
    That’s what Suzanne had said, anyway, lying naked on the tangled sheets, looking out through the high window of the sleeping loft, her dark hair tumbled, moonlight on her skin. He’d agreed, but had determined that on no account would he ever get any; if there were curtains, then they would lie together in pitch black, and that would be a shameful waste of her nakedness.
    And then, when she had presented him with curtains, he’d thanked her, and had even participated in their hanging.
    “I don’t know what all the fuss is about.”
    “I’m just happy for you. Thrilled. That you’ve got a nice girl who’ll mend your shirts and make you curtains.”
    “That’s not all she is. She’s a musician. She studied at the Conservatoire. She is a writer, too. She writes.”
    “God help you then, the pair of you.”
    —

    The curtains are drawn that evening in the little house, even though it’s not yet dark. The radio crackles and shrieks as he hunts out the BBC again. When it’s tuned in, he goes to stand beside his mother, a hand resting on the back of her armchair. She has steeled herself to listen now.
    At the back of her head, grey hair frizzes out from its pins. Her old hands clutch the armrests. Mollie is huddled in the seat opposite, her legs drawn up underneath her, chewing on a nail. Lily stands by the sideboard, included but separate, eyes downcast.
    At five o’clock today, France declared war on Germany.
    His mother fumbles a hand upward. He takes it. It is cold. They listen to the continuing bulletin, but little of it sinks in. Because the pieces are all in play now, are moving out across the board. He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb. One traces the possibilities out from here and ends up—where? Wire and trenches, is that what is coming all over again? He could volunteer for the ambulance corps, grind an old taxi over mud…Back in France, could he enlist? It is all so grim. His head buzzes as though the lid has been taken off a jar of flies. His mother twists round in her seat and looks up at him. Her hand grips tight and she pulls him down a little closer.
    “Well, that’s that,” she says.
    He nods. That is indeed, as she says, that.
    “You can’t go back now.”
    He looks down at her face, the sharp angles, the lines of it. But he can’t stay. “I’ve told everyone I will be back.”
    “Everyone?”
    “All my friends.”
    “Your friends.”
    He nods.
    She looks at him for a long moment, her throat in an uncomfortable twist. Those shady, disreputable people with their unimaginable lives, they are drawing him away from her. From security and comfort and a decent life.
    “And what possible use,” she asks, “do you imagine you would be?”

CHAPTER TWO
    PARIS
    Autumn 1939
    It’s ridiculous to be happy now, Suzanne thinks. It’s outrageous. But she can’t help it.
    She slips her arm through his. He shortens his stride for her, and this synchronization makes her smile. She breathes the warmth of tobacco and shaving soap and wine. Their footfalls clip across the Place