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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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04-02-09 6M p3 |
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My Enemy My Love by James Redaelli |
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CHAPTER 1 Northern France, 24th July 1914. It was an especially beautiful summer’s day with only a few high clouds in the sky. The temperature had been rising steadily for several hours. The air was still and the ground parched through lack of rain. Cosette Guilloux could feel a trickle of sweat down her back but was unperturbed. “ Come on Antoine, race you home” Turning her head as she spoke, she grinned at her younger brother who was almost alongside her. He was mounted on a well-bred stallion but she knew that, wearing her leather jodhpurs and sitting astride her mare, Sesame, rather than on a side saddle, she could still outride him. “Alright, Cosette, this time I’ll beat you!” They had just emerged from a wood into open country and as they broke into a gallop she was quick to build up a comfortable lead. They had only about a kilometre left to go and her only concern was that she had given Sesame her head too soon. As they raced on she was the first to have a clear view of the house where she had been born in July 1893. Erected with the entrepreneurial wealth acquired by her great grandfather, it was a fine-looking building surrounded by substantial grounds. Standing four stories high, with two towers at each end, it resembled a medieval chateau and including servants’ quarters in the attics it had all of twenty rooms. She was still maintaining her lead but as she looked back she could tell that her brother was gaining on her. “I’m going to catch you Cosette,” he called out excitedly. “Never!” It was at moments like these that she was grateful for her competitive spirit when in the saddle, something which she had inherited from her father, who was still a fine horseman. One major obstacle remained to be surmounted; a hedge that stood on the boundary of the chateau’s grounds. It was well maintained, barely half a metre wide but slightly more than a metre and a half tall. To jump it safely demanded courage and skill on the part of both horse and rider but Cosette was equal to the task. As she approached the hedge, still maintaining a small lead, she had to be careful to steady Sesame and ensure that she maintained both balance and control as they went into the jump. Then they were both flying through the air, clearing the hedge by barely a centimetre, before landing comfortably on the other side. She shrieked with pleasure. They were now only metres from their destination and she was aware that Antoine, having also successfully negotiated the hedge, was barely more than a length behind her and coming up fast. She could feel the sweat beginning to drip off her forehead in the heat and Sesame’s breath growing laboured. The mare was tiring fast. She leaned further forward in the saddle and offered her some encouragement. To her delight she just held on by barely a head to reach the finishing line first. It was a tall, isolated elm tree, standing only a short distance from the stable entrance. Then her carefree mood suddenly darkened a little. Everywhere she had been in the city of Lille the previous day there had been talk of war. After a generation and a half of peace, many people she had met had seemed genuinely enthusiastic about the prospect whereas to her mind it carried with it only connotations of death and suffering. She simply didn’t understand or care about the reasons that, her father, Aubert, told the family gravely, were hurtling the whole of Europe towards conflict. It was some comfort at least that he seemed to take no pleasure in the unfolding events, describing them as an act of collective madness. This helped her cling to the hope that it would somehow all blow over like a thunderstorm, that however fierce it may be in the distance, never quite arrives. Antoine, never a poor loser, was happy to congratulate her. “Well done, Cosette. I thought I was going to catch you at the line.” She smiled at him. “Not this time, Antoine.” Like her he had a passion for riding while his lack of achievement at school and easy going manner had caused him to be fiercely rebuked by their father on more than one occasion. Now, to her dismay, he seemed swept away with excitement at the thought of war breaking out. “I don’t want you to go and fight,” she appealed to him as they dismounted and handed their horses over to the stable lads to look after. “Don’t you realise that you might be killed?” He simply laughed. “You know I enjoy a little danger in life. When we gallop across country and jump fences don’t we risk our lives?” She shook her head. “That’s not the same thing at all, you know it isn’t.” “No, I don’t.” “I wish I could persuade you.” “You can’t, Cosette. If our nation is once again to be at war with Germany do you take me for a coward? Anyway, what choice do I have? I am due to be called up into the army in a few weeks whatever happens.” “Oh, that stupid law!” For the last year and more she had heard so much boring talk about the extension of conscription from two to three years without exemptions. “Even if there was no call up, I would still enlist. It’s time that we avenged the defeat at Sedan.” “But that was so long ago and what if we are beaten again? Have you thought of that?” “We won’t be. This time we will have not only our own Imperial forces but, Papa thinks, those of the English Empire on our side as well. Russia too will attack Germany from the East. Come on, it’s getting late, time to get changed for dinner.” With the help of her personal maid, Jeanne Desaix, Cosette dressed as quickly as she could. She put on one of her silk evening gowns, which she had bought only a few weeks before in Paris. Following a recent change of fashion it was v-necked, allowing her to show off her bosom, which was anyway forced upwards by the brocade corset she had put on. Much as she felt constrained by her corset, as she looked at herself in the mirror, she had to confess that it helped her to display her figure to perfection. It helped remind her too that she had the timeless asset of dark-haired good looks. Her fulsome lips were, she felt, her best feature but others were more complimentary about her eyes, which one admirer had been bold enough to describe as dazzling. She quickly made up her mind to wear the expensive pearl necklace that her grandmother had given her for her eighteenth birthday, and motioned to Jeanne to hand her the jewellery box that sat on her dressing table. “Give me my pearls please, Jeanne.” As the girl handed them to her she then passed them round her neck and checked that her hair was properly in place. It was drawn back into a chignon or bun. It crossed her mind whether she should wear a little make up but she knew that her complexion was still fresh and unblemished enough not to need such flattery. Then, as a final touch, she merely applied a little scent to her neck. “Yes, that will do very well I think, Jeanne.” “You look lovely, Mademoiselle.” “Thank you, Jeanne.” She smiled warmly at her maid. She had chosen her the previous year because she sensed that she was a sweet natured girl who would also be loyal and attentive, as well as keep secrets if she had to. So far she had not been disappointed in her choice. “Now, I really must go down to dinner. Papa never likes it if I am late.”…. |