“Françoise! What on earth? I mean...” I was so astounded to see her there that my jaw literally fell open. “What do you mean, 'with us'?”

She smiled broadly as she replied.

“Your f..., she paused, glancing sideways at the director, “Monsieur Farmer,” she quickly corrected herself, “telephoned me yesterday afternoon and explained what had happened. Although it is short notice I have agreed that you can stay with me and my girls for a time where you can relax and recover at your own pace.”

“Really?” I said, still unable to believe this amazing turn of events and looked at both my dad and the director for confirmation.

They were both smiling and the director spoke first.

“It seems the best option for the immediate future,” he said, “Matron Blanchard has the space and experience to look after you until you are able to return home.”

“I don't know what to say, I am in your hands. Thank you,” I answered.

“There is something else,” Françoise continued. “I talked with Doctor Harlow before I left last night. He said he had been afraid that something like this may happen and he will help as much as he can to make you better.”

I nodded.

“He did say he had considerable experience with such conditions,” I agreed.

“Then it is settled then,” the Director confirmed, “An ambulance will take you back to the station for the train to Limoges and I will personally liaise with Matron Blanchard for your treatment.”

The journey back to Limoges was uneventful. The two nurses who had accompanied me on the outward journey remained with me for the return trip, along with my father and Françoise.

Another ambulance met the train and took us her house after diverting to the hospital to drop off the nurses.

By the time we arrived at Françoise' house it was quite late in the afternoon. It was a nice house, sitting on its own with secluded walled gardens and the nearest neighbours some fifty yards away.

It was a peaceful suburb, seemingly untouched by the ravages of wartime.

Françoise and my father helped me down from the ambulance and along the short drive to the steps up to the front door.

“Do you think you can manage these?” she asked.

There were five stone steps leading up to the porch and then the front door.

“I think so, with your help,” I answered, a little worried that they would be difficult should I wish to go outside when there was no-one at home.

Françoise must have seen my concern.

“Do not worry,” she said with a knowing smile, “The back door opens directly out into the garden. There are no steps there.”

“I think you can read minds!” I said with a little chuckle.

As I spoke the front door opened and just inside stood two very beautiful young women, both smiling widely.

“Bonjour , Mademoiselle, Monsieur. Bienvenue. ” the older one of the two greeted us.

“Merci ,” I answered, using my stock reply when I wasn't sure of what was said.

“Karen ne parle pas le Francaise ,” Françoise told her and she smiled at me.

“Pardon,” she said, “Welcome,” and stepped back to allow us to pass inside.

Once through the door, Françoise introduced us.

“These are my daughters,” she said. “ Pascale ,” she indicated the older, taller girl, “and Dominique.”

“I am pleased to meet you both at last,” I smiled, “I have heard so much about you but your mother never told me how pretty you both are!”

They smiled at that.

“Maman also did not tell us how pretty you are too, Mademoiselle Farmer.” Pascale returned the compliment.

“Touché!” I replied with a chuckle, “But, please, call me Karen if I am to stay in your house.”

Pascale was tall, almost six feet tall I estimated and she was wearing flat shoes. She had very long red hair and a pale complexion to match. Her dark blue eyes glistened and shone as she spoke.

She was slim, but not too thin with narrow hips and small high breasts which made for a beautiful figure as she was dressed in a tight woollen pullover and equally tight slacks which ended just below her calves. On her feet she wore canvas slip on plimsolls.

In all, she was a very fashionable and modern young lady.

Dominique, on the other hand was somewhat shorter by around four inches. She had shoulder length chestnut brown hair, which was tied back in a pony tail and the most piercing ice blue eyes which, like her sister's, sparkled in the light. She wore a cotton summer dress which accentuated her firm, full bust and flared out over her hips to just below her knees. On her feet she wore pale yellow ankle socks with little white frills around the top and flat buckled yellow shoes.

Although they had such differences, it was quite obvious, even had I not known, that they were sisters.

I turned to my dad.

“This is my father.” I introduced him to them.

“Oh, yes, we know.” Dominique smiled, “We have already met.”

“You have?” I raised my eyebrows in astonishment.

“Françoise invited me to dinner the day before yesterday,” my father replied, somewhat sheepishly I thought. “That is why I telephoned her last night. We have spoken about you a lot.”

“Come, come!” Pascale urged, “You must be so tired and hungry, all of you. Dominique and I have made dinner. It will be ready in a few minutes.”

The two girls had been so busy through the day, I discovered. They had made up a room for me on the ground floor which was next to the laundry room in which they had placed some screens so that I could use it as a bathroom. The bed was an iron framed bed with very ornate, brass, head and foot boards with a huge mattress which looked so comfortable, and fat, fluffy pillows.

In the corner was an old wooden wardrobe in which to hang my clothes.

In the large kitchen, we sat down at the big wooden table in the centre and Pascale and Dominique fussed over us, serving a wonderful fresh, crisp salad with roasted chicken and fresh, crusty bread.

It was heavenly!

After the meal I was so full and Pascale poured strong fresh coffee for us. We all sat back and relaxed, allowing the delicious meal to settle.

“Your girls are angels, Françoise.” I told her.

She laughed.

“They have their moments,” she smiled, “But, yes, they are good girls. I am proud of them.”

“Oh Maman. ..” Dominique was clearly blushing and Pascale's face was as red as her hair.

We retired to the living room whilst the girls cleared the table and washed the dishes and once we were comfortable I looked at Françoise.

“There is something I wanted to ask but...” I hesitated.

“You may ask anything you wish, Karen. I will soon tell you if I don't want to answer.”

“Well, I was wondering why it is, if you were married to an Englishman...” again, I hesitated.

“Why I have a French name?

“Well, yes...” I felt my face burning.

“That is all right, I don't mind telling you. Danny and I never married. We lived together in England and because of the way that people are there, I called myself Mrs. Kingsley. It saved wagging tongues, especially when the girls were born.”

“Ah, so the girls are Kingsley?” I asked, thinking ahead of myself.

Françoise smiled again.

“No, they are Blanchard too but in England we allowed people to think they were called Kingsley. When we returned to France we all reverted to Blanchard. So many French people are still rather anti-English to some extent. Not on the surface but the old traditions die hard.”

“It is the same in England,” I agreed. “Maybe that will never change.”

“No, maybe not,” she replied, sadly.

“How did you meet Danny?” I asked, fascinated by her story. “If I may be so bold as to ask...” I added quickly, not wanting to appear nosey.

Françoise smiled, inwardly almost, as she remembered back so many years...

“I went out for the day, with two friends from the hospital where I worked, in the summer of nineteen-thirty,” she began. “We were crossing the road and I dropped my purse and, without thinking, I stooped to pick it up. Before I realised what had happened I heard a horn and the squeal of brakes and I was knocked to the ground with such a force. I hadn't seen the little red sports car.”

“Were you hurt?” I asked.

“Yes, but not too seriously. I had a few cuts and bruises but, when I looked up and saw the most handsome man staring down at me, all my pain and shock seemed to disappear!”

“What did he say? Was he angry or sorry?” I was hooked on her every word now.

“Oh, he was most apologetic, even though it was partly my own fault. My friends, who were also nurses, checked me for anything broken then he helped to my feet. I was so taken by him that I could hardly speak and couldn't take my eyes away from him.

He was so smart and dashing in his RAF officers uniform.”

“So what did he do?” I tried to suppress my eagerness but I couldn't help it.

“Well, he offered to buy me some new stockings because mine had been torn as I fell but, when I refused he insisted on buying the three of us dinner.”

“Ahh, that's lovely!” I exclaimed. “Did you all go?”

“No. My friends saw that I was attracted at him and said that it was fine, they were not hungry. I was disappointed and expressed my regret and thanked him anyway but my friends both made me go with him.”

“And did you?”

“I did. It was very difficult as I spoke very little English then but he knew some French so we managed.”

Françoise stopped for a moment, a warm smile playing on her lips and the little lines around the ends revealing her pleasure at such distant memories.

I broke the silence.

“What happened after that?” I pressed her for more.

“I think that fate played a part in it because it turned out that Danny was on weekend leave from his squadron which was based in France. We were able to see each other but not too often because his airfield was some miles away. At the end of Autumn he was due to return to England as he had only been in France on a six month detachment. Just before he was due to leave, I discovered I was pregnant with Pascale.”

“Good heavens, what did you do?” I urged her to continue.

“When Danny got home, he arranged for me to come over and live with him. Because I was French it was easy to convince his neighbours and relatives that we had got married whilst he was in France.”

“So why did you never marry?” I was so curious now, I had to know everything about them.

“Because It would have meant everyone knowing that Pascale was born out of wedlock,” she revealed, “and, besides, it didn't seem to matter to us.”

“But what about the accident, when he was killed, what then?”

Françoise smiled.

“I think that fate lent a hand. Because he was in the R.A.F. he had to make a Will in case he was shot down and killed. That Will was still still valid when the drunken driver crashed into him.”

I paused for a moment as I remembered Doctor Harlow's voice,

'Do you believe in fate?'

I was beginning to think that maybe there was such a thing after all!

“So why did you return to France, Françoise? Didn't you like England?”

“Karen!” my father interrupted, “You ask so many questions! Haven't you heard enough?” he laughed.

“Ohh, yes, of course. I am so sorry, Françoise.”

She laughed, happily.

“It is fine,” she said brightly, “It is good to remember and talk about these things. We had so many wonderful times together. No, I returned home because England meant Danny and without him there I could not feel happy anymore.”

“What about Pascale and Dominique. Didn't they mind?”

“No, they were fifteen and seventeen then. They were happy to begin a new life here.”

At that moment the two young women entered and sat down on the sofa beside me.

“We didn't mind at all,” Dominique said as she flopped down. “There is far more room here.”

Suddenly my father stretched up.

“Mmm... it is getting late,” he said. “I had better be on my way.” and got to his feet.

Turning to Françoise, he said:

“Thank you for your hospitality and especially for all you have done for Karen.”

He looked at her daughters.

“And thank you too, for such a lovely dinner.”

They both grinned as Françoise jumped up.

“You don't have to go,” she said carefully, looking at her two girls, “We have room if you wish to stay... with Karen.” The last bit seemed, momentarily, an afterthought.

From the edge of my vision I saw Pascale and Dominique nod their consent.

“Oh no,” My father protested, “You have done so much for us already, I could not impose upon you.”

“Nonsense! You will not be imposing. We have a guest room all ready. You are very welcome to stay here.”

For a moment, he looked at each of us then sighed.

“Then thank you. If you are sure, I will stay.”

Françoise went over to the wall and flicked down the light switch.

“I have soap and towels but no shaving things I'm afraid,” she apologised.

“Don't worry,” my dad reassured her, “I can manage for one night. I have a toothbrush and paste.”

Françoise beckoned him to follow her, saying:

“I will show you to your room.”

After saying goodnight I was left alone with Pascale and Dominique.

“Your mother is a wonderful woman,” I said.

“ She is. You are in good hands,” the older sister replied. “We have arranged that there will always be someone here whilst you stay with us. Whilst Maman is at work, either Dominique or myself will be here if you need anything.”

“I hope I am not spoiling any plans you may have.” I felt that perhaps I was going to be a burden to them. I hadn't thought, until that moment, that anyone but Françoise would be helping me.

“Oh no, of course not!” they both exclaimed at once. Pascale continued.

“Maman has told us about you and what has happened. She used to tell us stories about the people she looked after in the hospital during the war. We hope that we are able to help you to recover from your pain.”

“You are so kind to me,” I said, “I don't think I have ever met such a lovely family.”

They didn't reply but shifted uncomfortably in the sofa a little and gave an embarrassed smile.

“Come on, then,” Pascale said after a short pause. The two of them got to their feet and Dominique handed me my crutches. “We will help you to your room.”

They assisted me off the sofa and supported my whilst I steadied myself then, Dominique leading, we left the living room and crossed the hall to the room which was to be my home for the foreseeable future.

Once inside I thanked them for everything they had done for me and waited. So did they.

There was a moment before Pascale spoke.

“We can help you prepare for bed. It cannot be easy with just one leg to stand on and Maman said that the injury was still not strong and that we were to support when you needed it.”

“Oh, that is very kind but I think I can manage,” I replied, not wishing to impose on these two lovely women. “You have done so much already.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned my crutches against the header.

When I went to remove my shoes I discovered that I was not so independent after all.

Both Pascale and Dominique chuckled at my efforts and looked at each other then nodded.

Dominique was the first to step forwards.

“You remind me of a little bird with a broken wing,” she looked at her sister then back at me. “Maybe we can help you to fly again?”

“Come on,” her sister said, barely able to hide her amusement, “We will help you.”

Pascale knelt beside me and supported my leg whilst Dominique unfastened the buckle on the little strap and slipped the shoe carefully from my foot. She placed it just under my bed, out of the way then they repeated the action with my other leg. This time, as she slipped the shoe from my foot, Dominique paused for a moment and gazed at my foot, saying:

“You have nice feet, Karen. Do you use anything on them?”

“ Oh, erm,” I started, a little surprised at this unexpected compliment, “No, not really, just soap and water.”

I had never really thought much about my feet.

“Then you are fortunate. My feet are horrible. I have long bony toes,” she pouted and turned up her nose.

She released my foot and placed the shoe next to the other under the bed.

“Now then,” she continued as they both stood up, “Your jacket?”

I slipped the red uniform jacket from my shoulders and handed it to her. She took it to the wardrobe and hung it carefully on a hanger inside.

At the same time, Pascale retrieved my crutches from beside me.

“You will need these whilst we take your skirt,” she said and passed them to me.

With each of them either side, holding my arms, I pushed myself up onto the crutches and steadied myself whilst Pascale unfastened the waistband and lowered the zip then slowly slid the bright red fabric to the floor, slipping it from my legs as I raised each foot in turn. She took it directly to the wardrobe and hung it next to my jacket.

Once again, with their help, I sat on the bed and then, after removing my scarf, began to unbutton my soft white satin blouse.

There were three buttons at the back and Dominique helped me release them then drew the soft fabric over my head.

“Would you like me to wash this?” she asked and suddenly, it occurred to me that I had no idea where my case with my fresh clothes was.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, “My case! All my clothes are in it!”

“Don't worry,” Pascale assured me, “I will ask Maman about it but we will wash the blouse anyway, it will soon dry and, besides, we have a robe for you and you can borrow one of Dominique's Night dresses. I think mine may be a little long on you.”

I smiled as I looked up at her.

“Yes,” I said, “I think you may be right.”

“Bon. Now, your underwear...”

To be Continued....