I suddenly became incredibly self concious. These two young women, whilst absolutely gorgeous, were like, maybe, sisters to me.

Although I had made advances on their mother I just didn't have the same feelings for them at all. It just didn't feel right and I felt very uncomfortable.

“Erm, no, it's fine,” I spoke slowly, “ I can do that myself. Thank you, though.”

Dominique and Pascale looked at each other. Just briefly but it was a look that I couldn't translate.

I wasn't sure whether they were offended that I refused them or whether they had other motives for wanting to help me with my bra and pants but, in no more than an instant, the look was gone.

“Okay,” Dominique replied and stood back, the same smile on her lips seemingly inferring that nothing had changed. “I will get your nightdress, I'll be back in a minute.”

In the meantime, Pascale handed me a thick towelling robe which I put on whilst still sitting on the bed. I pulled it around me and tied the thick cord tightly with a big bow.

“If we get a little carried away,” she began, “It is just because we are not used to having someone to look after and, well, we just want to make sure you feel welcome here and...” her voice trailed away to an embarrassing silence.

I felt a little sorry now, thinking I had embarrassed them.

“Oh, I'm sorry, no, it's fine, honestly. I do understand and I couldn't be in better hands. I'm just not used to such attention. I have been alone for about seven years and have always been so independent.”

“You promise you will tell us if we do too much then?” she asked.

“Yes,” I smiled warmly, “I promise.”

Dominique returned just then carrying a white cotton nightdress.

“Here you are,” she said, handing it to me.

“Would you help me with it please?” I asked her, trying to make her feel wanted. She smiled back and said, 
 "Of course.”

A few minutes later there was a tap on the door.

“Come in!” I called out and the door creaked open.

“We came to say goodnight,” my father said, pushing the door fully open.

Françoise turned back the covers and the girls helped me to slide in. The bed was wonderfully cool and I sat back against the thick pillows.

After bidding me goodnight and a hug from my dad, I was left alone in the darkness.

For a while, I listened to the sounds of the others moving about, preparing for their own beds and then, all was silent.

Françoise had insisted that the door would be left ajar so that someone would hear me if I became distressed.

Usually, I slept with my room doors tightly closed. It gave me a much needed sense of security but this house had such a aura of peace that this time, I didn't mind.

I lay awake for some time, listening to the sounds outside. There were little creaks as the timbers in the house cooled after the hot day and the occasional hoot of a distant owl but I just couldn't settle into sleep. I was so afraid that the dreams would return.

After what seemed like hours, I decided to get a drink of water so swung my legs carefully over the side of the bed and took my crutches. It was a struggle but I managed all right and hobbled through the door and along the short corridor to the large kitchen where I drew a glass of water from the tap and sat down at the big table.

As it was at the back of the house, Françoise had not closed the shutters and the full moon cast an eerie, silvery light through the window. I had never been afraid of the dark and tonight was no exception. I felt truly at ease for the first time since the crash but still, something tugged at the back of my mind. I assumed that the nightmares would stop eventually but I didn't know how long that would take or how long the airline would continue to look after me. I couldn't do anything about the latter and the Director had assured me they would do everything possible to help me recover but no, what bothered me was Jemima. I found it difficult to understand why I was so strongly attracted to her. Not just sexually but emotionally too. I had never felt such things for a woman before. I had barely felt them towards a man. I was no stranger to sex, I liked it, loved it. If people knew about some of the antics I had got up to I would probably be considered a loose woman, a slapper even. I supposed that it came from my childhood. I wanted to be loved and maybe sex was my way of searching for it. The trouble was, the more I had, the more I wanted. I never slept with colleagues or friends as I didn't want to be thought of as 'easy' but, in truth, I was. I would let men do whatever pleased them in a effort to find that special feeling that was so elusive. Sex and love seemed as far apart they could possibly be but, when I kissed Jemima, something happened to me, something I had not felt before. I wasn't lust, I knew that feeling, it was something different, something deeper, a kind of trust I had never felt before.

When I had touched her thigh whilst she was hung-up in the wash-room, it had been purely to teach her a lesson, to show her how it felt to be on the receiving end of unwanted advances. The result had shocked both of us. We both understood the intention but what actually occurred was a connection that neither of us had looked for nor expected.

I sighed deeply. Why, oh why did my life have to be so complicated?

“Karen?” a voice behind me made me jump. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“Hello Françoise. It's all right, I was just thinking. I'm sorry, did I disturb you?”

The older woman sat at the table across form me.

“No, I don't think so, at least, I don't remember hearing anything but I knew you were up, somehow. Do you want to talk?”

“Oh, no... I don't want to keep you up. You have work.”

“No,” she replied, “A day off so if you want to?”

I let my head droop forwards and looked at the solid old wooden table top.

“I do, well, maybe... I don't know. I am afraid.”

“Afraid?” she cocked and eyebrow, “Afraid of what?”

I groaned.

“That's just it,” I sighed, “I don't know.”

“Your feelings, perhaps?”

Her suggestion made me frown.

“What feelings? Do mean about the crash?” I was puzzled.

“Maybe,” she replied, mysteriously, “But maybe something else is hurting you too?”

I didn't answer. My heart was beginning to thud as though from anxiety, unsure of what was coming.

“You do not have to be afraid to talk to me, Karen. You know you can trust me. Nothing will go any further, I promise.”

I still didn't speak and Françoise took a deep breath and released it slowly.

“You told me that you dreamed about me,” she continued, “That you dreamed of me 'touching' you. Is it that of which you scared?”

“But... but you said...” I stammered a little, unsure of what she was saying.

“Oh yes, I did but I was thinking more of your friend, Mrs. Rana. I think it is she who appears in your dreams, is it not?”

“ I whispered my reply, “Yes,” almost inaudibly but then looked up and looked directly at Françoise. “But it is not just her. There are others too.”

I told her of the voices, both male and female, calling me. I told her about George and Fred and the fear I felt in the darkness and she listened intently, never interrupting once, concentrating.

When I finally finished she said nothing but looked at me, her chin resting on her hands until, “I know what is the matter,” she said finally, “You have found love and it scares you.”

“But why?” I exclaimed, “Why would I be afraid of love?”

She smiled at me.

“Because...” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, “Because you have learned not to trust. Your Father let you down when you were a child,” she paused, “It was not his fault, of course, as you now, sadly, understand. The other men in your life have not been what you wanted and this 'Fred'? He let you down too I feel?”

I told her briefly about what he had done during the air raid.

“Well, then,” she confirmed, “everyone you looked up to, let you down in the worst possible way. How could you ever trust anyone ever again?”

“I don't understand,” I groaned, “What has any of this got to do with Jemima?”

“You are, firstly, afraid of being alone. I have heard you call out in your sleep, 'Please don't leave me alone'.”

She paused for a moment to allow here words to sink in to my befuddled mind.

“In your dreams, you are being guided, given choices. Your dreams are telling you, because of society as it is and, of course, your own upbringing, that to be with a man is the right path to choose but, in life, that has not been so.

You find yourself attracted to Mrs. Rana, a woman, but not just a woman. She is someone who has suffered similarly at the hands of uncaring men and you feel an empathy with her, an empathy that makes you feel safe, wanted.”

Françoise' words were ploughing through my head like bullets from a machine gun. They made complete sense and explained a lot of things that were in my nightmares. The fears and uncertainties were beginning to become less clouded as she continued.

“Your fears are about what people will think of you, or even what you think of yourself, that it is wrong for a woman to love another woman.”

She paused, waiting.

“Isn't it?” I asked, somewhat bewildered.

“Does it feel wrong?” she questioned, “When you are together? Does it feel wrong when you dream of her?”

“I shook my head.

“No, on the contrary, nothing in my life has ever felt more right.”

“ Then how can it be wrong?”

“Yes, I know, but...” the sentence trailed of.

“But what?” she asked,

“But...” I repeated, then put my head into my hands. “Oh, I don't know, maybe you are right, How can it be?”

“Follow your heart, Karen, follow where it leads.” Françoise squeezed my hand as she spoke and an odd shiver made me go cold.

“Oh Lord!” I exclaimed, “You said that in one of my dreams!”

“Well then,” she said, “Deep inside, you know the answers.”

“Do you know, Françoise,” I stared into her eyes, “Your girls have the most wonderful mother.”

She smiled and yawned as she spoke.

“I know, but try telling them that!” she laughed then, “Oh, please excuse me.”

“No, excuse me!” I answered her, “I have kept you so long, look, it is beginning to get light!”

The silvery light of the moon was slowly being replaced by the deep blue of the sunrise.

I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall, three forty!

“Don't worry,” she replied, “We will talk more and get to the bottom of your fears, exorcise your demons and get you on the road to recovery.”

She helped me to my feet and I put my arms around her and held her tightly.

“Thank you,” I said, releasing her, “And I am sorry I tried to kiss you.”

“ Oh, don't worry about that,” she smiled mysteriously, “I'm not. Maybe, someday, I will tell you a little secret of my own.”

“You have secrets?” I said, half joking but half actually surprised, although I didn't know why, after all, I didn't really know her so well.

She smiled mysteriously.

“Oh yes, Karen, I do! Now then, you should try to sleep. I know it is difficult but you need to remain strong, physically to be able to fight your mental battles successfully.”

“Yes, and I am keeping you up too, I'm sorry.”

Françoise put the glasses in the sink and walked with me to my room then, after assisting me into bed and bidding me a good night, creaked back up the stairs, leaving my door open open once more.

For a while I listened carefully, hearing the gentle sounds of the floorboards as she went back to bed until, finally, all was quiet again.

Sleep remained elusive. My mind was swimming with all the things she had said. I thought about my past and all those men who had so totally disappointed me but, mostly, I thought of Jemima and what Françoise had said about falling for her.

She was right. Deep down, I felt it was wrong to fall for another woman. I felt there must be something wrong with me but Françoise had eased my mind. Of course it wasn't wrong. How could it be, just because society frowned upon such a thing?

But then, what if I wanted a family, children? Did I want children?

The thoughts just churned around and around as the light in the room grew brighter through the little diamond shaped cut-outs in the shutters.

Some time later, I heard a gentle creaking of timbers as someone walked carefully down the stairs. Each footstep coming very slowly after the previous one as whoever it was tried their utmost not to make a sound.

“Sshhh...” I heard as the footsteps approached the final step, “Nous ne voulons pas la réveiller!”

I imagined it was the two girls as the voices sounded young and, a moment later, Pascale's face appeared at the open door.

“Good morning,” I said, “What time is it?”

“You are awake!” she exclaimed. “Did we disturb you?”

“ No,” I replied, smiling to put her at her ease, “I was not asleep.”

“Would you like some tea?” she asked and then, as an after thought, “Or coffee?”

“Coffee would be lovely, thank you, Pascale.”

“Give us a minute and we will bring it to you,” she replied and before I had a chance to protest, she was gone.

I lay still for a moment, listening to them pottering about the kitchen. I found it calming and such a relief that, for a while at least, I was not alone. I wasn't sure what had happened to me but since the crash I found I had a developed some sort of nervousness about having no-one around.

Since my Mum was killed there had been nobody to come home to. It didn't seem to matter then. I went about my daily life thinking only of myself, taking care of my life and getting on with it but now? Now I listened to Pascale and Dominique in the kitchen and I realised that being alone wasn't such a great thing at all.

I could hear them chatting quietly as they worked, the cups and saucers clinking and the smell of coffee wafted through the door as it percolated on the stove.

How lucky they all were to have each other and get on so well.

Before long, Dominique appeared and tapped gently on the door-frame before entering with a small tray.

“Good Morning,” she said brightly. “Pascale didn't ask whether you wanted milk and sugar so I brought both for you.”

I pushed myself up into a sitting position and she placed the tray beside me on the bed.

“Thank you,” I said, pouring a little milk from the white enamel jug.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, “Were you comfortable?”

“I was very comfortable, thank you,” I told her, avoiding the sleep part of the question. “You have a lovely home here.”

“Yes, we do, thank you,” she replied but it was as if a shadow had passed over her.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Not really, just that...” She seemed hesitant. “Well, I just wish Papa was here. Maman works so hard and I know she misses him.”

“I am sure she does,” I agreed, “She has told me a little about him and I know she loved him very much.”

“She gets lonely sometimes, I think,” Dominique said sadly, “I wish he was still here.”

There was silence for a moment then her face suddenly brightened as if she had brushed away the sad thoughts and returned to her old self.

“Would you like some breakfast?” she asked.

“Oh, no. It's fine. I will wait until your mother and my father come down.”

“All right,” she smiled and turned and left me alone with my coffee and my thoughts.

Shortly afterwards I heard the stairs creaking again as one of them went back up the stairs only this time, the sound was of normal walking and, because the creaking was accompanied by the sound of clinking china, I guessed she was taking drinks up.

I enjoyed that first breakfast. I felt like a child again, as though I had gone back in time and was sitting down to a nice family meal. Dominique fussed around us, passing out plates and cutting bread whilst Pascale cooked eggs and bacon and brewed fresh coffee.

It was wonderful and they made my father and I so welcome, even tough we were virtual strangers to them.

I suddenly felt that maybe, with their help, I would get better but also, sometime, it would be over and I would be alone again.

I looked at each of them as we ate.

My dad at one end of the table and Françoise at the other. The only sounds as we ate were the clinking of cutlery against crockery. No-one spoke.

“Are you all right, Karen?” Françoise saw me looking and not eating.

I smiled.

“Oh yes, I was just thinking how nice this is. It is so long since I have sat down to a family breakfast.”

My father looked up sharply, as though he had been stabbed through the heart, fork midway between plate and mouth.

“That is my fault, I know,” he said, sadly, his fork falling slowly back to the plate.

“I didn't mean that, Dad,” I tried to reassure him and putting my hand on his arm. “I know what was wrong now. I don't blame you...”

I paused before adding, “Well, not anymore. I did, once but I had no idea what you were going through.”

“That hurts me so much too that you have learned of my problems by having them yourself and I promise you, with all my heart, that I will not let you suffer in the way I did.”

For the first time I felt a comfort I had not known before. I could not see into the future but now my dad was back and he was just the way my Mum had always said he was. The one disappointing thing, though, was that she had not lived to see him return.

To be continued...