China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3) by Madalyn Morgan (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📕

finger, so I had it cut off. This is a cheap replica. It was only ever meant to be temporary, until I had my wedding band repaired, but somehow I didn’t get round to it. I shall now. We shall take it to the jeweller next time we go into town together.’

‘Thank you, I will take care of it,’ Claire said, allowing Édith to slip the ring onto her wedding finger. She held her hand at arm’s length. ‘One day,’ she said, ‘when I find Alain, I shall have one just like this.’ Thérèse and Claire kissed Édith and André goodbye and trooped out of the back door giggling.

Trips into Gisoir had become a weekly treat. The centre was still overrun by officers of the Wehrmacht and Waffen SS who lounged about barking orders for drinks and food in every café, bar, and hotel in town. With autumn having rapidly turned into winter the weather had become inclement, and tables on the pavements of the cafés were vacated for those inside, making it impossible for Thérèse and Claire to find a seat in their favourite café.

‘Let’s go home, it’s packed in there,’ Thérèse said, peering through the window of Café La Ronde.

‘I would, if I could, but I don’t think I can take another step until I’ve been to the toilet.’ Claire took a deep breath. ‘I can’t wait, Thérèse,’ she said, pushing open the café’s door and waddling between the tables to the back of the room.

Thérèse followed at the same pace, apologising as she snaked her way past one officer coming towards from the left, and another from the right. ‘Are you all right, Claire?’ Thérèse asked from outside the toilet door.

‘Yes. I’m sorry,’ Claire said, coming out a couple of minutes later, ‘but my back aches and my feet are killing me. I need to sit down.’ She looked round the café. ‘Not one vacant table,’ she tutted. ‘Come on, let’s go home.’

They took the walk home slowly and by the time they arrived, the pain in Claire’s back had eased. ‘Phew! Thank goodness for that,’ she said, ‘we’re home. I need to go to the toilet again. You go in. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

‘Claire? It’s Édith, are you all right?’

‘Yes, apart from not making it to the lavatory in time.’

‘Can you open the door, dear?’

Claire struggled from the seat and pushed back the bolt. Édith entered and when she saw the puddle of water on the floor, she shook her head.

‘I’m sorry about the mess, Édith. I’ll mop it up when I get out of here.’

‘It is not important. Can you walk?’

‘I think so.’ As Claire shuffled out of the toilet, Édith shouted for Thérèse. ‘I didn’t make it,’ Claire said to her friend.

‘Thérèse, can you take Claire’s other arm? I think the baby is coming.’

‘It can’t come yet, it’s too soon. It’s only November. It is only eight months since Alain and I--’

Édith laughed. ‘Babies come when they are ready; they do not count the months. Your waters have broken. That means the baby is on the way.’ Between them, Édith and Thérèse managed to get Claire into the kitchen.

‘But nothing is ready-- Argh! What the--? Argh!’ Claire shouted again. ‘What the hell?’ She lunged forward and, breathing heavily, gripped the table.

Édith and Thérèse, either side of her, waited. When the pains had subsided Édith said, ‘Can you walk?’ Panting, Claire nodded. ‘Then I suggest we go into the front room.’

Thérèse and Édith pulled gently on Claire’s arms and she allowed them to lead her. In the sitting room Claire fell to her knees and buried her head in the cushion on the settee. ‘Whoever said giving birth was beautiful is a bloody liar,’ she said, lifting her head. It’s the most-- Argh!’

Kneeling beside Claire, Thérèse and Édith supported her by her elbows. ‘Claire, will you let us help you onto the settee? I think you should lie down,’ Édith said. Claire nodded. ‘Thérèse? One two three, and up.’ Claire stood, but doubled over. ‘Now gently turn round. And sit down,’ she said, when Claire had her back to the settee. ‘Good girl. Now lean back. That’s it. A little further until you are lying down. Good. Go and put the kettle on, Thérèse, and while it boils fetch some towels from the chest in my bedroom.’ Thérèse left and Édith wiped Claire’s face with a tea towel that was tucked into the top of her pinafore. ‘There. Does that feel better?’

‘No!’ Claire spat. ‘It feels bloody awful. What the hell is happening?’ She cried out at the top of her lungs. Thérèse came rushing in with a damp cloth. ‘André is here. He is watching the kettle. He won’t come in, but asks if there is anything he can do.’

‘Yes, tell him to fetch the doctor. And tell him to hurry. If André gets there before surgery finishes, the doctor should still be sober.’ Édith looked at the clock on the mantle shelf. ‘Tell André to tell the doctor that Claire’s contractions are coming every ten minutes. Tell him it is urgent, and he must come as soon as possible.’ Claire lifted her head, called out again, and Édith dabbed her forehead with the damp cloth. ‘And Thérèse?’ Édith shouted. ‘When the kettle boils fill the white bowl. It’s under a sterilised cloth in the pantry. And fetch those damn towels.’ Édith wiped Claire’s forehead again and she fell back onto the settee.

‘Argh! You must be mad to have gone through this twice, Édith. Never, never, never, again. Argh!’

‘Claire, put your knees up,’ Édith said, trying to lift Claire’s legs.

‘No!’ Claire panted. ‘Where the hell’s that doctor?’ Thérèse came in with the bowl of boiling water, put it on the table, and then ran upstairs for the towels. On her return she dropped the towels