David and Maria continued to examine the French rail map. He ran his finger from Bern to Lausanne, and then through Dole and Dijon to Paris. "This looks like a good route." He glanced at his watch. "I'll phone the Embassy and have the travel clerk organise tickets and vouchers from Bern to London and back." He stroked his beard. "If we leave Monday, we can be in London on Tuesday and back to Bern Thursday afternoon."
"That's cutting it close, isn't it? The wedding's Friday afternoon What if we miss a connection?"
"Tight timing makes us more careful. We can enjoy tomorrow and Sunday here, then drive to Bern early on Monday."
Maria looked up from the map. "Why not take a train to Bern? Why drive?"
"We would need three trains to get us from Schaffhausen to Bern. With the waits for connections, it would be slower than driving. Besides, I need to stop at the Embassy to pick up the tickets and vouchers, as well as to get confirmation of meeting times and places in London." He smiled at her. "But also, the Lancia is wonderfully comfortable, and I love driving it."
She nodded. "Your mind works in complex ways. It's as if you see the entire world of possibilities laid out in front of you. There are so many layers to your decisions; most of them I'd never see."
"We can pick up your grandparents in Küsnach on our way back. Save them making arrangements to travel here for our celebrations." He glanced at his watch again. "I must place a telephone call to the Embassy and get things rolling. And after that, you can call your grandfather and tell him our plans.
Bern, Switzerland — Monday, 19 December 1915
After a seven thirty departure from Sonnenhang, David and Maria arrived at the British Embassy in Bern a little before eleven. "What an easy and comfortable trip it is in this compared to the lorry," he said as he opened her door. "I drove this route in the lorry a dozen and a half times; maybe two dozen, and it was always a chore."
He led her into the Embassy, and they were quickly let through the side passage. After he had picked up the bundle of tickets and vouchers from the clerk, he knocked on Colonel Picot's partly open door, and they were beckoned in.
"You just can't stay away, can you?" Picot chuckled as he showed them to seats and handed David an envelope. "Your meeting details are in here. He's looking forward to seeing you. And Maria, while David is occupied, we've arranged for you to meet with three of our people running the British end of our prisoner of war project. "Here's a letter from Mrs Grant Duff, which she says will introduce them and explain everything."
Maria was silent as she accepted the large, thick envelope, but David could see her mind was spinning. He patted her hand. "It made sense since we both had to visit London that we travel together. God knows; we've been apart enough."
After Picot had run through a précis of new information on the disabled rail lines, David pointed to his watch. "We've a train to catch, and I've decided it's best to leave the Lancia in the courtyard here and walk to the station. We should be going. We'll stop in on our way through on Thursday."
As David and Maria walked down the steps of the Embassy, Maria pulled him to a stop and shook her head. "You continue to do things that surprise me. Why didn't you tell me I was going to London on business?"
"It evolved while I was thinking whether I could bring you with me. I needed a way to legitimise your travelling, and since you've been involved in the prisoner of war project from its inception — actually, Edith says it was your idea. Anyway, you know as much about the project as anyone, so a meeting with key British people might just find ways to break the current impasse. Picot loved the idea."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"My mind had turned to other things."
"Like what?"
"Like concentrating on what we were doing at the time — futtering."
"Oh, God. You make my knees weak." She tugged his arm and started walking. "Come, we've a train to catch."
Paris, France
David pointed out through the taxi window as they drove along Boulevard de Magenta from Gare de Lyon. "The restaurants are filling up for the evening, and the sidewalks are still as busy as they were when I was here in June." He checked his watch. "It's almost eight, so the locals are just now coming out to eat."
A few minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of Hôtel Gare du Nord, and as they got out, he pointed across the street. "Tomorrow's train leaves from over there."
"I was wondering why the hotel was so far from the station." Maria looked across the street. "That's a different station, though. So there are two rail stations in Paris."
David chuckled. "No, there are four main ones, one coming in from each direction, and there is no way to go through Paris by train, nor is there any way to bypass it. It's necessary to come into the city and change stations."
"Seems as if the system was designed by a local tourism promoter to bring people into the city."
He chuckled as he led her into the hotel and across the lobby. "I think it was to not disrupt the grand architecture of the central city. I saw the same in London, and it's likely that way with all large old cities."
After they had checked in, they went up to their room to refresh before dinner. "There's a restaurant along in rue de Lafayette in which I ate on my way to Oxford. As I sat there staring at the empty chair across the table from me, I realised how much you've permeated my being. How deeply I love you." He pulled her to his chest in a tight embrace. "Throughout dinner, I imagined you in the chair to try to ease my loneliness. It didn't work."
Maria snuggled her face into his shoulder and hummed. After a long while, she lifted her head and blotted her tears. "Let's go find your restaurant so you can stare across the table at me."
A quarter hour later, they were ushered to an intimate setting in the corner of a small room. "I ate outside at a sidewalk table in June, but it's far too cold for that this evening. What would you like to eat?"
"You."
He chuckled. "Remember I told you I taste like oysters. They had fresh ones on the menu the last time. Maybe they have some tonight."
"I've never had oysters, but I'd rather have the real thing." She sniggered. "But it's a bit too public here for that. Later we can..."
She paused as a young woman approached their table to ask what they'd like as an apéritif.
David looked at Maria, paused a moment, and replied, "Une bouteille de Veuve Clicquot."
"Une demi?"
"Non, une bouteille." David held his hands up to indicate large.
"Oui, Monsieur. J'arrive."
"That's the bottle Grandpa had sent up to our room in Interlaken, isn't it?"
"Yes, and we anointed it as our celebratory drink." He looked into her eyes. "I thought Champagne would be a great way to celebrate your first visit to France. The first of our many foreign wanderings together." He shook his head. "No, not our first; that was our escape from Germany. We'll have far better ones later; after we've put this damnable war behind us." He gazed into her eyes. "But let's start with this one."