We fell in love through our words, didn’t we? In the harshest and darkest of times, we found the brightest, most beautiful thing of all. We found love. We found each other, and for that I will forever be grateful.
I will never forget the touch of your hand when I came out of my fever. Yours was the first face I saw when I opened my eyes. Yours were the first words I heard. Only Tom Harding could have fought so stubbornly to get through the quarantine lines. And we have dear Rose Blythe to thank for that. You always said the two of us would get on, and I am glad to have called her my friend over the years since.
When I woke and saw you by my bedside, I knew we would never be parted again—and we never have been. Which is why I know you will feel the pain of our separation so acutely. But please know this, my love. I will always walk beside you. I will always be there—watching you, loving you, missing you, waiting for you, and when your time comes, don’t be afraid. I am not. I am ready for the next life and the great adventures we will have together there, for all eternity.
I hope you did as I wished and took this letter to Paris to read. Our last Christmas together there was one of the happiest, wasn’t it? What little we knew then of the challenges the New Year would bring. I am glad we didn’t know it was to be our last. We would have looked at things rather differently then. We would have doubted and questioned every moment—was it happy enough, was it perfect enough—rather than simply enjoying the moment for what it was. And you have given me such wonderful moments, Tom. You have given me the best and happiest life I could ever have wished for.
We are but birds in flight, you and me. Let us catch the thermals together now, and soar.
Merry Christmas, my darling.
Forever yours,
Evie.
XXX
“Merry Christmas, Evie.” My words are a whisper, joining the echoes of laughter and love as the most precious memories of my life dance like snowflakes around me in the room, and the gentle melody of a Christmas carol drifts up from the street below . . .
“Silent night, Holy night, All is calm, All is bright . . .”
I rest my eyes. Just for a moment.
All is calm.
All is bright.
All is as it should be.
Epilogue
From Delphine to Will Harding, editor of the London Daily Times February, 1969
Paris
Dear Will,
I hope you are doing well and that you are all finding small ways to cope since your father passed away. I miss him dearly, as I am sure you do, too. Even the Paris apartment feels sad, if that makes sense to you.
It was a lovely funeral, wasn’t it. Richmond illuminated by a perfect winter sun, just as Tom would have wanted, and with plenty of Shakespeare and good literature to see him off. It gives me great comfort to know that he will rest in peace now beside your mother. Tom and Evie, together again. After all those years of separation during the war, how incredible to know they were never parted again. Even at the very end, they were only apart for a matter of weeks. Theirs was a very special sort of love. A model for us all, I daresay.
While your father was in Paris over Christmas, he brought with him a packet of letters—an impressive volume of correspondence between your parents and their friends during the Great War. I had no idea they had written so fervently. Did you? He gave instructions to Margaret for them to be left in my care.
Having read them, I felt I should do more than lock them away in a dusty attic somewhere, and I wondered if the newspaper might be interested in publishing them as an historical series. With your mother having written her column for the paper during wartime, and the reins having being passed down to you from your father, the LDT seems like the right place for their exchanges to be shared. It really does make for a fascinating insight into the war. Some of the more personal sentiments we can, of course, leave out, although I find them wonderfully romantic. Much like your parents!
I look forward to hearing from you with your thoughts.
Perhaps you and the family could visit when the weather improves? Much as I love Christmastime here, I do look forward to the blooming of the chestnut trees on the Champs-élysées. After all, who can deny the beauty of Paris in the spring?
With all best wishes, Delphine
THE END