Page 73 of These Old Lies

A fact that the current drivers of this particular vehicle appeared to be discovering. A woman in a severe tweed skirt leaned into the open hood while another woman sprawled across the back bench, her face to the sun and her blonde hair flowing loose across her back. She was laughing, maybe teasing the woman in tweed?

“Bold choice, taking a Cluley so far from home,” Charlie called out.

The blonde in back flicked her eyes up, a flash of surprise at Charlie’s English, but she answered coolly. “Don’t believe women can fix their own cars?” She was a Brit alright, but not as posh as the car and the scarf would suggest.

“My wife would certainly disagree with that sentence.”

“Your wife fixes cars?” That had the blonde’s attention.

“There’s precious little about British cars that my Betty doesn’t know now.” Charlie gestured to the car. “If she were here, she would tell you that once a Cluley has stalled, there is not much you can do unless you get it to the garage and properly clean out the valves.”

“Never would have thought of that.” That voice came muffled from inside the engine, where the woman in tweed was leaning over. She pulled herself upright, wrench in hand, and continued, “Except, I did. Several hours ago. Only to discover the only garage in this godforsaken town is at the top of the hill, and the owner thought he had better things to do with his morning than help ‘deux filles sans aucun sens.’”

“Who puts a garage at the top of a hill?” Charlie asked with an exasperated sigh.

The blonde giggled. “Our thoughts exactly. I’m Millie, by the way.” Leaning out from her seat, she extended her hand towards him. “And that’s Gert.”

Charlie properly approached the car and met the woman’s firm handshake. “Charlie, and the pleasure is all mine.”

Standing right in front of Millie, Charlie was a bit overwhelmed by how young she was, maybe only a smidge over twenty? He felt old enough to be her father. Well, maybe not her father, but he definitely had nieces about her age.

“So, what brings you to France, Charlie?”

There was no reason to lie, but he didn’t particularly want to tell the sombre truth either. “Holiday with some old friends.” Close enough. “What brings you, Gert, and the Cluley to Arras?”

“Now that’s a long story. We might need to get ice cream if I’m going to tell you the whole thing.” Millie moved in the seat so she was half facing Charlie. “We both were studying mathematics at Cambridge. I was on a scholarship. Gert, she is smart enough for a scholarship, except she didn’t need one.”

“I’ve a friend who studied at Oxford,” he said. It was nice to think that Ned was his friend again.

“Cambridge was a magical place until, well, Gert and I got into a spot of trouble.”

“We got kicked out,” Gert cut in, her voice echoing from inside the vehicle.

“I was expelled. You chose to join me.” Millie corrected and dismissed the situation with a wave of the hand. “So I thought, we might as well drive to Paris. A bit impulsive, but it's now or never, right?”

“Sounds complicated,” Charlie said with more honesty than he had intended.

“Sometimes you need to follow your heart.” Millie was looking up to Gert, her round face full of affection for the woman who was up to her elbows in automotive grease.

“And the rest be damned,” finished Gert, lips twitching in what was almost a smile. Charlie couldn’t help but wonder whether the friendship between the two women was in fact something more intimate than travelling companions. He racked his brain about how to acknowledge what he suspected. There had been a time when he had known all the slang, but he hadn’t used those references in years.

“What will you do when you get to Paris?”

“Bookkeeping? Secretarial work? Gert speaks a bit of French. We’ll figure it out. We’ve some friends there already.”

Dimly, Charlie remembered Ned saying once that Paris had more options for men such as themselves, perhaps that applied to women too. Charlie could imagine Millie and Gert’s life, a flat together, evenings in cafes and bars where they could be as deviant as they wanted. Would Gert wear trousers? Charlie would bet she preferred them.

Or maybe it would be a catastrophe. No work, no money. Too vulnerable. Their relationship burning down in the rubble of what they had left behind. Millie out in the cold—no degree, no scholarship, nothing except for scandal.

They were so incredibly brave.

Charlie wished he could offer them help somehow. A blessing of sorts. What they really needed was to get this car moving, and for that to happen they needed to get it to that blasted garage.

“I think we can get the Cluley to the garage.” He said before he realised it. Charlie didn’t know what it was about France that made him willing to try daft ideas, but there he was again.

Gert stared at the distressed engine for a minute before wiping her hands on a rag and shrugging. “We’re not paying you.”

That sounded like an agreement to him. “I’ll be back in a quick minute.”