Armistice

A/N I really shouldn't be writing something else while I have a story from another fandom on the go, especially when that story has been delayed while I've been ill. However, the finale of Mr. Selfridge really got me. For two series now we've watched Henri and Agnes coming towards the only resolution that makes sense, and now, finally, with a nudge from Victor of all people, they have. Given that Henri was poised to go off and fight for France in the Great War, I couldn't resist a one-shot, my little take on what might happen next for the two of them. As such, you should be aware that this contains spoilers for the finale of the second series. It also contains speculations for series 3, sort of. Please read and review.

Late 1918

Agnes Towler stood in the midst of the crowd and waited anxiously. Nerves, or perhaps it was excitement, she could no longer tell, coursed through her veins, making her heart pound furiously. Her stomach fluttered, bringing a feeling of slight nausea into the back of her throat. She clasped her hands together so tightly her finger-nails dug into her hands, bringing a small measure of pain to add to the thousands of other sensations whirling around in her mind and body. She wanted to pace, to walk up and down, knowing it would give her something to do, something to distract her from thinking about what, or who she was waiting for. The crowd, perhaps ten deep in places, all of them cheering wildly as the time drew nearer to the hour, prevented her movement. So Agnes stood, her hands clasped almost as if in prayer, and willed herself to calm down. She took a deliberate deep breath, forcing the air into her lungs, and thought about how she'd come to be standing at a train station in the cold air of a winter afternoon, waiting for the love of her life to come back to her after more than four years of war.

Agnes didn't know how long she stood in Henri's arms on that night in 1914. The only thing she knew with any certainty was that she loved him, and he, magically, unbelievably, loved her. Yet, as unbelievable as it was that this man she'd once described as 'a fairy prince from a storybook' loved her, she did believe it. She saw it in his eyes when she went to him in the park that night, after Victor had come to her in the studio she shared with Henri at the store. Victor told her he couldn't marry her, because he couldn't take her away from the life she'd made for herself, and because he knew he would never have her whole heart, but they both knew who did. Then Victor told her to go to Henri, to tell him she loved him.

Agnes wept as Victor spoke. She'd spent months, probably years, telling herself that she couldn't have Henri, that what she felt for him was nothing more than friendship, a strong bond that came from him being one of the few men she knew who took her seriously, someone who seemed to know the real Agnes, the person beyond the shy shop-girl the world had once seen. She told herself that the feelings she had when he was near her, the way her heart thumped and her skin burned, was just a physical thing, because she'd known what it was like to be held in his arms, to taste his kiss on her lips. She'd known what it was like to be touched by Henri, to share herself with him intimately, to be as physically close to him as a man and woman could be, but that hadn't stopped him leaving to be with Valerie in New York.

Five years passed. Henri came back from New York, and he was alone. Agnes watched, confused by his strange behaviour, as he became secretive and irritable, refusing to tell her what was going on. Meanwhile there was Victor, who was always there, caring for her when it seemed that Henri had shut her out for good. In time, Victor proposed. Agnes accepted him the night Henri was arrested on suspicion of spying for Germany.

Years later, the terror of that time went through Agnes again. George, her brother, fighting in the war, was missing in action, and Henri's life was in danger. If Henri was found guilty of spying he could be executed as a traitor. Worried sick about both men, Agnes could barely eat or sleep. As desperate as she was for news of George, Henri's name seemed to be branded on her mind. She woke in the night, drenched in sweat, images of Henri being led through a dark prison corridor and into a room where a noose hung down from the ceiling, haunting her.

George returned, injured, but alive. Henri was cleared of the false allegation of spying, but taken into custody again when the authorities found out he'd been accused of theft in New York and had fled the country. It didn't take long for Agnes to realise that Valerie, Henri's former lover, was involved in this mess somehow. Knowing that she couldn't find Valerie on her own, Agnes went to Mr. Selfridge with her suspicions. The relief when Mr. Selfridge said he would help was overwhelming. Agnes wrote to Henri, telling herself that she just wanted him to know that Mr. Selfridge was doing everything he could to find Valerie and that he shouldn't give up hope.

Henri was released and the truth of how he'd been set up came out. Alone with her in the studio, he tried to thank Agnes for the part she'd played in his freedom. As he spoke Agnes fiddled with her engagement ring, forcing herself to remember that she was marrying Victor and that he was the right man for her. Then, as if called, Victor appeared, breaking the heavy atmosphere in the room. Henri quickly congratulated Victor on the engagement and made himself scarce, his face clouded by an expression Agnes couldn't read.

The wedding plans were brought forward. Agnes wanted George to give her away, so when Victor suggested they get married before George had to go back to France, Agnes agreed. She ignored the way her stomach tied itself in knots when she thought of the wedding. She couldn't think of a future where designing windows and exhibitions at Selfridge's was exchanged for helping Victor to run the family business. She tried to be alone with Henri as little as possible, though she wouldn't allow herself to think about whether it was him or herself she didn't trust when they were alone. Her plan worked, a certain distance grew between her and Henri, so she could hardly believe it when she heard herself asking him to join her on one last late night walk in the park, an old habit they'd got in to when they were together.

The two of them walked under a starless inky sky, illuminated by the glow of a silver moon. At first the atmosphere was uncomfortable, both of them trying to avoid saying anything that brought back memories of other times, times when they'd walked in the park before, when everything was new between them. Out of nowhere Agnes remembered waking in the night when she was a child, when her mother was dying and her father was drinking. Henri smiled, saying he bet she sat up, hugged her knees and dreamed about what life would bring. Agnes couldn't help but laugh at how well this man knew her, until the thought, and the rush of feelings it brought, straightened her face.

They spent the rest of the walk talking about Mr. Selfridge and Agnes felt safe for a moment, until she ruined it by asking Henri if he would miss her. She watched as Henri turned to her, his face almost incredulous. "Of course I will," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Agnes could have wept with relief.

When Agnes walked away from Henri that night she wondered how she was ever going to go on without him. She clasped her hands together as she walked away, willing herself not to look back, while inside she wondered when she would ever stop feeling like her world was about to end.

Everything changed in the blink of an eye. One minute it seemed like she was handing in her notice, on the point of getting married. The next she heard that Henri was leaving to join the French Army, and then Victor was saying he couldn't marry her. While Agnes wept for the hurt she'd caused him, Victor told her to go to Henri and tell him she loved him. She knew she should deny it, she should tell Victor she loved him and she should marry him, but she knew she couldn't do that. She knew she'd be lying, and she knew Victor knew it too, it was written all over his face. She knew now as never before, she'd been lying to herself over Henri Leclair for months, if not years. She loved him; she'd probably always loved him. She knew somehow, she would always love him, no matter what happened.

Agnes sat in the studio for hours after Victor had left her. She thought of Victor and of Henri. She took off her engagement ring, releasing a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding when the white gold band was off her finger. She wondered if she could go to Henri and tell him how she felt. Then, out of nowhere, she remembered one night when she went to the Selfridge's home. She'd been sacked from her previous job and it was Mr. Selfridge's fault. She went to him to ask for a job. She'd had to take her courage in both hands to do it, but he'd taken her on, giving her a chance. Could she do the same now? Could she go to Henri and ask him if Victor was right?

Making up her mind, Agnes got to her feet.

Agnes found Henri in the park. He stood by the fountain under a moonlit sky. He really did look like something from a storybook, standing there, tall and handsome, as the night drew on around him. He turned to face her when she called his name.

Shaking, her heart pounding, fear of being rejected making her stammer, Agnes told Henri that she wasn't marrying Victor. She watched as Henri's brows arched and his eyes filled with light. She told Henri how Victor had told her to come to him. "Was he right?" she asked, looking at him for any clue that she wasn't making a total fool of herself. Tears filled her eyes.

Agnes barely had chance to finish speaking before she found herself clasped in Henri's arms. "I love you. I love you Agnes. I've been wanting to say those words for the longest time." Henri's deep, warm voice washed over her, warming her in the cool night air. Then he was kissing her, holding her against him tightly, as if he never wanted to let her go.

Easing away a little, but clinging to him, Agnes met Henri's passionate gaze. "I love you," she said huskily, overwhelmed with the joy of being able to say the words to him at last.

She remembered what the morning would bring. He was leaving for France, to fight for his country. She wanted to ask him not to go, to stay with her, but she knew she couldn't do that to him. Henri loved his country and felt called to fight for it, just as George did, just as thousands of men across the country and the world did. Agnes knew she couldn't ask Henri to stay with her while his country was being torn apart. Instead, holding him tightly, she begged him to come back to her.

"I will," he said passionately. "I will come back to you, and when I do I'll never leave you again." He kissed her again, until the joy of being together again, combined with the fear of how close they'd come to being parted forever, and the fear of what the future might bring, overwhelmed them both. They held each other closely as the moon gazed down on them.

The two stood for what seemed like hours, but hardly seemed any time at all, clasped in each other's embrace. Agnes wished they could stop time and stay like that forever, but she knew they couldn't. Henri had to go to France and she had to go on, just as thousands of other women did while the men they loved were away.

Henri straightened, but didn't pull out of Agnes's arms. He gazed at her warmly, his eyes burning. "Be with me tonight?" He looked her in the eyes, showing her his feelings openly. "I love you Agnes, and I don't want to be apart from you for a moment longer than I have to."

Agnes nodded, swallowing hard on a lump in her throat as the strength of Henri's feelings for her washed over her. Then she remembered. "I will stay with you Henri, but where? I can't take you back to Miss Mardle's, and I can't go back to the Selfridge's with you…..I'd be mortified if…"

Henri smiled tenderly, shaking his head. "We'll find somewhere. Come on." He kissed her again quickly, and then, with his arm around her, they walked.

They arrived at a hotel just as it was closing up for the night. Henri went to the desk and asked if they had a double room, just for one night. The person behind the desk, a young woman who was obviously impressed with Henri's accent and handsome face, scanned a book that lay open on the desk in front of her. She looked up at Henri and smiled broadly, telling him he was in luck, they had just one double room empty. Henri beamed at the woman and thanked her for her help, and then he said he'd like to book the room. Agnes tried not to blush when he booked them in as Mr and Mrs Leclair, and then Henri turned to her and took her hand in his, leading her up the stairs to the room where they would spend the rest of the night.

Henri opened the door to their hotel room. Agnes barely had time to register the furnishings, the big double bed, the elegant furniture, the rich furnishings, before Henri took her into his arms. He was kissing her again. He opened his mouth as he kissed her, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Agnes remembered this from before. She remembered the first time he did it, the strange feeling that it wasn't unpleasant, just different. Now she knew what he wanted and she met him halfway, caressing his mouth with her own, until he moaned in the back of his throat, a sound which filled Agnes with delight. Taking her arms from around him, she gripped his coat and began to slip it from his shoulders. Without releasing her from the kiss, he helped, and soon the coat hit the floor with a soft thud.

The sound of the coat landing on the floor seemed to stop Henri in his tracks. "You're sure? You want this?" He gazed at her so tenderly, with such concern for her, it took Agnes's breath away. He really did love her; she could see it in his eyes.

Agnes smiled at Henri's words, remembering another time he'd asked the same question. "I've never been more sure of anything Henri," she said honestly, her voice breaking with the strength of her feelings. She forced herself to meet the desire in his heated gaze. She knew she must have the same feelings in her own eyes. "Take me to bed Henri," she said softly. "Take me to bed and love me, please." She willed herself not to blush at her boldness.

Henri Leclair didn't need asking twice.

Agnes woke the next morning just as the sun began to creep over the horizon. It took her a moment to remember where she was when she moved to sit up in the dimly lit room, but then a strong arm came around her and pulled her back down under the heavy bedclothes. Agnes giggled and gave in, resting in Henri's sleepy embrace, her head on his chest. She listened to his heart as it thudded beneath her and sighed.

As if he sensed how she felt, Henri opened his eyes. He planted a kiss into her hair and held her against him. "I have to go soon." His tone was sleep-laden, rich and warm. Agnes thrilled with the memory of the words he'd used in the night as he touched her. Over and over he told her she was beautiful, that he loved her, that he'd always loved her, even when he went away. He told her he'd been a fool to leave before. He said he knew he'd made a mistake as soon as he arrived in New York, but he'd told himself it was too late, sure she would never forgive him for leaving, so he'd tried with Valerie, even though he knew it was no good. Henri said he knew now why Valerie had left him for Morgan. He said he'd realised when he saw her at the American Embassy. She did leave him because of Morgan's position in the company, seeing an opportunity to advance herself, but she also left him because he didn't give her the attention she craved, his mind and heart already occupied by someone else, even if he didn't know.

Even in the midst of passion Henri talked endlessly, sometimes in English, but sometimes in French, using words that Agnes didn't understand, but that sounded like music as they danced together in the way that men and women have done since time began.

Agnes lifted her head off Henri's chest and faced him properly. Dark stubble hugged his jaw-line; she could still feel the roughness of it on her skin when he kissed her through the night. His hair, usually so neat and tidy, was tousled, standing up in all directions. Agnes remembered running her fingers through it in the night, pulling on it as he loved her with his hands and with his mouth. She remembered the way she clung to his hair as her climax rolled through her like thunder and stars danced in her eyes.

"I know you do," she replied at last, dragging herself from the memory of the night they'd shared. She sighed again and sat up, her eyes glancing around the room for her clothes. They were scattered around the floor, abandoned where they'd fallen the night before, next to Henri's as they undressed each other between kisses and caresses, until, picking her up in his arms, kissing her deeply, Henri carried her to the bed.

Soon Agnes felt the bed move as Henri sat up. He turned, his legs hanging over the side of the bed, away from her. Agnes watched his back, the way his muscles shifted as he moved. She remembered the feel of him under her hands in the night, the strength of his body contrasting starkly with the tenderness of his touch as he loved every inch of her and let her do the same for him.

"I don't want to go Agnes. I don't want to leave you, but I must. " Henri broke the silence between them when he turned to her, his voice filled with anguish. "I must go and do my duty for France, for my country. It's the right thing to do, I know, but then I think of you Agnes, I think of all the time we've lost, time when could have been together but for my foolishness and I….."

Agnes saw the pain in his eyes and reached for him, taking him into her arms. She felt him shudder against her and it broke her heart. They cried together for the time they'd lost, for the enforced separation the war would bring. As she held Henri in her arms, Agnes didn't know if she really believed there was a God, but if there was, she prayed that He would let Henri come back to her.

"We've both made mistakes Henri," Agnes said between tears. "I didn't know how I felt about you until you'd gone. I was sure you loved Valerie, not me, and Victor was there, but I couldn't…..I went to Paris when Mr. Selfridge asked me to. I thought if…if I was away it might… I did love it there, and I learned so much, but I used to walk around and see things, wondering if you'd seen the same things, and it made me miss you more, so when Mr. Selfridge asked me to come back, I thought it would be easier. Then you came back, and I was so glad to see you, but you were different. I thought you still loved Valerie. I could see she'd hurt you, but I thought you loved her, and Victor was there, and I….George was missing, you were arrested, and I couldn't think straight. Oh Henri, if Thackeray hadn't admitted telling lies…If you'd been found guilty of treason, I…."

Henri held Agnes close to him, his tears falling into her hair. "You saved me Agnes. When I was locked up you came to see me. You were the only one who believed in me, even after I'd behaved so horribly to you. When I was at the embassy your letter was the only thing that gave me hope, but it made me realise how foolish I was to ever think I didn't love you, when all along, in my heart, I knew the truth. I thought I'd lost any chance when you said you were engaged to Victor. I could see he loved you, and I tried to be happy for you, but the thought of you with him, the thought of never being near you again, was too much. Victor asked me yesterday if I was in love with you. I couldn't deny it anymore Agnes, but I thought I'd lost you, so when you came to me last night, it was like a miracle, and…..Oh Agnes, I do love you, so much, so very much."

Time seemed to stand still for endless moments after they'd opened their hearts, but all too soon Henri realised he had to go. They both got up and dressed in silence, gathering themselves for what was to come. They tried to eat some breakfast at the hotel, but they both ended up pushing their food around. They settled for drinking some coffee, sipping it slowly, carefully, both of them taking their time, dragging out those last precious moments together.

Henri had to go back to the Selfridge's for his things for his journey. Agnes went with him. She thought she should stay outside when he went in, but Henri had other ideas. He took her arm in his and rang the doorbell. They were let in and Mr. Selfridge appeared.

As soon as Agnes saw Mr. Selfridge she knew something was wrong. He seemed upset, on edge, but he still shook Henri's hand firmly, and then embraced him for a moment, telling him to take care.

Agnes had stood back a little while Henri and Mr. Selfridge said goodbye, but then she heard her name and Henri reached out to her. Henri told his oldest friend about his feelings for Agnes while he held her hand in his. Selfridge looked on, obviously confused by this sudden change, but he seemed delighted when he asked Agnes if this meant she was staying at the store. She exchanged a look with Henri, who arched his brows quizzically, waiting for her to decide for herself. Feeling as if she was in some sort of dream, Agnes nodded and Mr. Selfridge beamed with pleasure.

Excusing himself, Henri quickly went upstairs for his things. He reappeared carrying a suitcase, but he asked if she would mind if he spoke to Harry for a moment before they left. She agreed happily, not even thinking about what the two old friends might have to say to each other, so she slipped outside and waited for Henri, allowing the men time to talk.

A while later Henri appeared. He sighed heavily and took her arm in his free hand. Then he suddenly turned to her, put his case down on the pavement and took her face into his hands. He gazed at her so ardently that Agnes thought she might weep. "I love you Agnes, and I will come back to you, but if I don't…if something happens to me…"

"No Henri, you promised me, you promised!" Agnes tore herself away from him as tears swamped her vision. Panic ran through her like a sword.

"Listen to me Agnes! Please, just listen!" Henri spoke urgently, reaching out for her. Agnes tried to resist him, but he held on, gathering her against him desperately, until she gave in and leaned in to him, holding him as tightly as her strength allowed.

Henri held Agnes for a long moment, until he sensed that she was calmer. "If anything happens to me Harry will help you. I've asked him and he agreed to be of use to you in any way you need."

"I can look after myself Henri. I've done it all my life." Agnes spoke defiantly, pulling away from him and lifting her chin.

Henri smiled affectionately at the look on her face. "I know you can take care of yourself, but there are things, legal things, that Harry will be able to help you with, if I don't come back."

"What are you….? I don't know what you're talking about." Agnes stared at him in bewilderment.

Henri gazed down on Agnes and took her face into his hands again. "In the last few days I've made a will Agnes. I never did it before, but now I have. If I don't come back from the war I want you to have everything I have. It's less than it should have been, because of the money I had to spend trying to find Valerie, but it's a reasonable sum of money and some belongings."

"I don't want your money Henri, I want you!" Agnes sobbed as she spoke, her tears staining Henri's coat.

"I know my love, and I will do everything in my power to come back, just as I promised, but if I don't I have to know you will be all right. There are people who will try to deny you your rights Agnes, because we are not married. They will try to make claims on things they have no right to, no moral right. I want you to know Agnes; this is no passing fancy for me. I love you, I want to be with you forever, and I will do everything I can to come back to you, but if I don't, everything I have is yours, and Harry will make sure of it."

Agnes had no idea what Henri was talking about. She didn't know who these people were who Henri thought might make claims on him if he didn't return from the war, but she didn't want to know. Asking might make it happen, she was sure of it, so she let it go. Instead, she held on to Henri's words, that he wanted to be with her forever. She held the words to her heart and kept them there.

Within an hour Agnes was saying goodbye to Henri. He was leaving by train to Dover, where he would join a ship to France. As the train that would take him away steamed into view, Agnes vowed to be strong for him. As much as she didn't want him to go, as much as she wanted to hold on to him, she knew she couldn't. Henri needed to go and she had to let him.

"Whatever happens Agnes, I want you to know. I love you. I have always loved you, even when I didn't know. I will come back to you and we will be together Agnes, I swear." He kissed her deeply.

The train hissed loudly as Henri climbed aboard. He leaned through a tiny open window and held Agnes's hands until a whistle blew somewhere and he had to let go of her. "I love you Henri," Agnes said softly, feeling the loss of his touch already, and then, slowly, the train began to pull away.

With one last look, one smile, Henri was gone.

A while later, Agnes let herself in to Miss Mardle's house. The older woman was arranging some flowers in a vase when Agnes arrived. She hummed as she worked and smiled at Agnes when she saw her.

"Hello my dear," Miss Mardle said kindly. "You didn't come home last night, is everything all right?"

Agnes looked at the flowers in the vase. They were white and delicate. Lily of the Valley. Unable to hide her feelings, she burst in to tears.

A war that was supposed to be over by Christmas lasted for four years. Up and down the country loved ones received the news they dreaded. Their sons, brothers, husbands, lovers, would never be home. Agnes grew to hate the sight of the telegram boys as they went about their business, but she thanked God every time they passed by with nothing for her.

The store continued to thrive. Agnes designed windows and exhibitions, keeping herself busy. Sometimes she longed to ask Henri's opinion of something she'd done, but he wasn't there. A young man was brought in to work with her for the duration of the war because he wasn't fit to fight, but it wasn't the same. Where she and Henri had talked about things they were working on, tossing ideas back and forth, she didn't feel the need with this new man who had no instinct for the work. Henri loved his work, saw designing windows as telling a story or writing a play. The new man did the job because he had to.

Henri wrote to Agnes as often as possible. His letters were filled with love for her. Agnes read the words and found it hard to believe that someone like Henri could love her, but he did. She felt it deep inside, even through the miles keeping them apart.

Henri's letters were also filled with images of the war. The mud, the depravations, the terrible sights and sounds, Henri described it all vividly, painting pictures with his words just as he'd once done with the windows at Selfridge's. The death and destruction, the futility of it all, Henri wrote of it, expressing things in his letters that the newspapers would never dare to say.

Agnes sent parcels to Henri, just as she did for George. French cigarettes, clean socks, a pair of comfortable slippers, a bar of good soap, some jam, some coffee, she sent them to him. She sprayed a little of her perfume on her letters, hoping it would make him feel close to her, even if she couldn't be near him.

At last the war ended. Throughout the land church bells rang and lights went on again as people rejoiced the end of the worst four years of their lives. People gathered together to celebrate, dancing in the streets and having parties. Agnes thanked God that both of her men, George and Henri, had survived.

Sickness came in the months that were bringing the war to a close. A form of influenza swept the country and then spread around the world. In no time people started to die. Even Selfridge's didn't escape. Mr. Grove lost two of his children within the space of two days, and then Doris, his wife, who had once worked at Selfridge's, succumbed. Throughout the store there were deaths, adding to the numbers of men who had died in the war, and then, one bright, crisp autumn morning, just as the end of the war was in sight, Mr. Crabb gathered the staff together and said that Mrs Selfridge had died in the night. Agnes wondered how she was ever going to break the news to Henri.

Within a month of Mrs Selfridge's death Agnes had cause to celebrate. George came home. Four years of fighting had changed him. He was older, wiser, but more timid than he was before. Loud noises startled him and he didn't sleep well, but Agnes was just glad to have him back.

Soon after George's return Agnes got the news she had been waiting for. Henri wrote and told her that he was coming back to her. He told her when to expect him, the day and the time. He asked her to meet him at the station. With tears in her eyes, Agnes put down her letter and went to tell George and Miss Mardle the good news.

At last the day came. Agnes got up early and got dressed. She ate a small breakfast. Miss Mardle noticed how little she ate, but didn't remark. Instead she gripped Agnes's hand and smiled softly at the young woman who could barely sit down, her eyes constantly drifting to the clock.

Agnes forced herself to go in to the store for a few hours. The store was still bedecked in black, a symbol of grieving for Mrs Selfridge. Mr Selfridge had turned up almost every day since the funeral, but he did very little and spoke to no one. Young Gordon Selfridge tried to keep things going for his father, helped by Mr. Crabb, but he was grieving too. Knowing the loss of a mother, Agnes's heart went out to the young man.

Late in the afternoon, when trying to concentrate on her work was pointless, Agnes left the store for the station. It was only when she got there, standing amongst the crowds of people, that the doubts crept in. What if Henri had changed his mind about her? What if he was different, changed by the war? What if he didn't love her anymore? None of his letters expressed that his feelings might have changed, Agnes knew that, but a traitorous voice in her head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Valerie Maurel, fed her worst fears.

Agnes was so caught up in her worries, she didn't hear the man as he edged his way through the crowds of people. So caught up with her fears, Agnes didn't see him as he spotted her in the crowd. She didn't see the way he smiled and quickened his step, calling to her through the cheers and chatter of people as they welcomed their loved ones home.

"Agnes!" The man cried out loudly as people jostled around him, pushing him back, further away from her. "Agnes!"

Agnes Towler suddenly heard a voice. She looked around, dragging herself out of her fear, as the sound of a familiar voice reached her. "Henri?" She whispered his name, knowing he couldn't possibly have heard her, but she couldn't make her voice work. "Henri!" She tried again, louder, looking left and right through the crowds. She started to walk, edging through the hordes of people. She bumped in to a few and apologised. She got polite nods from some and dirty looks from others, but she didn't care. She had to find him. "Henri!" She called out to him, suddenly wishing she was taller.

Agnes was on the point of tears when a hand touched her shoulder from behind her. For a second she thought it was someone taking liberties and she turned, about to let fly with her opinion on men who presumed too much. Her words died on her lips when she looked up into the most beautiful pair of dark eyes she'd ever seen in her life.

Agnes studied the man in front of her as the noise from the crowd suddenly seemed to die away. He was dressed in the light blue uniform of the French army. A yellow band lay diagonally across his chest. He held a small cap in his hand, in the same shade of blue as his uniform.

He was thinner than when she'd seen him last, Agnes observed. His cheeks were a little hollow. Dark circles hugged his eyes. The lines around his eyes had deepened a little while he was away, making him look distinguished and even more handsome than she remembered. His hair was shorter, perhaps half an inch shorter than before the war.

"Agnes," Henri breathed, standing stock still, gazing down at her with his warm, dark eyes. "Agnes." The expression on his face was filled with love. Tears lingered in the corners of his eyes. One fell, sliding down his cheek, but he didn't move to wipe it away.

Within a second Agnes was moving. As if in a dream, she stepped towards him, carefully, slowly, as if she couldn't quite believe he was real. They'd been apart for so long, she couldn't quite take in that he was standing in front of her, just the length of his arm between them. Only when Henri offered a shaking hand out to her, his face full of emotion, did she believe he was really there. Ignoring his hand, she closed the short distance between them. She flung her arms around his neck, her fingers going into his hair, caressing the thick, dark locks, and then she laughed as she felt herself being picked up in his arms and spun around in circles. Then his lips were on hers and she forgot to breathe.

Henri Leclair had come back to her.