Chapter Text
I did not live until today. How can I live when we are parted? One day more. Tomorrow you´ll be worlds away and yet with you, my world has started! One more day all on my own. Will we ever meet again?
One Day More- Les Miserables
March 1918.
Southampton, England.
Throughout the entire evening, Dorothy had been pestering her about a soldier who wouldn’t stop staring at her from a table near the door. By now, Audrey was starting to find the whole business quite exhausting.
“Do go and speak with him! He’s not taken his eyes off you once,” her friend insisted, bumping her shoulder against Audrey’s with an amused grin. Dorothy was always egging her on to do things she wouldn’t dare do herself.
The table where they sat was small, barely a cramped corner in that low-ceilinged pub. The windows were shrouded by heavy green serge curtains to avoid drawing the gaze of U-boats lurking in the Channel.
“I’ve told you no, it isn’t the moment,” Audrey murmured, though she couldn’t help glancing up at the soldier who was, indeed, still watching her.
He was handsome, possessing a piercing gaze, the sort that seemed to follow one across the room, but it was tempered by a certain beauty that intrigued Audrey despite herself. The man inclined his head in a silent greeting, which she did not return. Suddenly, she felt the heat rising in her cheeks.
“You spend all day crunching numbers and dashing about the quayside. Go and speak to a handsome chap for once,” added Juls, another roommate, with a slightly tipsy giggle. It was difficult to get truly drunk these days; with the alcohol restrictions, the beer was watered down. However, they had been sitting there for several hours, chatting and drinking—quite enough to feel a bit light-headed.
“If not now, then when?” Dorothy added, before taking a sip of her pint. “I thought the war had taught us how fleeting life can be, Aud.”
Her friend was right, of course, but Audrey wasn't in the mood for flirting today. It was her only day off in over a month, and she wanted the simple joy of not wearing her heavy uniform for a few hours. She wanted to spend a good time with her peers, enjoying carefree talk, gossip, and nonsense without expecting a petty officer to bark orders at them. There were precious few moments like this, where they could laugh and drink as though the world weren't ending just outside the door.
“I’ll go for another round,” Audrey muttered, needing a breather. She liked Dorothy immensely, and in the short time they’d known each other, they had become best friends, but the girl could be very persistent when she chose to be.
The air in the pub was thick, a mixture of pipe smoke, cheap tobacco, and the body heat of so many people in such a small space. She picked her way through the throng of uniformed men, all seeking the same thing, a bit of warmth before returning to the glacial cold whipping through Southampton docks.
“A pint, Jess, if you please,” she requested upon reaching the bar.
Jess, the older woman running the establishment, nodded as she filled another glass. “In a tick, lovey.”
Audrey stood against the worn wood of the bar, next to an officer sitting alone. The young man had an empty pint and, unlike Audrey, who wore a stout grey woollen skirt reaching her ankles and a high-collared white cotton blouse, he was in full service dress. His cap rested on the bar, and his hair was slightly tousled. He was hunched over, looking down, reading a crumpled letter in his hand. The paper had deep creases, as if it had been opened and closed many times since he received it.
The man raised his head, perhaps sensing her eyes upon him, and their gazes met. Audrey blinked, caught out in her unabashed observation.
“I am sorry,” was the first thing to escape her lips. She felt she was disturbing a private moment. When she saw his slightly bloodshot eyes, she knew she was right. “I didn't mean to intrude, forgive me.”
He straightened up immediately, a gentleman’s reflex he couldn’t hide even behind his evident exhaustion.
“Pray, don’t concern yourself,” he replied with a sad smile, tucking the letter into his tunic pocket. “I shouldn't really be looking for privacy in a place like this.” He glanced around at the clusters of men and women, some in uniform, others not, all laughing with careless abandon.
“Privacy is a rare commodity these days” she agreed softly, observing the man more closely. He was young, likely her own age, with reddish-blonde hair and a clean-shaven face. He wore the uniform of an officer of the Army Veterinary Corps, though his sleeves and chest were spattered with dried mud. Clearly, he was no desk soldier.
The man nodded and ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling his short curls. She was right; there was no sanctuary to be found, rooms were shared, sitting rooms were as crowded as this pub, and the ports were constantly teeming with soldiers.
“Audrey is my name,” she said, filling the silence. She could have turned away, but it wasn't in her nature to be rude. Her mother had raised her better than that. “Audrey Sinclair. I’m with the Wrens.” She extended her hand with a small smile.
“Oh, do forgive my lack of manners,” he lamented, reaching out to give her hand a firm squeeze. “Farnon. Siegfried—don’t ask,” he said when he saw the question forming on her face.
Audrey let out a soft laugh, a sound that seemed to brighten Siegfried’s somber face for a second.
“Here you are, Aud, darling,” Jess interrupted, placing the pint on the bar.
Audrey looked at the beer as if she had forgotten why she was there. She glanced over her shoulder to find her friends. Through the crowd, she saw Dorothy, Sarah, and Juls laughing with the soldier from the front table, who looked quite pleased with himself. They had likely invited him over to ambush her upon her return.
“Are you here alone?” Siegfried asked, noticing her hesitation as she surveyed the crowd.
He couldn't help but observe her profile. Her chestnut hair was pinned up in soft waves that puffed over her ears, gathered into a loose, relaxed bun at the nape of her neck. A few stray wisps had escaped their pins framing her face. Her cheeks, flushed from the constant harbour chill, seemed to glow beneath the amber light of the gas lamps.
“Not exactly,” she replied, turning back to him with a tired sigh. “I came with my companions, but I’m in no particular hurry to return to them just now.” She had no desire to walk into a trap.
“In that case, you may stay here if you wish to hide from the world,” he gestured to the empty stool beside him and raised a hand to ask Jess for a refill. “Perhaps there is a bit of privacy to be found at the bar after all.”
Audrey looked at him for a moment, weighing her choices. She could return to her friends and a suitor who looked at her as though she were a prime cut of meat in a time of rationing, or she could stay here, with this melancholy but this well-mannered man.
“Very well,” she nodded, settling onto the stool. Her woollen skirt made a soft frou-frou sound against the wood. "And tell me, what is your line of work, Mr. Farnon—'Siegfried-don’t-ask'?"
A small smile played on his lips, and she noticed his dimples appearing ever so slightly. For a moment, he looked younger, less burdened by the world.
“Veterinary surgeon. I’m here to oversee the animals we’re sending to the front,” There was a tremor of sadness in his voice. The shadow returned to his eyes as quickly as it had vanished. "It isn't easy work in these times."
“Oh, it's a wonder we haven't crossed paths before. I’m responsible for the logistics of supplies, for both man and beast,” she smiled with a touch of pride. “If I don't sign off that the stores are correct, the ship doesn't sail.” There was a clear note of pride in her voice as she straightened her posture.
Audrey was proud of her station. A girl like her, raised in a coastal town with no future but a housewife or domestic service, had achieved a position of authority like this. When she joined the Wrens, she hadn't known what fate held, but her superiors had quickly noted her aptitude for figures and organisation. They had soon promoted her to Victualling Assistant in the Domestic Branch. Now, she was in charge of supplies for an entire sector of the port.
Siegfried cocked his head, the name Sinclair rang a bell. "So, you are the famous Sinclair," he said, a spark of amusement in his eyes. His eyes were much handsomer when he allowed them to relax. “The one my sergeants complain about because my horses' forage is of better quality than their own breakfasts?”
Audrey couldn't help but let out a frank laugh, adjusting the collar of her white blouse.
"That Sinclair, indeed. And you may tell your Sergeants that if their beasts were given second-rate oats, their horses wouldn't last two days in the mud of France. My figures ensure those animals get the best, Mr. Farnon, even if it earns me enemies in the mess hall.”
Siegfried was silent for a moment, impressed. In a time of war where supplies were thin and many had begun cutting oats with dust or straw to save a ha'penny, to find someone who truly cared for the welfare of his animals moved him deeply.
“You’re quite right,” he conceded, raising his freshly filled pint in a silent toast. “I spent the afternoon rowing with a quartermaster who insisted mules could work on half-rations. t is... it is a comfort to know the fate of my animals rests with someone who genuinely cares. Someone who isn't intimidated by bureaucracy.”
Audrey was touched by his words and nodded.
"Naturally. So long as I am in charge, no one shall go hungry, Mr. Farnon. Neither beast nor man." She assured him. Then, wishing to break the formality, she asked: "May I ask where you hail from? Your accent is familiar, yet I cannot quite place it."
“Darrowby. Yorkshire.”
“I’m a Yorkshire girl myself!” she exclaimed, a sudden warmth blooming in her chest.. “From Scarborough.”
There was something profoundly restorative in finding a fellow Northerner in this bustling Southern port.
“Scarborough…” he repeated, his voice softening. “I remember the smell of the fish market and the wind battering the castle on the cliff. A different world from this tepid South, isn't it?”
Audrey laughed, nodding vigorously. “Have you been?”
"My father used to take us to the beaches when I was a lad. I don't recall the finer details, but I do remember the sensation of the restless sea and that infinite horizon that seems to have no end." He remembered how immense the ocean had seemed the first time he beheld it, how his father had told him that on the other side of the North Sea lay Continental Europe, and how impossibly distant going to the Continent had felt then.
"To a man of the Dales like yourself, the sea must seem a desert of water." She looked at him with amusement.
"You’ve no idea. People here grumble about the cold when there’s a mere breeze. They don't know what a proper winter is like in the Dales, when the snow is up to your knees and you must shovel your way to the cowshed with a spade."
"Or when the sky turns that steel-grey that looks as if it’s about to collapse upon the sea and the land alike. I’ve yet to encounter a storm here that compares to those back home," she added. Their gazes met and held for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. "Sometimes I close my eyes and I can almost smell the wet nets of my childhood. Here, everything smells of coal and iron."
Siegfried gave a lopsided smile, searching her eyes with a curiosity that was beginning to turn personal.
"A fortunate coincidence, both of us being from Yorkshire," he murmured. "Have you family there?" He looked at her askance, his gaze flickering down to her hands. There was no ring, yet perhaps there was some suitor waiting for her back home. Everyone had left something behind on the station platform when they departed.
"My parents," she smiled with a certain nostalgia, common to anyone thinking of their kin far from home. "I am an only child, a late blessing they no longer expected. They write to me sometimes, saying the North Sea is particularly restless, as if they wish to convince me I’m missing nothing by being here." She took a sip of her beer. "And you?"
"My father and my brother wait for me at home." A warm smile crossed his face but vanished instantly, giving way to a solemnity that furrowed his brow. Mentioning Tristan broke the small bubble he had formed with Miss Sinclair, recalling what he had tried to avoid thinking of all day long. "He’s only four years old. A mere scrap of a lad still..." he added, with a shadow of melancholy. "Sometimes I wonder if he will remember me if... well, if tomorrow’s journey proves longer than intended."
Audrey felt a pang in her heart. The crumpled letter, the bloodshot eyes... it wasn’t merely exhaustion. It was a farewell.
"France," she uttered in a whisper, not as a question, but as a silent understanding that drifted between the two of them. She observed Siegfried’s hand upon the bar; it was a strong hand, accustomed to hard graft, but now it trembled ever so perceptibly.
He gave a curt nod, drumming his fingers against the worn timber.
"Le Havre," he confessed, fixing his gaze upon the grain of the bar for a moment before gathering the courage to meet her eyes again. Her eyes, which a moment ago had sparkled at the memory of her home town, were now somber as she observed his grief. "I always knew the moment would come, but it is a different thing entirely when the ship has a name and an hour of departure."
Audrey leaned a little closer toward him. In the thick air of the pub, the yearning to bridge the distance between them became almost unbearable. She wanted to take his hand and tell him he would return, she wanted to promise him that Yorkshire children have long memories, that his brother could not possibly forget him because he was not a man easily forgotten—but she merely held his gaze, offering the only sanctuary she could give in that moment: that of not being alone with his fear.
"Of course it isn't..."
But before she could say or do anything more, a burst of laughter and the scent of perfume invaded the space between them.
Dorothy and Juls appeared like a whirlwind, dragging the soldier from the entrance table, who looked quite pleased with the attention of the young women.
"Audrey! Here you are!" Dorothy cried, seizing her by the arm. "Meet Thomas. He’s been so insistent on meeting you that we’ve had to bring him by force."
Audrey stiffened and looked at Siegfried, who had already snapped to his feet with the speed of a spring, reclaiming his mask of a well-bred officer. The vulnerability she had seen in him seconds before was now hidden behind a straight back and a neutral expression.
"Gentleman. Ladies," he greeted them with a perfectly formal tilt of his head. "I believe this is my signal to retire. I have an early start."
"Mr. Farnon," Audrey said, ignoring Thomas’s hand which attempted to greet her, never taking her eyes off Siegfried. "I shall be at Quay 4 from daybreak tomorrow. If your supplies are not in order, see that you find me."
They both knew it was impossible for the supplies not to be in order. Under her command, they always would be, but this was the only way Audrey had to tell him she wished to see him one last time. Without knowing quite why, or for what purpose, she simply wanted to bid him godspeed.
Siegfried donned his peaked cap, casting a shadow over his gaze, and gave her one last smile, the kind that made his dimples appear for a fleeting second.
"I shall find you, Miss Sinclair. Count on it." Siegfried looked at her intently, as if trying to memorise her face before reality pulled them in opposite directions.
He turned and vanished amidst the smoke and the throng of the pub, leaving Audrey with a sudden sense of emptiness. She had only just met this melancholy man, yet she felt a desperate need to see him once more before he departed for his uncertain future in France.
****
The following morning, dawn was non-existent. The sky was a bruised mass of charcoal and black clouds. The wind blew with such ferocity that it lashed the cranes and sent the waves crashing against the hulls like whip-cracks. The harbour was a bedlam of scurrying men and shouted orders, of shrill whistles and neighing beasts.
Audrey stood at Quay 4, just as she had promised. Her Wren’s uniform was cinched tight at her waist and she held a leather folio beneath her arm, attempting to shield her manifests from the drizzle that was fast becoming a thunderstorm. Behind her, the transport ship lay at anchor and her men were hauling sacks of oats as she had directed.
She tallied the sacks as the men filed past, constantly raising her head in an attempt to find him upon the quay. A part of her feared he might have already departed without a word of farewell, though she doubted it, given the ghastly weather.
Suddenly, over the roar of the sea lashing the ships, she heard the whinnying of horses, and she knew he must be there. Audrey turned and beheld Siegfried’s silhouette. He was approaching the quay alongside a line of skittish horses that neighed against the thundering of the sea. He seemed to be in his element, moving calmly among the animals, stroking their muzzles and whispering words that were impossible to hear at such a distance.
Today was the day. The ship that would carry him to the hell of the trenches was berthed directly behind him.
A peal of thunder shook the port and a Naval Officer came sprinting from the control office, blowing a whistle.
"Attention! All departures are cancelled!" the man bellowed, struggling against the gale. "No transport shall cross the Channel in this tide! Return to the barracks!"
Audrey saw Siegfried stop dead in his tracks. His shoulders, which had been corded with tension, suddenly slumped. He turned toward the raging sea and then, as if sensing her gaze, sought Audrey out through the harbour mist.
She did not think twice. She marched toward him, fighting the gusts of wind that threatened to tear the hat from her head. When she reached his side, Siegfried looked at her with a mixture of shock and profound relief.
Neither spoke; they simply stared at one another while the rain lashed their faces. "Does this storm truly resemble those of your home, Miss Sinclair?" he asked, raising his voice over the din of the tempest, the horses, and the churning sea.
Audrey smiled, dipping her head. "Yes, they truly do." Her eyes met his once more. "It seems fate has other designs for you today, Mr. Farnon," she said, her hair escaping its pins and soaked by the rain that had begun to fall with renewed force.
Siegfried let out a sigh that seemed to last an eternity, and a laugh of sheer disbelief escaped his lips.
"One more day," he whispered, looking at her. "I have one more day." He could scarcely credit it. He had hardly closed his eyes all night, dwelling on what would happen the moment he set foot on the other side of the Channel, yet here he was, delaying his destiny.
"Then do not squander it upon this quay," Audrey replied with a resolute smile. "I know a place where the tea is hot and there are no Generals shouting orders."
"SINCLAIR!" The screech of her supervisor, Petty Officer Miller, sliced through the air.
Audrey made a grimace of frustration, closing her eyes for a fleeting second. The efficiency she prided herself on was, at times, her own undoing.
"I must go," she said, turning back to Siegfried. The rain drenched her lashes, but she did not care. "Miller will not leave me in peace until the last sack of oats is returned to the storehouse."
Siegfried nodded; in the background, he could hear the frightened horses, and he too had matters to attend to.
"Go on, then," he assured her. "Let me see these horses to safety from this wind, and I shall find you at the barracks when I am through."
Audrey watched him walk away toward the line of frightened animals. The port was a hive of men rushing about, of shouted commands and the grinding metal of the cranes, but for her, everything had narrowed down to the figure of that Yorkshire vet who had just received a reprieve from nature itself.
One more day.