Dangerous Waters, page 10
The letters were also pivotal to the story and Jeanne had looked at a few more the previous evening. Keeping them in chronological order, she made notes from the letters so that she could write a précis of their contents. In themselves they were not very exciting – just Wilhelm’s expressions of pleasure at his meetings with her gran and arranging further assignations. She had worked out from various descriptions in the letters that the bunker where he was often on duty must be the one nearby in a large private garden. Known to have had a gun emplacement on top it was quite high up so well placed to fire at enemy ( British!) aircraft. The bunker had provided accommodation for the soldiers while off duty.
Wilhelm would have spent a lot of time in the area when he was on watch there but so far it wasn’t clear where he worked at other times. The biggest concentrations of troops had been at the airport and in Town around the harbour. Jeanne made a list of sources she wanted to research, planning to go to the library that afternoon.
By lunch time she had made copious notes and could begin to visualise the form the book would take. The rain had so far held off and the clouds seemed to be breaking up as she went out to the men with their tea. The herb garden was looking much neater but Jim had had to cull some herbs and there were gaps like missing teeth which Jeanne itched to fill.
After lunch she went off to St Peter Port armed with her list of books needed. It occurred to her that this would be the first time she’d been there since the day of her arrival and she was yet to explore it properly. There wouldn’t be much time today as she wanted to get back before Jim left, but after parking on the Crown Pier, she looked around to see what, if any, changes there had been.
Some of the shops were new and there were now smart boutiques and wine bars lining the way to the Guille-Alles Library. She gasped when she emerged from Commercial Arcade and turned right into Market Street. Peter and Molly had warned her that the old market was undergoing major work but it was still a shock to see all the scaffolding hiding the original walls. Most of the old building was inaccessible and the market itself, or rather the few stalls still operating, were crammed into the far end. Apparently the demolition and re-building had been going on for years and was a controversial topic locally. Another old tradition lost, she thought, remembering the array of fishmongers’ stalls that had had pride of place and always held a fascination for her as a small child. She’d been slightly scared by the sight of the larger fish complete with bulging, sightless eyes and sharp, pointed teeth. Jeanne had also liked to try and guess which of the fish had been caught by her grandfather.
The picture still floated in her mind as she pushed open the door into the peaceful embrace of the library and headed to the Local History section. She loved libraries and had spent hours here as a child, choosing books to last from week to week – a Saturday ritual. She had seriously considered becoming a librarian at one time but the desire to write had won and she had never regretted her decision. Libraries were the feeding ground for writers and Jeanne was in her element as she searched the shelves for books covering the late nineteenth century and the Occupation.
After selecting the books for her research she browsed the Fiction Section for something lighter for the evenings.
As she still had time before her parking clock expired, Jeanne wandered up the High Street, browsing in the fashion shops. She popped into Boots for some toiletries and treated herself to some new make-up which was guaranteed to make her skin look ‘dewy fresh and youthful’. Got to give nature a helping hand, she thought, splashing out on a lipstick as well.
Driving out of town was slow as The Grange was particularly busy and Jeanne had time to admire the Queen Anne and Georgian houses that lined the main road. This part of town was very elegant and together with Queens Road further up, would have housed the wealthy British and French families who were drawn here in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Guernsey’s wealth had originally been built on the legalised piracy sanctioned by the Crown in the seventeenth century. The British Crown had issued Letters of Marque to private war ships which allowed them to plunder French merchant ships. In spite of this, the islands now maintained a close relationship with France.
Jeanne arrived home in time to make mid-afternoon tea for everyone and drank her own surrounded by the library books. She browsed through one on the Occupation, post-its noting the chapters of most interest. Jim popped in to say goodbye. He was rubbing his hands through his hair –a bad move, as they were thick with garden soil.
‘Should finish tomorrow, for sure. It’s taking shape, it is,’ he said, sounding pleased.
‘It’s looking great. But I’m not sure I can manage to keep the grass in the orchard tidy myself. Could Carl come round, say fortnightly, to keep it in order?’
Jim agreed to that and they tidied up their tools and drove off. The phone began to ring as Jeanne shut the door.
‘Hi, Jeanne. It’s me, Marcus. How are you?’
‘Great, thanks. And you?’
‘I’m good. Slaving away over a hot computer, but mustn’t grumble,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve booked us in at eight o’clock at Nello’s on Friday. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty, shall I?’
Jeanne was impressed. Da Nello’s was one of the top restaurants on the island and had been a favourite of her parents but she had never been there.
‘Sounds lovely. But are you sure you don’t mind coming out all this way for me? I could drive in or get a taxi, if you like.’
‘No, of course I’ll fetch you. I’ll just have to watch what I drink, that’s all. How are things with you?’
They chatted for a few minutes before ringing off. Jeanne’s first thought was what on earth was she going to wear? Throwing open the wardrobe doors she scanned her meagre supply of clothes hanging forlornly on the rail. Most of her stuff was still at Kate’s. There was nothing here suitable for posh restaurants which had been far from her mind when she had packed. She had only planned to stay a few weeks while the cottage was put up for sale. As she stood by the wardrobe she felt overwhelmed by her loss – her grandmother and her baby – and she let out an involuntary moan. The pain was still there, still raw, even though she was not so conscious of it. Lurking just below the surface, ready to ambush her at any time.
Jeanne was lost in her thoughts, her fingers twisting her hair when she heard an engine running in the lane and brisk footsteps in the drive. Pushing away the hurtful memories she went downstairs as an envelope was pushed through the letterbox and the footsteps retreated. Opening it she saw the heading ‘Martin Brehaut, General Builder’. Ah, his quote.
She sat in the kitchen to read the figures. As she scanned them she was just aware of a sea of numbers and turning to the bottom of the next page she found the total. Oh blow, it’s quite a bit more than I’d hoped. Slumped in the chair doing her sums, Jeanne succumbed to doubts. Perhaps it really wasn’t a good idea, all this renovation business. Perhaps she should call it quits and sell without any hassle? Reminding herself that she didn’t have any valuations yet she decided that it was time to talk to an estate agent and get the missing figures for the equation. Calmer now, she called up the firm who had sold her parents' house and it was agreed that a Mr Dorey would call round the following afternoon.
Feeling that she had done enough that day, Jeanne gave herself a break and after supper she settled down with her novel, a glass of wine and Coldplay.
Next morning the clouds were still threatening and there was an odd spot of light rain but not sufficient to stop Jim and Carl in their tracks. While they pitted their brawn against the hedges and grass, Jeanne pitted her brains against the internet as she searched for ways to trace her family in France. She made less progress than the gardeners but by late morning she had narrowed down the resources to check further. At this stage she only wanted to know that she could obtain all the information needed. The outline for the book was taking shape now and copious notes were filling her notebook.
She continued to work after lunch.
Just before four o’clock she went out to see Jim and Carl who were now loading up the pick-up.
‘It all looks wonderful, thank you both. You’ve worked so hard!
I’m sure Gran will be smiling on you!’
Jim scratched his head and grinned.
‘Well, Jeanne, your gran must’ve worked very hard over the years. You can see how well thought out it all was. Been a pleasure to get it straight for you – and we both appreciated all the tea!’
They shook hands before the men climbed into the pickup and, with cheerful waves, drove off.
Mm, at least the garden’s looking lovely. Should help the estate agent come up with a good figure! She had a few minutes to freshen up and tidy the kitchen before the doorbell rang.
A young man, about her age and dressed in a sharp suit was carrying a clipboard and folders.
‘Miss Le Page? Matthew Dorey. How do you do?’ he gave her a warm smile and shook hands.
‘Please come in, Matthew.’
She led the way into the kitchen saying ‘I need to decide whether or not it’s worth modernising the cottage before selling. I’ve recently inherited it and have been talking to a builder about costs based on this list of works.’
Jeanne passed him a copy of the list and he quickly looked through it.
‘You seem to have covered everything. But the final value would also be affected by the quality of the finish, particularly the kitchen and bathrooms. Are you going for high quality fittings and tiles etc?’
‘Oh, yes, I should think so. Shall I take you round?’
As they walked Matthew made notes and the occasional comment about ‘original features present’. As they went into the garden Matthew’s eyes opened wide.
‘This is brilliant! I never expected it to be as big as this! Does that orchard belong to the cottage as well?’
‘Yes, it does and the reason it all looks so good is that the gardeners have just finished working on it.’
‘You do realise that you’ve probably got a potential building plot there, don’t you?’ he said, pointing to the orchard.
‘That may be. But I’m not interested in building there. I’d prefer it to stay with the cottage.’
‘You might not, but if someone else was to buy it they might sell off the orchard as a building plot. They could get at least £200,000 for it,’ he replied.
Jeanne started. ‘You’re joking! I had no idea land was so expensive here! Can you give me a valuation with the orchard just as it is?’
‘Sure. Let me have a wander round again.’
Jeanne left him to look round inside and out and waited in the kitchen.
Coming back Matthew said ‘Basically, it’s got great potential.
It’s a good property in a very popular area, and there would be no problem selling it, either as it is now or when modernised. In its current state I’d value it at about £350,000 and after modernisation I’d expect to market it for £450,000 or more.’
Jeanne gasped.
‘I… I… don’t know what to say! I was thinking about half of that!’
‘I take it that you’ve not been back in Guernsey long?’
‘No, not long… I’ve been away about fifteen years. So I guess I’m a bit out of touch with house prices. Guernsey must be nearly as expensive as London,’ she stammered.
‘Nearly. It’s the shortage of building land which keeps the prices buoyant, of course. You’re sitting on a little gold mine here, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ he looked around the kitchen as he spoke. ‘And that’s the value without planning permission for building, of course,’ he added.
Jeanne nodded numbly.
‘Well, thanks for coming round, Matthew and for your helpful and, er, illuminating advice. I’ll get back to you when I’ve decided what to do.’
‘Sure, no problem. We’d love to market the property for you whenever you decide to sell. I think you’ve had a bit of a shock!’ He grinned at her, handing her his business card.
‘Um, you could say that! Thanks again, anyway.’ Jeanne closed the door with a deep sigh. I need a drink! She reached for the bottle of wine opened the previous night and poured a small glass, sitting at the kitchen table while she tried to clear her head.
If those figures were accurate she would more than cover her costs if she got the builders in so it would make financial sense to go ahead if she could raise the money. Looks like a visit to the bank manager is called for, she mused. Lost in her thoughts she lost track of time until she suddenly remembered that she was going out with the girls that night and it was now nearly six thirty.
Jeanne dashed upstairs and put on her black jeans and a red top. She added some jewellery and applied her new make-up. Um, not bad. She had just arrived downstairs when the doorbell rang and Rachel was standing on the doorstep, a cheerful smile lighting up her face.
‘Hi! Say, I think your cottage is awesome! Sort of thing Tim and I would love. And the garden looks huge, ideal for barbecues! I’m so jealous! Ready?’
Jeanne nodded and grabbing her jacket and bag, shut the door behind them.
As they drove off Jeanne asked Rachel if she knew what cottages like hers would sell for.
Rachel confirmed the agent’s figures adding, ‘Way out of our price range, I’m afraid. Why, you’re not selling are you?’
‘No… just wondering. I hadn’t realised how expensive housing is here.’
‘It’s awful. We’re both earning good money but we only managed to buy a small modern house in Cobo. Ideally, we’d love an old cottage like yours but they’re always much dearer and harder to find. Still, at least we do have our own home and it’s big enough for a family,’ she grinned at Jeanne.
They chatted away as Rachel drove up through St Peters and on towards Forest and the Mallard. Rachel parked the car behind the cinema and they found Colette waiting for them. A few minutes later Sue rushed in, apologising for being late. Rachel and Colette grinned at each other and Jeanne guessed that Sue’s lateness was the norm. They bought their tickets and followed the signs for Screen 1 where their film was showing. Jeanne was impressed that there were now four screens. At the previous cinema, Beau Sejour, the single screen had shared space with the island theatre.
They settled into their seats and the time passed quickly. After much giggling and ahh’s and ooh’s from the audience, the stars finally recognised each other as their true soul mates following a number of disastrous liaisons along the way. In light hearted mood the girls went next door to the brasserie. They were shown to their reserved table and ordered a bottle of wine while they checked out the menu.
The service was quick and it was not long before they were tucking into their food. Jeanne had forgotten how much fun it was to go out with girlfriends and they were all laughing as they recalled particular scenes from the film. This led, almost inevitably, to reminiscences of their own romantic adventures and misadventures and the meal passed off in a merry haze.
After settling the bill they all unanimously agreed that they would repeat the experience soon. Colette didn’t get many free evenings but vowed to join them if possible.
The farewells were warm and giggly and Rachel and Jeanne were humming a tune from the film as they drove off.
‘I really enjoyed this evening. Thanks for inviting me, Rachel. It’s been a long time since I laughed so much.’
‘Glad you came. Can’t have you sitting at home on your own, staring at the walls, can we?’ Rachel smiled. She knew that Jeanne had no television.
It didn’t take long for Rachel to negotiate the winding roads back to Le Petit Chêne and Jeanne was ready for bed soon after she was dropped off. As she lay, waiting for sleep to overcome her, her mind was full of all the exciting developments of that day. The film had also triggered thoughts of romance. She found herself re-living the early days of her relationship with Andy. She had been so sure that he was The One – they had fitted so well together, sharing much in common, including their love of travel and books. The attraction had been instant and mutual and Andy had asked her to move in with him only a few months after they had met. Initially all had been wonderful. Andy had been attentive and only too happy to help with the household chores.
Jeanne remembered their laughter as she had cooked their first disastrous meal, so inedible that Andy had had to order a Chinese take-away. She sighed. Where had it all gone wrong? Was I so wrapped up in what I wanted that I lost sight of Andy’s needs? My wish for a family wasn’t what he wanted. At least not at that time when I was.… Her stomach clenched at the memory. Tears threatened but she brushed them away, determined not to feel maudlin after such a fun evening. The film had reminded her that love and happiness could be found even after the painful end of an affair. At least that’s the way it happened in films! She smiled to herself, her thoughts then drifting towards Marcus and their imminent date.
Her heart was still fragile and the loss of the baby made it even harder for her to contemplate a speedy recovery. She knew that time would help. The passing of the months and years had eased the awful pain of her parents’ deaths. But Gran’s death had brought back some of that pain. Then she had lost Andy and the baby! No, she told herself, it would be a while before her heart would be fully healed but maybe, just maybe, Marcus might be the person to start that healing process. That thought, together with the memory of the great evening with the girls helped her to drift off to sleep.
chapter twelve
By mid-morning on Thursday Jeanne had arranged an appointment at the St Peter Port branch of her bank for that afternoon. She had spent the morning preparing figures of income and expenditure on her laptop. Although it appeared she had a valuable asset in the cottage, she wasn’t sure if her irregular income would be considered sufficient for a loan.
