Dangerous Waters, page 12
Jeanne parked at the rear of the pub in Cobo and spotted the familiar faces outside at the front.
‘Hi, Jeanne! Glad you could come. What would you like to drink?’ called Marcus as he waved her over to them.
‘A lager, please. How are you?’ In reply Marcus gave her a kiss before going indoors to buy her a drink. She sat down next to Rachel saying hello to her, Tim, Scott, Sue and Nick. Scott explained that Colette had to work.
Marcus returned with her drink and they all carried on talking, enjoying the warm spring sunshine and watching the waves turn into white surf on the golden sands.
‘So, how did it go on Friday?’ Rachel asked Jeanne when Marcus was deep in conversation with Scott.
‘Okay, thanks. It’s a lovely restaurant, isn’t it? And the company wasn’t bad either!’
‘Seeing each other again, are we?’ Rachel asked, eyebrows raised.
‘Yes, this week sometime. You and Tim been out lately?’
‘We went to the local Chinese last night, which was a nice change. We’re restricting ourselves on eating out ’coz we’re saving up for the wedding. Still, all work and no play!’ She laughed.
Sue leaned over to ask what they were laughing at and Rachel said that it was just about the need to go out and enjoy themselves.
‘God, you’re so right! Apart from going out with you girls and the barbecue, I haven’t been out for ages. Anyone fancy the cinema this week?’
Jeanne nodded. ‘Sure. What about you, Rachel?’
‘The cinema, yes. But I can’t manage a meal as well – costcutting exercise as I was saying earlier.’ She turned round. ‘Scott – is Colette free one evening this week, do you know?’
‘Think she’s off on Thursday, when I’ll be working.’
Rachel agreed to ring Colette later and would get back to the others. Marcus sat down next to Jeanne, putting his arm round her shoulders.
‘How about Wednesday evening for a meal? Fancy the Indian at L’Eree?’
‘I’d like that, thanks. Fan of Indian food are you?’
‘I like all kinds –Indian, Italian, French, Greek, Chinese, whatever. And you can get them all here, without a passport and having to fly!’ Marcus grinned at her, giving her arm a squeeze. ‘Pick you up at eight o’clock, okay?’
Jeanne nodded and he went off to buy a round of drinks. She found herself next to Nick.
‘Do you get out much, Nick?’
‘Not a lot. Much too busy at work.’
‘Oh, right. What exactly is it that you do, then?’
Nick’s bored expression changed and there was a light in his eyes as he replied, ‘I’m a boat builder by profession but these days I’m more involved with renovation and re-fitting.’
‘That must be interesting. So you’re your own boss?’
‘Yep. Which means the buck stops with me. And I’ve a big job on at the moment which is giving me a few headaches, I can tell you,’ he sighed.
‘Burning the midnight oil and all that,’ Jeanne smiled.
‘Unfortunately. Colette’s always trying to get me to chill out and have fun but it’s been… difficult.’
‘I take it you’re a surfer?’
‘Sure am. I love anything to do with the water – surfboarding, windsurfing, boating and fishing. The sea’s in my blood, I guess. My father was in the boat business and his father was a fisherman.’
‘My grandfather was a fisherman, too. They probably knew each other. Is your father still in the business?’
Nick shook his head, sadly. ‘No, he died a few years ago, just after he’d retired. And Mum died while I was still a boy. Cancer.’
‘Oh, that’s awful! I know what it’s like to lose your parents too soon,’ Jeanne’s face creased with sympathy.
He nodded. Then, after looking at her closely he said, ‘You know, there’s something about you… ’
He was interrupted as Marcus arrived with the drinks, sitting down between them. The conversation turned to surfing and Jeanne was left to her thoughts for a few moments.
She was warming a little to Nick, in spite of his detachment and abruptness. She could empathise with the loss of his parents and it provided a sort of link. Even his seriousness was admirable given that he had a business to run and ‘horrible’ clients like Mr Evans to deal with, she decided. It didn’t look like his main motivation was money either, given the state of his battered jeep parked next to Marcus’s swish sports car. Perhaps he wasn’t hung up on material possessions in the way Marcus was. She didn’t admire the fact that Marcus’s only ambition seemed to be to make as much money as possible. Maybe that’s why I’m finding it so hard to feel close to him?
‘Hey, Jeanne! Where were you? Miles away by the look on your face!’ Marcus punched her arm playfully.
‘Oh, sorry. Was just thinking about, um, something. Did I miss anything?’
‘Only us surfers saying it was time to hit the waves. What’re your plans?’
‘I don’t know. Haven’t thought about it.’
Rachel chipped in. ‘Why don’t you come round to our place? I’ll be on my own while Tim’s surfing and we can have a snack.’
‘Love to, thanks.’
Sue was surfing with the men and they said their goodbyes to go and collect their boards and wetsuits.
After a pleasant lunch with Rachel, Jeanne drove out of Cobo. She could see the group surfing the waves and wondered if she should try it sometime. She needed to feel safe in the sea though, something that had been difficult since her near drowning. Since the accident she had only swum in calm, tropical waters and never out of her depth. If she were to stay in Guernsey she would have to conquer her fear or miss out on a lot of island activities. She had always enjoyed going out on her parents’ boat and Marcus would want her to go out on his. She sighed. There was still so much to resolve. She reminded herself that she had become much stronger over the past two weeks so anything was possible.
On Monday morning Jeanne took fresh flowers to the graves before going off to the bathroom specialist recommended by Martin Brehaut.
At home she went through the brochures she had collected, planning what could fit where. She had also decided to turn the small bedroom into an en-suite for the master bedroom, hoping that the chill factor would be solved by then.
Jeanne was fully immersed in roll-top baths and shower cubicles when the phone rang.
‘Oh, hello, Mrs Le Maitre. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you, Jeanne. I am just telephoning to say that I have finished the translations. The recipes were indeed most unusual and I am very grateful for the opportunity to retain copies. When are you free to collect them?’
‘I could come now, if that’s okay with you?’
‘Yes, that would be most convenient. I shall expect you shortly. Goodbye.’
Jeanne drove down the coast to Rocquaine with a sense of anticipation. The ingredients of the book were coming together and she would soon be able to complete the outline for the publisher. She rang the doorbell and a smartly dressed, elderly lady opened the door and shook her hand.
‘You must be Jeanne! Please do come in and I will fetch the recipes.’
Jeanne stepped into the hall of the cottage and was admiring the paintings of local scenes on the walls when Mrs Le Maitre returned, bearing the notebook and a sheaf of papers.
‘What wonderful pictures you have! Is that a Caparne?’
‘Yes, it is and we are lucky to have both a Topliww and a Naftel,’she pointed to two watercolours. ‘My husband and I added to our collection over the years when funds allowed. I’m rather obsessed with anything to do with the islands – the history, art, language and, of course, food. Do you share my obsession, Jeanne?’
Jeanne laughed. ‘I don’t think I’m obsessed, no. But I do find it fascinating and intend to learn more now that I’m back. I’m ashamed by my lack of knowledge to be honest. Writing this book is a good start and I hope to be a much better cook as well by the time I’ve finished it.’
Smiling at her, Mrs Le Maitre handed over the bundle. ‘I’ve typed up the translations on my late husband’s typewriter and made a carbon copy for myself. Hope they’re legible enough for you?’
‘They look fine. Thanks again, Mrs Le Maitre. Hope you enjoy trying them out.’
‘I certainly will. And if you need any further assistance in the future, please do not hesitate to ask me. I look forward to reading your book.’
‘I’ll make sure you get a copy if it’s published, don’t worry.’
They shook hands again and Jeanne gave a final wave as she drove off. The old lady had been charming and Jeanne really appreciated the work she had done for her. She decided to spend the rest of the afternoon working on the book and would leave the bathrooms for another day.
By Tuesday morning Jeanne had a visual picture of her book and the final pieces of the jigsaw would be photos and images from the past. Mrs Le Maitre had been right. The old Guernsey dishes were unusual and could still be re-created today as all of the ingredients were available locally although some were now more scarce and expensive than they had been when the recipes were written. Crab, lobster and oysters had been relatively cheap in the 1800’s but were now considered luxury foods. This was in contrast to the French haute cuisine dishes which had been based on the then more expensive ingredients such as beef, wine, foie gras, duck and cream.
Jeanne had also researched what food had been available to the islanders during the Occupation. She thought that a section on the privations endured at that time would add an extra dimension to a book which was essentially about food, but also forbidden love. Initially there had been a glut of tomatoes as they could no longer be exported and the poor housewives must have been demented trying to think of different ways of serving them, she mused. The excess were dried and used as cattle feed and Jeanne idly imagined the milk turning red and smiled.
Early on there was also a good supply of eggs but this diminished over the years while potatoes remained a staple part of the diet. Islanders who grew their own vegetables occasionally had to fight off others trying to steal them. Jeanne had read of a case where a German soldier stole some potatoes from an islander’s garden and the grower was so determined to stop any more being taken that he dug up the rest of his crop and buried them under his kitchen floor. He then reported the theft of all his potatoes to the local authorities who in turn complained to the Commanding Officer. Theft was severely punished. Although soldiers were not allowed to steal food from the locals bartering did take place, usually in the form of swapping food for tobacco.
Any excess food not needed by the grower had to be sold to the Controlling Committee which set up food distribution and communal kitchens around the island. Bread rationing began in 1941 and meat had been rationed even earlier. By the end of the war the islanders’ diet was severely restricted to a few vegetables, occasional fish, rabbit or eggs and bramble tea instead of the real thing. Jeanne had never really understood how difficult it must have been for her grandmother and all islanders at that time. It had been a real eye opener reading first-hand accounts and she felt humbled by what she had learnt.
Thoughtful, she polished up her outline and typed a covering letter to her agent before walking up the road to the post box. Right, she thought, on the way back, better get on with planning new bathrooms and a kitchen. Everything took so long to arrive on the island that the sooner she ordered the sanitary fittings and tiles, the better.
But when she added up the total cost of the fittings Jeanne’s stomach lurched. It was more than she had allowed for but she knew it was important not to skimp if she wanted to get a good price for the cottage if she were obliged to sell. She really hoped that wouldn’t happen but… and she still had to choose tiles and a kitchen! Martin had given her the names of tile companies and a kitchen supplier and Jeanne drove off on the next part of her quest.
Her first port of call was a tile merchant in town and Jeanne fell in love with some limestone and marble look-alike tiles in ceramic which were both beautiful and inexpensive. As she browsed for ideas for the kitchen she spotted some hand-glazed tiles in gorgeous colours which were stunning but expensive. Mm, she’d better wait until she saw what the kitchen costs, as at this rate she’d be broke before she started!
The kitchen company had their showroom at The Bridge and Jeanne drove up there from the town, along Les Banques. Herm came into view and initially Jeanne felt fine but when she stopped at traffic lights and glanced at the island she was suddenly overwhelmed by such a strong feeling of panic that she had to grip the steering wheel hard.
She struggled to breathe. Closing her eyes she had a blurred vision of something white – a speedboat? – heading towards her parents’ boat at speed. It was night with a clear sky and she could see the full moon guiding their boat back to St Peter Port from Herm. Odd images flashed in and out of her mind – her father seemed to be shouting at someone in the other boat – her mother knocked off her feet as their boat was hit broadside on – her father calling to Jeanne. Then – nothing, just blackness.
chapter fourteen
Jeanne came to, her breathing still erratic, with the blaring of a car horn being punched repeatedly from behind her. Shaking her head, she moved forward, quickly pulling in at the side of the road as the angry motorist shot past, mouthing something at her. Shaking, she replayed the scene in her mind. God, that felt so real! Must have been what happened! And that white boat was definitely going at some speed. A drunk driver, like the police said.
After a few moments, her breathing returned to normal. She stopped shaking and set off to the Bridge, parking near the café.
Feeling in need of sustenance to revive her shattered nerves, she went in. It looked really busy and she was beginning to despair of finding a table when she spotted an arm waving at her from the back of the room. Nick!
‘Hi, Jeanne! Thought it was you. Care to join me? It’s pretty crowded today, I’m afraid,’ Nick smiled at her and Jeanne sank with a sigh into the chair opposite.
‘Thanks, if you don’t mind, Nick. I… I… need to eat but I think I need a drink first,’ she stammered.
‘Why, you’re as white as a sheet! What’s the matter?’
‘Just had a bit of a shock. I’ll be fine in a minute. Could you get me a glass of red wine, please?’
He went to the bar and came back with the wine and Jeanne took a grateful gulp.
‘Now, tell me what’s happened,’ Nick looked at her intently and Jeanne felt compelled to tell him about the flashback.
‘You poor girl! It must be so awful re-living it like that. How’re you feeling now?’ he asked gently.
‘Better, thanks. I think it’s worse ’coz I wasn’t expecting it. Took me by surprise, although there’ve been other… incidents since I came back.’ Her face looked haunted for a moment before she went on, ‘I’d been thinking of having therapy to, maybe, sort it out for good. After what’s happened I’m going to arrange it as soon as I can. Then no more flashbacks!’
He nodded. ‘Sounds like a good idea. You need professional help with something like this. I bet you’re still afraid of boats and the sea?’
‘Yep. And I want to cure myself of that fear. I used to love boats,’ she added, remembering, with a pang, the happy times they had spent as a family on their little cruiser.
‘Mm. As a fully paid-up member of the boat-loving fraternity I can sympathise with you. But for the moment, the most pressing thing is lunch. I can recommend the fish soup – it’s fantastic,’ he said, reaching out and covering her hand with his.
Oh, that feels good! It’s like he’s draining all the fear out of me. She found herself smiling.
‘Soup it is then. And I think I’ll have a ham and tomato sandwich to go with it.’
The waiter came over and took Jeanne’s order. Nick had already eaten and was drinking a coffee.
‘So, where were you heading when all this happened?’
‘A kitchen showroom that was recommended by my builder.’
‘What sort of kitchen are you after?’
‘Farmhouse with a modern take. The cottage is old but I don’t want the proverbial olde-worlde look. Something a bit more contemporary.’
‘Sounds great. So, where’s your cottage?’
Jeanne told him and also what she was planning to do with it and then mentioned her gran’s pride and joy, the garden.
‘Ideal for parties then!’ Nick grinned at her.
‘That’s funny, Rachel’s already said the same. But once the builders are in it’s… wait a minute! I’ve had an idea. I could have a barbecue before the builders start.’ Jeanne thought for a moment and then said, ‘Do you think everyone would be free this weekend?’
Nick shrugged. ‘No idea. But we’ve not arranged to go surfing so it’s possible. Sunday afternoon might suit everyone, I think. And Colette told me she will be free after lunch. Shall I ask around?’
‘Please. And people could bring friends if they like, then I’ll get to know even more of the friendly natives,’ she grinned at Nick. After reflection she added, ‘There is one, rather big problem, though.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘I don’t have a barbecue!’
Nick laughed. ‘Minor problem! Scott can bring the portable one we used on the beach.’ As he drank his coffee and Jeanne ate her soup an odd expression flitted across his face.
‘It was here, wasn’t it? Here, where I’ve seen you before?’
‘Ye. . s. You had that horrible man with you,’ admitted Jeanne, worried that he’d now feel uncomfortable in her presence, knowing she’d witnessed his embarrassment.
Nick nodded, looking grim. Oh dear, he’ll probably just go now and avoid me like the plague.
Then a slow smile started to spread over his face and his eyes were definitely laughing when he said, ‘That wasn’t one of my best business meetings, was it? I had to stop myself telling that ‘horrible man’ exactly what I thought of him. Once his darned boat is finished and I’ve cashed his, admittedly large, cheque, I might just let rip!’
