Dangerous Waters, page 20
Jeanne showed him out, feeling excited that she might be a step nearer to tracing Wilhelm. To reassure herself she went up to the little bedroom and opened the door to find – nothing. No chill, no feelings of unease. Just a perfectly ordinary empty room.
After a lot of thought Jeanne realised that it would be better all round if she moved out of the cottage now, staying first with the Ogiers and then on the boat.
Martin was visibly relieved when Jeanne explained her plan the next day, promising to allow her back as soon as he could. She was to keep in touch and make frequent site visits. Once she’d transferred her incoming calls to her mobile Jeanne set off back to Molly’s with her cases. The rest of that morning she made good progress on her French research having been guided by Molly on how to understand the websites. Just before lunchtime she made a big breakthrough. Tracing back through the generations, she’d finally found the Parisian restaurateurs. As their names, Louis and Hortense Bonnet, appeared on the screen she let out a whoop of joy. Wow! I’ve done it! I’ve found them. But, boy, it wasn’t easy! If only my French had been stronger. Still, I’ve got there and perhaps I can still justify a trip to Paris for some extra colour. Might even be able to trace the original restaurant! And I could afford Le Shopping once my advance arrives!
On this happy note Jeanne decided she needed a treat now and took herself off to a café along the coast specialising in fresh fish. Needing some exercise she then set off for a walk on the beach at Rocquaine, filling her lungs with the salty air as the hot sun caressed her skin. It wasn’t exactly as peaceful as she’d have liked. The raucous cries of seagulls pierced the sky overhead, attracted by the detritus from the fishing boats now safely back in the bay. As she was heading back to her car to escape their racket her mobile rang.
‘Hello, Jeanne. John Ayres here, is it a good time to talk?’
‘Yes, fine, Mr Ayres. Have you got some news for me?’
‘Well, it’s looking promising. I saw Mrs Ozanne this morning and she confirmed that she and your grandmother had been friends since school and were close all through the war, living near each other as they did. She would be happy for you to visit her for a chat and I’ll give you her telephone number. She’s as bright as a button and like most old people would thoroughly enjoy talking about the past. I haven’t contacted Mrs Robins yet, thought I’d see how you get on with Mrs Ozanne. I wish you luck!’
‘Thanks, Vicar. I really appreciate your help and I’ll let you know how it goes.’
Jeanne made a note of the telephone number and was so impatient to see the old lady that she rang her straight away. Mrs Ozanne sounded a little frail but spoke clearly, suggesting that she called in for tea about four thirty.
As Jeanne switched off her phone she noticed her hand was shaking.
This could be it, she told herself, the adrenalin pumping through her body. This could be the last piece of the jigsaw. The answer to the mystery. What had happened to Wilhelm?
chapter twenty-four
Jeanne found it hard to settle back at Molly’s, willing the afternoon to move on. Eventually it was time to go. She gathered together the remaining letters, Wilhelm’s photo and her notepad and pen. Mrs Ozanne lived about ten minutes’ walk away and she set off, the papers tucked under her arm. On the way she bought a bunch of freesias from a roadside hedge-stall. The cottage was a smaller version of her own, semi-detached with a pretty little garden in front.
The door was opened by a white haired lady bent awkwardly over a stick. Her brown eyes still possessed a spark and regarded her with keen interest.
‘Jeanne, please come in. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you since the Vicar called round this morning. Oh, are those for me? How lovely, thank you. We’ll go through to the garden, shall we?’
She led the way along a narrow, dark hall leading to the back door which was open. Jeanne followed her into the sunlit garden and gasped. ‘Oh, this is lovely Mrs Ozanne! It’s like a miniature version of Gran’s garden!’
The old lady chuckled, ‘Where do you think I got the ideas from? Your grandmother was always round here telling me what I should plant, she was. Now, sit you down and let me have a good look at you.’
Jeanne sat on the cushioned garden chair pulled up to a small table laid with afternoon tea. Mrs Ozanne lowered herself carefully into a matching chair before giving Jeanne a thorough inspection.
‘Mm, I would have known you anywhere. You’re your father’s child, for sure, with your grandfather’s eyes. But you inherited your mother’s hair.’ She sighed. ‘’Twas not right, them all dying so young. Even your grandfather had a few good years left in him. Broke Jeanne’s heart, it did. She had more than her share of pain, for sure.’ She looked at her friend’s granddaughter and added softly, ‘But so have you, m’dear, so have you. Do you remember me at all?’
She had to be honest. ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Ozanne. Would I have met you at Gran’s?’
‘Yes, I saw you there as a little girl with your mother, more than once. Of course I was a lot younger and livelier then,’ she said, looking at her stick with disdain. ‘Your gran and I used to pop round each other’s cottages regular like. We were widowed within a year of each other so were glad of the company. Then my legs started playing up so I was stuck here.’ Mrs Ozanne sighed, tapping her stick. She seemed to wander off for a moment.
Jeanne cleared her throat.
‘Now,’ she went on, becoming more brisk, ‘can you pour the tea for us, please? I take two sugars even though doctor tells me I shouldn’t,’ she chuckled.
Jeanne passed the old lady a cup of tea and offered her the plate piled up with the ubiquitous buttered Gâche. She nodded her thanks. Jeanne helped herself to a slice, not really hungry, but wanting to be polite.
‘And I was at your parents' funeral, but I doubt if you knew what was going on, you were still so shocked.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry if I was… ’
‘There’s no need to be sorry, gal. You were very distressed, and rightly so. You were white as a sheet, you were. You just clung onto your gran as if you’d fall over if you let go. Mind, you’d been in the hospital for ten days so you were still weak.’ She reached over and patted Jeanne’s arm.
‘I… I don’t remember anything about the funeral. Or what happened before… The doctors told me my mind had just shut down. As a sort of self-defence,’ Jeanne replied, unconsciously twisting her hair round her finger.
Mrs Ozanne nodded.
‘That can be a good thing sometimes. But it’s a pity whoever killed your parents wasn’t caught and punished.’
‘Well, they might be soon. I’m starting to remember a bit and I’m having hypnosis to boost my memory. So perhaps I’ll know who did it. If I can recognise them, of course.’
‘That’d be grand. But you didn’t come here to talk to me about your accident, did you now?’ Mrs Ozanne cocked her head at Jeanne.
‘No. I’m hoping that you’ll be able to help me with a rather, er, delicate matter regarding Gran. I believe that during the Occupation she became friendly with a… German soldier called Wilhelm. Did you know about their friendship?’ Jeanne bit her lip, trying to remain calm.
The old lady regarded Jeanne intently before answering.
‘How did you know about Wilhem?’
‘I found some letters from him to Gran in the attic. It would seem they were, er, lovers. So you did know about him?’ her voice rose in excitement.
Mrs Ozanne nodded. ‘Yes, I knew ‘bout him. Met him, too.’
‘Oh! Is this him?’ Jeanne showed her the photo.
‘Yes, that’s him all right. Good looking lad he was. And a real gentleman, not like some of them other soldiers we had here. ’Twas obvious he hated being a soldier, but o’course he had no choice. And he thought the world of Jeanne. He even learnt English so that they could talk together.’ Mrs Ozanne paused and sipped her tea.
Jeanne twisted her hair again.
‘How did they meet?’
‘He was based in Perelle most of the time, at a gun emplacement on a Bunker. They met when Jeanne was out for a walk in the lanes nearby. She tripped and twisted her ankle and Wilhelm found her, unable to move she was. He strapped up her ankle and gave her painkillers from the Bunker’s medical supplies. Although they couldn’t understand each other, I think ’twas love at first sight,’ she sighed and took another sip.
‘Sounds very romantic! But it must have been very difficult for them to keep their meetings a secret,’ Jeanne said, leaning forward.
‘Yes, it was. But they were very careful and her parents never knew. I was the only one Jeanne confided in, see. I sometimes took messages for ’em. I liked him and saw how happy Jeanne was. They were right for each other – or would’ve been if they weren’t enemies!’ Her face clouded over.
Jeanne was reluctant to stir up painful memories but anxious to know more.
‘Was it very bad? In the Occupation?’ she asked gently.
The old lady gazed at Jeanne and nodded. ‘’Tweren’t good, that’s for sure. Worst was the lack o’ food. We were always hungry, but eventually just got used to it. That last year was the worst, when we couldn’t get supplies from France. We were all starving, soldiers an’ islanders alike. People were eating cats, dogs, rats. Anything just to stay alive. And that winter was so cold, worst I’d known.’ She looked up at Jeanne and went on, her eyes reflecting the painful memory. ‘You have to remember, we had no power, nothing at all for heat, light, cooking. Many people got taken ill and ended up in hospital. Like your gran’s ma. She was real bad, she was. But she got better.’ Mrs Ozanne sipped the last of her tea and remained quiet.
‘I’ve read that you finally got help from the Red Cross,’ Jeanne prompted.
Mrs Ozanne smiled. ‘Yes, and were we glad! That Red Cross ship ‘Vega’ it was called, arrived in St Peter Port and they started unloading thousands of parcels, enough for everyone. But not the Germans, o’course. They still had no food, poor souls. But we had tinned food, tea, chocolate and even cigarettes. And clothes for the children. And warm blankets! By then we knew the Allies were winning, that Jerry was finished. We hadn’t always known what was happening out there, in the rest o’ the world. Our radios were confiscated most o’ the time. We’d been cut off from everything.’
She seemed lost in thought again but then brightened and said, ‘But we survived and life’s been good since then, so mustn’t complain.’
Jeanne could only admire the old lady’s spirit and she could see why she and her gran had been such good friends, they were from the same mould.
‘Mrs Ozanne, did you, er, know that Gran got pregnant?’
She nodded. ‘Thought this would be what you wanted to talk about. It’s that baby’s body that’s been found, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. It was under a bedroom floor. I… I think it was Gran’s.’
‘’Twas her baby, yes.’ Mrs Ozanne’s face twisted, as if she were in pain. ‘It came early… I was meant to be with her… but it was sudden like… I couldn’t get there in time… couldn’t help. The cord was round the baby’s neck… if only I’d been there she may have lived. ‘It was my fault… I was too late!’ tears were glistening in her eyes and Jeanne reached out and held her hand.
‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Mrs Ozanne. No-one was to blame. It… it happens. But where were Gran’s parents?’
Mrs Ozanne blew her nose on a lace trimmed handkerchief before answering.
‘Her father was out fishing and her mother was in the hospital with a fever, like I said. So she was on her own. When the pains started she sent a lad to fetch me, but I was out and by the time I got the message it was too late. I found Jeanne lying there, exhausted and the baby was blue, didn’t draw breath.’ She stopped, her hands shaking.
Jeanne was trying to hold back her tears.
Mrs Ozanne continued, ‘I helped clean up Jeanne and we decided to bury the baby under the floor. Couldn’t think what else to do and Jeanne was past caring. And there wasn’t much time, her father was due back from sea.’
Jeanne cleared her throat. ‘How did she hide her pregnancy? Surely she was quite big at the end?’
‘It was winter when she began to show and because o’ the cold we all wore lots o’ layers. Jeanne just looked like anyone else with baggy tops and trousers. ’Twas too cold for skirts. ’Tis possible her mother guessed but she never said anything. And by the time she came out o’ hospital it was all over.’
Jeanne braced herself for the next and most important question.
‘I need to know, Mrs Ozanne, what happened to Wilhelm. Why didn’t he and Gran get married?’
The old lady looked surprised at the question and then understanding seemed to dawn on her.
‘O’course, you wouldn’t know, would you? Poor lad was dead – killed in an explosion. An accident, they said. At the airport, where he’d been sent on duty. Some other soldiers were injured as well but poor Wilhelm was killed outright.’
‘Oh no! How awful! But when did this happen?’ Jeanne cried.
‘The day before Jeanne went into labour. That’s why the baby came early. It was the shock, you see. Shock from hearing the man she loved was dead.’
chapter twenty-five
By half past nine on Thursday morning Jeanne had completed the Bond on her cottage, just in time for her to make a stage payment to Martin on Friday.
As she came out of the Royal Court into the bright summer sunshine she was tempted to play hookey and disappear to the beach for the day. But, on reflection, she decided to take time off at the weekend instead and see if Rachel could join her. She’d love a good girl’s gossip after all the trauma of the past couple of weeks.
All was proceeding well at the cottage after the enforced delay and Jeanne collected her post and went off to Molly’s. Amongst the usual bills and circulars was a letter from Sally, attaching an amended contract. The publishers had agreed to Sally’s changes and Jeanne was happy to sign and return it immediately. I’m being showered with money today, she thought, smiling happily, as she dialled her aunt’s number. She had hardly spoken to her since making a quick call after the baby’s body was found.
‘Jeanne, lovely to hear from you. How are you coping? Have things quietened down?’ Kate asked, concerned.
‘Um, not exactly, Kate. Been an interesting few days, actually.’ She went on to describe her visit to Mrs Ozanne.
There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the phone.
‘I see. Do you feel it’s helped to have talked to the old lady?’
‘Oh, yes. It was sad to hear what Gran went through and Wilhelm’s death must have been awful. But at least now there are no unknowns and it was good to have heard it all from someone so close to Gran. I now know how she felt about everything, not just Wilhelm. She loved him and hoped they’d marry and was so excited about the baby. Scared too of course.’ Jeanne paused and took a deep breath.
‘Gran was always strong and knew she’d cope. But it seems Wilhelm’s death knocked the stuffing out of her. I think she wished she’d died with her baby. According to Mrs Ozanne she was depressed for months afterwards. It was only the arrival of the Liberating Forces which shook her out of it.’
‘I’m not surprised she was depressed! She’d experienced such tragedy, and so young. She was only about twenty, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes. And only Mrs Ozanne knew the whole story. She’s a lovely lady and I plan to keep in touch. She married the nephew of Gran’s father so we’re related by marriage. Her memory’s fantastic. She told me that Gran had chosen the names William for a boy and Marie for a girl. And that Wilhelm’s surname was Schmidt. He was well liked among the locals, considering he was an enemy occupier. Apparently he helped out whenever he could, particularly with the elderly. They were genuinely saddened by his death.’
‘Are you going to include the story about the baby in the book?’
‘I’m not going to mention the pregnancy or the baby, although locals may guess now the.… that Marie’s body’s been found. I will mention Wilhelm’s death as it’s relevant as well as poignant. It explains why they didn’t marry, which is important. Even though I’m not mentioning Grandpa in the book I did find out from Mrs Ozanne that Gran was really in love with him and they were very happy together, which was always my impression, too. They met a year after the war ended and married a few months later. So she did find happiness in the end,’ Jeanne said, with a satisfied sigh.
‘Mm, are we up to date now?’
Jeanne told her about the signing of the contract and the loan from the bank, finishing the call on a happier note.
For the rest of that day and the next, Jeanne focussed on her book and by Friday evening she was looking forward to a relaxing weekend. She had arranged with Rachel to meet up on Sunday and go to a lovely sandy bay in the north, Ladies Bay. Peter and Molly had booked a table at L’Atlantique Hotel in Perelle for Saturday evening as a celebration of Jeanne’s contract and they ordered champagne before the meal. Being within walking distance of their home they were able to relax and indulge in another bottle of wine with their food.
Although Saturday had been dull with a scattered shower or two, Sunday was a typical summer’s day of clear sky and hot sun and Jeanne picked up Rachel just before noon. Tim was surfing with the others and Rachel had been glad of some company and the excuse to sunbathe. They’d made a picnic between them and Jeanne had packed a bottle of white wine in the cool box.
They settled themselves near the back of the beach on their towels and mats and stripped down to their bikinis.
‘This is the life! I never seem to have time to really enjoy a day on the beach. I’ve always got something else I should be doing – like housework or marking homework!’ Rachel said as she stretched out, luxuriating in the sun.
‘I know what you mean. It can be difficult to just let go, but I’m determined to enjoy this summer. My first seaside summer for fifteen years!’ Jeanne replied, slathering on the sun cream.
