Sea Gem, page 29
Mary felt his eyes and, turning to him, smiled wanly giving a tiny shrug to her shoulders. She saw his face was grave though his eyes, violet today, were warm for her. His charisma reached her heart as always and she marvelled at his looks. There were a few early grey hairs dotted here and there and yet these framed his head in a distinguished way. His well-shaped face had a few maturity lines around the eye corners yet the crinkle marks around his mouth showed his humour. He wore grey flannels, open necked shirt and unbuttoned jacket with careless nonchalance but carried his clothes as if they were expensively tailored. His erect, almost military, carriage, often reminded her of old Tante. His back was every bit as straight as hers had been.
He held out his right hand and Mary slipped her left into it. Turning he led the way back. Mary thought how natural it was to have contact with him and when he squeezed she reciprocated.
‘What’s going to happen to all of us?’
He stopped, turned to her and his face became serious. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied honestly, ‘but I do know you will weather whatever is thrown at you.’
‘And you, Victor?’
Again he hesitated as if turning over in his mind news which he was reluctant to impart but which he knew he must despite its effect on her.
‘I’m leaving, very soon,’ he said.
‘You scorned the last war,’ she reminded him gently.
He nodded grimly. ‘This is different and worse. Kaiser Bill was bad enough but Hitler and his gang of thugs are madmen. Last time it was just Belgium and France—look how far Hitler has spread himself already.’
Mary said nothing. His sombre words only added to her gloom and worry. Her shoulders sagged for a moment, then she straightened resolutely.
‘At least they can’t take our memories away from us,’ she murmured.
He chuckled at that. ‘I wish the memories could be better though,’ he said pointedly.
He took both of her hands in his and slowly shook his head ruefully. ‘It’s no good,’ he told her firmly. ‘My feelings for you have never, never changed. Your heart is meshed with mine for all time. Ours is a great love even if unfulfilled and there is nothing that will change how I feel. Time, war, Nicole—nothing matters except that I know you are alive and well, my sweet Catherine.’
‘Oh Victor,’ she cried softly. ‘Please don’t!’
He kissed her, then pushed her away six inches. ‘In all the years we have known each other I’ve told you often what you mean to me but you have never once said you loved me,’ he complained.
Mary kissed him back. ‘Oh, you big, silly thing. I adore you and always have; more is the tragedy of it all because there is nothing we can do about it.’
When he started to kiss her again, Mary knew she must distract him or things would get out of hand. He was doing something to her which made her thighs weak with desire.
‘Come on, let’s walk back,’ she told him, holding his arm tightly, urging them into action. ‘What are you going to do about your hotels?’
He grimaced. ‘What everyone else will have to do if they leave for Britain. Abandon them and pick up the pieces again when it’s all over. I’ve decent managers who are in their fifties. They’ll stay and hold the fort as best they can but I expect all hotels—indeed many homes—will be requisitioned when the Germans come for billets. You’ll lose your holiday cottages,’ he warned her.
‘When will you go?’ she asked him, anxious to know how much time they had left.
He thought a moment. ‘Very shortly. Jenny is coming to join up.’
‘Nicole?’
‘She is in a quandary and I feel sorry for her,’ he admitted. ‘She wants to go to Britain with me, Michael and Jenny and also see James in school there, but she cannot bear to leave her family who are still on Alderney, without knowing what’s going to happen to that island.’ He threw her a glance. ‘You are staying, of course?’
Mary did not bother to reply, merely looked at him. They reached the little cottage and, as if knowing the old lady had gone, it seemed to have changed; to have lost its character. She saw Margaret up the road and waved, turning to him.
‘Take care,’ she whispered. ‘Try and let me know when you go.’
‘I will and you take care, sweet Catherine. Don’t go shooting Germans with that little pistol of yours either,’ he ended, trying to make a jest for both of their sakes.
Then he was gone, striding off to where he had parked his car and Mary walked up to her home, lost in miserable, apprehensive thoughts.
* * *
On the 19th June an official letter came from Whitehall ordering the Bailiff to stay at his post with all Crown Officers and this news spread in a flash throughout the island, starting fresh panic.
Margaret came downstairs and hunted for her mother, then ran back up to the sewing room. She found her sitting pensively looking out of the window.
‘Come to Britain with me, to safety,’ she pleaded suddenly.
Mary looked at her daughter who was now her own height and who had a wonderful fresh vitality and loveliness. No wonder Michael adored her.
‘Here I am and here I stay!’ Mary told her firmly.
Margaret set her lip, opened her mouth to argue, then changed her mind. She squatted down so their eyes were level.
‘I don’t like the thought of you being here during an occupation, especially with brother William,’ she said slowly.
Mary eyed her and saw worry. Margaret rarely mentioned William but Mary knew her daughter had not forgotten any more than she had. That dreadful day was as clear as if it had been yesterday.
‘Don’t you worry your head about me and a seventeen year old.’
‘Some seventeen year old,’ Margaret shot back. ‘He’s as big as any man.’
‘I can handle William,’ Mary reassured her. ‘To start with, I never trust him. You see, daughter dear, William gets frustrated and cannot stand his views or attitudes being dismissed or ignored. He hasn’t worked out why I never said a word to him about Edwin. That got through to him more than a dozen hidings. He waited and waited on thorns and—still does. So you see, whatever William says or does, if it annoys or conflicts with my wishes, I just dismiss him as an unimportant little boy, which he hates. He then hangs around underfoot, being a nuisance but—’ Mary grinned wickedly: ‘I know where he is and what he is doing. Sometimes he goes off but I doubt he can cause trouble.’
‘Yet!’ Margaret pointed out sharply.
Mary saw her daughter’s worry and leaning forward, hugged her. ‘William is still a minor and if he ever overstepped the line, I would go to the law about him and William would hate that,’ she said with a malicious grin.
Margaret knew her mother’s will was as unbendable as her own. She did not like the situation and resolved to have a quiet, private word with Raoul before she left. William had killed once; Margaret would put nothing past him in the future.
‘When do you go, have you decided?’ Mary asked.
Margaret took a deep breath. ‘It’s tomorrow,’ she whispered.
Mary flinched. ‘So soon?’
‘I’ve just come in from town and it’s hell there,’ Margaret told her slowly. ‘There’s a run on the banks and each person can only have twenty-five pounds. I saw something else upsetting too,’ she halted, shaking her head. ‘There was a long queue of people taking their pet cats and dogs to the vets to be destroyed. There are parents milling around crying about their children. They don’t know whether to keep them or let them go to where there might be the danger of air raids. Ambrose Sherwell is staying with his wife and children and so is Victor Carey and he’s not a young man at all.’
Mary stiffened. ‘What about ships?’
‘Britain is sending all she can spare to take off those who want to leave,’ Margaret told her quickly.
Mary stood up. ‘I think you’d better get down to the quay today,’ she said quickly. ‘And only take hand baggage. If there is a crush of panicky parents, there will be restrictions. Pack your hand baggage while I get the car out. Draw on your British account for what you need when over there.’
Margaret was alarmed. Although mentally prepared to go, her mother’s abruptness almost unnerved her but she saw the logic. How long would ships be able to get in and out of the harbour? She nodded and went quickly to repack a bag while Mary went for her car. Margaret then flew outside to see Raoul.
‘I’m going to Britain, Raoul. Please stay and look after Mother and, most of all, watch William. I have an awful feeling here.’
She touched her heart. ‘Never trust him, please,’ she begged and her eyes shone mistily.
‘Trust me, Margaret!’ Raoul promised. ‘Nothing will happen to your mother if I can help it!’
Within far too short a space of time, Mary had the car at the door and Margaret found herself bundled into it with no time for farewells to others. Raoul watched with large grave eyes and lifted his right hand as Mary drove down the drive. Then he turned and saw Amelia watching him sadly. Their own two sons had already gone to join up as had so many other young men. Now they were just two alone as it had been in the beginning.
Mary was appalled. Even on the outskirts of St Peter Port there was a crowd and progress was almost impossible.
‘I’ll park here. We’ll have to walk!’ she said, suddenly in a stew of worry at the thought that Margaret might not get a passage.
They walked one behind the other with Mary trying to emulate old Tante and cleave a passage through the crowds but these became thicker and more distraught with every step down the quay. Parents were weeping hysterically as they said farewell to their children while others dithered, not knowing what to do for the best. Down at the harbour the crowd was enormous and Mary and Margaret found themselves jammed against a wall. Crush barriers had been erected but by standing on tiptoes, Mary was able to see that embarkation had started on the Antwerp and other ships awaited nearby.
Mary was appalled. The multiple distress around her harrowed her nerves and suddenly she knew she could not stay. She would break down and bawl like a child. It was of desperate importance that Margaret saw her mother as defiant and clear eyed.
In a clairvoyant flash, Margaret understood. She grasped Mary’s hand. ‘This is as far as you go,’ she said firmly. ‘You go down in that crowd and you’ll be caught and wedged, taken to Britain whether you want it or not!’
Relief flashed on Mary’s face then it sagged a little. ‘Oh Margaret!’ was all she could whisper, biting her lip savagely.
‘Go!’ Margaret shouted, kissing her fiercely. ‘Go—now!’
Mary felt herself spun around by Margaret’s hands and pushed back up the steps they had struggled down. She moaned as the tears slid down her cheeks, then savagely berated herself as she took in the human distress around her; the anguish on parents’ faces, the shocked cries of children terrified at what was happening.
Mary saw an opening and shoved in an unladylike manner to get up against a short wall, where she wedged herself. She turned to watch the scene below where somewhere her darling daughter was inching along to a ship and Britain. She saw batches of children herded together, shepherded on board as priority. There were weeping men and women as their children were hauled back from the steps of gangways as parents changed their minds. The air was filled with cries, screams, shouts and a great ululating weeping of undiluted distress.
Later Mary knew it was one of the most traumatic days of her life. Ships came, were filled with their human cargo and left while others moved to vacant berths. Mary watched the boys from Elizabeth College march down to the harbour in an orderly line and embark en bloc. The heat was stifling and many distraught adults fainted, to be dragged to one side where they would not be trampled on.
She saw Major Sherwell still had some troops with rifles and bayonets fixed in case the crowd got out of control through fear and grief. Finally, unable to stand any more of these distressing scenes, Mary pushed and jostled her way back to her car. She could not go home yet; the house would be too empty so she drove slowly towards her shop, inching her way along and parked around the back. It was quiet here but uneasily so. Mary stood for a moment frowning a little. What was different? Then it hit her. There were no children’s voices; only the small, sick and downright stubborn remained on Guernsey.
She unlocked the door, pushed it open as a step came from behind her. She turned and her face brightened a second.
‘Victor!’ she cried, then noted his grim jaw. ‘Inside and tell me!’
He slammed the door and locked it. ‘I can’t stay more than a few moments and I took a wild chance you would be here. All hell has broken loose on Alderney. Judge French held a vote and every man, woman and child has decided to go to Britain except a couple of men who are either brave or stupid.’
Mary gasped. ‘But how can they get everyone off in time? Alderney is too near to occupied France.’
Victor shook his head. ‘That’s the military’s problem. It’s crazy over there. I’ve had a devil’s own job to get back. Animals are being let loose wherever possible and the butcher is killing people’s pet cats and dogs. People can only take two suitcases with them and can’t you imagine what it’s like? Your home and life reduced to two suitcases in a few, short hours. What to take; what to leave?’
Mary sank down on the shop counter. ‘It must be pandemonium.’ She had a flashing vision of moving the sick, the old and babies. ‘What is happening on Sark, do you know?’
Victor grimaced, though his eyes flashed with respect. ‘Dame Sybil refuses to budge one inch. She and her American husband are staying, come hell or high water.’
Mary thought about that for a moment. ‘Do you know something?’ she said very slowly. ‘I think the Germans who do go over to Sark had better watch their manners. What about Jersey?’
‘They’ve just about cleared the island of children and all the non-combatants who wish to leave. I’ve heard that about one-fifth of the Jersey population have left all they possess to sail to Britain. They calculate it will be about half of Guernsey,’ he said, then leaned on the counter next to her, his expression bleak.
‘Your family?’
‘They are embarking from Alderney right now—I hope. I said I had to come here to sort out last minute business.’ He fell quiet as he relived the violent scene Nicole had thrown in the back garden of her parents’ home.
‘It’s that woman!’ she had screeched turning from the quiet, placid girl he had married to a harridan. ‘You’re running back to Guernsey to see her!’ she accused. ‘You’ve always run after her even though she shot you, more fool you! You’ll get nowhere with stuck up, high and mighty Madam Noyen! That’s it, isn’t it? You are going to see her!’
Nicole’s words had initially left him thunderstruck, then his own temper had flared. Perhaps it was realisation he had lived with her for years and never realised how much she knew and how it was eating away at her.
‘Yes, I am!’ he hurled back at her. ‘At least, I’m going to say my farewell to a woman who doesn’t go into screaming hysterics!’
He had stormed off, quite unable to say another word without lifting a hand to her. In a flash, he knew they had both been living a lie from the start. Neither of them would find it possible to forget, let alone forgive, and deep down, Victor knew he did not want to. For the first time in many a long year, he felt a great weight lift from his back. He might still be tied to Nicole in law but he was finally free of her.
‘What has happened?’ Mary asked him quietly, sensing something had.
He shrugged, pulled a face, then told her. Mary caught her breath as she listened.
‘So Tante was right yet again!’
Victor nodded, then seized her arms at the shoulders. ‘I have to go or I’ll be stuck here and that won’t do at all,’ he said grimly. ‘I don’t know what will happen to me in the future but I want you to know this. I love you, my sweet Catherine. Hold that in your heart during the bad times that are coming, promise?’
Mary nodded. ‘I promise and I love you too, Victor le Page!’
Then he was gone, leaving the shop like a rocket, running down the street and Mary heard his footsteps echoing away into silence. Her heart slumped and she knew she would have to weep to relieve her tension. She would cry for Victor. For Margaret. For her island people and, most of all, for herself.
When she had no more tears left she washed her face and knew she would have to go home. She must see what William had been up to. He had been conspicuously absent for the past two days and it was time she tracked him down. She locked up her shop but not without throwing a glance upstairs. Soon, very soon, she must start to develop the habit of working late in the evenings. She thought about her lovely car. That would either be commandeered by the occupiers or there would be no petrol. Thank God she had kept her rattling old cycle and, she remembered with a sudden flash of inspiration, surely she had bought two new tyres before she purchased her car? She thought they must be in the loft and, if the rubber had not perished, she had a shrewd idea that cycle tyres would soon be worth their weight in gold.
SEVENTEEN
William grinned to himself as he straightened his tie and eyed his appearance. He might only be seventeen but William knew perfectly well he was a man physically. He was six feet tall, weighed twelve stone and could handle himself in a fight as he had proved on the continent. He was no longer a schoolboy. From today he was a man. After all, he told himself with a leer, how many others of his age group had travelled as he had—thanks to his mother—had his language abilities and had—killed? His chest swelled with pride. He was someone.
Then he gave a nervous gulp. What would his mother say when he went down not dressed in school clothes but in a man’s? It occurred to him there could be no school today anyhow; not with the islanders in their state of unbridled panic. He took a deep breath. He was not afraid of his mother he told himself sternly. She was merely a woman and it was man who ruled. He was also her sole heir with an absolute right to know what went on, how and when.
