by Allen, Anne
tables. Some in the sun were empty and Charlotte said she’d prefer outside, and headed for one of them. Andy
went inside to order the coffees while she people-watched. The other customers were in a relaxed mood,
sharing jokes as they planned their day, and small children ran around tables under the watchful eyes of their
parents. Charlotte found herself unbending in the laid-back atmosphere, in spite of the memory of the
conversation with her mother forcing its way to the surface. There was nothing she could do except wait for the
phone call. Today she had to let go.
Taking a deep breath of the ozone-laden air, she experienced a frisson of anticipation at the day ahead. It had
been so long since she had been on a date – or whatever this was – not since she first met Richard, ten years ago.
A lifetime. Or so it felt. Pushing to one side the obvious complications of living across a stretch of water and their
different backgrounds, she thought she might as well enjoy any time she spent with Andy. As the thought
flittered across her mind, the man in question appeared from the pub bearing two mugs of coffee.
‘You look lost in thought. Everything okay?’ Andy asked as he sat beside her.
‘Absolutely. I was thinking what a lovely day it is and how happy everyone looks. It’s such a shame summer’s
officially over. Does the island close down for the winter?’ She had no intention of sharing her real worries with
him. It would make her more vulnerable.
‘Not completely. The White House Hotel near the harbour will close next weekend until spring, but the self-
catering cottages are rented out through the year. And the Mermaid and the shops open for shorter hours in the
winter. So there’s usually someone staying here, along with the inhabitants, naturally.’ He sipped his coffee
before adding, ‘You know Jeanne and Nick were married here?’
‘Yes, what a fab place to choose. I expect all you Guerns know the island well.’ She stirred the froth on her
drink as, not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to live on a small island.
‘For many of us growing up in Guernsey, Herm was where we went for holidays. Getting off the island to go
abroad was too expensive but it always felt like being in another country coming over here. My parents hired
frame tents in the Seagull campsite above Manor Village and friends would join us and we had a whale of a time.
Nick was one of them. It’s a children’s paradise, as you’ll see when we go round.’ He rubbed her arm. ‘Warmer
now?’
She smiled, enjoying the touch of his hands. ‘Yes, thanks. This place is a real sun trap and the coffee was just
what I needed. Shall we go?’
He stood up and offered his hand as she stepped over the bench. ‘We’ll head towards the common first and
continue round the coast until lunch time. I’ve booked a table at The White House for one thirty, if that’s okay?’
She nodded and they joined the coastal path outside. A minute later Andy unfolded a map and explained their
route, first pointing out Fisherman’s Beach on their left. ‘The island has several great beaches which is why they
never get crowded. The best, in my view, is Shell Beach on the east coast.’ He went on to tell Charlotte a little
more about Herm and she listened avidly as the island gave itself up to her gaze. A small boy, rushing around a
bend, bumped into her and she had to hold onto him to steady them both. His parents caught up and mumbled
an apology before grabbing his hand. Charlotte smiled. It was lovely to see children running free, even if they did
nearly knock you over.
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The Family Divided
As they continued on the path the number of walkers thinned until they found themselves alone on the sandy
track leading to the common – home, according to Andy, to Neolithic burial grounds. Warming to the theme of
Herm’s history, he became more animated, waving his arms in the way of those of Latin blood, and she smiled
inwardly, recalling his French ancestry. He was definitely more passionate than she had guessed and wondered
idly if the French blood would out in other ways too. She felt her face grow hot at the thought and when he
brushed her hand, she pushed it in her pocket, worried he was going to hold it. Looking puzzled he carried on
with the story.
Charlotte enjoyed listening to Andy’s tales of Normans, monks, pirates and Prussian princes, all former
occupants of Herm. But, for her, the biggest surprise was learning the writer Sir Compton Mackenzie, whose
work she admired, had leased the island in the 1920s. At this point in his tale they had reached Shell Beach and
the glimmering expanse of sand – actually crushed seashells carried by the Gulf Stream – looked too inviting to
resist. Pulling off their trainers they ran along the shore edge, laughing as the sea lapped at their ankles. At one
moment they came to a stop to avoid a dog splashing in the shallows and Charlotte lost her balance. Andy
grabbed her and she found herself staring into his eyes. He leant down and kissed her. Charlotte closed her eyes
and allowed herself to melt into the kiss. Coming up for air, she pulled back slightly and smiled.
‘That was some kiss! What brought that on?’
‘You looked so carefree and happy and…and beautiful. I couldn’t resist. Did you mind?’ he asked stroking
tangled hair off her face.
‘Nooo…Although we do appear to have an audience,’ she said, pointing.
He turned round and saw three small faces gaping at him, goggle eyed.
‘Are you two married, then? That was so soppy!’ declared a freckle-faced lad of about seven, building
sandcastles with what appeared to be a younger brother and sister. He pulled a face in disgust.
Andy laughed.
‘No, we’re not married, just friends. Don’t you like seeing people kiss each other?’
The boy shook his head.
‘Nah, not in public, anyways. Suppose it’s okay if you’re on your own. My mum and dad never kiss in front of
us kids,’ he said, nodding towards a couple sitting fully clothed on a mat about a hundred yards away. Charlotte
glanced towards them, noting they appeared to be arguing and felt a pang of sympathy for the boy and his
siblings.
‘Well, I’m sorry if we offended you, young man. We’ll move away and let you build your sandcastle
undisturbed,’ Andy said solemnly. Charlotte saw his mouth twitching and had to stifle a giggle.
The boy nodded and turned back to his digging while Charlotte and Andy ran a few yards before collapsing
into helpless laughter.
‘Well, that told us, didn’t it? Public displays of affection are a no-no if there are kids about,’ Andy spluttered.
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Charlotte allowed him to hold her hand as they continued up the beach, away from critical eyes. Coming
across a sheltered spot, Andy suggested they sit down and they snuggled up together, feeling the sun’s warmth
on their faces. Charlotte was content to sit quietly, every fibre of her being tingling. In spite of her reservations
about the wisdom of allowing Andy to get under her skin, his kiss had woken something in her and it felt good.
Very good. Like coming out of hibernation after a cold, long winter to find the sun and warmth on your body
once more. Even if it was likely to be short-lived.
‘You look as if you haven’t a care in the world. Do you?’ Andy asked, stroking her face.
Instantly she was snapped into reality. Her
mother. Groaning inwardly at the thought of what might lay
ahead, Charlotte replied sharply, ‘Of course I have cares! Doesn’t everyone? And it’s something I’d rather not talk
about.’
He leaned back, frowning. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to pry. Shall we make a move for the restaurant? All this
walking is building up my appetite.’
She let him help her to her feet and they walked side by side, but not holding hands, as they retraced their
steps to the harbour village and The White House.
The conversation over lunch in the Conservatory Restaurant was initially stilted and Charlotte, aware she had
ruffled Andy’s feathers with her sharpness, tried to defuse things by encouraging him to tell her more about his
work.
He appeared to regain his earlier humour and they spent the afternoon exploring the rest of the island, or at
least a good part of it. Charlotte continued to be enchanted with everything she saw, declaring the tiny Norman
chapel of St Tugual to be one of the ‘sweetest chapels I’ve ever seen’.
Andy kept an eye on the time, saying he needed to catch the high tide to float the boat from its temporary
mooring. As they made their way from the Manor Village in the centre of Herm he announced there was just
time for a quick look round the shops if she wished.
It proved to be an expensive ‘quick look’ as Charlotte ended up buying a couple of tops to see her through the
cooler weather and three paperbacks to replace those she had finished reading. Pleased with her purchases, she
allowed Andy to hold her hand as they strolled the few yards to the harbour.
He left her on the jetty while he waded out to the boat and brought it back to the steps. Minutes later
Charlotte was safely aboard and gazing wistfully at Herm as they sped away.
‘You can always come back, you know,’ Andy said, glancing at her. He frowned, adding, ‘You’re not planning
on leaving for a while yet, are you?’
‘No, but I can’t stay forever. Perhaps another two or three weeks tops, depending on whether or not I can
discover the answers you need. I…I might have to go home for a while.’ She chewed her lip.
He grunted and appeared lost in thought as he held onto the tiller. Charlotte, reliving the day, could not help
wondering where they both stood in terms of a relationship. Were they becoming closer – or not?
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chapter twelve
Andy was in thoughtful mood on Sunday morning as he left his cottage in St Peters. His parents had invited him
for Sunday lunch and as he drove up to St Sampson he could not get the thought of Charlotte out of his head.
He was falling for her and he knew he shouldn’t. It was hopeless. She was way out of his league and apart
from anything else, lived on the mainland. Hardly conducive to a romantic involvement even if there wasn’t such
a social gulf between them. The thought was depressing but at the same time his heart skipped a beat at the
memory of their kiss on the beach. And their goodnight kiss when he dropped her off at Louisa’s.
In the heat of the moment Andy had invited Charlotte round for lunch on the following Saturday and now he
wondered if it was a mistake. Should he back off before he got in deeper? But he couldn’t withdraw the offer
without looking like a complete pillock so…The sound of a blaring horn brought him up sharp and he just
managed to stop at a junction as another car drove past. Get a grip, man! Andy told himself, shocked at the near
miss. Resolving to forget about Charlotte for the moment, he focused on arriving at his parents’ house in one
piece. Twenty minutes later he pulled into the drive of their tiny cottage.
‘Hello, son. Good timing, your mother’s just about to serve up. Fancy a lager with your dinner?’ his father said
as he ushered him into the dining cum sitting room. Andy thought Jim looked tired and hoped he’d not been
overdoing things again.
‘Thanks. I’ll get them, Dad, you sit down.’ Andy walked through into the kitchen, barely big enough to hold
two people, and gave his mother a hug as she stood dishing out portions of vegetables to accompany the meagre
amount of roast pork on the three plates. The memory of the meals he had enjoyed with Charlotte in the last two
days made Andy feel guilty. As his mother turned to give him a kiss, he slipped a twenty pound note into her
apron pocket. ‘Hello, Maman, looks delicious. Hope you made your incomparable apple sauce to go with it?’ he
asked, returning her kiss.
Yvette smiled. ‘But of course. Your father would not forgive me if I do not! You take the lagers and wait while
I bring in the plates in one little minute.’ She patted her pocket and mouthed “thank you” before turning back to
the task in hand. Andy collected a couple of cans from the fridge and returned to the dining room.
‘How are you, Dad? How’s the physio going?’
Jim took the proffered can before replying, ‘Not too bad, son. That girl Louisa’s been making me do lots of
exercises at home and it seems to ease the pain. Not as stiff as I was, for sure.’ He took a sip of the lager before
adding, ‘The only thing is she wants me to cut down on the fishing for a bit. Said it wasn’t helping. But you know
I love going out in the boat and we enjoy the fish I catch. Bit of a bummer, really,’ he said, frowning.
‘It’s a pity, but if your back improves won’t it be worth it in the long run? Did she say you could get back to
the fishing one day?’ Andy was concerned. Not only did his parents need the fish themselves, but his father
earned good pocket money from the extra he sold.
‘She didn’t say one way or the other. I guess it depends how well the treatments work and I’m not sure how
many they’ll let me have.’ Jim stared at Andy. ‘You know I can’t abide charity. I prefer to pay my own way, always
have–’
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‘But do not go on at the boy, Jim. You should instead be glad one thinks so well of Andy’s work to wish to help
you,’ Yvette said, coming into the room with a plate in each hand. Andy stood up and fetched the last plate from
the kitchen.
His mother flashed him a smile as they sat down to eat. Jim grunted before tucking into his food. While they
ate, Yvette asked Andy about his latest projects and the meal passed off pleasantly as he described a barn
conversion he was designing. While they were eating the pudding of French apple tart Andy had an idea.
‘Dad, you remember Nick’s wife is a writer?’ Jim nodded. ‘Well, she’s planning to write a novel set during the
occupation and wants to get hold of as many first-hand accounts as she can. As you know, she’s not long had a
baby so can’t get out and about much and asked me to pass the word around,’ he said, before taking a final sip of
his lager. ‘I remembered you saying once that your mother kept a diary during the war and wondered if you still
had it. It’d be just the kind of thing Jeanne’s looking for.’
Jim pursed his lips. ‘I don’t rightly know if we have. It was with some bits and pieces we kept after she died,
but could have been thrown out long ago.’
Andy turned to his mother, who looked thoughtful. ‘We kept all the old family photos and various papers, I
am sure. If it is there the diary will be in the attic in the box with those other things. Do you want to have a look
while you are here?’
He looked at his father, shifting in
his chair.
‘Is it all right with you, Dad?’
‘I’m not sure. Don’t like the thought of other people poking about in our private business–’
‘ Mais, c’est bete, Jim! After so long a time, it cannot do harm for this nice girl Jeanne to read Madeleine’s old
diary. And if it may help with her book, why not? There is nothing to hide, no?’ Yvette laughed.
Andy held his breath. If the diary was in the attic why was his father reluctant for anyone to read it?
Jim seemed to do battle with himself, before finally saying, ‘No, there’s nothing to hide. Suppose you can see if
it’s still there.’ He stood up and, rubbing his back, stretched a bit before stomping off to the sofa.
Yvette raised her eyebrows as she shot a glance at Andy, who shrugged. He helped clear the table before
going upstairs to check out the attic. Access was easy thanks to the inbuilt ladder attached to the hatch and the
attic was both floored and well lit. As a boy he had played in there with a battered train set passed down by
friends of his parents. Nick had joined him on occasion and he smiled now at the memory of happy times
pretending to run a railway. Shoved towards the shallow part of the eaves he found the boxes his mother had
suggested he search first. Kneeling down, he remembered years ago looking idly through old photos stuck in
albums and wondering who everyone was. His curiosity at the time had not been strong enough for him to
question his parents, which he now regretted. But this was not the right moment to ask, and he concentrated on
looking for the diary.
A couple of boxes later he pulled out a likely contender, a thick, brown hardback book bearing the title
Journal in faded gold lettering. Andy held his breath as he looked inside. He let out a long sigh. The inscription,
To my darling wife, Madeleine, on the occasion of her birthday, was written in heavy script across the page. The
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original book must have consisted of blank lined pages and Madeleine had filled in the dates of her diary entries.
