by Allen, Anne
girlfriend, Maud. She described her relief Harold would no longer need to “bother her” , adding, “I wonder what
this girl is like? Harold’s such a brute and is so full of himself. What girl would be attracted to him?” Charlotte
recalled Andy saying Harold’s wife was called Maud and she was still alive but frail and virtually bed-ridden. So,
the attraction must have been mutual. She read on.
It was now late in 1944 and Madeleine wrote in detail about the lack of food and other essential supplies
since the D-Day landings in the August. The Germans – and hence the islanders – had relied on France for
supplies but the usual routes were now cut off with the Allied advance.
On a personal note Madeleine confided their plans to start a family had been postponed as both she and
Edmund were concerned about the impact of pregnancy on her starved body. The family was better off than
most as they grew their own food and had a few cows, but they had to share any so-called excess and the quotas
per head were reduced from August onwards. Charlotte was intrigued to learn Madeleine prepared her own
spermicidal sponge as a contraceptive device and her supplies of spermicide and soap were dwindling.
Charlotte stood up and made herself a cup of tea, her head full of pictures of thin, weary islanders becoming
more and more desperate as the war dragged on. Young women like Madeleine, barely twenty, dreading
becoming pregnant at a time of shortage of both food and basic medicines. That last winter was particularly
harsh, colder than ever and with no fuel for heating or cooking after the loss of both gas and electricity by
December. As she stirred her tea, Charlotte could not begin to imagine how awful it must have been and hoped
to get the chance to talk to those who had lived through the nightmare.
Sighing, she returned to the diary and Madeleine’s tale. In spite of the deprivations, she appeared to be more
upbeat as the year drew to a close. Life-saving supplies from the British Red Cross arrived aboard the SS Vega in
December and the ship returned another four times before the end of the war. Madeleine wrote how the word
was going around the Germans were losing the war and it could not be long before the islands would be
relieved. She described how hidden, forbidden wireless sets kept the islanders updated with the latest defeats in
Europe and how happy she was it would soon be over. Charlotte’s heart ached for the girl, wishing she didn’t
know the unhappy ending. Forcing herself to read on, she came to the entry dated 5th April, four days before
Edmund died. Would there now be some clues about what happened?
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chapter fourteen
As she read Charlotte became excited, convinced it was significant. “I was in the kitchen and looking out of the
window – saw Edmund and Harold arguing – was bad as Edmund’s face was red – shook his fists at Harold who
laughed at him. Edmund looked even angrier – thought he’d explode, wondered if I should go – calm things down.
But Harold walked away – my husband stood there, his head in his hands. I felt sick to see him so. That bastard,
Harold! He has to spoil things. Edmund – usually so calm – looked up and must have seen my face – gave me a quick
smile before walking off in opposite direction. When he came back later I asked – what was he arguing about – said
it was a difference of opinion. But he – strange mood the rest of day and the days following – struggling with
something weighty. Not like to pry…”
Could it be relevant to Edmund’s death only four days later? For the first time she pondered the idea Harold
might have had something to do with what happened to his brother. But what? She continued reading, dreading
Madeleine’s reaction to her husband’s death. A couple of days after the argument, she told of her puzzlement
when her normally friendly neighbours don’t return her greeting and turn their backs on her. When she told
Edmund, he admits the same thing happened to him. Neither of them could explain it and she wrote how
worried they both were and Edmund’s mood grew darker. The neat, tiny writing changes for the entry on the
10th became more of a scrawl, blotted with splashes of ink and what could only have been tears.
“Dead! He’s dead. I know – I saw his body. It’s horrible, I feel sick. Can’t stop crying. Me – a widow! At twenty! It
makes no sense. Only yesterday he was in my arms. And they say he was an informer! I cannot believe that. I know
for sure my wonderful husband is dead, but he was no traitor! He did not come home last night after going to his
father’s. I did not know until this morning. While I slept he…Oh, God. Oh, God! What am I to do? I feel so ill. Edmund
never arrived at his father’s. I went to see. The local constable started a search. With the neighbours. Said
something about an escaped POW. We all live not far from the cliffs at Jerbourg. They headed there first. I had to
stop to be sick. Rushed to catch them up. Someone was pointing down at Van Bêtes bay. The rocks! The constable
tried to stop me. But I ran past and looked down. Sprawled on the rocks was his twisted body. I can’t stop seeing it.
Oh, Edmund! My dear, dear Edmund! How will I live without you.”
Charlotte found herself wiping away a tear as she read and grabbed a tissue to blow her nose. The poor, poor
girl! Even though she had already known what happened, somehow reading Madeleine’s account made it more
personal, more real. Getting up, she made herself another cup of tea, deciding she had read enough for the day.
As she stood by the sink nursing her mug, visualising the horror of finding Edmund’s body, Louisa burst in,
cheeks flushed with excitement.
‘Dad’s home! Or at least he’s arrived in London and will be flying over tomorrow. Oh, I can’t wait to see him,’
she said, flinging her bag onto the worktop.
Charlotte slowly took in her words. ‘How…brilliant. I thought he wasn’t due back until the end of the week.’
‘That was the plan, but apparently he decided he couldn’t stay away any longer and Glenn found him a couple
of last minute tickets. First class, of course.’ She grinned at Charlotte, who gave her a hug, trying to shake off the
horror of what she had read to share Louisa’s joy.
‘So, you’ll be meeting the mysterious Gillian. I assume she’s coming too?’
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‘Yes, so I’ll not have him to myself, which is a shame. But she’s only staying for a few days before returning to
England to see her son. Guess she needs to tell him about my father.’ Louisa looked thoughtful as she made
herself a cup of tea. ‘I remember, on the odd occasion Mum brought home a man, how chippy I was with them.
Poor Mum. I turned from a well-behaved, pleasant girl into a rude whirling dervish. She must have been so
embarrassed!’
‘Do you plan on resurrecting the dervish when you meet Gillian?’ Charlotte asked, smiling.
‘I don’t think it would go down too well, would it?’ Louisa chewed her lip. ‘I admit I do have mixed feelings
about meeting her. But, as you and Paul said, it’s natural Dad wants to have a partner of his own. God knows, he
deserves some happiness after working so hard all his life. And as nothing will bring Mum back…’ She sipped her
tea and Charlotte noticed the moistened eyes.
‘Hey, it’s okay to be maudlin. Whatever Malcolm feels for Gillian, it won’t take away what he felt for your
<
br /> mother,’ Charlotte said, stroking her arm. She could identify with what Louisa felt. If her mother were to start
seeing someone, what would she feel? Refusing to dwell on it and aware it wasn’t likely to happen while her
mother was sick, she changed the subject. ‘I’ve been reading more of Madeleine’s diary and it’s so sad…’ She
described the events of the last few days of Edmund’s life and Louisa was all ears.
‘I see what you mean about Harold. He sounds fishy to me. And he had more than one motive for killing
Edmund. Not only would he become the heir, but there’d be no repercussions from trying to force himself on
Madeleine. But it’s a bit extreme, isn’t it? As well as risky. He would have hanged if caught,’ Louisa said, with a
shiver.
‘Yes, but from what Madeleine writes and Andy’s told me, Harold was greedy and ambitious as well as hot-
tempered and may have seized the chance when he could. People do strange things when there’s a war on and
Madeleine writes how on edge everyone was that winter. Perhaps cold and hunger turned their brains.’ She
paused as another thought struck her. ‘And there’s the bit about Edmund being an informer. Where did that
come from? He doesn’t sound the type, yet he and his wife were being shunned so someone must have thought
he was. I wonder if Harold had a part in it, too.’
‘Possibly. It may have suited him to blacken his brother’s name and it’s a bit suspicious coming so close to his
death. But without proper evidence I can’t see how anything could be proved.’
‘That’s the problem. Which reminds me, I saw the rector of St Martins yesterday and he’s agreed to pass the
word around among his elderly parishioners I’d like to talk to them about the occupation. You never know,
someone might know something.’
‘Sounds promising. And Madeleine’s diary might give you more clues,’ Louisa replied, pulling food out of the
fridge for supper. ‘Right, can you give me a hand with the veg? You’re beginning to make a half decent sous chef
under my expert guidance,’ she said, chuckling.
Charlotte aimed a mock blow at her before picking up the paring knife to start work on the beans and carrots
Louisa piled in front of her. Secretly, she was pleased to be involved in the preparation, knowing how useless
she was on the domestic front. If, heaven forbid, she no longer had a housekeeper to take care of such things, she
would be hard pushed to make much more than a slice of toast. She really did need to be more self-sufficient,
she admonished herself, recalling what the islanders had endured. Particularly poor Madeleine.
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~ ~
The next morning Louisa was like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof. Malcolm’s flight was due in at eleven and
she had swapped her appointments with Trevor, the other physio, so she could meet him at the airport. After
saying goodbye to a client at ten o’clock, she nipped along to Paul’s office. When she opened the door he looked
up from a pile of paperwork and smiled.
‘Morning, darling. How are you feeling? Excited or nervous?’ He came round the desk to kiss her and she
relaxed into his arms. No matter how things went with Malcolm, more than anything she wanted to make it
work with this lovely man. All they needed was to have more time together… ‘A bit of both. If things work out
between Dad and Gillian, she could end up as my step-mother! It’s a weird thought considering until a few
months ago I didn’t even have a father,’ she said, frowning.
Paul wrapped his arms around her. ‘Must be, but if she’s as nice as he says then that could be a bonus, so
there’s no point worrying about it, is there? And the good news is he’s agreed to keep an eye on La Folie this
weekend so we can have a couple of nights in Jersey. Assuming you still want to go away with me,’ he said,
pulling back, his head on one side.
Her heart leapt at the thought of a whole weekend away. Just the two of them…she imagined long walks on a
beach, strolling around shops and bars and the nights in each other’s arms…
‘You bet I do! Are you asking Nicole if we can stay in her family’s flat?’
He grinned. ‘It’s all arranged and she says you can pick up the key any time.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Huh! You assumed I’d say yes and still asked me.’ She couldn’t be cross and stayed locked
in his arms a moment longer. ‘I saw Nicole the other day and she looked exhausted. Young Eve’s teething and no-
one’s getting much sleep. I’ll pop round tomorrow.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Better go, the flight’s due in a few
minutes. Can I have the car keys please?’
Paul handed them over and after another quick kiss she left, a broad smile plastered over her face. Things
were looking up. The centre’s courtesy car – actually an upmarket people carrier – was parked by the front door
and in minutes Louisa was heading towards the airport. Excitement at the thought of the weekend vied with her
nervousness about meeting Gillian. And it was hard not to be jealous of this ‘other woman’ who had stolen her
father’s heart. As she pulled into the airport she told herself to behave like a grown up and be welcoming.
‘Dad!’ she called out as Malcolm appeared through the arrival doors pushing a laden trolley, closely followed
by the woman she assumed was Gillian. Her father strode forward, blue eyes shining in his tanned face and
looking ten years younger, and threw his arms around her.
‘Louisa, darling, it’s so good to see you. And thanks for picking us up.’ He turned to motion Gillian forward.
‘And here’s the lady I want you to meet. Gillian, my daughter, Louisa.’
For a moment the two women eyed each other up and then, as if choreographed, they smiled in unison.
Louisa liked what she saw. A slim, fair-haired woman whose eyes sparkled with humour and intelligence in her
suntanned face. And oh, so like her mother! Feeling a tug at her heart, she offered a tentative hug and received a
resounding kiss on both cheeks.
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‘Louisa, I’m so pleased to meet you at last. Your father hasn’t stopped talking about you since we arrived back
in England,’ Gillian said, nudging a beaming Malcolm.
‘And I’m happy to meet you, too. I’m sure we’ll have lots to talk about!’ She turned towards her father. ‘Do you
want to go to La Folie or your apartment, Dad?’ she asked, aware they were attracting some attention from
onlookers.
‘The apartment, please. Are you free to join us for lunch later?’
She shook her head. ‘No, sorry, I’ve got a full schedule so I’ll have to love you and leave you. But I’m free
tonight.’
Malcolm continued pushing the trolley, a lady on each arm looking, Louisa thought, the epitome of the proud
family man. Experiencing a pang that by rights this happy group should have encompassed her mother and not
Gillian, Louisa had to fight hard to continue smiling. Had her father been attracted to Gillian because she
reminded him of her mother?
‘Tonight will do fine. I’ll book a table at Le Fregate and do ask Paul to join us,’ Malcolm said, as they arrived
outside. Louisa agreed and went over to unlock the car, relieved the initial encounter had gone well.
~ ~
While Louisa was busy meeting Malcolm, Charlotte sat at home absorbed in Madeleine’s diary. The aftermath of
Edmund’s de
ath was worsened for the girl by the family’s apparent acceptance that Edmund had been an
informer, responsible for at least one neighbour’s arrest.
Madeleine’s grief permeated her writing: “I cannot believe no-one seems to mourn Edmund as they should. His
father and brother say he is no longer part of the family and I must organise, and pay for, the funeral. Harold even
seems happy my husband is dead! He strides around as if he owns the farm and cottages. Which he will, one day. Oh,
I can hardly bear it! Edmund! Please come back to me! Don’t let you be dead! It must be a horrible dream. Yet I
know it’s not. It’s real. The police say they are looking for the killer, interviewing our neighbours. But no-one saw or
heard anything. He had been beaten before being pushed over the cliff, the constable said, his eyes avoiding mine
when he told me. Even he must believe those terrible rumours! My neighbours avoid me as if I have the plague! This
hurts the most. Edmund was a good man and a good friend to everyone. How can they now turn their back on him
when he can no longer speak for himself? And I feel so ill! I’m sick to my stomach and can keep little down, not that
there’s much to eat. At least the vicar is kind, helping me organise a decent burial for my beloved…”
Charlotte felt waves of anger flow through her, anger at Madeleine’s betrayal by family and friends. It was
painful to read the pages describing the funeral, with Madeleine the sole mourner apart from the paid coffin
bearers. Having seen the grave, Charlotte found it all too easy to imagine the scene: the lonely widow swathed in
black standing almost alone at the graveside as she threw soil onto her husband’s makeshift coffin, followed by a
small bunch of bluebells.
In need of air, Charlotte rushed into the garden, taking several gulps before she was able to shake off the
heart-breaking picture. Pacing up and down the garden, her mind sifted through what Madeleine had said and
she became convinced Harold had been behind Edmund’s death. Everything pointed to him, but at the time it
seemed no-one suspected him of fratricide. The escaped Polish POW was captured and questioned and
