by Allen, Anne
arms around her. She allowed herself a moment to compose, not wanting to break down in front of them.
‘I’ve wasted everyone’s time then, haven’t I? You, Gillian, the therapists…’
Paul shook his head. ‘Not at all. We’ve shown Annette there is hope for remission if she wants to continue
with the treatments and it’s up to her now. And you’ve proved you care, which is the important thing. Come on,
have some more wine, it might help.’
Charlotte took a grateful sip, willing herself to stay in control. She had to face this alone.
Paul went on to ask how her research for Andy was progressing.
Glad to change the subject, Charlotte told him about Mrs Batiste and the mood lightened. Paul was staying
over and Charlotte disappeared early to bed. As she lay waiting for sleep to claim her, all she could think about
was Paul’s words – “she did it for you”. Squeezing her eyes tight she forced herself not to cry.
The next morning a cold wind propelled dense, grey clouds across the sky, reflecting the heaviness in Charlotte’s
heart. It was an effort to shower and dress and she would have preferred to spend the morning snuggled under
the duvet, but was due to meet Mr Sebire at eleven. After a double strength coffee she felt better and checked the
Perry’s guide for his address. It turned out he lived not far from La Bella Luce Hotel and should be easy to find.
Glad of the thick coat she had brought over from London, Charlotte grabbed her bag and ran outside to
Louisa’s car as the first drops of rain arrived. Once she had located the wipers, she reversed out and headed off
to St Martins. Ten minutes later she pulled into the tiny drive of a whitewashed granite cottage with a wooden
porch. The door was opened so quickly she guessed Mr Sebire had heard her car. A short, bald man, his bright
blue eyes twinkled up at her.
‘Miss Townsend, please come in. What a change in the weather! Let me take your coat.’ He fussed around her
before leading the way into a room so clean and neat it looked unlived in. Taking a seat on a blowsy patterned
sofa, Charlotte accepted his offer of tea. He left and returned quickly with a tray burdened with a teapot, two
cups and saucers and a plate of biscuits.
Once settled, she asked him about himself, and learnt he was a widower who had lived in the cottage all his
life. His grown up children had moved away – one to L’Ancresse and one to Grand Rocque. He managed to make
it sound as if they were at the other end of the earth, not on the same small island. Charlotte warmed to the old
man who, at nearly 90, was proud to be looking after himself and the cottage unaided. Mr Sebire answered all
the general questions without any digression, unlike Mrs Falla.
‘We’re particularly keen to learn more about the local Resistance, Mr Sebire. Did you get involved yourself, or
know anyone who did?’
He grinned mischievously, displaying a row of gaps in his teeth.
‘Of course I did! Wanted to give them Jerries what for, I did. Was good fun at first, but towards the end it got
nasty, with people being arrested and sent away. Not that it stopped us, mind. We just had to be more careful,’
he said, with a wink.
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She smiled. ‘I’ve spoken to other islanders and someone mentioned the Batiste brothers, Edmund and Harold
as being in the Resistance. Did you know them?’
His face clouded. ‘Yes, I knew them. I worked a bit for their father, Neville. Edmund was a nice lad, but that
Harold!’ He shook his head. ‘He were a nasty piece of work. Never trusted him. Something shifty about him, I
reckon. Greedy bugger, too. He and his dad dealt on the black market, they did. No wonder he’s worth so much
now.’
Charlotte leant forward, all ears. ‘But I understood it was Edmund who betrayed some neighbours and died
violently.’
‘He were no traitor! Someone started those rumours about him days before he died. All smelt a bit fishy to
me, but I couldn’t do anything except tell people not to listen to no rumours. I had my suspicions at the time and
I’m convinced now I was right, after what happened.’
Her heart was beating faster as she asked, ‘What suspicions?’
Mr Sebire looked her in the eye. ‘Why, it was Harold who started those rumours, of course. To protect his
own skin.’
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chapter twenty-five
Charlotte gasped. ‘What! You mean Harold was the informer, not Edmund? But what made you think so?’
‘Because a few days before the rumours started I saw Harold talking to a German soldier and he was pointing
to a house along the lane, belonging to the Ogiers, a couple of good-hearted folk if ever there were. To be honest,
I didn’t think much of it at the time, and then shortly after the rumours about Edmund began, he was killed. I
didn’t want to stir things up for the Batistes, figuring they had enough to worry about so I kept schtum.’ He
twisted his hands together and his face was full of sorrow as he added, ‘Then I heard Mr Ogier had been arrested
for hiding an illegal wireless and was sent to prison. Which is when I put two and two together. I’ve often wished
the ol’ bugger Harold had got his just deserts instead of lording it over everyone as he has for years.’
Rendered speechless as the full impact of what Mr Sebire said sank in, Charlotte wanted to stand up and do a
happy dance. Decorum and caution held her back. As far as the old man was concerned, she was helping Jeanne
with her research, not trying to obtain justice for Edmund.
‘How utterly fascinating, Mr Sebire, and I’m sure Jeanne could use this kind of thing in her novel. Add a bit of
spice to the story, sort of thing. But naturally, no real names would be used.’
‘More’s the pity! Still, sometimes life has a way of bringing things home to roost, don’t you reckon?’ The old
man looked as if he wasn’t too sure if it was true.
‘Absolutely. But in the meantime, please don’t feel bad about what happened all those years ago. You were
not to know how things would turn out. Now, I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ Charlotte said, standing up,
‘and I really must go. Thank you again, Mr Sebire,’ she said, shaking his hand.
Once in the car she let out a little whoop of joy before starting the engine and driving to La Bella Luce for a
celebratory lunch. Before she went inside she had to make a call.
~ ~
Andy was tearing his hair out, metaphorically speaking. He had promised a client a finished set of drawings by
the end of the day and it was a close call whether or not he could do it. When his mobile started beeping he was
tempted to ignore it, but when a quick glance told him the caller was Charlotte he changed his mind. Their last
conversation on Monday had been a bit strained.
‘Hi, Charlotte. How are you?’
He listened with mounting excitement as she relayed what Mr Sebire had said, her own elation palpable.
‘Brilliant news!’ He sprang out of his chair and paced around his office. ‘I can’t wait to confront Harold with
this, show him I know the truth–’
Charlotte cut in, ‘Andy, I’m not sure it’s wise. Think about it. Do you really want to alert Harold to the fact
you’re checking up on him? Until we uncover the truth behind Edmund’s death and why your father hasn’t been
accepted as the rightful heir, then wouldn’t it be better to keep this
to ourselves? I know where you’re coming
from, but…’
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He knew she was right, but for a minute had enjoyed the thought of seeing Harold’s face as he told him what
he knew.
‘Okay. I take your point. But at least now we know Edmund was innocent and I think my father should be
told. I don’t know how or why, but it might have something to do with him not pushing for his inheritance.
Agreed?’
‘Hmm. Can’t see why it would hurt to tell him, but you’ll have to come up with a good reason for how you
found out.’
‘True. Let me think.’ He sat down and idly tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘Right, how’s this? Dad knows about
Jeanne’s novel and I can say she has a researcher who’s talking to locals about the occupation and suspected
collaboration. And someone from St Martins mentioned suspecting Harold was an informer and why, adding his
brother Edmund had been falsely accused. Does that sound okay?’
‘I think so, as long as you don’t mention Mr Sebire by name. He’s our secret weapon against Harold.’
‘Yes, agreed. What I want is for Dad to open up about why he didn’t fight Harold for his inheritance. If he
doesn’t, I can’t see a way forward.’ His fingers continued to drum on the desk as he considered calling on his
father that evening. Reluctantly, he knew his client took priority. Perhaps tomorrow…
‘Are you still there, Andy? You’ve gone quiet.’
‘Sorry, I was thinking about Dad. I’m afraid I’ve got to crack on, but I’m truly grateful for your help, again. I’ll
book somewhere nice for tomorrow night as your reward.’
She laughed. ‘Everywhere we go here is nice. But I look forward to it. Speak soon.’
As he clicked off the phone he made a mental note to ring his father later to ask if he could pop round first
thing the next morning. The sooner he knew about Edmund’s innocence, the better.
Andy knocked on the door at nine o’clock, to be greeted by his mother’s bright smile.
‘ Bon jour, mon ange. What is it that brings you here? Your father has become intrigued after you called,’ she
said, leaning forward for a kiss.
‘Hello, Maman. I’ll tell you both once you’ve made a pot of your excellent coffee. And how is Dad?’ he said as
they headed into the kitchen, his father nowhere to be seen.
She frowned. ‘His back has been better since he is not doing so much the fishing, but his temper is not so
good. He is missing the boat and I am missing to have him out of the house!’ she said, putting the kettle on. ‘But
we both hope he can be soon back to normal.’ She gave Andy a searching look. ‘We both are glad for this help he
has received from the centre, but one wonders how long they can be so generous.’ Andy shuffled his feet. ‘I’ve
been assured the treatments won’t stop until Dad’s as good as new. So don’t worry, Maman.’
She pursed her lips but kept quiet.
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‘Where is the old boy, anyway?’
‘Do not let him hear you speak of him this way! He is in the garden, bringing me some vegetables for our
soup. Go to him now and tell him I have made coffee.’
Andy let himself out of the back door and followed the path around to the vegetable patch at the bottom of
the garden. He could see his father bent over, pulling up a large head of cauliflower and placing it in a trug
containing carrots and leeks.
‘Hi, Dad. Mum’s got the coffee on.’ He looked closely at the rows of vegetables. ‘The crop looks good this year,
better than last year’s, I think.’
His father straightened up and nodded. ‘Yes, your mother’s worked hard on it, laying on plenty of vraic as
fertiliser. Right, I think that’s enough, we can go in.’ He picked up the trug and they walked back along the path
to the kitchen, to be greeted by the aroma of fresh coffee. Once everyone was settled in the living room, two
pairs of eyes looked at Andy questioningly.
He cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, Dad, I’ve found out something pretty important…’ he told them about
Harold and waited for the reaction. His father was quiet for a moment, as if absorbing the import of what Andy
had said. His mother, however, smiled broadly.
‘This is wonderful news, Jim! Your father was innocent, just as your mother always said. Now you may hold
your head up high and,’ she clicked her fingers, ‘to Harold and his family.’
‘Dad?’
Jim looked up, a smile hovering around his mouth. ‘It’s good news, son, thanks for telling me. Something I
knew in my heart but couldn’t say out loud. Not that it makes much difference. The ol’ devil Harold can’t be
brought to book after all these years and he’s still the one with the money.’ He took a sip of his coffee as if it was
the end of the matter.
Andy was nonplussed. ‘But Dad, don’t you see? You have every right to the family fortune, always have,
regardless of whether or not Edmund was an informer. So if you didn’t pursue your inheritance because you
thought he was guilty, then now’s the time to go for it.’
‘Ah, but that wasn’t the reason, son. So, as I said, nothing’s changed,’ Jim replied, not looking Andy in the eye.
‘So what was the reason, Dad? Must have been a good one to turn away from millions!’ Andy was so annoyed
his hand shook, spilling a drop of coffee. His mother grabbed a tissue and blotted it, tutting as she did so.
His father lifted his eyes and Andy saw the pain in them.
‘I can’t tell you. It’s not something to be discussed. Just accept there was good reason for me to waive any
claim on the property and money.’ He banged his cup on the table, stood up and marched out of the house. Andy
and his mother were left staring at each other, wide-eyed with astonishment.
~ ~
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Charlotte, using Louisa’s car, picked up her mother from La Folie at 11 am. Annette was waiting in the hall,
elaborately dressed in a Chanel suit and Armani coat, topped with a toning bow-trimmed fedora. Charlotte
forced herself to smile as she ushered her mother outside. St Peter Port was in for a treat. She knew Guernsey
had its fair share of stylish, wealthy women, but had never seen anyone quite so dressed-up for a quick shopping
trip and lunch. Thank goodness she had booked a table at La Fregate, highly recommended by Louisa, for their
meal. Which at least would be up to Annette’s standard, she hoped. Charlotte herself was immaculately turned
out in smart trousers, a leather jacket and neat ankle boots. No hat.
‘How are you, Mother? You have more colour in your cheeks than when I last saw you.’
‘That’s probably the make-up. But I do feel somewhat better, thank you, I’ve been able to go out for walks
around the garden and the cliffs. The air’s so bracing by the sea, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, yes, I love it, particularly after being in London.’ She started the car and drove down the lane, while her
mother described a woman she had met at dinner the previous evening. Apparently they had attended the same
boarding school, although not at the same time, and they had spent a pleasant time comparing notes. Charlotte
made appropriate comments as and when required, glad her mother was being sociable with someone.
In spite of her mother’s obsession with designer labels, she did seem to enjoy browsing the small boutique
s
and the only department store, Creaseys. Charlotte, knowing how much Annette loved shoes, also took her down
the front to a pretty shoe shop where she tried on various styles, coming away with three pairs. Her mother,
never the easiest customer, was more mellow than usual and actually thanked the staff for their help. Charlotte
could only think it was the illness or the treatment which was having this effect.
By the time they returned to the car they were both ready for lunch. Although the restaurant was in Town, it
was perched atop a steep hill and Louisa had advised her to drive in case the walk was too much for Annette.
The restaurant had magnificent views, looking down over St Peter Port, the harbour and out to the islands
and Annette looked gratifyingly impressed as they were escorted to a window table. The maître d’ bowed deeply
as he pulled out their chairs and Annette gave him a gracious smile.
Charlotte ordered drinks and they concentrated on their menus.
‘Louisa tells me her father, Malcolm, who owns La Folie, comes here regularly and says the food is excellent,’
she said, glancing across at her mother.
Annette’s eyelids snapped up.
‘Oh, did I not tell you? I met him the other day when he was at the centre. A charming man I thought, and so
devoted to Gillian. He told me about having been a successful hotelier in Canada and how he set up La Folie. Any
recommendation from him is not to be ignored.’
‘I hadn’t realised you’d met, I saw quite a bit of him when Louisa and I became friends and liked him from the
start,’ Charlotte replied, putting down her menu. ‘Are you ready to order, Mother? I am.’
Their order given, the women focussed once more on the view and silence settled around them. Charlotte’s
eyes swept over the harbour and out to Herm, remembering the wonderful day she had spent there with Andy.
Only a few weeks ago, but so much had happened since. A mixture of good and bad. The thought caused her to
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peek at her mother, whose face was a frozen mask as she gazed out of the window. What’s going through her
