The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

‘Hmm. We need to see about that. I’ll come and sit in if you want to go off to the cinema or for a meal.’

  ‘You are very kind. Truly.’

  ‘I lived in this house for years, remember. I know how awful it can be.’ She didn’t add that she also knew only too well how mean her husband could be. There were standards of loyalty to be observed, whatever one’s private feelings.

  Greg was delighted. ‘Marvellous! What shall we do?’

  ‘Let’s ask George and Margery to make up a foursome.’

  Which pleased Greg even more. ‘Brilliant! We could get tickets for the GADOC play at the Central Hall next week.’ GADOC was the Guernsey Amateur Dramatic and Operatic Club.

  ‘And have a bite of supper afterwards?’

  ‘Why not?’ He picked her up in a bearlike hug and swung her feet precariously round the room.

  It was a beginning. Thereafter, if Maureen was unable to sit with Suzanne, Greg and Sarah somehow managed to find someone who could, at least once a fortnight. As the weather improved again, they even played some tennis together—when Greg was willing to stand up to Andrew and insist on having his rightful one and a half days off per week.

  *

  Suzanne was running around the beach in her tiny red bathing suit and frilly sun bonnet playing in rockpools one hot August day, when Ethel finally had an opportunity for a serious discussion with Sarah, about Paul.

  ‘We are still meeting a couple of times a week, either for tennis or to go to the cinema.’ She hated the continuing deceit of it, but she couldn’t persuade herself to break off the relationship.

  Sarah peered at her through dark glasses. ‘Are you in love with him?’

  Ethel swallowed, studying the sandcastle at her feet. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Paul loves you?’

  Her sister shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He has never said so.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me . . . how far the friendship has gone?’

  ‘He has kissed me a couple of times. We went for a cliff walk last Thursday evening and held hands all the way.’ Whatever that signifies she thought miserably. ‘At this rate we’ll never get to know each other really well.’

  ‘You could come down and baby-sit for us occasionally, and bring him too, if you don’t think it’s too far to contemplate.’

  ‘Sarah, you are a darling, but I don’t want to involve you in any upset with Ma. You’ve got enough to contend with at Les Marettes.’

  ‘Ma need never know. And Alice wouldn’t know who Paul is, even if she saw him. Though you could always introduce him by another name, if necessary.’ Sarah had felt more than a little concerned about Ethel for years. She was such an attractive, lively person . . . but so alone without a man of her own. And since her own marriage, the warmth and intimacy shared with Greg having taken over the closeness she had enjoyed with her sister for so long, she was more than ever aware that Ethel needed a similar union.

  Tempted, the older girl brooded on how to broach the idea with Paul. She lit another cigarette. ‘I suppose I could tell him I couldn’t go out with him, next time he asks, because I’m sitting-in.’

  ‘With the throwaway remark that he could always keep you company if he was doing nothing else.’

  ‘Maybe I could give him some supper . . .’

  ‘And a drink. Listen to the radio.’

  ‘Play snakes and ladders!’ They both laughed and Ethel stubbed her cigarette out in the sand. ‘I’ll think about it. Now let’s go for a swim with my niece.’

  Splashing about in the shallows with Nelson and the toddler, the sisters didn’t mention the subject again that afternoon. The sky was a clear, steely blue, a stray breeze occasionally ruffling the wavelets. Ethel fetched her Brownie Box camera to record the excited Suzanne dissolving into squeals of laughter. She loved the child, wanted to hug her, spoil her, and wondered if she would ever have a daughter of her own. It was becoming increasingly doubtful; she would be thirty-three next birthday, pretty ancient to be starting a family especially when there was no prospective father in view.

  At which point her thoughts returned to Paul—and a miserable lump of lead grew in her stomach.

  While Sarah threw a ball for the dog, she wrapped a towel round Suzanne and carried her back up the beach, chortling and chattering to the infant, attempting to smother her anguish; hide it as much from herself as from her sister.

  *

  ‘I gather from Victoria that you have been seeing one of the Ozanne gels, from the farm,’ Arabella boomed at her son as she drove the Rolls very fast along the Forest Road.

  Drat Victoria! I should have remembered she’s incapable of keeping a confidence. ‘Yes,’ Paul replied.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Ethel.’

  ‘Oh, the dreadfully tall one with the freckles.’ She swerved to avoid a farm cart. ‘Probably quite a reasonable gel,’ her voice sounding distinctly doubtful, ‘but one does have to be a little careful. Not exactly Government House Set.’

  ‘No. Thank God.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Arabella turned a piercing glare on her youngest son.

  ‘Look out, Mater! Don’t want scratches all down the wing!’

  His mother returned her attention to the road but made no effort to decelerate.

  ‘Meaning,’ Paul said, ‘she’s too intelligent for that lot.’

  ‘Why on earth do you make such an un-British statement? You cannot be serious!’

  ‘I’m absolutely serious. Never met a worse bunch of sycophants and toadying social climbers in my life. Anyone would think the Lieutenant Governor was some sort of god!’

  ‘One presumes you are reflecting the jaundiced attitude of some mortally offended rustic. Really, your socialist leanings are becoming a bit of a bore. I say, you’re not taking this gel too seriously, are you?’

  ‘Would it matter?’

  ‘Of course it would. You know Melissa Carrington-Thorpe is lined up for you, just as soon as she leaves finishing school in Paris.’

  Paul wasn’t sure how he felt about Ethel, apart from enjoying her company, but he had very positive thoughts on the Carrington-Thorpe female. And none of them were good. He was not bolshy; although like Ethel he hated bad atmosphere. He also hated having his opinions formed for him by the older generation, as though it was their right. Nor did he want a wife selected for him by scheming parents . . . ‘Last time I saw Melissa she was a tiresome brat in pigtails. Quite positively not worth considering as wife material.’

  ‘She has grown up since then.’

  ‘Good. She needed to,’ Paul retorted.

  Arabella’s mouth narrowed to a thin, red line as she swung the car into the driveway, showering the flower borders with gravel.

  *

  ‘Sandhurst!’

  Bertie’s parents and siblings forgot the supper piled on the dining table, to give him their undivided attention.

  ‘When did you hear you’d got in?’

  ‘When will you go?’

  ‘Where is Sandhurst?’ Aline asked.

  Everyone was very excited and Hubert, particularly, was delighted and proud that his son had been accepted. Not least for the satisfaction of putting the noses of the army officers up the hill out of joint.

  ‘Major Kettlehurst, head of the college cadet force, told me he’d had a letter of confirmation this morning,’ Bertie grinned. ‘I’ve no idea yet when I go up. They’ll notify me in due course.’

  They returned to the meal, discussing the army and related topics, until they were interrupted by John. His head appeared round the door, ‘Just to let you know, Pa, that I’m driving Mary to the maternity hospital. Seems the baby’s on the way.’ He turned to his two sisters. ‘Could one of you go and sit in with Joseph, please?’ And without waiting for an answer he was gone.

  ‘You’d better go,’ Aline told Ethel. ‘The little beggar won’t listen to me. Never does a thing he’s told.’

  ‘Sorry. I’ve already got tickets for the cinema.’

  Aline pouted
. ‘Who with?’

  ‘Kiff Drew,’ Ethel lied.

  ‘I thought she was Sarah’s friend.’ There was a suspicious note in Aline’s voice.

  ‘Mine too. Kiff and I get on very well.’

  ‘Can’t you put her off?’

  ‘No!’ Ethel put down her knife and fork. ‘I must hurry or I’ll miss the bus,’ and she strode out of the room, leaving her sister fuming.

  *

  ‘I’ve got to make a phone call,’ Ethel told Paul at the door of the cinema. ‘I told the family I was coming with a girlfriend and I must let her know!’

  Two minutes later she rejoined him, smiling. ‘Thank heavens she was home!’

  ‘Aren’t families hell,’ he remarked as they took their seats. ‘Always trying to run one’s life.’

  ‘Yours too?’

  ‘Absolutely! I really am getting fed up with it. I hate their criticism of our friendship. If only we could meet normally like other people do.’

  She hesitated only for a second. ‘It could be arranged.’

  ‘It could? How?’

  Ethel explained about sitting in for Sarah and Greg.

  ‘Marvellous!’ he said, grasping her hand. ‘When do we start?’

  A week later they sat together on the sofa at Les Marettes. It had all been so easy; no awkward questions asked. Suzanne was sound asleep in her bedroom. Music crackled softly over the radio.

  They ate the supper Sarah had left for them, then Ethel cleared away the empty plates and served coffee. ‘Sugar?’ she asked. She felt a little awkward: was their conversation inhibited? Or were they simply enjoying a companionable silence?

  ‘Yes please. Two.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t think it very forward of me to suggest this . . . arrangement,’ she murmured.

  ‘Are you aware that your eyes go a very dark brown when you’re worried?’ He patted the cushion beside him. ‘Come, sit and relax.’

  She smiled, settling at the far end of the sofa. ‘It seems different, in the cinema.’

  ‘Will it seem different at the Careys’ party next Saturday?’

  ‘I’m not likely to be invited. We don’t mix.’

  ‘From now on you do. My invitation says “and friend”. Will you come?’

  ‘Love to, but it might prove impossible. What sort of party is it?’

  ‘Cocktails.’

  ‘Dress?’

  ‘Black tie.’

  Ethel did a mental assessment of her wardrobe, then realised that that wasn’t the problem. ‘How on earth can I get out of the house in a cocktail dress without a long explanation of where I’m going?’

  ‘Oh dammit,’ he said crossly, ‘surely you can think of some excuse. Can’t your sister help?’ This was getting a bit much; maybe he should have asked one of Victoria’s friends, instead. He gave a shudder. Perish the thought! Better to go solo!

  Ethel misinterpreted the shudder and felt devastated. ‘Would it be better for you to go with someone else? Then you could be sure of a partner.’

  She looked so miserable he felt an absolute cad. ‘Oh, Ethel, I’m so sorry I snapped. No. There isn’t anyone I want to go with but you.’ He put an arm round her and their kisses lasted till they both needed to surface for air.

  After which Ethel made up her mind she would be at the Carey’s cocktail party come hell or highwater.

  *

  It was a splendid affair.

  The Careys’ house was at the top of the Grange, in Town, huge rooms spread with Aubusson carpets under high ceilings and crystal chandeliers. Ethel couldn’t claim acquaintance with a soul but knew she looked stunning in her floating pale green chiffon . . . which had prompted raised eyebrows and caustic comments as she darted out of the house to her waiting taxi. To hell with them all! That was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight she would enjoy herself to the limit! Gorgeous young men danced attendance on her and she gloried in the envious glances from other girls as she and Paul exchanged intimate eye contact across the room.

  Excusing herself from the rather effete young man who was boasting to her of his ‘bag’ at the most recent shoot, she worked her way through the crush towards Paul, overhearing snippets of conversation en route which made her thankful Sarah wasn’t there: they would surely have collapsed in giggles.

  ‘. . . and Sir Charles said “Darling, I just adore that perfume”. . .’

  ‘. . . sacked another chambermaid. The third in a week, my dear!’

  ‘. . . met them when we were dining with His Excellency last week. Charming, of course, but hardly the right sort . . .’

  Paul grabbed her arm. ‘Had enough, old girl?’

  ‘This is only my fourth glass. Define enough!’

  Paul laughed. ‘My brother Aubrey says, “When I’m lying on the floor and you kick me, if my eyelid flickers then pour another one in.’”

  ‘Then I’ve a long way to go!’ Ethel drained her glass and took another from the salver of a passing waiter. ‘I could really go to town on these cherries.’

  ‘That’s because fruit absorbs all the alcohol,’ he warned. Then asked, ‘Have I told you yet that you are the most beautiful girl in the room?’

  ‘Mmm. Lots of times. But don’t stop, I like it.’

  ‘Unfortunately I’m not the only one who thinks so. I’m having to spend my evening warning off the other fellows.’

  ‘Spoil sport!’

  Later, when the party finally broke up, they joined a group of young guests going on to round off the evening with dinner at the Royal Hotel. At ten-thirty Ethel and Paul were having a wonderful time, singing songs round a piano which someone called Maisie was playing—extremely badly, but nobody cared.

  *

  That same evening William was at Filly’s house. They had had supper with her parents and her brother Martin, all of whom had gone off to the latter’s school where he was performing in a concert, leaving the young couple alone, listening to the radio.

  Everyone wondered why William hadn’t proposed yet, not least of all William himself. He was very fond of the bubbly blonde whom he’d known all his life—but there was the problem. Apart from the odd, occasional date, he had never gone out with anyone else and couldn’t get over the notion that what he felt for Filly had more to do with habit, than with love. He couldn’t stop wondering about the term ‘love at first sight’: was there something fantastically special out there waiting for him? Something he would never experience if he married Filly before it happened?

  Listening to the other chaps at the bank talking about their girls, about the oomph factor: how they were nearly driven out of their minds by the feelings the girls roused in them, William realised they were talking about an experience he’d never known.

  ‘Do you want to stay in, William?’ Filly asked, longing for him to say yes and spend the evening kissing and cuddling her. ‘Or would you rather go for a walk?’

  Which made William feel guilty. If he were one of the other chaps he’d opt to stay in, without hesitation, relishing the opportunity to get her into his arms . . . So why did such a prospect not enthrall him? Wasn’t he normal? Was he under-sexed? He certainly was not one of those, he was quite sure about that! ‘It’s a nice evening. Why don’t we walk along the Cobo Road for a bit before dark?’

  ‘Lovely idea,’ Filly said brightly, hiding her disappointment. She switched off the radio. ‘I don’t think I need a coat. It’s quite warm outside.’

  William followed her out. He felt an absolute worm.

  *

  Maisie was still thumping out modern tunes on the piano at the Royal, when Paul and Ethel drifted off together in search of a nice, secluded spot. Neither were in any doubt about the fact they both wanted to get down to some really serious kissing—not of the sort one could perform in public.

  Perhaps because it was a Thursday, the hotel was teeming with people. Everywhere couples were wandering about between the dining-room, ballroom and bars.

  ‘Have you ever been up in this old lift?’ Paul asked,
standing in front of the wrought iron cage.

  ‘No, where does it go?’ Ethel swayed slightly on her high heels, cocktail glass in one hand and cigarette holder in the other. She was on top of the world; hadn’t felt so ‘devil-may-care’ in years.

  ‘Let’s go and find out, shall we?’ Paul visualised long, empty corridors with convenient nooks.

  He was partly correct: the corridors were long and did have plenty of nooks . . . unfortunately they weren’t empty.

  ‘Damn!’ he said, and opened the nearest door. ‘What’s in here?’

  ‘It’s a bedroom.’ Ethel stated the obvious.

  ‘Unoccupied. Look, no luggage, no clothes.’

  ‘Well then, no one will mind if we stay a few minutes, will they?’ There was scarcely time to put her glass down on the dressing-table before he began kissing her. She kicked off her shoes and responded with enthusiasm. He was creating sensations in her abdomen she had never experienced in her life. Waves of weakness flowed from her head to her knees, and when she felt him fiddling with the million tiny buttons down the back of her dress she had no desire to stop him. Not that he got very far and in the end she allowed him to slip the straps from her shoulders, letting the bodice fall to her waist.

  It was only two short steps to the bed.

  *

  The grandfather clock in the hall was striking two when Ethel tiptoed up to her room. The house was in darkness, but she knew every step and stair—every hazardous give-away.

  She undressed and got into bed, but there was no question of sleep: it had all been too exciting. Beautiful. Painful but wonderful. She lay in the darkness, reliving every precious moment, aching for it to happen again; knowing that even if it never did, for one beautiful moment in her life she had lived!

  *

  The Christmas of 1931, Suzanne was nearly two; old enough to thoroughly enjoy Christmas, tearing enthusiastically into coloured packages, disregarding the contents and playing gratefully with the wrapping paper. Mary’s permanent frown deepened when Nelson was allowed to join the party, but none of the others at Val du Douit objected to his well-disciplined participation.

  Sarah had been nervous about Nelson’s reaction to the baby at first, but his careful restraint and awareness of Suzanne’s fragility, soon dispelled her misgivings. In fact his obvious affection for the toddler provided much entertainment in the Ozanne household and they watched with huge amusement as he retrieved her toys, dropped them at her side, then nudged them against her till she picked them up.