The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  It was a very relaxed meeting lasting five minutes before Greg and Jonathan joined their womenfolk in the sitting room.

  “I told Jonathan we thought they should wait till they had got a home together. But it seems there is a home ready and waiting.”

  Sarah’s mouth formed a large O. “Waiting?”

  Jonathan explained about the old family house he planned to turn into an hotel. “And naturally it will be marvellous having Sue to help, after her experience at Val du Douit.”

  Sarah tried to feel as happy and confident as the young couple, and failed. It was all so sudden! Only weeks ago Sue had been anxiously watching for the postman to deliver letters from David; not that either she or Greg wanted the childhood romance to continue . . . the thought of Sue going off to live in Wales was bad enough, but when the thought occurred of her going to live in Canada the whole concept was appalling. The Martels were a nice family and Jonathan an ideal prospect . . . hopefully. But Sue hardly knew him. He was so much older, a man of the world. Dare she say anything, risk upsetting the relationship between Sue and herself? She looked helplessly at Greg.

  Reading her thoughts, Greg said, “Yes. I think it all sounds splendid. Nevertheless I’m sure my wife and I both feel it might be best to announce your engagement on Sue’s nineteenth birthday, next January, with a possible summer wedding to follow.”

  “Oh Daddy! Why? What is the point of waiting a whole year?”

  “We want you both to be absolutely sure . . .” Sarah began.

  “We are! Aren’t we, darling?” Sue, sitting on the arm of Jonathan’s chair, gazed adoringly down into the compelling blue eyes.

  “I’m sure Jonathan won’t mind giving us a week to consider the options, will you?” Greg asked the young man.

  “Of course not. Whatever you want.” He was most effusive. “But as far as Sue and I are concerned we would like to regard ourselves as engaged, even if unofficially.”

  Receiving a fractional shrug from Sarah in response to his glance, Greg nodded. “Very well.”

  *

  The engagement announcement was in the Guernsey Evening Press the day before the annual Liberation Day Celebrations on 9 May, but only after a great deal of argument and arm-twisting from Sue. She was ecstatic, not only because she was well aware of being the envy of most girls in their crowd for landing the most attractive fish in the pond, but also because she was about to realise her dream – soon to start a home and family of her own.

  Too soon, Sarah thought, secretly. However Sue’s lively enthusiasm was infectious, sweeping everyone along with her in preparation for an August wedding. Clothes were still rationed, so coupons were gathered and hoarded. Mother and daughter paid several visits to Lovell’s for bed and table linen and towels for the trousseau. Mrs Tostevin, who had made Sarah’s dress in 1929, was too crippled with arthritis to sew anymore, but she had taught her daughter, now married and living at St Sampson’s, who accepted the commission to produce dresses for the bride and bridesmaids. There was a very limited range of materials available: Sue fell for a heavy white satin to be made up into a slim, straight pattern with ample train but Sarah and Aunt Filly talked her out of it.

  “Far too old and sophisticated for an eighteen-year-old.”

  Which had actually been exactly what Sue wanted. However she was far too happy and excited to argue, and allowed herself to be talked into a white silk taffeta, with the same material in very pale blue for the bridesmaids – Aunt Filly’s daughter, Anne, and Sue’s cousins who lived in England, Josette and Marivonne.

  “Mummy, do you still have your own wedding veil?”

  “Why yes, I think so. Up in the attic, somewhere.”

  “Let’s get it down, then. I’d love to wear it if it hasn’t been chewed up by mice and moths.”

  Sarah was thrilled at the idea.

  Filly had managed to obtain two silk parachutes through a friend in London; these were being sold off in hundreds, no longer required by the RAF after the war, and women everywhere were cutting into the precious panels to make nightdresses and luxurious lingerie.

  Hand in hand, Jonathan and Sue wandered round his old family home, making plans. “We’ll need a decent-sized dining room and residents’ lounge,” Jonathan said, “and a cocktail bar, too. But that could be quite small and intimate. Possibly Father’s old study.”

  “Wonderful,” Sue agreed. Of course she agreed with virtually all his ideas. They all seemed so good. “What about the guest bedrooms? And our own quarters?”

  “I thought we might use the dower wing for ourselves. It hasn’t been lived in for years, only used for storage, but it would be fun to do it up, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve never seen it. Can we go and look now?”

  It smelled musty and was festooned with cobwebs, but the bride-to-be was enchanted. “Oh, darling! It is completely perfect.” She waltzed from room to room picturing cretonne curtains and chair covers, a dark oak, gate-legged table and log fires; a brass bedstead and patchwork quilt, and copper pans on the kitchen wall. “When can we start work on it?” Her very own home!

  Thereafter, they spent every available minute cleaning the place out, painting, hanging wallpaper and scrounging furniture from their families. Sarah went back to Lovell’s with Sue, to help her choose curtain materials. The beautiful wooden floors were repolished and scattered with miscellaneous rugs. Sue loved old, traditional styles, Jonathan preferred modern, but it didn’t matter as everything was mixed together in haste. Sarah’s sensibilities were offended by the medley, but Sue didn’t care, it was their home and she loved it. Wedding presents began arriving in the shape of crockery, glass and cutlery. These were assembled at Les Mouettes for display after the reception.

  Greg opened the bills with horror, but Sarah didn’t bat an eyelid. “We only have one daughter, darling.” She kissed his cheek. “This is a one off. When Richard marries it will be someone else writing the cheques.”

  “Thank God for that!” He landed a playful smack on her behind. “I know it isn’t Sue who is stripping the shirt off my back. You are thoroughly enjoying your spending spree, aren’t you?”

  The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes deepened. “Yes, sweetheart. I am. And I believe you are too.”

  *

  Every post brought congratulations on Sue and Jonathan’s engagement: Sue developed a sixth sense for timing its arrival and dashed to the door to take it from the postman, prancing back through the house to show her mother. “Oh look! A lovely card from Meggie. You remember, my best friend in Denbigh. And a letter enclosed. I’ll read it later.”

  Near the bottom of the pile was a letter with a Canadian stamp – addressed in David’s handwriting. Sue hadn’t told him of her engagement so it couldn’t be congratulations, just a late reply to her ‘Dear John’ letter.

  Sarah watched as the envelope was slit open and waited, hoping the boy had taken the jilting well. Then she bit her lip as a scarlet flush crept up Sue’s neck.

  “Oh no, Mum!” The girl looked up from the letter, eyes swimming. “I can’t believe it. He says he’s devastated! He’s coming back to talk it over!”

  Mother and daughter stared at each other in horror.

  “You’ll have to send him a cable, telling him about the engagement,” Sarah muttered, adding, when she saw the colour drain from Sue’s face, “There is no point in blaming yourself. These things often happen when alliances are made so very young. And he would be wrong to expect to you to wait for him for years. Plus the fact that people do change; there is no saying you would even have liked each other when you met again.”

  “Quite.” Sue desperately wanted to believe it, but later, alone in her bedroom, she gave way to tears. Poor, dear David. If only she had known how strongly he felt . . . but would it have made any difference? Could anything have stopped her falling in love with Jonathan? She looked at her fiancé’s photograph standing on the bedside table, and smiled. No, nothing. Yet she knew that deep down she wou
ld always love David, in a way. She drifted over to the window, watched petunias nodding at each other in the warm wind, and blew her nose. If only she hadn’t had to hurt him so, she wouldn’t be feeling so guilty.

  Back in the kitchen, Sarah handed her a piece of paper. “Just a suggested wording for your cable.”

  Sue read it and gave a half smile. “Thanks. Yes that looks fine.”

  “Like me to phone it through for you?”

  “Please, Mum. And let’s pray it gets there before he leaves.”

  The click of the garden gate had always prompted happy anticipation, of visiting friends, of exciting mail and, latterly, of Jonathan’s arrival. Now the sound filled Sue with alarm that David might turn up, unannounced. Gradually, day by day, she managed to eliminate him from her mind, most of the time, but it was during those moments when she was tired, or couldn’t sleep that she remained vulnerable to waves of guilt . . . which she would deliberately turn into anger. After all, it was his fault for not showing more interest in their future long ago.

  Apart from which, everything was progressing very smoothly, and best of all there were few disagreements over the wedding preparations, largely because Sue was too happy to be bothered arguing. What did it matter whether Mummy chose a finger buffet reception or a sit-down meal? So long as there was ample champagne.

  *

  It had been an excellent season for the tomato trade that year, so, despite the mounting stack of bills, Greg was very happy, especially when the sun rose on the day of the wedding, to shine non-stop until it set over the west coast, and even more so when he climbed into the beribboned taxi beside Sue; she had never looked so beautiful and his chest swelled with pride under his morning suit. Sarah finished arranging Sue’s dress so that it wouldn’t be crushed and gazed at her daughter for a brief moment before the door was shut. A moment long enough for the picture to be etched on her memory for all time. The low neckline of the dress was gathered into a lace-edged, stiffened ruff, with ruffs on her elbows below puffed sleeves. The fitted bodice met the full, gathered skirt under a wide sash, tied in a bow at the back with ends down to the flounced hemline, from which peeped dainty satin shoes. Sarah’s veil was held in place on Sue’s head by a cap stitched with seed pearls, matching the graduated pearl necklet and earrings given to her by her groom. Her dark hair lay curled on her shoulders, her green eyes were enhanced with a suspicion of eyeshadow, her lips reddened and her summer freckles dusted with powder. She held her bouquet of summer lilies and stephanotis very carefully, so that the front of her dress would not be creased.

  Sarah’s mind flashed back to the car in which she herself had been driven to her wedding at St Saviour’s Church, Pa sitting beside her, trying to calm her nerves. She sighed. Had that been a million years ago . . . or only yesterday? Of one thing she was sure, she had never looked as lovely as Sue did today.

  She hurried back into the house to collect Richard, who was bored stiff at having to be dressed up in a smart suit during the summer holidays. “Can’t I take the coat off? It looks stupid in this weather,” he grumbled.

  “You look splendid,” Sarah assured him, adjusting his carnation buttonhole. She paused to check her reflection in the hall mirror; the matching floral edge-to-edge dress and coat were of pale amber and green polished cotton, the dark green, wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with silk flowers to match. The corsage of orchids hardly showed up at all against her coat, but it was too late to worry about that now: the taxi was at the door, waiting to rush them to the church ahead of the bride.

  There was no way Grandma Gaudion could be left at home, so Andrew and Maureen had brought her, no enviable task. Sarah glimpsed the tight-lipped irritation on Marie’s face, no doubt at finding herself in the pew behind the older woman whose sotto voce queries to her son Sarah coud hear reverberating round the church, though she couldn’t actually see her. William and his wife Annemarie, who had brought their bridesmaid daughters over from Cornwall for the wedding, were sitting with Marie and Aline, and soon distracted them with complimentary comments about their outfits. Wisely, John and Edna sat further back than was their right, for fear that his mother and sister would stage an embarrassing scene.

  Alone with Richard in the front pew, Sarah saw Jonathan glance at his watch before looking anxiously over his shoulder towards the door. She caught his eye and winked, a reassurance that the bride was on her way.

  *

  The bridal car had driven very slowly round the Vale Castle to St Sampson’s harbour, allowing Sarah and Richard to overtake. The pace made Sue restless. She fidgeted with her bouquet, adjusted the veil, smoothed her dress, until Greg took her hand and squeezed it. “Try to relax, my sweet. Only a few more minutes.”

  Sue smiled at him through the veil, hoping he couldn’t read her mind; she didn’t want him to realise that she had a recurring nightmarish thought . . . that when the rector asked if anyone knew of any just cause or impediment why these two persons should not be joined together, David would jump up at the back of the church and shout I do! Might he have left Canada before the cable arrived? Could he know which church? What time? Her chest pounded. Her mouth was dry.

  Chapter Five – Teenage Bride

  Gathering up the folds of her dress, Sue stepped out of the wedding car, feeling almost faint with excitement. The months since meeting Jonathan, their ‘courtship’ as her mother insisted on calling it, and their short engagement had all flashed by too quickly to be fully assimilated. She hardly dared believe it was actually happening. Why, only six months ago she had still believed herself to be committed to David! The sudden thought made her glance anxiously at St Sampson’s Church door.

  St Sampson had been Bishop of Dol in Brittany. In the sixth century AD he crossed to Guernsey, landed in the natural harbour which was to take his name, and was believed to have been the first Christian preacher in the island. The church which bore his name was built subsequently on the site of his chapel, in the eleventh century.

  Ancient, lichen-covered gravestones stood to the right of the path which curved its way to where the three bridesmaids were waiting in the church doorway. They helped Sue straighten her dress, arranged the ribbon-edged veil and, led by the choir, followed the bride down the steps to the aisle to the sound of Purcell’s Trumpet Voluntary. It was a beautiful church, the long, main aisle leading under what had once been the high organ loft and choir stalls, up to a magnificent triple set of stained-glass windows. Sue’s hand gripped Greg’s arm as she glanced to left and right at the congregation, appreciating their smiles, but with a niggling fear of finding David amongst the sea of faces. That she failed to see him could have been due to the fact that the church was filled to capacity, so with a conscious effort she put him out of her mind and focused on her beloved Jonathan, who was standing a head taller than Norton, his best man, gorgeous enough to turn a girl’s knees to water. He was smiling at her, watching as she handed her bouquet to Anne Warwick, and came to stand at her side as they waited for the service to commence.

  Sue could hear her heart thumping until they had passed the ‘impediment’ bit without interruption; then she relaxed.

  After the signing of the register the organist gave full throttle to the fanfare opening of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. David completely forgotten, Sue walked in stately procession, her fingers laid on the back of Jonathan’s hand, out into the midday heat.

  Photographs seemed to last forever, all the usual groupings plus a succession of extras including Sue with her two grandmothers. Though Marie had shrunk even smaller with advancing years she looked very dignified in dusty pink draped with numerous ropes of pearls and a pearl-grey straw hat. Alice was in a soft blue georgette dress and jacket chosen by Sarah and Maureen. Unfortunately, at the last minute the old lady had discarded the expensive midnight blue hat her daughters-in-law had selected, replacing it with a weird concoction she had found squashed in a dress-box in the attic, looking like a large pile of pancakes and much the same colour.


  Sarah had not seen it as she entered the church and now stared at it in dismay. “What on earth happened?” she hissed at Maureen and Andrew who had accompanied Alice.

  Maureen grimaced. “I nearly had a fit when I saw her on the doorstep! I tried to make her go back inside and change it for the one we bought her but she’d have none of it. Said the new one was too dark for a wedding and if she couldn’t wear the one she had on she wasn’t coming.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Well at least it should inject plenty of humour into the proceedings!”

  A buffet lunch was spread on a long table down the centre of the Royal Hotel ballroom. The bride and groom stood near the door with Sarah and Greg and Jonathan’s mother Jessica, greeting the guests and receiving their congratulations, while the bridesmaids and ushers and other members of the family milled round the room talking to the guests, sipping champagne and eyeing the food.

  There was an early hold-up in the queue of guests when Sue was surprised to see her mother and father leap forward to hug and kiss a middle-aged couple she had no recollection of ever seeing before, together with a line of youths in tow. At last the newcomers were freed to approach the newlyweds.

  “Do you remember your Aunt Ethel?” Sarah asked, dabbing her eyes.

  Sue stared at the tall, bronzed woman and shook her head. “No, to be honest, but now I think of it I have seen photos of you in one of Mummy’s albums. Have you come all the way from New Zealand to be here today?”

  Ethel hugged the bride. “I reckoned it was as good an excuse as any for the black sheep to return. And you won’t remember your Uncle Paul, either. And these are your cousins David, Michael, the twins, Roger and Tim, and Sam.”

  After a feast of hugging, kissing and handshaking, the Laurence family moved on into the room where they were set upon by Ethel’s brothers William and John with their respective wives. Sarah had invited Paul’s mother, Arabella who, together with Marie, had been responsible for banishing their erring young to New Zealand in 1932. Now the two grandmothers, Arabella, tall, beak-nosed and angular, towering over the diminutive Marie, greeted their grandsons and gave the couple an enthusiastic welcome, all the harsh words of the past forgotten. Sarah and John winked at each other as they spotted their sister Aline standing by, tight-lipped with disapproval.