The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  *

  It worked better than they could have hoped. Easter week, and the reopening of La Rocque Hotel at Port Grat, was still a fortnight away, but fortunately the weather was kind and none of the children were sick on the boat. The hotel bus met their arrival in St Helier and within three hours of leaving home they were installed in their bedrooms.

  Roddy, Stephanie and Debbie were all wildly excited, chasing each other from room to room through the connecting doors and bouncing on all the beds.

  Sue was anxious to stop them before Jonathan got angry, but he forestalled her.

  “Come on, you lot. Let’s get down on the sand while the sun is out.”

  The hotel overlooked St Brelade’s Bay and as soon as Sue had helped Jonathan down the slipway onto the sand, he started a serious ball-catching session with Roddy while Sue set to work on a sandcastle for the girls.

  “Why haven’t we done more of this?” Jonathan said pensively, when all three children ran to the water’s edge to paddle. “My fault, I know. I’ve been too wet to face competing with the fathers with functional legs.”

  Sue couldn’t think of a response, so instead she put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

  Jonathan covered her hand with his own, looked up and smiled ruefully. “My poor, dear Sue. What have I done to you?”

  *

  “Glad you could get away this morning.” George stood in the wheelhouse, one hand on the helm, a mug of tea in the other.

  “Bert is an excellent foreman and I know I can rely on him.” Greg was unravelling the fishing gear out on deck; the friends intended bringing back a good haul by evening. “You know, I’ve made up my mind about that business with Richard.”

  “What have you decided?”

  “That there’s no point forcing him to stay at school. You can lead a horse to water . . .”

  “True! So?”

  “Do you reckon you could use him if he leaves at the end of the summer term?”

  “Of course. In a way, I suppose you must be disappointed he’s not going into the greenhouses with you?”

  Greg finished tying on a fish hook. “On the contrary. It’s darned hard work: eighty hours a week, sometimes. And one is always at the mercy of the markets, and the bugs and diseases.”

  “But you’ve done all right out of them.”

  “So far. And long may it last, but I doubt it will go on forever. One has to spend more and more each year on modernisation, just to be able to compete. The time is going to come when the costs will be so high that producers on the continent will overtake us.”

  “Great Scott! You amaze me! Yet I suppose you could be right. I mean, look at this dear old tub.” He stroked a hand lovingly along the varnished woodwork. “She was built years before the war and she’ll still be going strong twenty years from now, if she’s well-maintained. But this isn’t what people want, today. It’s all speed and easy maintenance. They say that soon all the new hulls are going to be made of this new-fangled fibreglass. Terrible shame.”

  “Nothing stays the same, does it?”

  George snorted. “You can say that again. The island is being ruined with so many cars on the roads now. There must be over twenty thousand.”

  “Never mind,” Greg laughed. “There’s still plenty of fish in the sea.” He headed for the stern and cast out his line.

  *

  “How is Aline nowadays?” John asked.

  Sue had driven up to the Val du Douit Hotel to collect some eggs from the farm. “I never see her. I have phoned a couple of times, but Bertrand always answers and says she is out. And she never rings back.”

  “I saw her driving him along the Forest Road a few days ago and I waved,” Edna said over the sponge mixture she was spooning into baking tins. “But of course I wouldn’t expect her to acknowledge me.”

  “I had better try to see her sometime. Thanks very much for the eggs.” Driving home Sue vowed to make an effort, soon.

  The opportunity arose accidently.

  She had to go to the doctor’s surgery to collect a prescription for Debbie’s cough, and went into the waiting room while it was made up. Aline was sitting there alone. “Hallo, Auntie! I’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages, but your husband always tells me you’re out.”

  “Oh?” Aline looked up at her favourite niece. “He doesn’t like me going off to visit my relatives, you know.” She glanced up nervously at the door.

  Why ever not? Sue wondered. “Anyway, how are you?”

  “I’m all right. I’ve just brought Bertrand here for his check-up.”

  Sue knew her aunt was not all right. She had lost weight and there were dark circles round her eyes. “Well, perhaps I could come round and see you, sometime?”

  “Aline!” Bertrand was standing in the doorway. He summoned her with a jerk of his head.

  Aline jumped up, muttered a goodbye and followed him out.

  Debbie’s medicine was ready and Sue followed, just in time to overhear Bertrand saying “. . . even talking to one of them, after the way they have behaved to you.”

  So! Aline had strung him a hard luck tale about her wicked relatives! And now she was reaping her reward!

  *

  “Are you sure you should be going out? You don’t look at all well.” In fact, Jonathan had been looking quite poorly, recently.

  “Come and give me a hug,” he said, holding out his arms. “You really are so sweet, Sue. I do love you.”

  She held his head against her breasts, not in a sexual way, but rather as she would with her children. Well, in a way he was one of her children, wasn’t he? She kissed his hair. “Seriously, darling, I do think you should go to the doc for an overhaul. Tomorrow, promise me?”

  “I promise I will think about it.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s nearly nine! If I don’t go now it won’t be worth going out at all.”

  “Why don’t you give it a miss, tonight?”

  He smiled up at her, shaking his head. “I need to do this, darling. It’s good for my soul.”

  “What! Having a drink with the boys?” she laughed. “Okay. Off you go and drive carefully.” She had never stopped worrying about him driving, being so disabled. She heard the chair wheels roll along the hall and pause at Roddy’s bedroom door. Moments later when she peeped out of the sitting room, he was leaving the girls’ room. She smiled. He did love them so.

  Sue had intended to stay awake in case Jonathan needed help when he came in. But it had been an exceptionally busy day. The hotel was full, every bedroom occupied – which was unusual so early in the season, their advertising drive had obviously paid off – so there were far more problems to sort out and queries to answer. Twice she had had to produce the First Aid kit after over-adventurous children’s escapades. One lady had contrived to rip the heel off her shoe, which required the alternative repair kit; plus two diabetic menus had to be organised, and arrangements made for an elderly visitor to get to a dentist for his top set to be glued back together! All on top of her regular day’s work. So although she propped herself up on pillows with a book, it fell out of her hands in minutes and she was fast asleep.

  It was four in the morning when a stiff neck woke her. She was surprised to find the light still on. Managing to turn her head, wincing at the pain, she discovered another surprise. No Jonathan! Wide awake in seconds, she swung her feet out of bed and dashed out of the room to find him. Might he have fallen out of his chair, or had he remained in the sitting room to avoid waking her?

  She looked into every room in the bungalow twice before accepting that he had not come home. It was now four-fifteen: there was no way he would still be out with friends at this hour. Oh, dear God! Not another accident?

  The police assured her that no accident had been reported, so she rang the hospital. No. No Mr Martel had been admitted since the old man from the Castel, last week. She would have to try Norton, whatever the time.

  “Er . . . I don’t follow you, Sue,” he said sleepily. “We didn�
��t go out together last night.”

  “Might he have been with any of the others?”

  “I doubt it. Most of them were rehearsing for the Eisteddfod last evening. What time did he go out?” He was now thoroughly awake and sounded concerned.

  “Quite late: about nine.”

  “Do you want me to come round?” he offered.

  “I can’t think what you can do here, at the moment. If he is found, I mean . . . if I have to go out, I might need someone to stay with the children.”

  “Of course. Just give a call, any time.”

  Sue was totally confused. It seemed the next priority was to get dressed in case people came. What people? She dragged on a pair of slacks and a jumper. Stephen. She desperately wanted to speak to him. He would know what to do. But supposing his mother answered? So what?

  Julia sounded as sleepy as Norton had done. “Sue? Do you know the time?”

  Sue explained as coherently as she could.

  “Oh my dear! We’ll be around to you in five minutes.”

  It was actually ten minutes, by which time Sue had suddenly thought of the hotel. Perhaps Jonathan had spent the night there! She ran along the cement path through thick drizzle, unlocked the side door and began switching on lights. Tip-toeing past the reception desk she looked down at her feet and realised they were bare.

  Her hunt was fruitless: Jonathan was nowhere on the ground floor, nor was his wheelchair, and he couldn’t get up to the first floor.

  She was just home, pushing damp feet into her slippers when she heard a car on the gravel. She flew out of the front door but it was only the Martels. All three of them.

  They stood around the kitchen while Julia boiled the kettle, going over all the possibilities.

  “I think I’ll try the police again,” Ted decided. “You never know. What’s the number of his car?”

  At six o’clock Julia asked if Sue would mind if Ted and Stephen went home.

  Stephen shook his head. “No. You and Dad go. I’ll stay here.”

  “But you have to get to work tomorrow . . . I mean today.”

  “Mother, I am not leaving Sue. Nor will I go to work until Jonathan turns up. Right?”

  Julia peered at him under lowered lids, wondering. “Very well. It’s up to you.”

  When Ted and Julia had left, Stephen and Sue remained sitting either side of the kitchen table.

  “Why don’t you go back to bed?” he asked eventually. “I’ll man the phone.”

  “I couldn’t possibly sleep.”

  “No, but at least you will be resting.”

  *

  “Why is Uncle Stephen here, Mummy?” Roddy asked with his mouth full of Puffed Wheat.

  Sue was too befuddled to think of an answer, but Stephen stepped into the breach. “I came round early to bring some things.”

  “What things?” Debbie asked.

  “Er . . . garden tools.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I left them in the garage.”

  Sue sent him a half smile for his ingenuity.

  “Come on, hurry up and I’ll drop you off at school on my way home,” he added, mouthing to Sue over their heads that he would come straight back.

  Sue phoned the hotel with a brief explanation for her absence. “Call me if you have any problems,” she added, “I will probably be at home most of the day.”

  Stephen was walking in through the door when the police telephoned to say they had found Jonathan’s car in the Pembroke Bay car park.

  “Couldn’t you see the wheelchair anywhere?” Sue asked.

  “No, Ma’am. But we will keep looking.”

  Sue was frowning as she put back the receiver, an unpleasant thought building in her mind. “Steve, where’s the tide?”

  “No idea, but it will be in yesterday’s Press. Where is it?”

  “Still in the sitting room where Jonathan left it last night.”

  Stephen fetched it, noting that by coincidence it was folded open at the tide table. “Let’s see. Judging by yesterday’s times it should be low water in a couple of hours. At around eleven. Why?” He looked up at Sue and saw the anguish in her face. “Oh Lord! No! You don’t think . . .”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. Except that I think I’m beyond thinking.” She picked up the kettle. “I feel like having a really strong coffee.”

  “Had I better go down and tell Aunt Jessica?”

  Sue nodded. “I’ve been putting off telling her, not wanting to worry her unnecessarily. But now it is time she knew. Bring her back here if she’ll come.”

  The three of them were sitting round the kitchen table finishing another round of coffees, when the police arrived looking solemn. “Mrs Martel?” a plain clothes man asked. “I’m afraid the news is not good. At ten forty-five this morning a wheelchair was found embedded in the sand near the bottom of the tide.”

  Sue dropped her face into her hands.

  Jessica took a long, deep breath, nodding gently.

  Stephen stood between the two women looking and feeling helpless. He laid a hand on Sue’s shoulder; then removed it. He took his aunt’s hand and drew her up into his arms.

  She breathed deeply again, and laid her head on his chest.

  Three weeks later Jonathan’s body was taken from the water by fishermen setting their crab pots off the Platte Fougere lighthouse.

  The coroner decided that Jonathan must have been trundling across the beach taking the evening air when the wheels of his chair stuck in the sand, and no one was near enough to hear his cries for help before he was submerged by the tide. Death was obviously from accidental drowning.

  *

  Those three weeks had been sheer mental torture. Twenty-one days of asking, “Why?” Everyone was terribly kind but Sue honestly did not want their sympathy. All the family took turns in coming to the bungalow to sit with her and she couldn’t wait to get rid of them. Especially Stephen: her guilt was heavy enough without the added reminder every time she saw him. Luckily he soon got the message, understood, and stayed away. It was easier being alone with the children, once she had found a way to explain their father’s absence.

  The funeral in St Sampson’s Church was short and sad. The family and a few close friends accepted Sue’s invitation to come back to the bungalow afterwards, and though Roddy remained indoors in solemn silence, the girls ran outside to play, their squeals of laughter carried in on the breeze through the open windows.

  The word suicide was never spoken, but it hung in the room like a dark cloud, blotting out the sunshine.

  It was during a long silence when no one could think of anything to say, that Jonathan’s doctor stood up and cleared his throat. “Sue, would you mind very much if I said a few words about Jonathan?”

  “Oh no, please do.” Anything to break the embarrassing silence.

  “In the past eight or nine months I came to know Jonathan as an extremely brave, thoughtful and caring man. I must admit it was not an opinion I had always held, though, Heaven knows, he had good reason to feel a degree of resentment, being so crippled.” Julian Collard’s hands were clasped behind his back as he rocked to and fro on heels and toes. “Unfortunately, the visible problems Jonathan had were not the only ones: I had been treating him for kidney and pancreatic malfunctioning for nearly a year.”

  “But . . .” Sue moved towards him.

  “No, I never told you, Sue. He insisted he didn’t want you or anyone else to know. I was bound to secrecy.”

  “Did he know it was serious?” she asked.

  “Not at first. Nor did I, for that matter. No one could have known the extent of the problem without operating. But gradually he became worse and the medication had to be stepped up. By last autumn it was obvious that his condition was terminal.”

  The mourners, sitting or standing around the room in funereal black dresses and ties, began little pockets of whispered discussion and speculation.

  Dr Collard held up his hand. “Jonathan
had already realised the fact and demanded the truth. When it was explained to him that the condition might well be eased, though not corrected, with surgery, he refused. He was well aware that this could only mean prolonging his pain and discomfort which, I assure you, was already considerable. All he wanted to know was how long he had left.” He paused to finish his drink. “A normal man might have lasted three or four months. It was a credit to his guts and determination to put his affairs in order and leave his family well provided for, that he lived so much longer. His last weeks were agony.” He turned slowly, staring each person in the eye. “I am sure you will all agree with me, that tragic as his accident was, three weeks ago, it came as a merciful release. It allowed him to escape the final torturous end.”

  He sat down.

  No one said a word. Even the children playing outside fell silent.

  The only sound was of mewling gulls, far out to sea beyond Port Grat.

  *

  Everyone was keen to help. Family, friends, hotel staff and guests offered assistance of every kind. Even Major Potter and his wife, who returned year after year despite their endless complaints, felt obliged to lend a hand when they returned to their bedroom one morning after a shopping expedition, to find General Sir Gordon Banks lying under their bed in shirt sleeves replacing a wobbly bed leg.

  “I am beginning to feel quite superfluous,” Sue told Sybil.

  “Great. That is the object of the exercise. Now we can take the children shrimping without having to suffer your nervous twitches every two minutes. Come on, I’ve filled a big tin with sandwiches.”

  The intention was to tire the children but they were still tearing in and out of the water squealing and splashing each other when Sue and Sybil collapsed on their beach towels on the sand. “I’d forgotten how exhausting three hours of fish-hooks and shrimping nets could be!” the young widow gasped.

  “Are you sleeping any better, now?” Sybil asked through the cloud of yellow hair drifting across her face.

  “Yes. I’m beginning to feel more relaxed.”