The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  “What did he say?” Sue asked.

  “He enquired whether I thought sitting at a desk throughout the daylight hours, looking out at the sun you can’t feel, might be better.”

  “That boy has his priorities right,” Stephen said with feeling.

  Roderick stared at his stepfather in surprise. Then shrugged and wandered off.

  “Superb food,” Sue remarked on the way home.

  “And good wine. Too good, really, for alfresco eating.”

  “Alfresco! Sitting at tables laid with white linen and cut glass! You have to be joking!”

  Stephen patted her knee and laughed. “Okay. I’m joking. Now tell me why weren’t the Tetchworth’s there?”

  “They’re in England.”

  “Oh. I wondered if there had been a grand falling out.”

  “No.” Sue shook her head. “Well certainly not with the young. Amanda and Coralie seem to get on very well with Jane. They are often at the Tetchworth’s place. I didn’t know very many of the people there. Did you?”

  “No. I think most of them were English newcomers.”

  “Who don’t fraternise too much with the natives?”

  “I think they’re somewhat put off by the fact that the locals are so appallingly unimpressed by ostentatious wealth.”

  “Oh come on! Not all the newcomers are like that. Some of them are charming.”

  “Yes. I’ve just acquired a new pair of clients whom I think are very nice. You must meet them. They’re keen on tennis and want a court.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Martin and Sheila Gillespie.”

  *

  “Where’s dinner?”

  “In the oven.”

  “Can’t eat it in there. Can I get it out?” Tony asked.

  “It won’t be ready for another half hour.”

  “Why not! I’m starving!”

  “No you’re not, just greedy!” Stephanie snapped. “And what’s more, if it wasn’t for my efforts we would all be well and truly starving!” She stomped out of the kitchen, cradling the baby on her hip.

  “What’s got into her?” Tony asked Melanie as he followed her through to the living room.

  Melanie shrugged, smiling. “We all have the right to our moods, don’t we?” she took the cigarette from Marcus, inhaled, and passed it on to Tony.

  He took a couple of drags and handed it to Stephanie who was standing by the sideboard, taking out a miscellany of mismatched, chipped and cracked plates. “No thanks.”

  “Take it,” he ordered. “You need it.”

  “I said no thanks! I do not need it.”

  Aggressively, he stuck it between her lips.

  Furious, she spat it onto the floor and ground it into the carpet with her heel.

  Tony’s hand shot out and hit her across the ear before she could duck.

  She screamed.

  So did the baby.

  “For Crissake, Tony!” Marcus drawled. “Leave her alone, unless you want to take over as cook!”

  Stephanie fled upstairs. These altercations were beginning to happen more frequently, and she suspected it was because Tony had starting sniffing some hard stuff. It made him behave very oddly at times. He never used to get rough. She was thankful her mother hadn’t met him; his odd behaviour might have surfaced and . . . and what? And nothing. Mum would have done nothing, because she, Stephanie, wanted her to do nothing.

  It was very tempting to taking a lungful of smoke, stop the worrying, stop minding about the occasional swipe from Tony. Stop wondering about what sort of life baby Sarah was going to have . . . her darling little daughter named after her great grandmother.

  *

  Richard and Anne were invited to La Fregate Hotel for dinner with Richard’s old school friend and his wife, Geoffrey and Rosemary Duggan. The Duggans hadn’t been over to the island for two years but as Geoffrey’s mother was ailing they decided to come for a long weekend.

  Walking down the carpeted stairs to the restaurant, Anne was very self-conscious about her dress. She had put on quite a bit of weight since George was born and this was the only respectable garment she could still get into. Just. The trouble was that the buttons down the front were straining too much over her bust and she was terrified one would pop open during the meal.

  “Does it look all right?” she whispered to Richard.

  “Fine. You always look stunning. And I promise that as soon as we’ve replaced the living room window you will have a new dress. Hopefully by Christmas!” He put an arm round her waist to give her a reassuring hug, just as a waiter came to take her wrap.

  Geoff and Rosemary were waiting in the bar, looking as prosperous and self-assured as ever.

  “Splendid to see you again, Richard. How are you, Anne?” the London businessman shook hands and kissed cheeks with accomplished ease. “Will you have a spot of bubbly? Anne, do sit here by me. How are your boys?”

  Once in the dining room and the meal progressed Richard found himself able to relax a little more, though he remained very conscious of the difference in their lifestyles. Rosemary produced photos of their home in Surrey, large with lawns and a waterfall. The pair talked of their annual skiing trips, and their cruises. Anne said they loved the islands so much they stayed at home for holidays, taking lots of trips to Herm and Sark.

  Afterwards, on the way home, Richard was very quiet.

  “What’s up, darling?” Anne asked.

  “Just thinking about something Roderick said the other day.”

  “What?”

  “That if you go on to university and get a degree you have the world at your feet. You can get a job in anything you like, climb the ladder to success . . .”

  “What as?”

  “Anything. Doesn’t matter what the subject. Providing you have flexed your mental muscles sufficiently you can become a leader in business, finance, you name it.” He patted her knee. “Doesn’t it get to you, sometimes, that people like the Duggans have so much and yet we have so little by comparison?”

  “Depends on your priorities. I would hate to be like her, having to employ someone else to bring up my children while I go out to work for money for fine holidays. And look at you. Would you like to leave home every morning at half-seven and be gone for twelve hours?” she leaned across the gear lever and handbrake so she could lay her head on his shoulder. “I like having my husband coming home for lunch every day, and seeing him play with the little ones in the evening before they go to bed.”

  Richard grinned into the darkness. Sometimes, just sometimes he fell into the trap of thinking the other man’s grass was greener. But Anne could be relied upon to set the record straight.

  And of course there was always a chance that Billy Smart’s scheme for doing up secondhand boats might work out . . . put a little extra into the coffers.

  *

  Debbie came home with a fresh lot of photos she had just collected from being developed. They included snaps of a seriously fun beach party last month, just before the weather turned nasty, when people were darting around in bathing suits playing cricket in the shallows. They had built a fire in the rocks and burnt sausages and chicken thighs, and she had taken a lovely shot of Justin washing his bit of chicken in the sea, after dropping it in the sand. And there was another one of Peter wearing Sophie’s sunhat.

  She showed them to Sue in the kitchen. “When you’ve finished going through them I’ll pop across to show them to Justin before we have supper.”

  “That’s a naughty one of someone wrestling with a bathing suit under his towel!” Sue laughed as she handed them back.

  “That’s Don Bainbridge. His towel is only the size of a handkerchief. Right, I’ll away. Back soon,” and she skipped out of the door.

  Stephen and his neighbours had been persuaded long ago to cut a hole in the hedge dividing the two properties and put a gate in, to save Debbie and Justin the bother of going all the way round via the road. She slipped through the gate quickly befor
e the dogs could follow, much to their disgust, and went to the Tetchworth’s kitchen door, looking for Hilary.

  “Cooee?” she called.

  No reply.

  She remembered that Hilary’s car wasn’t in the drive, but Justin’s was. She peered into the sitting room. It was empty. So Justin must be in his room reading or listening to records. Upstairs the music was louder. She rapped briefly on his door before swinging it open . . . then gasped, swayed and leaned against the doorpost.

  Justin and Amanda Blaydon, were on the bed together, stark naked, locked in passionate embrace.

  Chapter Six – Consultations

  Sue pushed the large Pyrex dish of macaroni cheese to the centre of the oven shelf, closed the door and returned the ovencloth to its hook. There was a little mirror on the wall near the kitchen window: she glanced into it as she brushed a wisp of stray hair away from her eyes. She raised her eyebrows in an attempt to get rid of the crow’s feet, grinned to examine her teeth . . . then shrugged and gave up; at forty-two what could one expect. Age was definitely catching up. A change of skirt, a comb through her hair and a fresh dash of lipstick might improve things, she decided as she moved away past the window.

  It was only by chance that her eye was caught by something, someone outside, standing by the wire netting round the tennis court. The evenings were drawing in and her eyes narrowed as they pierced the gloom. She opened the back door for a better view, then frowned. “Debbie? Is that you? Are you all right?”

  There was no reply, but the shoulders hunched a little more and the head flopped sideways against the wire.

  “Debbie!” Sue darted across the path and the wet grass. “What is it? What is the matter?”

  Debbie’s fingers were locked into the wire for support. She stared at her mother. Then squeezed her eyes closed very tightly. Opened them to stare again, her mouth opening and shutting involuntarily.

  Sue put her arms round the girl. “Darling! Come into the house, you’re shivering.”

  But Debbie either couldn’t or wouldn’t unlock her fingers from the wire.

  They both heard the click of the side-gate latch and saw Justin leap up on to the verandah.

  “No! Oh no, please no,” Debbie gasped and shook her head. “I don’t want to see him.”

  Justin heard her voice. “Debs? Is that you?” he came across the grass towards them, then saw Sue. “Oh, hallo. I suppose she’s told you. Well it’s her own fault! She shouldn’t have come bursting in like that . . .” he began to back away.

  “Like what? Bursting in on what?”

  From beyond the fence came the sound of a car ignition, an engine engaged, wheels churning gravel and a gear lever grinding as the machine drew away.

  Justin turned towards the noise and uttered a strangled, “Oh God, my gearbox!”

  Sue’s brain was doing overtime. Someone was over there with Justin when Debbie walked in . . .?

  “Amanda . . .” Debbie whispered.

  “Look, she’s gone,” Justin said sharply.

  “Amanda Blaydon?” Sue exclaimed.

  The young man glared at her. “Do you mind leaving us, please? I need to speak to Debs.”

  “No!” the girl wailed, turning her face away.

  “You heard her,” Sue snapped. “Out!” She pointed at the gate, repeating “Out!” as he hesitated.

  Justin retreated with a couple of “Huh!”s.

  When the gate slammed behind him Debbie gave a long shudder of relief, released her hold on the wire netting and allowed Sue to lead her indoors and up to her bedroom. Sue undid Debbie’s wet shoes and slipped them off, then swung the girl’s legs up onto the bed under the eiderdown. “I’ll fix you a hottie,” she said. When she came back from the bathroom, Debbie was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling.

  “He was with Amanda?”

  The girl nodded, accepting the hot water bottle.

  “Upstairs?”

  Another nod.

  “In bed?”

  The questioning had the desired effect. At last, with a huge, shuddering gasp, the floodgates opened. Clutching the hottie, Debbie rolled onto her side, buried her head in her pillow, and wept.

  *

  “She caught him in bed with Amanda Blaydon,” Sue explained to Stephen at supper.

  “What?” Stephen threw his fork onto his plate. “Seriously?” but he could see by her expression it was true. “The bounder! The dirty, rotten cad!” He pushed back his chair. He pushed away his plate of slightly burnt macaroni. “You can put that in the oven. I’m going over there to give the rotten little sod—”

  “You will do no such thing!” Sue ordered sharply. “There is nothing you can tell him that he does not already know. And if he doesn’t, he never will.”

  “But—”

  “Like me, all you want to do is let off your own fury at the boy. Which would certainly make us both feel a lot better, but will do nothing whatever to help the situation.”

  Stephen was puce with unquenched anger, but he sat down. “Where is Bobbie?”

  “Watching TV. He had his meal early.”

  “And Roderick?”

  “I’ve no idea. Out clinching another deal I suppose.”

  “What about Debbie? Isn’t she going to eat?”

  “The bottom has just fallen out of her world, darling. Macaroni cheese is hardly the best foundation on which to rebuild her life.” Sue toyed with a forkful in front of her mouth.

  “I still have an urgent desire to go and shoot that bastard.”

  “Then try to overcome it,” Sue snapped irritably. “I must go up to Debbie again, but I don’t want to leave you alone if you are going over there as soon as my back is turned to make more mayhem.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry, I won’t. But tell me, did you ever suspect he was getting up to this?”

  “In a sub-conscious sort of way, yes. I suspected for a long time that his feelings weren’t sincere.”

  “What made you suspicious?”

  Sue shrugged. “Feminine intuition? Anyway, I’ll nip up with a glass of milk and see how she is.”

  *

  The door closed behind their late-evening client, and his footsteps could be heard retreating down the hallway to the stairs. Alex and Roderick looked at each other, questioning with their eyebrows.

  Then Alex grinned. “Can’t be bad?”

  His partner could only manage half a smile. “Almost too good to be true.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Can he really come up with this sort of money?”

  “He has written deposit cheques on at least half a dozen properties placed with other people, to my knowledge. I haven’t heard of one bouncing, yet.”

  Roderick ran slim fingers through his long, blond hair, sweeping it back from his forehead. “Yet. But how long can he keep this up?”

  “Don’t you trust him?”

  “It’s not that. I just don’t like him. He’s so slick . . . smarmy . . .”

  “. . . and foreign? There are some honest foreigners around, you know. Anyway, what does it matter? The deal is straightforward enough and if his money is good then we’ve nothing to worry about.” Alex eyed him speculatively. It wasn’t the first time he had questioned his own decision to take his straight-laced, solemn-faced old friend into partnership. Roderick had some very old-fashioned ideas on business, almost like his own father. Heaven forbid!

  In fact Roderick had cursed several times the impetuous impulse that made him telephone Alex back for further discussion on the idea of them working together. His step-father, Stephen, had been appalled when he told him he was resigning, and spent a month trying to dissuade him. So he had only himself to blame. Yet there was no questioning the fact that, financially, the venture had proved an outstanding success . . . though not least due to the extraordinary activities of this same man with his foreign name and accent, boosting the property market with fantastic offers, island-wide. Roderick had to admit he admired Alex for his
confidence and daring; he had bought an open market flat, meaning that as a non-islander he was allowed to occupy it, and much of the bank loan involved had already been paid off in the first year. So Roderick himself was now looking at local market cottages before the prices went up any further. He could certainly afford one. G & M Properties Ltd. was a very profitable concern.

  “The only problem,” Alex went on, “Is finding enough people willing to sell to keep this beggar happy.”

  “Yes. And that is the amazing thing. It can’t have missed your attention, that he doesn’t often complete a conveyance until he has a market for the resale.”

  Alex laughed again. “Nothing if not crafty!”

  “Hm. One day he may find he has a hell of a lot of money tied up in properties he cannot sell. Then he’s up the creek.”

  “Of course. But in the meantime, let’s cream the system.”

  “Then what?”

  “Sit back and wait for the market to restabilise. Dammit, we are moving places with other clients besides him. Several local market ones, too.”

  Roderick went to the window and looked down into the parking lot where his orange MGB GT stood under the lamplight, so out of character with his previous image. Yes, he smiled, the business was perfectly healthy, even without the weird foreigner.

  *

  “I haven’t seen Debbie over at our place, lately,” Hilary remarked as she stretched her legs towards Sue’s kitchen Aga and sipped her cup of tea.

  Sue tipped a baking tray of fresh-baked scones onto the wire cooling tray. “I thought Justin was away?” She hadn’t expected Hilary to pop in and was unsure how she wanted to tell her the news which Justin had obviously failed to mention.

  “He is. And that’s odd, too. He suddenly announced the other day at breakfast that he was sick of the island, and walked out. I cannot think what is going on.”

  “Like a scone while it’s hot?”

  “Yes please!”

  Sue put butter and homemade strawberry jam on the table. “Help yourself.”

  “Suzanne Martel! You’re withholding something from me! What has happened?”

  Sue plonked herself down on a kitchen chair, began buttering a scone, and said, “The kids have split up.”