Stephen was keen on classical music and he and Sue attended all the Guernsey Choral and Orchestral Society concerts which were of very high standard. Their friends Uhtred and Tilly Walgrave were enthusiastic members of the choir and often asked the Martels to their social functions which, added to Stephen’s business associates and all their sporting friends, meant a very busy social life. “We really must leave a couple of evenings a week for just being at home,” Stephen said, every few months, but it wasn’t easy.
“Can’t live, if living is without you,” Sue crooned happily to herself as she drew the two quiches out of the oven. That was supper taken care of, which would leave her free to pop round to Aunt Filly this afternoon before picking up Bobbie and taking him to the football field. Then while he was playing she would run over to Uncle John and Edna to discuss the future of her vegetable patch which, at the moment, produced solely for the benefit of the bugs. From there she would fetch Bobbie, bring him home and feed him, and quickly get changed before Stephen came in for his meal prior to them both dashing off to tonight’s concert. Maybe when Bobbie was a bit older and had the scooter he craved, life might ease up a bit. Or would the extra available time promptly fill up with more activities?
Poor, dear Stephen, he was such a home-lover. Such a lover, full-stop! He continued to be as deliciously romantic as that never-to-be-forgotten day, so many years ago, when they had met quite accidently, at the Buttes at L’Ancresse and on impulse, made love in the sea. She closed her eyes, smiling. And the memory made her tingle all over.
*
Roderick was very happy living in his little old Guernsey cottage. He was not an enthusiastic gardener so there were no roses round the door; the small area of garden between the lane and the front door was a neatly gravelled extension from the driveway down the side of the grey granite building. The only concession to floral adornment in the front was by way of a half barrel of soil either side of the white painted door, planted with azaleas into which, on dry days, he tipped a bucket of water while his breakfast kettle was boiling. There was a lean-to conservatory across the back of the cottage, which led out to a walled-in patio complete with a teak table, bench seat and chair, behind which, hanging on the wall was a terracotta flower pot containing a non-flowering plant which was also watered at breakfast time. A cleaning lady popped in two mornings a week to do laundry and hoovering, but as Roderick was a clean and tidy person, her tasks were not onerous. Of course he liked to entertain, keeping a small barbecue at the back of the garage for summer use, and an electric frying-pan for the winter. Whatever the season, the menu remained consistent: melon or grapefruit starter as available, barbecued or fried steaks with salad and French bread, followed by cheese and celery, coffee and mints. His guests always knew what to expect. In his quiet way Roderick discovered he enjoyed socialising; he loved to fill his one big cosy living room with friends, and they enjoyed examining the latest additions to the bookshelves that lined the walls, sinking into the leather settee and chairs, beers in hand, listening to Roderick’s records. Most Sundays he went to La Rocquette de Bas for lunch with the family, and often dropped in during the week on the way home from work to sit in the kitchen with a cup of tea while his mother was fixing supper.
One Tuesday night just before Easter, Roderick and Stephen arrived at the same time. Sue had a pot of fresh tea waiting, and the two men automatically sprawled on kitchen chairs so that Sue might be included in their conversation.
“How well do you get on with Alex Grolinski?” Stephen asked.
“Much better now. I thought him a bit butterfly-brained in the beginning, but he has settled down very well. Funny really, the way you meet people at university, think you know them, and then later on when you meet them out in the big wide world they seem so different. Mind you, he always was a big talker! But why do you want to know?”
“We rather felt you had had your doubts about the venture soon after you first linked up with him.”
“You’re dead right I did! Some of his ideas seemed totally woolly – and I’d burned my boats!”
Sue swilled out a saucepan and left it on the drainboard, brushed the hair out of her eyes and sat down with the men. “Not entirely, you know. I suspect Stephen would have let you back into the firm if you’d asked him nicely. But what about the business side? You appear to be doing very well. Are you happy with the results?”
“Oh, very! And I hope Stephen is happy with the new clients we pass on to him. It is obviously a very good move to have a tie-in between the property business and the architectural firm. But I have to say that I think I’m in the better half, financially.”
“Am I right in believing you and Alex are branching out abroad?” Stephen wanted to know.
“Correct. We are putting adverts in some of the big glossy magazines and brochures. It was Alex’s uncle’s idea. He already has an agent in the Caribbean, and now Alex is spending some time in Spain and Portugal. Quite a market there.”
“What about here in the island? Heath’s government made such a hash of the British economy, your trade must have been affected. I wonder if Harold Wilson can do any better?”
“Business has certainly slowed down in the past few months. I don’t really know how much it has to do with the British economy or how much to do with this notorious property speculator we have here. He is getting somewhat tardier in completing his conveyancing.”
“Really!” Stephen pushed his cup across the table towards Sue for a refill. “Are you worried?”
“Not so much for ourselves, though frankly he has been our proverbial golden goose, but we do have a few worried clients who have bought properties to move into, and now are stuck with both, plus a bridging loan. We simply have to keep our fingers crossed, and hope he doesn’t default.”
“Changing the subject, would you like to stay to supper?” Sue invited. It continued to feel strange asking her own son for a meal. She wasn’t sure how much of a social life he had and was convinced he suffered from a lack of female company, even if the only company on offer tonight would be his mother and younger sister.
“Love to, but I can’t tonight. A bunch of us are eating at the Marina.”
“Lovely! Who are you going with?”
“Alex and his girlfriend, Tom and Alice and I’m taking Jane.”
“Jane Tetchworth?”
“Yes. You don’t think Debbie will mind, do you?”
“I’m sure she won’t. She’s a nice girl.”
“A great deal nicer than her brother,” Stephen muttered.
Sue also thought the girl rather pale and willowy, a true replica of her mother, Hilary, but maybe she was nearer Roderick’s type than a more flamboyant girl, like Amanda Blaydon, for instance.
*
Sue was not prepared to worry about Roderick’s love life, he was only just twenty-four and there was plenty time for him to select a prospective wife whilst playing the field, and she had more than enough to worry about with her two daughters. She planned to return to Wales to see Stephanie and little Sarah in the coming week, knowing that she would inevitably leave with tears in her eyes and a terrible ache in her middle. How could any normal mother fail to be devastated seeing her daughter and grandchild living in such circumstances.
Debbie meanwhile, was much improved but seemed positively off men. She was coming up to her twenty-first birthday on the second of June and Sue was determined to throw a really good party, alive with nice young people as well as family. She wanted to surround the girl with wholesome, decent boys her own age so that eventually memories of the misery caused by Justin might be eradicated, and he could be supplanted in her affections by someone infinitely more worthy. Debbie was starting to relax more, smile, laugh and join in family gatherings, but apart from Coralie, she socialised with too few friends.
Only four weeks before the party did Sue venture to tell Debbie of her plan.
“Oh!” the girl looked startled. “Who are you intending to invite?”
&nb
sp; Sue read a list of suggestions from a spiral notebook on the kitchen counter, and Debbie expressed doubts about nearly all of them.
“I haven’t seen Marjorie in yonks, or her brother,” she complained.
“All the more reason to ask them,” Sue retaliated. “And I thought of asking our friends Frank and Christine Jordan. Their son Ian finished his business course in England at Easter and is working over here, now, so he’ll be included.”
It was obvious to Debbie what her mother was trying to do, and, while on the one hand she appreciated the old girl’s effort, on the other she wished she wouldn’t interfere. She really did not want to be thrown into a pond full of prospective suitors and dearly longed to say so. Still, she didn’t want to hurt Sue’s feelings; her mother had been such a brick in the past couple of years, never once telling her to ‘pull herself together’ as other members of the family were wont to do, like Roderick had done till Debbie’s redheaded temper reached flash point and she let fly at him. Muttering something about trying to help, he had retired hurt. So now, instead of making some adverse remark, Debbie merely said “That would be nice,” and refrained from further comment, other than a sweet smile or a nod.
Sue was no fool. She had no doubt what was going on in Debbie’s mind, but remained convinced she was doing the right thing. “So, together with family, that should total thirty-five of us. How does that sound?”
Horrendous, Debbie thought. “Wonderful,” she said, trying to force herself to feel grateful for having a caring parent. Then, on sudden inspiration added, “What chance, do you reckon, of getting Steps over for the event?”
Sue clasped the top of her head in mock despair. “Heaven alone knows. I don’t. But I’m going over next week. I’ll ask her. I’ll say you have particularly requested she comes.”
“I’m glad that she keeps up corresponding with me. Weird sort of letters, both ways. Neither of us mention touchy subjects, just relate our adventures in the world of vegetables, babies and flower arrangements. Funny really. She and I are only a year apart in age, yet in many respects we hardly know each other. If anything, I feel I know Roderick better than her.”
“Interesting you should say that. She and I always had a rather strained relationship and I tended to blame myself, wondering what I had done to make her dislike me.”
“I don’t think it was a matter of liking or disliking anyone. She appeared to want to distance herself from everyone. Didn’t like to feel tied or obligated, just hankered to be a totally free spirit.”
“Well she is certainly all of that, though whether or not she is currently enjoying it is open to question.” Sue sighed, staring into the middle distance. “Now let’s talk about party food. We must get it all organised before I go away so that I can get straight on with preparations as soon as I return.”
*
The river chortled over rocks and pebbles as Stephanie and Sarah lay on the bank blowing seed puffs off dandelion heads. A cotton sunhat was squashed down over the toddler’s crown of soft brown curls, but she wore nothing else, bottom dimpled as she wriggled and laughed on her tummy in the long grass. Apart from the river, and the occasional raucous outbursts from the residents of a rookery in nearby trees, there was no sound on the still air. No mechanical rumble of cars, planes or trains hurrying people from offices to business meetings, or away on holidays to escape their personal stress: no thump of electronic music to relieve somebody’s tensions. Stephanie smiled sadly and rolled over onto her back. Ironic, wasn’t it, that she had chosen this laid-back existence to get away from the tensions and stress of mainstream life, only to find herself beset by more worries than she had imagined possible. Unless one got drugged out of one’s mind, it was impossible to avoid the petty squabbles, jealousies and irritations of communal living. Maybe if some of the members were a little older, more mature, they would be more willing to share responsibilities rather than each others’ supposed partners. Personally, she knew she was a far better artist than several of the other girls, yet she seldom had either time, energy or inclination to indulge her talent. Well, someone had to take charge of the catering or they would never eat at all, and Heaven knew their diet was far from satisfactory as it was.
Stephanie took deep breaths, sucking in the sweet scent of wild flowers together with the heady ambience of peaceful solitude, a rare enough commodity living in the commune. She thought about her mother’s impending visit, about Debbie’s letters, about . . . home. Her other home, La Rocquette de Bas. Were her nice clothes still hanging in her wardrobe where she had left them? The ones that were unsuitable for community living. Would Troilus and Cressida remember her if she went back? What a gorgeous pair they were, so gentle and loving . . . so different from the hungry, snarling curs around the farm.
She was suddenly swamped with an overwhelming sadness, an urgent desire to see La Rocquette de Bas again, and the dogs, and the people. Roddy and Debs. Granpa, Richard and Anne, and she thought yet again about the money sewn into her jacket behind the door of her room. How many times had she sat on the edge of her bed debating whether to hang on to it, or turn it into much needed food? Yet after all this time, over a year, the getaway money still survived.
“Wanna go fwishin’” Sarah declared, struggling to her feet and heading for the river.
“All right, I’ll come and help you.” Stephanie kicked off her sandals, tucked her skirt up into her briefs and crawled down the bank with the child into the shallow water. They waded barely ankle deep together, Sarah frequently slipping on the stones under foot and falling in, laughing. They spied tiny fish from time to time which got the child hugely excited, but they never came near enough to touch.
Sarah screamed with frustration when her mother finally dragged her out of the water. Their feet were frozen, skin wrinkled, and it was getting late. How late, Stephanie had no idea, someone had pinched her watch and flogged it for grass. She never did bother to find out who it was.
When Sue arrived three days later she found a much calmer and more smiling Stephanie. She is obviously much happier with her life now, Sue decided sadly. But she couldn’t have been more wrong. The apparent happiness stemmed from her daughter’s new resolve to visit the island again for the first time in four years. Nothing was said, however. Even when Sue passed on Debbie’s message about the party, All Stephanie did was shrug and say she would think about it.
*
On the Saturday, the day before the party, Sue overslept. She was exhausted by the previous day’s work, arranging tables and chairs, shopping, and preparing all possible food in advance. Deep in the throes of a nightmarish situation when double the number of anticipated guests turned up, obliging her to leave them while she chased round the island in her car trying to buy extra bread, she was startled awake by the phone. Dazed, she reached out to answer it, and was momentarily fazed by the caller. “Who are you? Where did you say you are phoning from? I can’t hear you! All that noise in the background!” Then the fog cleared and the penny dropped. “Stephanie! Oh, darling, how wonderful! On the dock? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Seeing the girl at the farm, Sue had thought that, like her friends in the commune, she looked rather odd. Now, in long ethnic printed cottons and strings of beads, Sarah beside her looking quaint in a dress nearly to her ankles and their luggage not in a suitcase but tied up in a bundle, she stood out like a sore thumb alongside the horde of T-shirted holidaymakers who had disembarked from the overnight boat. Positively weird. The need not to show any reaction helped overcome the emotion of Stephanie’s return to the island. The girl allowed herself to be hugged, briefly, and Sarah let her grandmother carry her to the car.
They were sitting in the kitchen over the teapot when Debbie came downstairs for breakfast, and this time there was no stemming the tears.
“Steps!”
“Debs!”
And the sisters were in each others’ arms, laughing and crying, watched in amazement by little Sarah. Debbie was introduced to her niece
who adored her on sight, wanted to follow her every step and insisted on an identical bowl of cereal and slice of toast.
Stephen and Bobbie appeared and joined in the fray, delighted to welcome Stephanie home, Stephen thrilled for Sue’s sake.
Upstairs in her old room, after Debbie and Stephen had left for work, Stephanie and Sarah explored every cupboard and corner, drawer and shelf. Nothing had changed, every item being in the old familiar place. Momentarily, the young woman was surprised, then assumed that as this was quite a large house her mother had not needed the room for visitors, or any other purpose so had simply left it alone. She took a dress out of the wardrobe and held it against herself in front of the mirror. It looked huge, but then she had been liberally coated in puppy fat before leaving the island, all of which had been worn off with hard work and poor diet.
Sarah fell in love with the old teddy, and with the wind toy which still dangled, tinkling, over the window. Her mother showed her pictures, photos of herself at Sarah’s age, which the child could not fathom.
Four years! Stephanie lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Four whole years! And yet nothing had changed. It was as though the intervening years had never happened. But no, that was not true: something had changed. She got up and went to the dressing table to gaze in the mirror.
And the person looking back at her was quite, quite different.
*
There was a chill easterly breeze blowing on the day of the party. Fortunately the garden was reasonably sheltered so the guests were able to spend most of the time out of doors, well wrapped in woolly cardigans. Older members of the family congregated on the verandah with Granpa Greg, except Sir Gordon who, although two years Greg’s senior, considered himself to have mastered the art of perpetual youth, took command of the tennis rota and time off to play croquet and boules. Uncle John and Edna arrived and sat with Aunts Filly and Maureen, either side of Greg. Lady Sybil was proving her worth with a croquet mallet. Partnered by Uti Walgrave, she was soon roqueting Martin and Sheila Gillespie all over the garden.
The Guernsey Saga Box Set Page 66
