The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  Debbie found herself press-ganged on to the tennis court with Ian Jordan against her uncle Richard who was severely handicapped by his partner, Marjorie, whilst a gaggle of young people cheered and jeered from the sidelines.

  Sue had pressed some of the young into service behind the temporary bar. Two at a time, they were kept busy as more and more people arrived. Debbie glanced through the tennis netting while changing ends and was convinced there was at least double the number her mother had originally told her. She saw the Blaydons turn up with Coralie and Neal: she did a quick scan of the area, failed to spot Amanda and just prayed she hadn’t had the gall to show up. When her set was over, Ian led her across the lawn to the bar where they were joined by Neal.

  “How did you get on?” he asked.

  “We won,” Ian told him. “Six games to one, no thanks to me.”

  “You played some excellent shots at net,” Debbie commented.

  “Perhaps you and I could have a set, later?” Neal suggested to Debbie.

  But for the fact that she rather liked him, she would have made some excuse. She had never seen him on the tennis court and doubted if his shape was designed for the game. Instead she said, “Yes, love to. Now I really must circulate,” and she left her two eager partners to talk amongst themselves.

  Two complete buffets of food were laid out for lunch, one in the dining room and the other in the kitchen. It was simple and straightforward fare: bowls of prawns, trays of smoked salmon and huge ashets piled with Coronation Chicken, and sliced ham and beef. There were rice salads, tomato, onion and cucumber salads, lettuce, beetroot, pickles, and wicker baskets of French bread. Guests loaded their plates, carried it all off to the tables on the lawn and verandah, ate and came back for more. The bar boys circulated with trays of glasses of wine, and Sue thanked heaven that her help, Mrs Marquis, and her sister had agreed to give up their Sunday to help out. At a price.

  Cheese and biscuits were followed by big bowls of strawberries, raspberries and logans, and jugs of fresh Guernsey cream, while in the background, Stephen was marshalling his bar troops with champagne flutes and bottles.

  And then Roderick stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he called, ringing his dessert fork against an empty wine glass. “I feel that, as Deborah’s big brother, it is my duty to draw your attention to the fact that she has, today, become of age. Age for what is open to speculation, but we won’t go into that right now.”

  Debbie blushed scarlet and prayed the ground would swallow her up. Mummy hadn’t said a word about speechifying. Neal put a comforting hand over hers on the table and squeezed.

  Sue had agreed that Roderick should propose a toast before the cake was carried out for Debbie to cut, but she was totally unprepared for the speech that he proceeded to deliver. Unprepared both because she had no idea he was going to do it, and also because till that moment, she had no idea that her over-serious eldest child was capable of such wit. Without saying anything that could possibly hurt or embarrass his super-sensitive sister, he managed to reduce the company to eye-watering hysterics. Even Debbie herself was in a state of collapse as her half-brother, Bobbie, bore the massive cake, plus lit candles, out of the house and laid it on the hastily cleared table in front of her.

  “Wish, wish,” they all shouted.

  Debbie closed her eyes, wished, took a deep breath and blew.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, will you join me in wishing Debbie a very happy birthday!” Roderick raised his champagne glass, and everyone stood up to join him.

  “Happy twenty-first, Debbie!”

  *

  Stephanie stayed for two weeks.

  Sue had harboured a faint hope that she might decide against returning to Wales: the idea obviously crossed Stephanie’s mind, especially as she watched little Sarah blossoming in the loving family atmosphere. Even Greg had fallen for the little scrappet, once he had got over the initial shock of her existence. “She looks so much like her great-grandmother,” he kept saying.

  “You know you are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Sue told Stephanie.

  “That’s awfully sweet of you, Mum. But I think in all fairness I ought to go back. But I would like to visit again, next year, perhaps.”

  “Of course. This is your home from home. Use it whenever you want.”

  They managed not to get weepy when they said good-bye, and Sue was convinced that her granddaughter would miss the dogs far more than “Ganny”.

  *

  Anne Gaudion was incredibly like her mother — everyone said so. Short, plump with blue eyes and blonde curls she was a naturally happy, contented soul with Felicity’s bubbly characteristics. Greg, and George Schmit’s wife Gelly, both of whom had known Filly in her twenties, never failed to laugh with incredulity at the amazing similarity between mother and daughter. And although Aunt Filly was now white-haired and in her seventies, even Sue, Stephen and the children remarked that there was no mistaking the relationship. Anne enjoyed life as it was, the way Richard did. They were only too willing to sacrifice the popular need for speed and affluence, for the sake of a gentler lifestyle. While their friends were dashing from tennis court to cocktail party and winging off to exotic locations for holidays, they were blissfully content with a day’s boating, trailing lines for mackeral and dropping anchor in a bay to swim and lunch with their boys. And the highlight of their year was sleeping under canvas at the top of Herm Island, where they could watch the sun come up over Sark or a crescent moon poised over the distant lights of Guernsey as they returned to their camp from a late supper in the tiny island metropolis.

  Therefore Sue was duly surprised to see the serious frown on Anne’s face when she dropped in unannounced at La Rocquette de Bas with her children one afternoon in July. “Hello, sister-in-law! Hello Derek and George. Have you time for a cup of tea, Anne, or is this a lightning visit?”

  “I’d love a cup,” Anne responded. “Boys, you can go and play outside.”

  “Here you are, lads. Take these tennis balls out to throw for Cressida. She’ll fetch them and bring them back to you over and over.” Sue handed them a ball each from the string bag behind the kitchen door, then filled the kettle. “So tell me, Anne, what’s on your mind?”

  Anne looked startled. “What do you mean?”

  “You look as though the end of the world is nigh!”

  “Oh dear! Is it that obvious?”

  Sue stared at her. “Oh dear,” she echoed, “Is it that serious?”

  Anne flopped onto a chair. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  Sue sat down opposite. “Tell me.”

  “I don’t know whether or not I have anything to tell, to be honest. It’s just that I’m so concerned about Richard.”

  Sue waited.

  “You know what your brother is like. He is no great worrier. If I fret about something he is always the one to calm me down. ‘Nine out of ten troubles will go away of their own accord,’ he says, ‘providing you leave them alone’. Well I’ve left this worry alone and it only seems to get worse.”

  “What worry?”

  “That’s the trouble. I don’t know.”

  Sue sighed with exasperation as she made the tea. “Try telling me the symptoms.”

  “Richard isn’t eating properly. He pushes the food round his plate and eventually gives half of it to the dog when he thinks I’m not looking.”

  Anne was looking so miserable Sue refrained from prompting.

  “And he’s not sleeping, either. Tosses the bed into a haystack by morning.”

  Sue put some milk in a jug and poured tea into the two cups. “Do you reckon it’s a digestive problem or has he got something on his mind?”

  “He doesn’t complain of stomach ache or anything. And come to think of it, I have caught him gazing vaguely into space when he is in the middle of doing something. He dropped one of our dinner plates yesterday while he was helping with the drying up; one of our best set. Just didn’t look what he was doing when he went to put it o
n the table.” Anne added milk to her tea and took a gulp, blue eyes filled with worry as she stared at Sue over the rim of her cup. “What should I do?”

  “Have you tried asking what’s bothering him?”

  “Oh yes, several times. And all he does is laugh, rumple my hair and tell me to stop fussing. I just don’t know what I should do.”

  “There is nothing you can do at the moment. He is being a typical man!” Sue poured them another cup each. “Well, let me know if you find out any more, won’t you?”

  “Yes of course. You don’t mind me dropping in for a moan, do you?”

  “Of course not. A worry shared is a worry halved.”

  For the first time since arriving, Anne managed a wide smile. “Now I’d better drink up and go and rescue your dogs from my children.”

  *

  Greg came round to watch the Wimbledon finals with Sue, Bobbie and Debbie, who had asked Coralie if she could take the afternoon off for the purpose. They drew the curtains to get a better picture, and sat glued to the television screen throughout both singles finals, as Chrissie Evert easily beat Olga Morozova, and her fiancé, Jimmy Connors defeated the old favourite Ken Rosewell, eighteen years his senior.

  “Pity,” said Greg. “I’d love to have seen Ken get it just the once.”

  Judging by his muttered comments during the game, the others guessed he was also backing the man with the old-fashioned manners and sense of good sportsmanship.

  “Want a game before supper?” Debbie asked her brother.

  “Yeah! Sure!”

  The youngsters were both well satisfied by the outcome of both matches.

  Sue re-opened the curtains. “Like to stay for supper, Dad? We’ve got mackeral, new potatoes, fried toms and mangetout.”

  “Sounds marvellous. Yes, I’d love to. Mrs Mahy said she’d leave me some cold ham in the fridge, but it’ll keep. And I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  “Yes?” Sue sat on the arm of a chair. “What’s on your mind.”

  “Richard. He doesn’t really seem himself, lately.”

  Another member of the family worried about her brother! “What do you think is the problem?”

  “I wish I knew. I wondered if you’d seen him recently.”

  She debated in her mind whether to tell him of her conversation with Anne, but decided against. No point in worrying the old chap unnecessarily. “No, I haven’t. Do you think he might not be well?”

  “I’ve a feeling it’s more likely he has something on his mind. He has always had this habit of scratching his ear when he is worried. Just like your mother used to.”

  “I’ll see if I can find out anything and let you know, Dad.”

  “Thanks.” He shook his head. “Not a bit like Richard. Very odd.”

  *

  “Hallo! Haven’t seen you for weeks. How are you?” George Schmit emerged from the newsagent’s on the Bridge and ran full tilt into Sue who was laden with shopping bags.

  “Hallo, Uncle George! I suppose you want to read all about Nixon’s resignation,” she commented, eyeing his newspaper.

  “About time, rotten beggar! Boy has he wriggled, like a fish on the end of a line. But they landed him in the end,” he chortled.

  “So how’s business?”

  “Excellent. Richard is doing marvels with those boats Billy has been buying in France. There is certainly more money in selling boats than just repairing them.” He began walking beside her along the wide pavement. “It’s great for me to see the yard doing so well, now that I’m semiretired.”

  “I’d have thought you’d be sitting back with your feet up all the time, by now,” Sue said, and laughed.

  “You joke. Got to keep myself occupied or I’ll be pushing up daisies in no time at all.”

  She would like to have talked to him a bit more about the business: probed a little to see if there could be anything there that was worrying Richard. But the old chap had obviously not noticed anything, and like her father she didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily. But she did say, “I haven’t seen Richard for weeks.” And waited, hopefully.

  “I’m glad you said that. Reminds me I must nip down here to Bougourd and Harry. I promised to get him another pound of brass screws while I’m out. Nice seeing you, Sue.” And he limped off on his arthritic hip.

  “Bye-bye, Uncle George,” she called after him, cursing brass screws.

  *

  Debbie was cleaning out the flower buckets under an outside tap over a drain in the tiny yard behind the shop, when Coralie called her.

  “There’s someone to see you, Debs!”

  It was the end of a long day, she was tired, her face was dirty and her hair all over the place. “Who is it?”

  “A young gentleman.”

  Debbie’s mind automatically flew to Justin, but she knew Coralie wouldn’t do that to her, so she dried her hands, brushed the hair off her face and went through into the shop.

  Coralie’s step-brother, Neal Blaydon, was standing there. Thirteen years her senior, he wasn’t exactly young, but compared with his father he could definitely be described as a gentleman.

  “Hallo! What brings you back to the island again so soon?”

  “You! I never had a chance to take you out to dinner last time I was over. So here I am. Would you like to go up to the Fregate tonight?”

  “Wow!” Debbie giggled. “Well, yes I’d love to go to the Fregate,” it was the best restaurant in the island, “but as for your reason for being here, I don’t believe a word of it!”

  “But it’s true!” Neal protested. “Coralie, how late do you intend keeping Deborah’s nose to the grindstone this evening?”

  “Oh, take her away. She won’t be any use to me now with the promise of a Fregate nosebag in the offing,” she teased.

  He turned to Debbie. “May I give you a lift home?”

  “I’d make the most of the opportunity, Debs. It’s not an offer he has ever made to me. Go on. I’ll lock up.”

  Actually, Debbie wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to go out to dinner with Neal, á deux. He was very nice, quiet and considerate, but not someone she wanted to encourage. In fact she didn’t want to encourage anyone. Ever again.

  He collected her again at seven-thirty, noting that her hair looked pretty but she hadn’t smothered her face with make-up on his account, nor decked herself in some seductive outfit. And he was glad. Annabel always wore ultra slinky clothes, even to the office. He had been devastated when she walked out on him, but now he was beginning to view her departure with relief. And as for his step-sister Amanda . . . she invariably looked like a third-rate tart. He never wanted to spend an evening sitting opposite a woman who looked like either of them, ever again.

  He had managed to get a table alongside the window, overlooking the harbour and Castle Cornet. Conversation was very stilted at first, both rather shy, no sexual vibes prompting their tongues. Gradually the wine did its work and they both relaxed sufficiently for Debbie to question Neal about his work, and for him to ask about her tennis, her family and request details about the island of which he knew little.

  When he delivered her home at eleven-thirty he planted a kiss on her cheek.

  Debbie kissed him back, happy that Neal was interested in her company without wanting to get his hands on her body. That was nice.

  Very nice.

  *

  “Hi, it’s Sue here. Hope I haven’t dragged you away from anything too vital?”

  “No, not at all. I was just tackling some paperwork from which, I must admit, I am only too happy to be distracted,” Richard said. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if you could pop in for ten minutes or so on your way home to lunch today?”

  Richard frowned at the receiver, mystified. “I could. Anything in particular on your mind?”

  “Yes, actually. I’ll tell you about it when you get here.”

  It was the first opportunity Sue had had, with the house to herself now t
hat Bobbie was back at school and neither Stephen nor Debbie due home for lunch, to ask Richard round so that she could question him about his “problem”. She had seen him a couple of times and given him an opening to speak, but he hadn’t taken it up, just fielded her mild enquiries and changed the subject.

  When he arrived she came straight to the point. “You are driving us all nuts, dear brother. When are you going to tell us what is bothering you? Why bottle it all up?”

  He had guessed she would question him, but was totally unprepared for her directness. “I don’t see what possible business it is of anyone else’s, if I choose to keep my own counsel,” he said, obviously offended.

  “Fair comment, as long as it doesn’t affect anyone else.”

  “It doesn’t affect you.”

  “Yes it does, when Dad comes and tells me how worried he is about you.” She didn’t want to mention Anne’s visit for fear of creating trouble between them. “Anyway, I can tell there is something wrong. Are you nursing a secret illness or is it something to do with money?”

  He crossed the carpet to the sitting room window to gaze out through the teaming rain. “It could all be a storm in a teacup, Sue. I could be imagining the whole thing. That’s why I haven’t said anything to anyone.”

  “So are you imagining that Anne is having an affair or something?”

  “Good Lord, no!”

  “Well, are you going to tell me, or not? Would a beer help?”

  “I’d prefer a cup of tea.”

  “Then let’s go into the kitchen. It’s the best place for conferences, anyway.”