The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  “Oh dear! You think he might have been involved in something . . . shady?”

  Her husband nodded. “You know we had a chap from a French broker’s yard over two or three months ago, asking why Billy hadn’t paid what was owing on a boat he had purchased there.”

  “You mean one of the boats he got for you?”

  “No. Richard and I didn’t think the price matched up. Nor did he mention more than one deal, which we have had with someone. Someone of a different name.”

  “So you think that if we go to the police we might be getting Billy into trouble.”

  “I don’t know, my love. All I do know is that he has disappeared leaving debts in the island. His landlady has had me collect all his gear so she could re-let the flat, and I have personally paid off his outstanding bills for milk and the like. Though why I should be roped in and not your sister, I don’t know. After all, she is his mother.”

  “Yes. But of course she hasn’t any money.” Gelly sighed. “What does Richard think?”

  “That we should go to the police to clear ourselves. This thing could blow up in our faces and it would look bad.”

  “You must do whatever you think right for yourselves. After all, you have given the boy two chances to behave himself.”

  Which was what George wanted her to say.

  *

  Debbie was concerned about her mother’s reaction to Neal. She was not far wrong in her guess as to Sue’s opinion and she wanted to talk about it. Square her own attitude with her parent before the matter became a serious issue.

  It was a cold evening in late November when Neal was away in London and Debbie arrived home from work to find her mother curled up in a chair with The Telegraph spread over her knees.

  “You are early,” Sue commented.

  “Nobody in Town so we shut up shop.” She stood close to the fire, rubbing her hands. “Gosh, it’s cold out.” She sat down on the hearth rug at her mother’s feet. “Are you about to dash off into the kitchen or somewhere?”

  “No, why? Want to talk?”

  “Yes. About Neal.”

  “Yes?” Sue waited, realising this was not easy for the girl.

  “I’m worried you don’t approve of him.” Debbie sat staring into the fire, arms clutched round her knees, brooding.

  “I’m sure he is a very nice person, dear . . . Oh, crumbs, that does sound trite, doesn’t it? What I mean is . . .”

  “What you mean is you think he’s okay but not as a partner for me.”

  “Something like that,” Sue admitted.

  “Why?”

  Sue sat up properly and folded The Telegraph. She took a deep breath and said, “I wouldn’t want to think you were getting, well, emotionally involved . . .”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . he is a lot older than you are, for one thing.”

  “And for another, he is not cast in the traditional ‘Prince Charming’ mould. Right?”

  Sue hesitated. “He does not appear to be most young girls’ dream hero.”

  “No. He is not. But then I’ve been through all that, haven’t I, and look where it got me!”

  “I know, darling, but that’s not to say that all handsome young men are going to behave like Justin did!”

  “You’re probably right, mother dear. But I am not prepared to prove your point for you. Neal and I are very fond of each other. I feel happy, safe and confident in his company.”

  “But is that a good reason for making a commitment with him?” Sue argued.

  “For me, yes. Honestly Mum. Please believe me!” Debbie’s big green eyes gazed up imploringly.

  Sue leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “Okay. I’ll believe you. But thousands wouldn’t!”

  Debbie laughed happily. “You’ve been a very patient Mum. Now,” she got up and went to switch on the television, “let’s get the early evening news. I want to see if there are pictures of Juan Carlos’s coronation in Spain.”

  *

  It was typical November weather; freezing winds rattling the corrugated iron gable of the boatshed and whistling in under the great doors. The noise was deafening and it was some minutes before Richard realised that someone was actually knocking on the door. He dripped the excess varnish off the paintbrush on the rim of the tin before clambering down the ladder. “Hallo?” he shouted as he swung open the door. The light was very poor at that end of the shed and it was pitch dark outside, so he didn’t see the face behind the fist. He reeled backwards from the blow to his mouth, tasting the blood from his split lip. Then another blow caught him in the solar plexus. He doubled up, totally winded, in time for the third blow to take him under the chin, driving his teeth through his tongue.

  “Listen!” A knee was driven into his back as he lay face down on the concrete floor. “If Billy doesn’t pay the money it will be worse next time!” The voice had a French accent.

  Chapter Nine – Veering with the Tide

  “Sergeant Burgess is here to see you, Mr Martel,” Mandy’s voice came through the intercom.

  Roderick grimaced. If the sergeant had taken the trouble to visit the office the news must be serious. “Show him in please, Mandy.”

  The two men shook hands and Roderick raised a querying eyebrow.

  With a sigh, Sergeant Burgess dropped into the chair in front of the desk. “Gone! Done a runner, it seems, leaving a whole heap of chaos and unfinished business behind him.”

  Roderick sat opposite him, glowering across the papers on his desk. “Hell and damnation!”

  “Any idea how many properties floating on your books with his name attached?”

  “Not exactly. I’ll have to check with my partner. There may be some that he is handling that I don’t know about.”

  “Are they impending sales or purchases?”

  “Both. I am holding . . . let me see . . . four deposits for him on contracted sales, but I don’t believe the conveyances have gone through for the prior purchase on at least two of them.”

  The sergeant frowned. “Are you telling me he is selling property he doesn’t yet own?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “Let’s just say it is a rather bad loophole in the law which invites property speculation on a grand scale. Several times he has had conveyances on a purchase through the Court on a Tuesday, then sold again on the Friday.”

  “Which means he must have re-marketed the properties at least before the ink was dry.”

  Roderick shook his head. “No. Before that. The conveyances couldn’t have been prepared in two days! You know how long some of the local Advocates take.” He sat back, running fingers through his thick, blond hair. “Naturally, I am not negotiating my local clients’ cheques until and unless he reappears to honour the deals. But frankly, the ones I am most worried about are where my clients have already purchased a new property in anticipation of him completing on the sale of their original house. Admittedly they will ultimately be credited by the amount of the deposit, in a couple of cases, but in two others the man’s cheques have bounced.”

  Sergeant Burgess flipped over a page of his notebook. “They are not the first rubber cheques, I’m afraid. Have you tried re-presenting them?”

  “Not yet. They came back on Friday. Hasn’t been a chance over the weekend. I’ll do it today.”

  “This business is certainly going to leave a few people in queer street. He seems to have been offering such inflated prices for places.”

  “Yes. Encouraging the vendors to buy on, way above their means.”

  “Not good for business.”

  “Very good for business until the bubble bursts. Then the estate agent’s reputation flies out of the window.”

  The visitor stood up. “We’ll keep in touch. Let me know if you get any luck with those cheques. And perhaps you would let me have all the details of sales and purchases through G and M Properties Limited, pertaining to this character which have not been completed.”

  �
��This is all highly confidential information,” Roderick pointed out.

  “Of course. And we will respect that. As with all the data from the other agents, and some individuals who thought they were doing themselves a favour by cutting out the middle man,” he grinned.

  Roderick walked with him through the outer office. “Speak to you again soon,” he said. He returned to his desk worrying about Allan Fallaize and asked Mandy to get him on the phone.

  He wasn’t available but rang back later. “Good news, I hope?”

  “No, sadly. I hate to tell you this but it seems the bugger’s done a runner.”

  “Shit!”

  “And there are several other people in the island in the same boat. I’ve just had the police here. Look,” Roderick swallowed, “I feel very badly about this. You came to me because we are old mates and instead of protecting you I seem to have dropped you right in it.”

  “For Chrissake don’t start blaming yourself. You weren’t to know. Anyway, the situation has improved somewhat.”

  “Really? How’s that?”

  “The reason you couldn’t get me when you called is because I’ve changed jobs. I was head-hunted and am feeling rather pleased with myself.”

  “Go on! Where are you?”

  “With Goldberg Financial Services. A big step up in responsibility and also in salary, so things are not as bad as they were.”

  “Boy, am I relieved to hear that. And congratulations. In fact you are the third person I’ve heard about moving up in the finance industry in the past month.”

  “Well, you know the housing situation only too well. The banking houses can’t get enough licences for overseas employees to occupy local market properties, so they are desperate to employ Guernsey people with local residential qualifications.”

  “I don’t doubt your professional qualifications far outweighed the other.”

  Allan laughed. “You are so kind. Anyway, let me know if there is any news on that so-and-so. If our deal with him does fall through it will mean delaying building our swimming pool for at least another year.”

  “My heart bleeds for you.”

  “Come off it. You estate agents have been creaming it in recently!”

  “Did I say I was complaining?”

  *

  No one could possibly have described Jane Tetchworth as beautiful, or even pretty. But on the strength of Roderick’s invitation to accompany him to a reception celebrating the opening of the extended offices at Goldberg Financial Services, she bought an elegant little coral silk suit, had an expensive new haircut and applied make-up with unusual care. Roderick watched her come down the stairs of her parents’ house, next door to his own family’s home, with increased interest: she was looking quite elegant and sophisticated. Jane wasn’t feeling either of those things – she never would – but she did feel a little more confident than usual, once she noted the appreciative reaction on his face.

  The reception was in full swing when they arrived. A waiter presented flutes of champagne on a silver salver; a waitress offered dainty canapés.

  “Rodds, you old devil!” Allan Fallaize squeezed through the crush of bodies, his eyes lighting with interest as he realised Jane’s presence. “Hallo! We haven’t met!”

  Trying not to betray his irritation at being called “Rodds”, a form of address dropped when he moved up from the Lower School, Roderick made the introductions.

  “Come over here, there’s more room,” Allan commanded. “I want you to meet my new boss, Malcolm Pennet.”

  The latter proved to be not much older than Allan and Roderick. Tall, heavy, with already thinning hair, he had piercing eyes which darted round the room constantly while he was talking, his mobile features no doubt mirroring his mental activity. Like so many others in the room, Roderick thought, looking round at the smart suits, hearing the slick chatter of his intellectually agile peers. These were not bank clerks with pens in their pockets who counted their tills and the minutes to clocking off time. These men and women didn’t have tills, they handled portfolios worth hundreds of thousands of pounds. They didn’t talk about weekend sport, they discussed money markets, the rises and falls on the FTSE, the Dax and the Dow Jones. They talked big money. They earned big money. They were happy to talk properties, especially abroad.

  “Lot of money will be invested in Spain in the next few years, now old Franco has gone,” someone speculated.

  “In Portugal and Italy, too,” another added.

  “I’ve got a client dead keen on finding a few blocks of offices here in Guernsey. Got anything on your books, Roderick?”

  “Yes. Two. One in the centre of Town, the other a little way out. I’ll let you have the details in the morning. You don’t happen to have anyone looking for a really beautiful Open Market property overlooking the West coast, do you?”

  Jane was enormously impressed.

  “I hope you weren’t too bored,” Roderick said as they drove off in the orange MG. “Afraid there wasn’t much ordinary social chatter.”

  “I wasn’t the least bit bored!” she responded indignantly. “I find the manipulation of money and markets quite fascinating. As a matter of fact I’m pretty hopeless at social gossip. I don’t socialise enough to know who is sleeping with who, dying his or her hair or having their legs waxed.”

  He laughed. “You really are delicious. Talking of which, I’ve got a bite of supper laid on at my place. Could you face steaks again?”

  Jane most certainly could. No one had ever before told her she was delicious.

  *

  Painfully, Richard dragged himself to his feet and clung to a tool rack near the open door. His mouth was full of blood, his tongue swelling by the minute. He was winded, his back agony. Worst of all he was shocked. The most unaggressive, inoffensive of characters, he had never been assaulted before in his life. He had made no attempt to defend himself, let alone retaliate. Slowly he regained control of his muscles and managed to close and lock the gable door before staggering to the rear door of the shed, peering cautiously through the darkness then crossing the yard to George’s house.

  George and Gelly were having their tea. The latter shrieked when she saw the battered face. “Richard! What has happened?”

  It was difficult to explain, his tongue being several sizes too large for his mouth.

  But they understood.

  “That’s it, then!” George announced angrily. “We’ve dilly-dallied long enough trying to protect Billy. But no more. I’m sorry, Gelly, but this is the boy’s fault and he’s got to take the consequences – if he ever dares set foot in the island again!”

  Aunt Gelly agreed. “He has had his chances, but we can’t be doing with this! Call the police, George. Right now. And the doctor.”

  “No, no,” Richard protested. “I don’t need a doctor. Just the poleesh.”

  “Well at least let me clean up your face.”

  George was already dialling. “Better let the police see him the way he is, first. They’ve got to know what we’re up against!”

  A police car drew up outside ten minutes later when Richard was trying to swallow a little tea.

  “You’ve been in the wars, then,” commented the plain clothes sergeant.

  Richard attempted a smile. “You could shay that,” he said, and painfully relayed the evening’s events.

  “A Frenchman, you say? Ernie, you’d better get through to the station and get a watch put on the harbour and airport. He might try to get on the hydrofoil to St Malo in the morning. Or a plane to Dinard or Cherbourg.”

  There followed a great many questions about Billy’s business activities, much sighing and nodding of heads.

  “Now may I clean him up?” Gelly asked when she reckoned they’d finished. “If he goes home looking like that his wife will have a fit!”

  She was able to improve his face, somewhat, but his clothing remained shockingly bloodstained as he and George led the police officers into the boatshed so that Richard could show
them exactly where and how it had all happened.

  “Didn’t realishe at first there wash anyone there. It’s such a rough night. I shay night,” he squinted at his watch, “but it’s still only just past shicksh.” He demonstrated the opening of the door, and the attack. Then shook his head, still disbelieving. “Right out of the blue!”

  “Tell you what,” the sergeant said, “You are looking pretty knocked up. I’ll drive your car home for you with you directing the way, and Ernie will follow in our vehicle.”

  It was a very cold night, but Richard knew that was not the only reason he was shivering. He was in a state of shock and accepted gratefully.

  *

  “Would you like us to have our coffee by the fire?” Roderick asked her.

  Jane eyed the cosy sofa in front of the burning logs, and nodded. “May I help?”

  “You might bring in the tray. I’ll get the coffee. Want milk?”

  She shook her head. “Just sugar, thanks.”

  He let her pour, watching her long, slim fingers gently handling the cups which were placed on the little tables either end of the sofa. His arm slid along the back, a hand falling softly onto her shoulder. “Comfy?”

  Her eyes gazed vacantly into the dancing flames. “Very.”

  His fingers strayed up into her hair, pressing her head gently towards him. “Happy?”

  She turned her face and smiled. “Very.”

  Their lips touched, noses nuzzled and then they began some serious kissing.

  *

  Louis Brizzard was arrested as he boarded the St Malo hydrofoil in St Peter Port harbour, and charged with assault. He was a dumb giant of a man with a short forehead, half his teeth missing, obviously from a previous encounter, and blood on his shirt which would prove to be from the latest. He admitted being an acquaintance of Gaston le Sauvage. The court hearing was a few days later: the man was found guilty of the assault and sentenced to three months in prison.

  After the hearing Richard asked the police sergeant if he could visit the man before he left prison. “I want to try to convince him that we have absolutely no idea where Billy is; that the latter owes us money and we are as anxious to track him down as Gaston is.”