The Guernsey Saga Box Set

by Diana Bachmann

  “I’m sure something can be arranged, providing we have your assurance that you won’t try to get your revenge!”

  Richard laughed. “What me? Against that hulking great brute? You have to be joking!”

  “Surprising what some angry people will take on, you know. But are you so keen to find Billy Smart? Hasn’t he caused enough problems?”

  “It’s old George Schmit, really. He is the one who has paid off all Billy’s debts and arrears. I think he’d like to give him a piece of his mind.”

  “He wasn’t obliged to pay off the debts.”

  “No. But Billy is his wife’s nephew. Her sister hasn’t any money and George did it out of kindness to them. He really is an old softy.”

  “I’ll put in a word for you with the prison governor.”

  “Thanks. It’s not that I ever wish to lay eyes on Billy again. He’s nothing but an idle troublemaker, after easy money. I bet he’s comfortably holed up, somewhere, living it up beyond his means.”

  *

  The pale green Mercedes open sports car pulled up alongside the pavement. A young man climbed out and waited while his shapely blonde companion wrestled with her passenger door, a tight skirt and high heels. They wove through the pavement tables of the tapas bar to join a group of friends, shouting and waving.

  “We kept you a couple of chairs but were beginning to think you weren’t coming. You’re nearly an hour late,” complained a curly-haired man from behind sunglasses and beer-belly. “What you bin doing, Jason?”

  Jason Smith, alias Billy Smart, dropped his dark glasses to the end of his nose and stared at his new friend over the top. His lips twitched as he said, “What the hell do you think I’ve bin doing, Kevin?”

  Kevin’s eyes strayed significantly over the blonde and he bellowed with laughter. “Miguel!” he shouted at the waiter. “Dos cervezas, por favor. And what are you having, darling?”

  “The name’s Sharon and I’ll have a rum and coke, thanks,” was the arch reply.

  Benidorm was busy. As ever. Early tourists filled the cafés, cars ignored all traffic signs and pneumatic drills ploughed into rock and concrete as huge cranes swung over the tops of skyscrapers.

  A long-haired, geriatric teenager at their table held his hands to his head. “How much longer is that racket going on? Had a heavy night last night.”

  Kevin studied the watch on his sunburnt wrist. “Half-an-hour. Then they’ll stop for lunch and siesta. Where were you last night? Didn’t see you at Dirty Dick’s.”

  “Went up to Calpe with Ronnie’s lot. Wound up in a place called El Gato Negro.”

  “Hell!” Kevin’s girlfriend Annie laughed. “What a combination. Ronnie and the Black Cat. The vino tinto in that place is real gut rot.” She made room for Billy’s chair beside hers. “I like your car.”

  “Why don’t you get Kev to buy it for you for your birthday?”

  “Are you serious? Is it for sale?”

  “All my cars are for sale.”

  “Huh! At a price, eh Corin?”

  Corin swept a hand back over his black, oily hair and smiled. “I’m not complaining. I’ve had an offer for mine six hundred higher than I paid Billy.”

  Billy knew he was lying, but didn’t say so. Corin had paid his asking price, which was far more than the car was worth. But the man was happy with the slinky yellow repaint. It suited his image.

  In fact there was a very nice, lurative market down here on the Costa Blanca. And just think of all the other costas there were, as yet untapped. He was already building up a good trade in used cars, taking them to and fro through the French border with only one or two minor adjustments to the paperwork. Of course to really hit the big time he would need to take on a couple of extra drivers of which there were plenty around. What was difficult was finding ones with innocent faces. Take Kevin for instance. One look at him and the border guards would have him in irons, convinced he must be carrying contraband. Recently, however, he had had a brainwave. Girls. Really nice attractive, innocent-looking girls. And Sharon would start the ball rolling. Not that she could be classfied as exactly innocent! But the Spanish aduana were not to know that.

  *

  One day in March Roderick picked up another log from the wicker basket and placed it carefully at the back of the grate, withdrawing his hand quickly before burning himself. He checked he had not scattered ash on the hearth, then stood up, glanced in the mirror over the mantelpiece, pushing his hair back from his forehead with his fingers. The small family photograph on the mantelpiece was askew. He straightened it, then returned to the table at the far end of the room to double check that everything was exactly in place. But had he left everything ready in the kitchen? Hell, he wasn’t yet twenty-eight and already he was becoming a fussing old woman!

  Roderick Martel had been on edge for days. Weeks. Ever since that evening when they had kissed so long and passionately. But today had been the worst, so far. This was it. This was the day he had planned for so long. He always laid plans well in advance, it was all part of having a tidy mind. It used to drive his mother and siblings mad when he lived at home. He never let Mum put his clothes away – he couldn’t be sure she would put the clean vests and pants at the bottom of the pile, or the clean socks at the back of the drawer. He had hated to join in some spur-of-the-moment family function because there hadn’t been time to think it through. It wasn’t possible to leave papers scattered over one’s desk and just jump in the car and go . . . or dirty dishes piled on the drainboard . . .

  He looked at the clock. Half an hour to wait. Too early to start drinking but he wanted something. A cup of tea? He switched on the kettle and stood staring at the blackness beyond the kitchen window, seeing only his own reflection. So he drew the curtains, and went back into the living room to draw the ones in there . . . or would it look more welcoming to leave them open till she arrived? No. The light over the front door was welcoming enough.

  He was standing in the kitchen sipping from his mug of tea when the doorbell rang. It made him jump and he nearly spilled tea down his shirt. He quickly tipped the remainder down the sink, swished the mug out under the tap and hurried through the living room to the door.

  Jane was one of those people who could look immaculate in casual clothes. Removal of her overcoat revealed a high-necked tangerine jumper and a brown silk scarf knotted round her neck with studied carelessness, a brown skirt flecked with tangerine, and brown Hush Puppies.

  Roderick almost purred with approval as he placed her coat over the back of the sofa, leaving his arms free to hold her. “You look even nicer tonight than last night,” he said after kissing her, adding, “if that is possible.” He took her coat and hung it on the row of hooks at the foot of the stairs.

  “You have been saying some very nice things to me, lately. Do you feel all right?”

  “Haven’t I always said nice things?”

  “Good Lord, no. Years ago when I was a pigtailed schoolgirl you were ever so high and mighty and disdainful. I used to be scared stiff of you!”

  “Honestly?” He was shattered. “How can I make it up to you?”

  “You could offer me a drink or a cup of tea?”

  “Which?”

  “Both, please, but I’ll start with tea. It’s been a hard day.” She had recently got a temporary job as secretary to an Advocate.

  “You too?” He returned to the kitchen to refill the kettle.

  “We’ve been flat out from first thing this morning,” she called after him. “I hate legal papers, especially all the French ones.”

  “It’s fortunate you are so fluent in French.”

  “I thought so, once. Now I realise it only means I get stuck with all the interpreting.”

  He wondered if she would ever consider a job in real estate. Hardly a taxing position for a girl with a possible Phd, but Mandy had married last year and would soon be leaving to have a baby. There would be a vacancy . . . but there was another matter on his mind to be dealt with firs
t. He carried in the cups and put them on the occasional tables. “Come and sit down,” he said. His heart was pounding.

  “You look terribly serious,” she frowned.

  “I am. There is something I want to . . . discuss with you before we start drinking.”

  “Before? Why?”

  “Because I’d hate you to think what I have to say is alcohol induced.”

  Her grey eyes grew large as saucers, her mouth forming a small O. An onlooker might have thought she resembled a scared rabbit: “Go on,” she whispered.

  Roderick thought she looked utterly enchanting. His heart thumped so loud in his chest he thought she must hear it. “I was wondering if . . . Look, why don’t you drink your tea?” He watched while she obeyed, took another breath and started again. “I was wondering if you might consider . . . the idea of er . . . marrying me?”

  Her mouth twitched and his heart sank because he thought she was going to laugh at him. But she didn’t. Her small mouth widened into a huge grin as she replaced her cup and hurled herself into his arms. “Oh Roderick! My own darling sweetheart!” She smothered his face with kisses.

  He backed off. “Do I take this response to mean an affirmative?”

  “Mmm! Oh yes. Mmm.”

  “Then let’s forget this tea lark. I’ve got a bottle of Cordon Rouge in the fridge.” He was glad he had got it over with early. Now they could relax and enjoy a really happy evening.

  *

  Roderick went through the formality of asking Johnny Tetchworth’s permission. Johnny went through the process of consulting Hilary but there was no doubt they were both delighted. So too were Stephen and Sue, though the latter had always thought Jane rather colourless. But then Roderick was so staid and straightlaced himself . . .

  The young couple would have liked a small, quiet wedding but realised from the beginning that they didn’t stand a chance. Johnny was determined to put an impressive show on the road and Hilary, for once, was happy to go along with him. The date was set for September, the setting was to be the Vale Church and the festivities were to be held at the Royal Hotel because it had the best car parking facilities and the largest reception rooms.

  Sue was not required to do a thing, though she did offer. Still, she was quite happy to sit back, relax and watch her next door neighbours vacillate between joy and elation, annoyance and frustration and downright fury as their plans developed or were thwarted.

  With a touch of regret Roderick came to a decision. “I do like my little cottage. It’s a highly suitable batchelor pad,” he told Jane, “but I don’t think it is adequate for a married couple.”

  “Oh! But it is. It’s lovely. You surely don’t want to part with it!”

  “Lovell’s have got a rather nice place on their books at the moment which I want to take you to see tomorrow afternoon. Do you think you can take an hour off work?”

  “Why Lovell’s? Why not something on your own books?”

  “Not ethical, my sweet,” he said severely.

  Set in lanes not far from Bordeaux, Le Marais was an old farmhouse with a long lawn in front and several outbuildings behind. “It’s huge!” Jane exclaimed.

  “Only five bedrooms.”

  “Five! What do we want five for?”

  Roderick raised an eyebrow at her. “Hopefully we won’t only be two of us forever!”

  She grinned. “But at the moment . . .”

  “At the moment we have a one-bedroomed one-reception-roomed cottage, suitable for one but not for two. Far too small. And now we must decide if we intend to keep on moving every time we swell our ranks, or make one move now, for life. Gradually we can develop this place to fulfil all our needs. We would have to transform at least one of the bedrooms into one or two bathrooms – there are none upstairs, and one of the downstairs rooms can be turned into a study.”

  “But it looks very expensive.”

  “It’s not cheap but it is soundly built and the roof is in excellent condition. Come inside and see if you like it.”

  “I love it,” she whispered out of the agent’s hearing.

  “Do you want to see some other houses?”

  “I bet you’ve examined every property currently on the market and you’ve picked this out as best.”

  “True.”

  “Then you’d better open negotiations. I can’t think of a better place to live. Though I’ll be sorry not to have lived in the cottage at all.”

  Roderick gave her a discreet hug. “You may yet. We don’t know how long it will be before this might be ready to move into. We only have five months in hand.”

  *

  Meanwhile, Roderick was not the only one with marriage on his mind, but it was early May before Neal broached the subject with Debbie.

  His step-sister, Coralie, had suspected he would for sometime, and was beginning to feel impatient that he wasn’t getting on with it.

  Sue had feared it for nearly a year, but had become resigned to the inevitable as Stephen tried to soothe her qualms.

  Neal collected Debbie from work and drove her out to Vazon Point.

  “Why are we coming out here?” she asked. “Are you wanting a walk and fresh air?”

  “No. Just a chance to have you all to myself where we can talk without interruption.” He parked high on the stony ground facing west across the bay, boisterous breakers glistening in the early evening sunlight as they rolled up the beach below.

  Debbie felt totally relaxed as she always did in Neal’s company. He had a soothing effect on her soul.

  He produced a stiff, manilla envelope from his pocket. “Guess what this is. My divorce absolute. My marriage to Annabel is now null and void.”

  “That must be a relief.” He hadn’t talked much about his marriage, or about his wife, but Debbie could think of nothing worse than being tied to someone who was nothing more than a irritation; someone whom one didn’t even like, let alone love.

  Neal laughed. “That’s the understatement of the year. It’s a great deal more than that. It means I am now free to get on with the rest of my life.” He took her hands in his. “Our joint lives, I hope.”

  Debbie cocked her head on one side causing the sun to turn her red curls into a golden halo. “Joint?” She was smiling.

  “You and I are a unit, are we not?”

  “I certainly feel so,” she whispered. Her green eyes were sparkling again, more intensely than they had done since that fateful day . . .

  “Do you? I am so much older than you, and I don’t kid myself I am God’s gift—”

  She withdrew a hand so that she might press a finger over his lips. “Stop denigrating yourself! Only thirteen years older: not so very much. And you are the dearest, sweetest person I have ever known, and I love you. You know that.”

  “More than you loved Justin?”

  “That was lust. This is real love.” At least, that was her newly developed conviction.

  “Do you think it might ever be both?” he looked like a winsome schoolboy.

  “The only reason I have never slept with you is because you have never asked. But of course I want to,” she said determinedly. “You should have guessed that already.”

  “My darling Debbie! The only reason I didn’t ask was because I didn’t feel it was fair to involve one so young in an adulterous relationship.”

  “You mean you were scared I would think you were a dirty old man!” she teased.

  “Something like that,” he agreed as he wrapped her in his arms.

  Another car drew up alongside them and they realised the bunch of kids in the back were all giggling.

  “Come on,” he relinquished his hold. “I’ll take you home and get Stephen’s formal permission. And if your Ma isn’t too appalled she might even ask me to stay for supper.”

  *

  Sue guessed what had happened as soon as they walked into the house, so she was able to warn Stephen, adopt a happy smile and congratulate them as soon as they announced their news. “Wonderful,” she
said, “and not unexpected.”

  “Splendid,” nodded Stephen. “You have our joint blessings, you know that.”

  Well aware how Sue had felt about the alliance, initially, Debbie blew her mother a kiss of gratitude.

  “Where are you going to live?” Bobbie asked, being practically minded.

  “I’ve been working for my father in the London office, up to now, flitting over here to see Debbie on the excuse of work and consultations in the island. But Dad hasn’t enough work here to keep me going,” Debbie’s face fell, “so he has agreed to accept my resignation and I am now free to get a job in the local finance industry. Marriage to Debbie will give me local residential qualifications so it shouldn’t be difficult to find one. I thought we might rent a small place till we find something we really like.”

  “And when do you plan to marry?” queried Stephen.

  “As soon as possible,” Debbie cut in.

  “It will have to be a civil ceremony in the Greffier’s office in the Court House,” Sue pointed out.

  “Of course,” Debbie nodded. “As small and quiet as possible.”

  “We could walk on up the hill for a reception at Old Government House Hotel.”

  Debbie glanced at Neal for his approval.

  “Great idea,” he agreed.

  And Sue’s mind immediately got to work on the details.

  *

  Unlike Jane, whose mother went wild with raw silk, stiffened petticoats and antique lace veil and train, Debbie and Sue agreed that as an “experienced” woman, a gown of plain cream ankle-length satin and a pill-box hat trimmed with pink roses matching those in the small spray she would carry, seemed a far more suitable outfit for the Greffe. The doors to the hotel ballroom would be flanked by pedestal arrangements of pink roses, white freesias and ivory stephanotis, the simple, two-tier cake carrying a swathe of palest pink sugar roses from the base to circle the tiny silver vase filled with lilies-of-the-valley at the top.

  Only closest family members attended the brief, formal ceremony, Roderick acting as best man and little Sarah, in cream net and minute ballet pumps, holding a posy of pink rosebuds, as an enthusiastic flowergirl. Seventy guests were hand-shaken and kissed when they arrived at the hotel shortly after the bride and groom. The hotel laid on a champagne reception and finger buffet, Stephen proposed the toast to the happy couple and Cyril and Carol Blaydon contrived to remain sober. Amanda had excused herself on the strength of a business commitment in New York. “Applying for a couch position” Stephanie speculated. Everyone was relieved by her absence, not least her step-brother.